Double Vision

“Abbey is going to kill me,” I know I’m late; I know this is the third time this month, yet still, the prospect of losing my job is strong enough to instill the fear of god in me—despite my seeming inability to be on time. Car keys? Got em. Wallet? Check. Phone? Where’s my damn cell phone? I could have sworn I just had it; I was brushing my teeth, and I put it down on the… Counter? Sink? Toilet? No, that’s not right. Ugh, I really don’t have time for this. I frantically scan around my tiny one-bedroom apartment in search of the cracked iPhone I use to help manage my life, but I can’t find it. I decide I can’t spend any more time looking, I need to get to work. If anyone needs me today, they will just have to wait. I will be out of touch until this evening.

I step out of the narrow door and onto the dilapidated landing of the mid-century Bronx apartment complex I call home. Bagel in one hand, car keys in the other, I jangle my way down the four-story stairs, the elevator has been down for… I don’t know, six months? I guess the cardio is good for me. Halfway down, I stop, a headache coming on. Was one of the stairwell lights flickering? No, not the lights, something much worse.

Christ, I don’t need this, not right now. Please, please, not today.

Despite my pleas, it arrives, coming forth like some demonic coat rack flung from a furniture store of hell. Here to haunt me from the corner of my eye, watching like a jacket-adorned gargoyle but never taking any action to harm or impair.

My second shadow appears.

Walking home on a balmy winter day, the cold streets of New York seemed more distant than they normally would have to a nine-year-old. I was on my way home from school; we had learned about the American Civil War in history class that day. I was trying to mull what General Custer must have thought during the Battle of Bull Run, and that’s when I noticed it. I think I had noticed the oddity before, but my child-like free will had dismissed it as a trick of the light. Yet looking down, on the corner of East 182nd Street and the Grand Concourse, snow billowing down from the grey, overcast sky, I saw it irrefutably. I had a second shadow. Where did it come from? I didn’t know, how I could have. How does one acquire a second shadow? I recall trying to think of what causes one to get their first shadow. It’s not something you’re born with, but rather a thing, a part, or maybe an absence of you, that appears when you block out a light source. That doesn’t make sense, though. I can’t block out two light sources when there is only one, can I?

I took stock of the situation; my little feet were already soaked through with the sludge of half-melted snow, and salt stains abound on the black felt of the too-small boots. The sun hadn’t set yet, so the street lights hadn’t come on. There was only the one source of light, the sun. And besides, it wasn’t even that bright, hidden as it was by the overcast day. So how could this be? I couldn’t know. I twisted and turned, nearly toppling over, and it followed. Dancing as I moved, pinned to the wet boots on my feet, the second shadow appeared to be here to stay. What was strange was that it wasn’t on top of my first shadow, you know, the normal one everyone has. Which I thought funny because, indeed, if you were to develop, erm… make, I don’t know, acquire, another shadow, it should rest on top of your existing one. This wasn’t the case for my new companion, though; it was perpendicular to my existing one. I moved to cast my shadow first behind me, positioning myself so it fall over my right shoulder, and the doppelgänger followed mirroring it's siblings position—appearing over my back left shoulder. I thought at that moment that it should, at least, have the decency to connect itself to the first shadow; that way, I could have a shadow-cape, like Batman, but without all the associated danger.

“Come here, sweetie,” My mother beckoned me forth, trying to check for a fever.

“I’m not sick, ma! Look, it’s right there!” I didn’t understand why she couldn’t see it; I could see it plain as day. All I remember after that is my mother’s concerned, scrunched up face, brows pulled taught in… something. And my father. He wasn’t home from work yet, and I was told not to speak of this in front of him because ‘he’s had a hard day at work’ and to ‘not trouble him.’

Thus, I stayed quiet about my twin shadow. It accompanied me most often after that, occasionally disappearing, only to emerge again shortly later. I felt lonely, naked, absent without it. It’s an odd thing to be attached to your shadow, especially attached to both your shadows. They’re attached to you, after all, but are you attached to them? I don’t know about the average person, but I sure am. It was comforting to have a second presence to watch your back and help you look out for things that would hurt you, things that lay in wait to cause harm. I was happy about having it, so I kept my silence and lived life under the twin shadows of my one self.

“Sorry, Abbey,” I say as I walk into the office. My manager, Abbey, is a stern yet gentle woman. She’s wearing all white today, clean, crisp pants, a pressed white v-neck teeshirt, and she’s holding that clipboard. She’s always carrying that funny thing around, taking notes, scribbling whatever on there. “The commute was a nightmare today,” I add this part, hoping she overlooks my tardiness. “Do we have to patrol for intruders today?” I’m hopeful, this is one of my favorite activities, but it’s a bit chilly out; they don’t like us going on patrol when it’s too cold.

“Not today, John.” She hands me a small paper container, like the ones used for ketchup, and a tiny plastic cup filled to the brim with water. "Not today."