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I figured I was living on borrowed time. I really should have been killed. Really. It was only a miracle that I hadn’t been.
I realized my hand was shaking. I forced myself to take a sip of my drink. I looked at Don; he was as grim as I was. “There’s too much to lose, isn’t there?” he said.
I nodded. We shared the same memory. There was a lot we didn’t have to say.
“Dan,” he said; his tone was intense, as intense as before. His eyes fixed me with a penetrating look. “We’re going to be more than just identical twins. We can’t help it. We’re closer than brothers.”
I met his gaze, but the thought still frightened me.
I’m not sure I know how to be that close to anybody. Even myself.
We ate the rest of our di
I had to get used to the situation, and Don was letting me. He sat there and smiled a lot, and I got the feeling that he was simply enjoying my presence.
I had to learn how to relax, that was the problem. Other people had always u
And yet—
Here was this person, Don, sitting across from me … he wasn’t unlikable at all. In fact, he was quite attractive. Handsome, even. His face was ruddy and ta
Yes, I liked the look of this person. He was capable, assured, and confident. He projected — likability. Friendliness.
And something else. There was that same kind of longing — no, maybe desperation was the word — in Don; that feeling of reach out, touch me, here I am, please that I so often felt in myself. Under his assurance was a hint of — helplessness? — need? And I could respond to that. I enjoyed his presence, but more than that, I sensed a feeling that he needed me. Yes, he needed to know that / liked him.
I realized I was smiling. It was nice to be needed, I decided. I was glowing, but not with the liquor. Not entirely. I was learning to love — no, I was learning to like myself. I was learning to relax with another person. No. I was learning to relax with myself. Maybe it was the same thing, actually.
We spent a lot of time drinking and thinking and just looking at each other. And giggling conspiratorially. Our communication was more than empathic. We didn’t need words — he already knew what I was thinking. And I would know the rest, if I just waited. We simply enjoyed each other’s existence.
After di
We got home about eleven-thirty; we were holding each other up, we were that drunk. Don looked at me blearily. “Well, good night, Dan. I’ll see you tomorrow — no, I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to see Don and you have to see Dan—” He frowned at that, went over it again in his head, looked back to me. “Yeah, that’s right.” He flipped open his belt buckle, set it, double-checked it, closed it, and vanished forward into time. The air gave a soft pop! as it rushed in to fill the space where he had been.
After he left I stumbled through the apartment, wondering what to do next — another trip through time? No. I decided not. I was too tired. First I’d get some sleep. If I could.
I paused to pick up the clothes that I’d scattered on the floor this afternoon when we’d changed for di
I looked in the closet. Yes, the good sport jacket and slacks that he’d borrowed were missing. So was my red tie. But the sweater and slacks that he’d discarded were still there.
No, they weren’t — they were in my hand! I blinked back and forth between the clothes I was holding and the clothes in the closet. They were the same! I’d lost a jacket and slacks, but I’d gained a sweater and a pair of pants identical to the ones I already owned. I had to figure this out.
Ah, I had it. The jacket and slacks he’d borrowed had traveled forward in time with him. They’d be waiting there for me when — no, that wasn’t right. I’d be going back in time tomorrow — that is, I’d be coming back to today, where I’d put them on and take them forward with me. Right. They’d just be skipping forward a few hours.
And the sweater and the other pair of pants — the duplicated ones — obviously, that’s what I’d be wearing tomorrow when I bounced back, leaving only one set in the future. The condition of having two of them was only temporary, like the condition of having two of me. It was just an illusion.
Or was it?
What would happen if I wore his sweater and slacks back through time? The sweater and slacks that he brought from the future would then be the clothes that I would leave in the past so that I could put them on when I went back to the past to leave them there for myself, ad infinitum… and meanwhile, my sweater and slacks would be hanging untouched in the closet.
Or would they?
What would happen tomorrow if I didn’t wear either sweater or pair of slacks? But something else entirely? (But how could I? I’d already seen that I had worn them.) Would the pair that he brought back cease to exist? Or would they remain — would I have somehow duplicated them?
There was only one way to find out…
I fell asleep thinking about it.
The morning was hot, with that crisp kind of unreality that characterizes the northern edge of the San Fernando Valley. I woke up to the sound of the air conditioner already begi
For a while I just stared at the ceiling. I’d had the strangest dream—
—but it wasn’t a dream. I bounced out of bed in sudden fear. The timebelt glittered on the dresser where I’d left it. I held it tightly as if it might abruptly fade away. All the excitement of yesterday flooded back into me.
I remembered. The race track. The restaurant. Don. The check. It was sitting on the dresser too, right next to the belt — $57,600!
I opened the belt and checked the time. It was almost eleven. I’d have to hurry. Don would be arriving — no, I was Don now. Dan would be arriving in three hours.