By the time I woke up, Other Me was already halfway down the stairs. He liked to pretend that it was my fault when the alarm went off late, but we both knew better. It’s not like I ever even bothered to set it in the first place, let alone set it to the wrong time. But that was our fun little game: when I forgot to wake him up, he called it “inconsiderate.” When he tried to sneak out the door without me, he called it “being responsible.”
It took me about twenty minutes to make my way into the kitchen, where Other Me was busy zipping up his backpack and brewing up a mug of tea. I tossed him a wave—nothing. Not so much as a good morning fuck-you. The medication was already open on the counter, so there was one avenue of attack already closed off. I needed to put out some feelers:
“Hey man, you’re looking kinda tired. Like you’re not feeling well. Maybe you should stay home?”
He honestly did look under the weather. There were big-ass bags under his eyes, and everything in his face was pale except for his nose and his forehead. Not good signs. But it didn’t seem like he particularly cared. I made sure to sigh as heavily and dramatically as possible.
“Fuck class. It’s a waste of time. Let’s hang out, watch some YouTube or some NetFlix or some porn. Hey, watch porn with me!”
I might as well have been addressing the wall. Other Me just kept stirring that mug, slow-blinking, acting for all the world like I wasn’t there. It was frustrating, frankly. Maybe it was time for a change in tactics.
“You know, I was on Facebook last night and I saw that what’s-her-face got married. Her last name’s Helinski now. Twenty-five and married; really makes you think, huh?”
No response. Guess I’d have to keep prodding.
“Saw that you-know-who’s still with her boyfriend too. You think they’re setting the date soon? You think you’ll get an invite? I mean, prevailing wisdom says yes. It’s not like there was even the chance for anything awkward there, not with your dumb-coward-ass—"
He was on me then, slamming me into the refrigerator door and snarling. Drops of over-steeped tea splattered against the wooden floor. Between exaggerated gasps for breath, I grinned. “There you are, buddy. Go on and take a swing. It’ll make you feel better.”
The intensity in his glare ratcheted up with the tightness of his grip; it didn’t even seem like he’d heard me. He was honestly too skinny to hold me back for long, but I wasn’t trying to retaliate. I’d gotten what I wanted.
“Come on, man. You know you want to, and I know what you think I deserve. What we both deserve. Come on, Other Me.”
For the first time he seemed to hear me, and he shrank back. I think his suddenness surprised us both; I fell like a rock, reaching out to try and grab onto the kitchen granite, and his arms shot out to catch me. We both collapsed in a jumble of lanky limbs.
He disentangled himself and rose quick, dusting himself off and checking his phone for the time. I stayed right where I was, propped up against the fridge, watching him readjust. Watching him clear his throat and hurriedly fix his hair, before he swallowed hard and looked back down at me.
“I’ve told you a million times, I was here first. I don’t know what makes you think you’re more real than me.”
I thought about that for a moment. Then I shrugged. “Hey, I’m not judging. Whatever you need to tell yourself to get through the day.”
He shook his head and walked away. He didn’t give me a second glance: just wiped up the tea with a paper towel, grabbed his backpack, and yanked on his shoes without untying the laces. Pulled out his keys, gave them a swift jingle, and made for the exit.
“But we both know who’s real and who’s fake!” I called out, as the door slammed shut behind him.
I sank back down against the floor and grinned, despite myself. Sure, he’d left me behind, but I’d landed a few solid jabs and finally gotten him to lash out. And now that blow would chafe in the corners of his mind, so that he’d see me snickering in the back of his first class, or staring at him silently from across the train, or sneering at him as he stumbled by on a busy street. No matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise, he couldn’t really ignore me. I’d see him again soon.
And if I didn’t, there was always tomorrow.