One morning, my Mom and I sat at the kitchen table discussing overdue bills and how I could help pay them.
She refused and told me to save my money for what I needed and that she'd figure it out. My sister Kelly kept coming into the kitchen and grabbing a can of soda from the fridge. Then chips, then the various things she'd need to make a sandwich, and when it was all put together, she placed the drink, the sandwich, and the chips in front of my mother and said, "There you go, mom,""What?" My Mom said, a bit confused. "Thank you, but what is this?"
"Whatta ya mean, what is this?" Now, Kelly needed clarification.
"Why'd you make me a sandwich?" Mom gestured to the paper plate with the beautifully made delicacy in front of her.
"Because you just came to my bedroom and asked me to make you one," she said. "And you looked worn out, but you look fine now for some reason,"
"Your brother and I have been sitting here the whole time; I never left this table," Mom looked at Kelly like she forgot to take her medication.
"Fine," Kelly said as she scooped up Mom's sandwich and headed back to her bedroom, but she stopped dead in her tracks, turned around, and pointed at our Mom. "You were not wearing those clothes,"
"I've been in these clothes all day," Mom said as she held out the material of her blouse for Kelly to see.
"What's up, Kelly?" I asked her. "Everything ok?"
A look of dread came over Kelly's face, "Would you guys mind coming back with me to my bedroom?"
"Why?" I asked her, with a bit of concern in my voice.
"Because after Mom asked me to make her a sandwich, she walked past me and sat on my bed. Please come with me to my room," she quietly pleaded. We huddled together as we walked to Kelly's room, and Mom was sitting on Kelly's bed. Except she was dressed completely differently. We both covered Mom's mouth to prevent her from screaming. We slowly backed into the kitchen, carefully grabbing the keys to my car, gingerly getting in it, and driving off. A mile or so on the freeway, as we panicked and screamed, a car pulled up next to ours and laid on the horn. It was my ninety-five Impala, driving dangerously close to my ninety-five Impala. Someone who looks like me is driving. In the passenger seat is Kelly, and in the back seat is our Mom. All three are glaring at us as if we've committed some heinous wrong for which they intend to kill us. The Impala speeds off down the freeway, losing itself in the traffic. A feeling of dread comes over me, and not a moment too soon do I take the Pali exit. The other Impala, barreling toward opposing traffic, misses us by centimeters as it plows into the concrete wall and obliterates itself completely. There's nothing left, but we don't stop. We kept driving until we reached the road's end at Mokuleia.
We moved out of our house in Hawaii Kai and now live in an ample, closely tied space near the Wailua side of Mokuleia. We all have a particular tattoo in the same place on our bodies, and we have ear piercings. If we see someone that looks like us without those things on their body, that's who we know it's not us. A shotgun with rock salt works or any weapon made of silver. Look closely at those around you. Is it really them, or a double intending to do harm?
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