The Day I Met Myself

Here we go, another short story for you to enjoy. This one is long overdue. I mentioned it (here) back in March of last year , and haven't posted it till now. 

I must give a word of credit. Someone suggested the topic to me, but now I'm blanking on whether it was Mercy or Rebekah. Perhaps they will comment to claim the credit due them. 

The Day I Met Myself

By Melody Beerbower, May-June 2012

            I was out for a morning stroll one fine spring day. It was one of those mild days where the sun seeks to warm but not scorch, where the wind flits about tugging playfully at the clothing of passersby, where the clouds grow fluffy and create pictures in the great expanse of blue, where flowers sing in chorus with the birds, and the grass dons its merriest shade of green. In short, one of those perfect days where it seems as though nothing could go wrong. One of those too perfect days that the reader of many stories has come to regard with suspicion, for they never seem to end as well as they begin.

            Yet these thoughts did not trouble my mind as I strolled along the shady lane in the apple orchard. Worrying about events that may happen to spoil the end of your day only serves to spoil the beginning of it. I busied my thoughts with nothing in particular, letting them roam as free as the wind. A tune came unbidden to my mind and flitted about with my thoughts becoming so entwined that I could not tell whether I was putting music to the words or the words to the music. 

            I was nearly to town when I saw a man coming towards me. I called a cherry ‘hello!” and as he raised his hand to “hello” me back, I realized with a start that that man looked—why! He looked just like me! And as he came closer, I realized with a further start that indeed he was me. Me. Myself. In the flesh. While I, myself, was standing right here, also in the flesh.  

            He had the same broad, powerfully built shoulders, the same regal height, the same keen, intelligent green eyes, the same carefree, wayward brown hair.

            As I watched Myself approach, I noticed many bruises adorned my body and dirt besmirched my finely tailored garments. Wondering what could have possibly happened to me, I hurried my pace, and when I came abreast of Myself, I started a conversation.

            “Hello, chap.”

            “Hello.”

            “What’s your name?” I asked.

            “The same as yours I suspect.”

            Considering that I was talking to Myself, I figured he must be right, so I said quickly, “Oh yes. Quite right.” as if it were the naturalist thing in the world. We stood in silence a moment longer. I felt foolish asking the next logical question, but feeling the need to keep up polite conversation, I stumbled on.

            “How was your day?”

            “Lousy. Yours?”

            I scratched my head. “Well, mine hasn’t quite begun yet, but it was going splendidly.”

            “Then I suggest not continuing into town.”

I had begun walking in that direction again, Myself following my lead. I paused a moment. “Oh? Why’s that?”

            “Because I’ve just been there, and that’s where you acquired all these bruises.”

            “Oh, I was wondering about that.” I continued walking as tried to recall what had happened. I could not, so I resolved to ask Myself.

            “How did you—I—get all these bruises?”

            “Well, I went into town and stopped in at the Dragon’s Head bar—”

            “I would never!” I interrupted Myself, stopping dead in my tracks. “I don’t frequent such low places. I take myself to the club—”

            I was interrupted, this time to hear myself say, “It was for a just cause I assure you. I popped in because I spotted an old friend I’d been meaning to have a chat with. Set him on the straight path, if you know what I mean.”

            “Very well.” I resumed strolling along the path. “Carry on then.”

            “I stopped in to see him, but before I could get a cheery ‘Hello’ up my esophagus, he started in on me. It seems I owed him some small amount of money for a cigar I once bought. I wouldn’t have minded repaying such a paltry sum, but I couldn’t remember ever having borrowed it in the first place.  

            “We were discussing the finer details of the case when a brawl broke out at a nearby table. We became interested in spite of ourselves, our own quarrel removing itself to the back burner, if you get my drift. Perhaps I got a little too interested, for the next thing I knew a fist collided with my head and sent the world spinning out of focus. The men apparently forgot that they had no quarrel with me as I was battered back and forth between the pair.”

            “Did you do nothing to defend yourself?” I said with a bit of a temper.

            “Of course I did! But I—” He gave me an odd look, then said with rather too much emphasis, “YOU don’t have very big muscles.”

            “What! How dare—I—I do too have big muscles!”

            “Have you ever tried using them in a fight?”

            “I—” I hesitated then drew up proudly. “I am a peace loving man.”

“Well, your muscles have suffered from your peace loving ways.” I had to endure a scathing look from Myself, but I pretended not to notice it. “You can be glad I got you out of that mess.”

“How did you manage it?” I asked, calming down a bit.

“Well, I heroically dug deep into my pockets during a lull in my battering, and tossed the money to my friend. He pocketed it and waded into the fray. He being much bigger that you—”

            “And you!” I interjected.

            “—He soon put an end to the fight by throwing the two men out the window. Seeing I had paid my debt and was no longer being battered about, I took my leave before damages could be counted and reckoned for.”

            I nodded my head. “Looks like I handled myself bravely.”

            “You mean I handled yourself bravely!”

            “Yes, that too.”

            “Look, I’m tired considering all that’s happened to me today and my bones ache. I think I shall go home, nurse a cup of hot cider, and curl up with a good book.”

            I nodded agreeably. “I couldn’t have put it better myself!”

            “I am yourself.”

            “Quite right. Quite right.”

            I also was tired and in no mood to argue, after all, I’d just been through a wearisome fight. So, rather that continuing into town and doing it all over again, I turned about and accompanied Myself home. 

The End

I was attempting to write this with British humor and style (like P.G. Woodhouse) but, as I am not British, I failed rather miserably. At least I still like my story. :)