I ran into myself again today. I mean, strictly speaking, he isn't me, exactly. More the me I could have been had I made a few more smart decisions. We ran into each other on my way home from work. I had just finished my shift at the shoe store and was grabbing a bite at the burger joint nearby when he came in. He was dressed for success as usual, pinstripe suit and bold red tie. Thankfully I had brought a change of clothes with me to work today so I wasn't garbed in my shabby work approved uniform. I probably would have just slid down into my chair and died.
He spotted me first, of course. He always does. It seems like whenever I'm feeling particularly disgusted with myself that he and I have a chance encounter. The last time we met, I had just broken up with Sally, my girlfriend of 3 years after finding out she was sleeping with my supervisor for 2. he fired me in the resulting mess. So, jobless and gazing emptily at the mall fountain he spied me and came over for a chat. he told about the new promotion he had just got and the pay raise it would entail, his vacation last month to Maui. Then he dropped the bombshell: he had just gotten engaged! Him and Francine Carter, the girl I idolized all throughout high school, had been dating for about a year before he popped the question. The wedding was to be in July, in Mexico. I smiled brokenly and offered congratulations before excusing myself. He was always doing that, kicking me when i was down and not even knowing it.
I could never quite get mad at him, though. It wasn't his fault he was more successful than I was. He took the risks I never managed and got the results. He didn't know he was doing so much better than I was because he really had no idea who I had become since our paths diverged in high school.
Anyway, he spotted me scarfing down my artery clogging banquet burger and fries off in the corner of the place. I recall I had just dribbled mustard all the way down my white polo shirt and was frantically trying to wipe it away with my greasy fingers when I heard his voice suddenly from behind me. I froze, and slowly turned, wiping my fingers on cheap chain store napkins.
He looked amazing. Hair perfectly coiffed, skin and teeth pristine and a slight citrus odor gently wafting off him. I felt my own two day stubble and greasy skin absentmindedly and felt ashamed, as always.
He was glad to see me, he said. It had been too long. Yes, too long, I echoed lamely. How were things, he asked. I hated coming off badly to this superior me, so I tried my best to make my life sound as mediocre as I possibly could, that being the best I could manage. In truth, things weren't all that bad. At least, as good as life can probably be working as a clerk in a shoe store with a bachelor apartment in the east end.
He was happy to hear things were going so well (I don't think he really heard what I was saying, merely pretending to listen until it was his turn to speak). He told me about the wedding, the charitable foundation he had been building the last couple of years, his almost due wife. General chit chat always went this way between us. We agreed to stay in touch, as we always do, taking down each others numbers (Him with his shiny mint condition blackberry and me with my shabby and monochrome Motorola). This was a promise neither of us ever kept, for I didn't need to be reminded how much better my life could have been and he didn't need to know how much worse. At least that's my theory, as he never said so, being far too gracious.
This thought fresh in my mind, I stood to empty my tray into the garbage bin to my side, when suddenly he said "You know, sometimes I envy you. What I wouldn't give sometimes for a quiet life with no responsibilities."
He chuckled, shaking his head as he walked off. I stood there dumbstruck at what he said. So that was it. Through rose colored lenses, he saw my life as quieter and more relaxed, so far removed was he from daily toil and struggle. My eyes watered up slightly and I sighed, a bitter smile spread across my lips. I needed a drink, and I had a mickey of whisky at home waiting.
Later that night, in between my third and fourth whisky on the rocks, I got a phone call. The display informed me it was him. I just let it ring and ring, leaning back to finish my drink.
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