The Other Half of Me: Part Two

The cafe smelled like roasted coffee beans and that brisk smell of cold weather that always made me feel cozy. The temperature outside was slowly falling as night overtook day and the wind picked up, turning the light snow into a sparse sideways wall of white.

“I am more of a chai latte kind of gal,” remarked Sarah.

“I prefer a dark roast of coffee, but with both cream and sugar,” I replied.

She blew into her drink to cool it. “My favorite color was red as a little girl, but now I absolutely adore the color silver.”

“I also loved red as a little girl. I had red stirrup pants, do you remember those?”

Sarah almost choked “Oh my god! I wish I could forget them! They were like leggings but with elastic strips at the bottom, for what reason?”

I laughed. “I think to keep them tucked into your socks or legwarmers? I guess. How many pairs of legwarmers did you own?”

She thought for a moment. “Um, I think like seven? I wanted to be just like Olivia Newton John.”

“Good lord, that's sad! But then again, I always wanted to be Cyndi Lauper,” I shrugged.

Sarah giggled and stuck her tongue in the whipped cream that creeped off the top of her cup. “I think I wanted to be everything when I grew up, but mostly I just wanted to be famous.”

“Oh yes, me too. The funniest thing I ever wanted to be was a singer. I don't understand why, because I couldn't sing!” I laughed. “I think that I thought that it was just something you could decide to do and one day just do it. Rather than actually have a good voice from birth.”

“To be young again. No bills, no responsibilities, just a kid with dreams and ambitions. Now its like I am grown up and everything I've wanted to be has come and gone. Or maybe I'm just lazy?” she sighed. “I think I just don't have the ability to actually do the things I wanted to because they're too hard.”

“Right? I have probably a billion things I want to do with my life and they overwhelm me into doing none of them.”

“You can say that again, Sister.”

I smiled. I liked the sound of that: sister. “So, what do you think? Are we really?”

She drew a long sip from her latte. “I am starting to wonder. At first I thought maybe we just looked alike, but...” her voice trailed off.

I tried to read her face but could not make out what she was thinking. “But what?”

“You really sound like me. Like your freaking voice. And we have the same mannerisms. I was paying attention to the way you held your cup, the inflections in your voice, the tone you use, and it's like I am hearing a recording of myself or looking into a mirror. Only one with much shorter hair,” she smiled.

“So...what's our next step?”

Sarah looked at me with a very matter-of-factly stare. “DNA testing, obviously. But first, you have to meet my mother! She's going to get a big kick out of the fact there's two of me.”

“Ha! Two of you? How do you know there's not two of me? What if you're my doppelganger?” I retorted back.

Sarah jammed her cup down on the table a little too loudly. “Oh I've got it! You need to walk into the house and tell her you cut your hair! Then ask her how she likes it, and I'll walk in after and scream surprise!”

I laughed at the idea. “You think she'll believe I'm you?”

She sat back smugly, obviously proud of her idea. “Of course. Its like Parent Trap and shit. She'll never know the difference. Then we'll do yours!”

The smile quickly faded from my face while I looked down at my empty cup, the leftover smell of dark, deep coffee wafted up to my nose reminding me of days past. “My mother died six years ago. And my father will have been gone fourteen years ago later this year.”

Sarah all of a sudden looked very solemn and gray. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I didn't know.”

I shook my head. “No, you couldn't have known. It's okay.”

“First I run you over, and now I bring up the fact you are an orphan.”

I give her a pouty look. “That was my nickname in grade school, you know, Little Orphan Annie, because I was adopted.”

“Oh my god! Stop it!! You're killing me here!” she dramatically threw herself back in her seat.

“I thought you were the one trying to kill me here? Or did you forget just a little bit ago?” I held my face tight, trying not to laugh.

“Seriously, I am sure you are actually my sister now. Nobody would be trying to guilt me so much unless they were related to me. C'mon, let's get out of here before you make me feel bad enough into buying you another coffee.” She stood up and started to put on her coat and scarf.

“Aww, are you feeling guilty?” This time a smile spread across my face.

“Yes! So let's go and have some fun instead,” she replied, raising her eyebrows in jest.

I grabbed my purse and slung it over my coated shoulder and noticed that the ibuprofen I took when I first got there was kicking in because my ankle felt so much better.

“Should I tell your mom you tried to run me over?”

“Oh god, please no. She'd never let me drive her car again.”

“Maybe she shouldn't,” I joked, stabbing her in the side with my elbow, for which she took as an invitation to take my elbow into her own. I had never had a friend close enough to me to do such a thing, but with Sarah, it felt like old times.

The cold air stung my face as we left. I realized I should have worn a hat. “Well, I am looking forward to meeting her. Even if we aren't really related, it would be nice to be in a home, even if only for a moment, that had more than just me and my cats in it.”

“You aren't married either?” The snow was slightly accumulating and there was a slight crunch now as we walked.

“Was. Divorced. He was an asshat. After my mother went, I had no reason to stay with him anymore.”

“I am sorry to hear you've lost so much in your life. That sucks. I just haven't married yet. I haven't found the right guy. My father split after I was born. I guess fatherhood didn't agree with him. Being raised by a single mom has taught me to be extra picky with men.”

Crunch, crunch, our feet went in the snow. The wind was picking up and I could feel it deep in my wool jacket. Too bad I had left my scarf in my car.

“Job?” I asked.

“Receptionist. I make a decent wage. I still live with my ma though. We're very close.”

Her words unknowningly stung me. I hadn't been close to my own. “I am a writer. Novels. I do okay. I also freelance for the paper as a reporter for a regular monthly wage.”

“Very cool!” The wind picked up her hair and threw it back into her face. “Wow, its getting chilly out here. Let's get the heat on in the car.”

We both entered her old car and then drove me to my own to get my scarf, in which I surprisingly and thankfully also found a pair of gloves.

“Do you really think your mother will not realize I am not you?” I asked as we drove to her house.

“She's getting blind as a bat. You could wear a paper bag on your head and she would think its me. She never wears her glasses either, so that makes it a hundred times worse. Which is good for us!”

I smiled, thinking of a funny older woman seeing me and what she would make out of it once her real daughter walked in. I sighed in contentment at the thought of her doubled over in laughter.

“She's in a for a real treat tonight! She's always complaining how boring her days are. We might excite the old girl so much she might need a nap!”

I looked out the window at the swirling snow and thought of winters, now long gone, when my father used to help me make snow people and snow cats and other snow animals in the front yard which faced a golf course. Winter was always a wonderland growing up. The summers may have been filled with memories of playing baseball and adventuring with my friends, but the winters were reserved for family. When everyone else was hibernating in their houses, my dad and I were busy ice skating on the frozen golf course, sledding, making snow forts, and having snowball fights. So while Sarah had her mother, I had my memories of my father—something she'd never have. The thought saddened me greatly and made me feel guilty. I did not revel in what I had, but it made me feel less jealous for what I didn't have.