The surreal and the mundane are a pigeon pair: one begets the other. The suburbs highlight the odd the way that night shows up the stars.
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I catch the same bus to work every day: the 120. It’s a regular commuter run in the mornings. Everyone on board – myself included – has their personalities idling in neutral as they ride into their CBD servitude, a twenty-minute salvation between the chaos of getting ready and the graft of work. Many of us take the opportunity to read. I finished my most recent novel last night, so spent my travel time today alternately gazing out the window and observing my fellow passengers, speculating about their lives, stories, tastes, lovers, families, experiences, backgrounds. Sometimes I catch small slices of life that lift the gravity from the corners of my mouth.
This morning as we traversed Greenslopes I saw a man walking down a garden path. He was dressed in a plain, work-a-day office outfit*, one not out of place in an insurance office or one of the duller government departments. What drew my eye was not so much the man (or his apparel), but what filled his hands: in one an enormous fuscia-pink double hibiscus flower, the other a shiny chrome yabby pump. What the relationship between these two items might possibly be, or where they are now I can only guess. I’d imagine that that he’d be surprised to know that they’re also on your monitor, though.
Less immediately striking but certainly more thought provoking was that I boarded the bus with my doppelganger. I didn’t recognise the similarity at first. It became apparent during the course of the journey. About my size, wearing jeans, boots, plain tee shirt. She carried a satchel and read “Introducing Stephen Hawking” through a tangle of hair, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose all the while. I suppose everyone feels they’re unique, quite unlike everyone else and I’m no exception. I’d never thought of myself as a “type” -- more a misfit than anything, so I was intrigued by this mirror across the way. I wish I’d known how to make contact with this sister/stranger. I would like to have gotten to know her. But then, maybe it's for the best; perhaps there’s only room for one of each type in any social “world”.
*or disguise, perhaps -- who am I to judge?.
11 comments:
I find when I try to befriend my dopplegangers that they inevitably irk me beyond reason.
Are you saying that this is a common experience for you??? Wow!
I suppose you do have a point, though. I think I'd be awful to hang out with, actually. Correcting my own grammar. Criticising. Offering a "helpful" opinion on everything. Urgh. I couldn't bear it.
Does that mean I am not very clever 'cos I like to hang out with you!! )
I met a woman at a dinner party a few months ago, a good friend of a good friend. We had quite a lot in common, so there was no reason I shouldn't enjoy her company mightily. Somehow, though, there was just something about her that wouldn't let me like her, a low-grade but persistant irritant. Once my judgement had been clarified by a glass or two of merlot I realised what it was: the behaviour that was getting under my skin was some that I see regularly in myself.
So, essentially, I was dining with Suzette, and didn't like it one bit. A very sobering experience, I can tell you.
Moral of the story? The most distasteful faults in someone else are likely to be our own, too.
Oh hang on, I'm not called 'Suzette', am I?
Yes, I have met several doppelgangers. Not all of them have shared my exact physical traits, but close enough -- it's their mannerisms. You're right though... dining with oneself really is an unpleasant experience.
The only time it has worked is with hubby, of whom one of my friends said "Well geez, Cheryl. No offence, but he's like a male you." I guess the gender was enough to throw off the sameness.
HA HA HA HA HA!!! That's so true!! I don't know either of you that well, but I really can see how someone would come to that conclusion.
I think I could deal with a male me, for the most part. Somehow the gender changes a lot of traits, gives them a different flavour. The arguments would be Olympic standard though, at a guess.
And I think I need to keep my eyes peeled for these doppelgangers. They must be out there. It'd be interesting to know if they think they share traits or not. Can you be one against your will?
It's more annoying when people tell you they've met your doppleganger - you never know if it's true and are always vaguely aware that they could be out there, being you.
ps. loved the first paragraph.
psps I meant the second paragraph - the one that begines - 'I catch the same bus to work every day: the 120....'
Yes, FO, I've had a couple of incidents where people have told me they've met someone who's the spitting image of me. I can't help but think, "Well, how do you know it wasn't me?"
Thanks for the comment on the writing, too. As part of my application for study for next year I have to submit 1000 words of my writing. It's hard to judge for yourself what's good and what's not. I've narrowed it down (to about 12 pages mind you!) but distinguishing between what's good to read and what I simply enjoyed writing is not so easy. So I appreciate the feedback.
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