A Life Lost

People often take many things for granted in their day-to-day lives. Someone who truly cares about them, the amenities they enjoy in our modern age, and chances they are afforded in certain circumstances. I would have never thought that my life in itself could have been taken for granted. I look back now and wonder how I could have avoided this but I have yet to find an answer.

It started a month ago, it was so insignificant that I continued through my day without noticing. I think that is the biggest mistake I have ever made and if I could turn back time, I would live my life so much differently. I mean, what is a pair of shoes compared to an entire lifetime right? I spent a good hour searching for my favorite pair of wing tips. I had a big interview with the largest marketing firm in the city and I knew that I needed to look my best.

I had made sure all of my clothing had been laundered and pressed professionally. I received the best shave and haircut that Fifth Avenue could offer. All I needed now were those shoes. When I was certain I would not find them I settled for a slightly older pair of lesser quality, hoping that my personality would draw all attention away from my feet.

The interview went perfect and I would begin the following day. I smiled all the way up to my apartment door, digging the keys from my pocket. I rolled through each one upon the key ring one at a time but the key to my door was not among them. I searched through them again to be sure but when it couldn’t be found I made my way down to maintenance to get a replacement. The whole thing had ruined my good mood, especially knowing I would be charged a $50 fee for the new key.

I had the perfect suit in mind for my first day, and as I rummaged through my closet I noticed it was not there. I settled for my second choice and assumed I had simply forgotten to pick up the nicer one from the dry cleaners. I had a quick chat with my mother along the way to work, still beaming about my current employment. She was happy for me and as always asked if I could come visit soon. I rushed her off the phone to start my day, still more consumed with my life than anyone else’s.

A few days later my boss approached my desk, a frown forming upon his face. When he dropped the stack of paperwork in front of me I was confused, it appeared to be all my work from the previous day. He questioned if I thought I was being funny when he pointed out that all of my figures had been wrong. I apologized profusely, quickly correcting my mistakes, but it had put me behind for my tasks for that day.

I went home exhausted and deeply confused, I knew those numbers and there was no way I had deliberately gotten them wrong. I was contemplating the whole event as I entered my apartment building, the door man greeting me. I almost missed his words but when they sank it, it pulled me away from my thoughts.

“Forget something?” the stocky fellow regarded me with a smile.

“I’m sorry?” I replied, my eyes furrowed.

“You just left thirty minutes ago, sir,” his face showing his confusion as well.

I shook my head a bit and continued on my way upstairs. I assumed he had been mistaken and continued to my apartment. When I began removing items from my pockets I noticed one very important item was missing, my cell phone.

I frantically checked my pockets again, the rest of my apartment, and even went back out to my car. It was nowhere to be found. I left a note with management that it had come up missing, in hopes someone would return it. I would have to check the office the following day but my hopes dwindled at the thought. If I had left without it, there was no guarantee that it would be there when I returned. By the end of the next day I gave up my search and simply purchased a new phone.

As the days went on more things came up missing. I even reached a point where I would place all my important items in my nightstand drawer together and double check them in the morning. My routine had become one of paranoia and I started to feel a little crazy by the following Monday and nothing else had disappeared. That is, until I left my apartment for work.

The empty spot where my BMW once sat was my tipping point. It had taken me three years to save up enough for that car and now someone had simply rode out in it. I double checked my keys and sure enough the key to it was missing. I fumed at the thought, knowing someone would have had to enter my apartment, sneak into my bedroom, and lift them from my nightstand.

My first call was the police and the second was management. They assured me that according to their security footage, I had been the only person to exit or enter that apartment. I insisted they change the locks and they agreed in an attempt to calm me. The whole event took over an hour and without realizing it, had caused me to be severely late for work.

When I arrived a message had been left upon my desk for me to see my supervisor. First it was my car and now I was being reprimanded for being late. I argued with myself within my head as I sat listening to a lecture. I attempted to explain the situation but I was still given a verbal warning. The next time would be a written warning and it only took three of those to send you packing. Whoever had been messing with me was risking my job now.

By the end of the week I had not heard a word from the NYPD, so I decided to make a stop by the precinct. I asked to speak to the detective I had spoken to before and I was directed to a desk. I introduced myself and he nodded before responding.

“Yes, good to see you again,” his words fell from a smile but they hit like a hammer.

I was confused and questioned what he meant. Apparently, my car had been spotted on Broadway. The officers that had been on the scene pulled over the driver and asked for their information. When they ran the information it all came back clean, the person apologizing to them for not informing them that the car had been located. My complexion must have faded because the detective asked me if I was alright or if I needed to sit down.

I sat and explained that I had not been on Broadway in my car and that it surely had not been located. I expressed anger at the thought, stating that they had made some sort of mistake. He assured me that the person that had been operating the vehicle had been identified as myself but he would verify with the officer on scene and give me a call back.

The following morning I called ahead for a cab before getting dressed for the day. I assumed this would give me just enough time to finish and make it down to the curb before they arrived. I was greeted by the door man once again, but he was not smiling. Fear riddled his features and it seemed to filter into me as he stared. I quickly passed by him, averting my gaze and stepped out onto the sidewalk. There was no cab waiting and when I asked the door man if one had shown up he nodded slightly.

“Well, where did it go? Did someone else take it?” I said, anger bubbling up inside me.

“Well…yes, no…,” he stammered, his eyes looking from me to the street.

“Well, which is it? Yes or no?” my foot tapped in my annoyance.

“Well, you did…about five minutes ago sir,” the words coming out as if they didn’t make sense to even him.

My foot stopped tapping the concrete and I could feel my body go cold. This was impossible, I thought to myself. I questioned him to be sure but he even swore on his mother’s life that it had been me that he witnessed enter that cab. Then my mind began replaying the conversation with the detective, a feeling overcame me. The sudden realization almost made me stumble while fumbling at my pocket.

I removed my wallet, the same wallet that had felt so unnaturally light in my rush to get dressed. When I opened it my driver’s license and credit cards were missing. My only saving grace was that I still had some cash tucked away within the folds. It was just enough to get a ride to work, but again it left me late. I tried to explain, I tried to make sense of what had happened to my boss but it only resulted in a write up.

That evening I found myself standing at the police department amidst laughter as I tried to follow up on my missing car. I simply wanted to find this person who had seemingly hijacked my life. When I continued to protest the whole scene, it stopped being so funny. They became agitated and suggested I stop with this whole charade and go home. I, however, had already lost my cool. I don’t know if I could calm down by that point.

When my frustration turned to cursing and flinging insults I found out what a holding cell looked like from the inside. I had never been in trouble with the law before but they had been more than happy to give me my first experience. I was released the following day with a warning not to return unless I had a legitimate report to file with their office. Upon my exit is when I first saw him, smiling back that toothy smile.

He looked just like me, down to every strand of hair. He exited the coffee shop across the street, sat down in my BMW and sped down the road in the direction of my apartment. I quickly hailed a cab and instructed the driver to follow the car. As he whipped it in gear and hurried to catch up I started wondering what I might do once I finally faced this person. If they really held my life prisoner what had I planned to do about it?

When we came to a stop at my apartment building the door man’s eyes grew wider than should even be possible. Then I started to approach him and he quickly fled his post, heading straight for the office. I raced up the stairs, not wanting to be stopped. I knew if the door man or management asked for an explanation I would have no way of coming up with one. The whole thing didn’t even make sense to me, how could I make it make sense to someone else?

I reached my door as this person attempted to open it with my key. I yelled out, drawing his attention and he looked up at me with that sick smile and what little confidence I had built slowly faded. I felt myself begin to shake as I tried to form words.

"W-who...", I stammered.

"I'm you pal, well, me now," his perfectly sculpted teeth shining behind his curled lips.

"B-but...I'm...Y-you're," I tried to reply, my mind unable to comprehend the situation.

"It is time you move on. I have got this from here on out," he said, before opening the door to my apartment.

"W-hat...H-how...," my eyes blinking rapidly trying to wake from my nightmare.

"Get a life, this one is mine," he said before walking into the apartment and shutting the door.

I rushed to follow but heard the audible clink of the lock being turned in place. I scrambled to find my key, but again it was missing. A few moments later the manager, the door man, and a security guard bound the steps behind me to reveal I had been banging upon my own apartment entrance. When I realized I stopped hitting my hands upon the door and slowly let them rest by my side. I had no idea what to say and the group seemed too frightened to question me.

I quickly pushed passed them, bounding down the stairs and back out onto the street. My mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. I reached for my phone, trying to think of someone I could call, anyone who might be able to help. I had a missed call from work. Work that I was now half a day late for due to my night in jail. I cringed at the thought of the message that would be left on my voicemail, but hit the button and slowly brought it to my ear. As it played my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach at the words.

“Listen, I know you’re probably already home relaxing but I wanted to say I really appreciate you staying late last night and coming in early this morning. Enjoy your afternoon off pal,” his words so jovial, so happy, so unlike the man that had written me up just a day ago.

He had taken my job, my apartment, my car, and my favorite damn shoes. There was nothing left but the clothes on my back and what little money he had allowed me to keep in my wallet. The only thing I could think to do was call my parents. They wired me enough money to make it back home in Queens, questioning why I was broke. I made up an excuse about losing my job and the apartment being fumigated. There was no way I could tell them the truth.

When I arrived home I received a warm welcome from my mother, all while my father’s disappointed eyes dug into me from his chair. She offered to make me something to eat, much like always, but I declined. I simply told her I was extremely tired and would just like to rest. She reminded me, as always, where the fresh linens where for the guest room and told me that she would wake me for dinner.

After about thirty minutes the phone rang and my mother answered with her normal greeting, her voice just as sweet as ever. Then her voice cracked a bit before listening to the receiver intently.

“Oh, ok. I thought you were upstairs honey,” she said.

“Who’s on the phone?” my father quizzed.

“It’s your son, he’s coming to visit,” she replied.

“Have you lost your mind, he’s already upstairs,” he barked.

I rushed down the stairs, pulling the phone from my mother’s hand as the both of them looked at me extremely confused.

“Who is this?” I yelled into the phone.

It was quiet for a moment, I searched my parent’s quivering faces as my mother insisted that the voice on the phone was me. Then the voice came and even I couldn’t tell the difference. It really was my voice.

“I’m coming home, I would suggest you not be there when I arrive,” he said.

I slammed the phone down, my parents begging me to explain what was going on. I didn’t know how to, my copy was coming to take the only thing I had left and there couldn’t be two of us. I had no idea what he would do to me or my parents to keep the secret, so I did the only thing I could thing of. I ran. I bolted out the door, my father chasing after me. I didn’t stop until my legs gave out.

I received a call today from my mother, she apologized for the incident and thanked me for finally coming back home to visit. She kept talking about how funny it was when I ran from the house. She said she had forgotten how much of a prankster I could be. She loved having me there all weekend and told me to come back anytime.