Mistaken Identity

Some days, I tell you. Something out of the blue catches

you completely off guard. How do you respond to a stranger

coming up to you and telling you that you look like someone

else he has seen many times before?

Must be the beard, I tell him. I don’t live around here. No,

not only that, he says, but same hair color, same weight and

height.

I suppose in a lineup, I say, you would likely finger me as

guilty, the guy who committed the crime?

You could be twins, he continues. Identical, he claims. Seen

the guy dozens of times, spittin’ image. You could double for

him in a movie.

Not me, though, I emphatically insist. I’m not from around

here. And I’m thinking, that other guy may not be jobless

like me...

Doesn’t have two kids and divorced from his first wife.

Probably doesn’t chain smoke, and picks his nose.

Didn’t drop out of high school at seventeen and join the Army.

And since then has worked half a dozen jobs, and can barely sleep

at night.

Bet he doesn’t self-medicate on pain killers and booze. Isn’t

depressed most of the time.

Suppose it doesn’t bother him to have people coming up to him

on the street and telling him he looks just like some other guy.

Now I’m thinking to myself, you have no idea what it looks like

to be me. A copy, an exact duplicate, a twin to me would be a

goddamn pity.

Instead, I give him a half-hearted smile, shake my head no, and

tell the poor fellow, sorry to disappoint, you’re mistaken, not me.

You’ve got the wrong guy.

Goodbye!

                                                               -30-

Chris Hanch 4-28-2020