We’re never really in control of our lives. I remember the day I met Elaine, purely by chance, and I remember the day she died having the misfortune to be bumped to another flight.
When her plane went down and burnt to ashes, so did my life.
It’s been ten years now and I never recovered, including losing my job as a reporter at The Toronto Telegram.
Ostensibly, it was the result of downsizing, but truth was I took to drink and my work declined.
And now every day is a challenge.
It’s funny how grief isolates—some friends tried to stay and help but it was hard and others I deliberately cut out of my life.
My last few acquaintances were people at work but when I lost my job they drifted away too and maybe that’s what I preferred.
Nobody wants a pity party and I didn’t have much else going on at the time.
So, here I am in a downsizing of my own—I'm so strapped for cash I had to sell my house and move to a rental apartment.
It's rough and I barely get by writing freelance articles.
In a last cruel twist of fate I've ended up in small apartment building almost directly across the street from where Elaine and I lived when we were first married. It's almost intolerable because those were the happiest days of my life.
Yes, I could have passed on the offer, but my reduced income made it too financially attractive to refuse.
So, my martyrdom continues as it seems some cruel Fate has ruled.
The first few weeks in the old familiar surroundings are hard but I numb myself with drink to stave off pangs of nostalgia and gradually, I'm able to fall into a dull routine.
I'm what sociologists call a downward-moving mobile—I’m alone too much and drink too much, but I need something to get me through each day.
But even I have a limit and I reach it finally when I'm so depressed and suicidal that my landlord has to rescue me when I try to jump from the roof one night.
"It's low rise," he jokes cynically afterwards, "you would have only broken both legs and ended up disabled."
His dark humour gets to me though and I realize more or less what I’m doing to myself and resolve to change.
Next morning marks the start of my new life and since it also happens to be a beautiful summer day, I decide to take a walk outside to clear my head.
I walk to the small park and playground across from our old house intending to simply kick back on the lawn and catch some rays.
Children are playing on the swings and others squealing and enjoying themselves in the small splash pad.
I happen to glance back at our old house and that’s when I see something that makes my blood freeze and my heart stop.
A young, blonde woman who exactly resembles my dead wife comes out of the house.
At first, I can’t believe what I'm seeing and actually jump to my feet and walk toward the sidewalk to get a closer view.
The woman appears to be an identical twin to Elaine—and even dresses the same way my wife did.
I can barely breathe but have to watch in morbid fascination.
I know it can’t be real—can’t be Elaine—but I can’t think of another explanation.
Everyone has a doppelgänger, I muse.
And crazy thoughts start churning through my brain. Is it possible Elaine had an identical twin even she didn’t know about?
Like I said, crazy thoughts...
And while I’m transfixed and frozen to the spot, the woman gets into a green car that resembles the one we used own. I watch helplessly as she drives away.
It’s crazy I know and maybe I’m so whacked up with grief and booze that I’m succumbing to some sort of psychotic delusion.
I try to steady myself by leaning on a bench and then I realize I’m trembling so badly I can hardly stand up.
I sit down on the bench before I fall and wait a good fifteen minutes for my heart to stop racing and panic symptoms to subside.
Finally, I calm down enough tp make it home where I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to come to grips with what I saw.
Maybe I’ve crossed some sort of line and lost my grip on reality, or maybe Fate is conspiring to torment me by throwing another wrench into my life.
Whatever the reason, I need to come to terms with what I've just experienced—and I need help—someone with insight to calm my own crazy musings and who can put things into a sane perspective.
I don't need dark humour from a cynical landlord— I need someone to be a listener.
Unfortunately, finding a confidant will be difficult because when Elaine's plane turned to ash I burnt all the other bridges in my life.
