Young Me Meets Old Me
I just want to make it clear that when I say that I meet myself, it is myself I meet.
“Hey! You!”, I heard a familiar voice shouting.
I recognized the voice. It had a warm tone. Strong, virile, young, and filled with hopeful optimism that the future gonna be great. Admittedly, it was a chubby tone in the hey, but nothing I took much notice of. I turned around and was about to jump out of my skin when I saw myself.
And before the reader grind teeth over the fact that this little pamphlet is about an inner journey or that I once again see someone look like me , I just want to make it clear that when I say that I see myself, it is myself I see. No other. Ok? And on the inner journey thingy, I’m the only traveler. It’s not a public trip and you’re not invited.
What the hell, I thought. How can I be there when I’m also over here? I’m a man who’s thoughts are not far from jaw. Which many times put me in troublesome situations.
“What the hell? How can I be there when I’m here”, I said nicely dressing my confusion in words.
“Nope, kid. I’m here and you’re there. Let me be clear on that fact.”
“Kid?”
“Ok, old fart then! Because that’s what you have become!”
“Hey!”
“Listen to yourself. Can’t you come up with anything better than that?”
There I was. On a street. In the central city and had a weird encounter with myself. He looked at me under his bangs because he still had hair, I myself just looked at him. Had it been in the south parts of the city, I would not have reacted significantly because of the absurdity fights with the impossible on being the most macabre, down south. Well. As the alert player I am, I asked the most important question of them all:
“Where are you from?”
“From before, he said and lit a cigarette.”
The cigarette surprised me and, I recall I used to smoke back in the days. I had totally forgotten that. I stuffed in a double serving of snuff, under my lip. Not every day you meet yourself smoking. I needed to calm my nerves and I found comfort in the fact that we still had the nicotine in common.
“Before?”
“Yes, back then if you prefer. Twenty-five years ago!”
“Twenty-five !!?”
“Okey twenty then.”
“Do not try to lie to me, boy. I know where you’re coming from.”
“Then why do you ask me where I come from?”
“Uh…”
“Lost a bit of logical ability over the years, huh? But it seems you have balanced that with comfort eating. What a magnificent waist you’ve developed”, he said glaring at my somewhat voluminous stomach.
“What the hell do you want,” I said angrily.
As if it’s not enough that the wife has opinions on the girth of my stomach. Here I stood and got dissed by myself, but a twenty years ago version of me. Somewhere in the machinery, someone had messed up. I swear that Einstein in heaven exclaimed in a “Mein Gott, it is logically impossible and still stands Steffo d.o and talks to Steffo d.y!? Gesundheit! Someone who shouldn’t play dice is doing it right now. Was is it los?”.
“Well, let me tell you then. I got a glimpse of the future. Someone had forgotten to close a gap in the space of time and I slipped in. You know me. I’ll take the chance when it comes. I thought it would be great to sneak up and see if I became that rock star I was destined to become. Given all the millions of minutes I sweated in a cold, moist rehearsal room, I wanted to make sure it was worth the effort. I have now been following you for a few days to check out what happened to me… or wait now… what happens to you… er… me. It’s weird how the grammar and language gets corrupted when you’re in the future. Everything I’m going through has not happened yet but I’ve already been here for a few days, and these past days are in my future. The middle of yesterday will be my future. Just such a thing would make anyone cry. But not me of course.”
“A few days! Wait, have you been following me?”
“Yes, and?”
“Spy? Like the worst Bond?”
“Bond? Wait, what, have you seen any movies with that fucking double zero? You know I hate Bond. Wtf! This is only getting worse?”
“But what about my integrity then? How the hell can you spy on me and my life like that?”
“Your life? It’s my life, too? And just so you know, I’ll hardly call the newspapers and tell them what looser I’ve become… uh… will be. Is your understanding of yourself also gone? By the way, what happened to the dancer? Please don’t tell me she turned out to be that wife of yours?”
“Leave my wife out of this?”
“Gladly. So what happened to the dancer?“
“Who?”
“She who dances. Which I just hooked up. My girlfriend!”
“Ah… you mean Erica? She became a lesbian.”
“Lesbian !!?”
“Yep! Plays on the other side of the field… haha. Good thing you brought it up. When she dumps you, don’t say, shit like that happens.”
“Would never cross my mind!”
“It will. It certainly will. Remember, I was there. Better if you suggest that you two go out and flirt some ladies instead.”
“What and give you memories of a threesome?”
“Hello! You will benefit from it too.“
“Yes of course…”
“Yeah, and another thing. Don’t drink that spiked liquor at your thirtieth-anniversary party.”
“Are you suggesting that I should say no to alcohol?”
“No, not to the alcohol, but to the consequences. And don’t participate in a witness stand, at the precinct, as a pretend criminal when your cop friend Stan calls and asks you to jump in since they are short on people. I’ve never been so damn close to been thrown in jail. Crosseyed retarded witness who couldn’t point straight. Had it not been for Stan’s testimony, I would have eaten bread and water for many days.”
“Wait, I have to write this down.”
“And when Lenita “just for fun” wants you to dress up as girls and go to “a really fun club” and “pretend we’re two hot chicks picking dudes up together” then for fuck’s sake, do not pick on a big hairy dude. He did not think it was fun to feel a pair of distinctive balls under my panties. I’ve never been so close to a can of beating.”
“Who the hell is Lenita?”
“Oh… a freaky girl you will get to know.”
“Do I have to?”
“I think so. You know time is linear and what has happened has happened. You probably can’t change anything.”
“Do you really think it is like that?”
“Kind of makes sense, because otherwise, you would not be able to be here and talk to yourself… me uh…”
“Are you getting what I mean by tenses fucking up huh?”
“But why should my tense be distorted?”
“Beats me… do you have more tips.”
“That, my friend I have, when you are in Copenhagen and a guy comes up to you to talk a little this and that, do not neglect him, on the contrary, go the extra mile and become his best buddy, he is Anita Baker’s bandleader and your ticket to talk a little with her. I’m convinced if only you can get some minutes with her your … uh… the two of us att damn fucking tenses…”
The problem is just that I’ll never find out if Steffo d.y followed some of my advice. The fact that I am writing this shows that twenty years ago I thought “fucking old man, he does not know what he is talking about” and did not…
