It all started with a Facebook search.  I had typed my own name into the search bar, for fun I guess; to see how many, if any, other Jordana Sartofsky's there were.  There was only one: me.

"No, wait," I thought.  "That's not my profile picture."

I clicked on it.  The picture was me, sure enough, but it wasn't my profile.  Someone was impersonating me on the internet!

I pushed back my desk chair and stared at the screen.  Part of me was flattered, but I was also confused, and a little bit pissed.  Why would someone choose me, out of all people, to impersonate?  I was by no means gorgeous.  Not ugly, and one or two generous boyfriends had even called me "pretty", but overall, I think the general consensus was "cute".  Pretty average, actually.  Natural brown hair, bangs, glasses.  Pale-ish skin with a few freckles.  My sky blue eyes were perhaps my most attractive feature.  I clicked on the profile picture of my imposter and stared at their- my- blue eyes.  Who was this person, and why were they pretending to be me?  I was determined to find out...

***

Being somewhat of a nerd, I had quite a few nerdy friends.  I mean, really nerdy.  My good friend Shelly was what is known to most people as a "hacker".  She was basically a vampire, living in her parents basement making money through some barely legal company, and playing video games on her off hours.  I knew she was the perfect person to help me solve my doppelganger problem.

I called her up one night and told her the situation.  I asked if she could figure out who this person was.  She got back to me in about 20 minutes, telling me she didn't know the name of the person, or even whether she was male or female, but she could tell me where she was operating from.  Apparently, this wanna-be-me was going to the Coffee Bean every single day and using Facebook to pretend to be me.  I had no idea what good this was doing her (or him), or why they could afford to waste so much time doing something so trivial, but I thanked Shelly and decided to make a trip to the Coffee Bean the next day.

***

I arrived at the cafe in my most inconspicuous attire.  I wanted to be able to observe them a bit before I made the confrontation, with a little speech that I had more or less prepared the night before.  I was wearing huge black wraparound sunglasses, a black peacoat, a dark purple beanie, and my lucky necklace, a gift from my grandmother before she passed away.  It was my most prized possession, an amethyst stone for my birth month, on a delicate gold chain.  I wore it on any occasion where I felt nervous and needed a little guidance.

I got my cappuccino and sat down in an overstuffed brown chair in the corner.  I had no idea who I was looking for.  At least four people were on their laptops: a couple girls around my age, a teenage boy, and an older businessman wearing glasses.  Which one of them was it?  I texted Shelly, telling her I was there.  She had promised me to let me know the exact proximity of where the culprit was sitting.  Sure enough, about 30 seconds later I received a text:

"Doppelganger is situated just right of the espresso machine.  Sitting at a table facing the center of the room."

My eyes shot over to the culprit, and my heart skipped a beat.  It was a girl, about the same age as me, and sure enough, she looked exactly like me.  What was happening?  Was I losing my mind?  Did I have a twin that I didn't know about or something?  Mentally, I was preparing for a dramatic scene with my mom, asking her why she never told me.  Physically, I felt paralyzed, unable to face this situation.  I took a deep breath, a sip of my coffee, and walked over to the girl.

I was standing straight in front of her, just staring.  My speech had completely flown away from me.  She glanced up at me from behind her identical brown bangs, and I felt a small tinge of relief.  Her eyes were brown, not blue.  And her hair was actually much darker than mine, along with her skin.  She didn't have any freckles, and as she began to smile, I knew I must have been hallucinating.  The right side of her lips curled up into a half-crooked grin, eventually showing a bit of her perfectly white and straight teeth.  My teeth were certainly not perfect.  This girl couldn't be my twin.  She did look like me, but she was beautiful; striking, really.

"Can I help you?" she asked, with her grin.

I simply sat down.

"Hi," was all I could muster.

She stared at me.

"I'm Jordana Sartofsky," I said, gaining some of my original purpose back.  "Does that name ring a bell to you?"

"Jordana," she said simply, finally.  "I've been waiting for you."

My mouth dropped open. "Um, what?"

"That's right," she said.  "I've been impersonating you on Facebook.  You want to know why."

I continued to stare, dumbfounded.

"I know all about you.  I knew you had a hacker friend who you would ask to find me, so you could see for yourself what this was all about.  Shelly isn't the only one with... resources."

"But why?" I asked.

"I'll tell you," she said.  "But you'll have to come with me.  We have to be able to talk in private."

I was so flabbergasted, and truthfully quite captivated by this girl who sort of resembled me; who obviously knew about me and had some sort of a purpose in impersonating me.  I can't lie, my curiosity got the best of me.  I knew that I was helpless;  I had to go with her.  I had to find out what this was all about.

***

I insisted on driving.  If I was going to go somewhere private with a strange woman, I was going to be damn sure to have my own mode of transportation.  She instructed me where to go.  After about 45 minutes of driving, we were deep in the woods, heading towards the lake.  I knew exactly where this was.  I used to come out to the lake with my dad when I was a kid.  It was a favorite spot of mine.  It's probably why I didn't feel scared at all.  My curiosity was driving for me, and I felt safe enough knowing my surroundings. 

We got to the lake, and parked next to a sort of a boathouse.

"Come on," she said.

We got out of the car and entered the boathouse, to which she had a key.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

"Come inside," she said, "and I'll answer all of your questions."

We went inside and she motioned for me to sit down on a chair she pulled out for me.  It was a rusted old chair, covered with dust, like everything else in here.  I had no idea what the point of this was, and began to get a little worried.  This was just too weird.  What could she possibly have to tell me, and why did she bring me here to do it?

"So..?" I asked.

She smiled that crooked smile, which sent a shiver up my spine.

"Jordana Sartofsky," she said. "Yes, I know all about you.  I know you used to come here with your father when you were a little girl.  I know how much you adored him, and how disappointed you were when he left your mother for that bimbo, that skank, who had babysat you.  You felt betrayed."

"What the hell!" I shouted, and stood up.

"Don't." she demanded, and pushed me back down onto the chair.  "Just listen.  I know you're curious what else I know.  I know that you felt betrayed by your father, and that as a result, you've never trusted men.  You've dated a couple really nice boys,"- this she said with a mocking sweetness to her voice.  "but you've lost them due to lack of trust.  You always accused them of cheating on you when they weren't, and eventually they got tired of you and left.  You weren't beautiful enough to allow them to put up with your shit.  You'd always think of your poor, homely mother, and how she lost the battle for your father's attention to a woman who was something neither of you have ever been: sexy.  You are obsessed by beauty, by sex.  You are completely insecure and hide behind those bangs of yours, and those books you read.  You hide behind your intelligence; it serves as your armor.  When in reality, all you really want is to be like that skank your father ran away with- to be just like Genevieve Saville, the woman you've spent a majority of your life hating."

"I... what... how dare you speak to me like you know me?"

She laughed viciously, throwing her head back and showing her brilliantly white teeth, like the fangs of a beautiful wolf.

"Know you!" she laughed.  "Oh, I know you."

"But..." I stammered, "Why?  Why are you doing this?  What does it matter to you?  Why have you been impersonating me?"

She suddenly got serious again. 

"To have this conversation.  I knew the only way I could get you to listen, is if I appealed to your vanity, by pretending to be you, and by inciting your curiosity.  You brought me here, didn't you?  You had to know, didn't you?  Well, now we're here, and there's no going back.  I won't let you leave here in your little comfortable, superior box.  I'll fight to the death if I have to."

The look in her eyes told me that she was serious.  I still didn't understand why, but I suddenly knew that I had to get out of there.

"I won't stay here," I said.  "I'm leaving."

"Alright," she said, resignedly, "if you insist on making it this way."

I turned around, again out of curiosity.  Quicker than lighting, she swung her fist around and before I knew it, I was blacked out.

***

Slowly opening my eyes, I was blinded by the sun.  I put a hand over my face to shield it, and felt blood.  I was incredibly dizzy, rocking back and forth, back and forth.

"What.." I managed to say, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice.  "Where are we?"

I slowly tried to sit up, but kept rocking.  Eventually I was vertical again, and it hit me- we were on a boat.  I looked around.  This seemed to be an identical boat to the one I used to go on with my dad.

And there she was.  Sitting at the front of the boat, looking at me, rowing, but with something propped up in her lap.  A black, shiny object.  It was a gun.

"I see you notice we have a little companion with us," she said with that sinister grin.  "It's loaded.  As you may have realized by now, I have extremely quick reflexes.  You're still fuzzy from your injury.  It would probably be best if you didn't attempt making any sudden movements."

"What do you want from me?"  I asked, incredulous.

"I want you to admit who you really are.  I want you to stop hiding behind this fake sweetness, this amiability.  You pretend to like people, and then you talk behind their back.  You pretend to be easy going, but you're a mess of nerves and fears and insecurities.  You want everyone to think you're happy and kind, but you're not.  You're a selfish, cruel little girl."

"But!" she said, and raised her eyebrows in a way that insinuated there was a way out to all of this, "But, you could be a woman.  You could own this darkness, wield it into strength.  Stop trying to be something you're not and.. embrace the evil within you.  Because, honey, the Devil always wins."

"I think you're wrong," I said, with my head held as high as I could in my situation, feeling dizzy and nauseous.  "I think good triumphs over evil.  I think I am a good person, but I don't need to prove it to you.  So, you want me to be like you?  To be the kind of person that takes people to the middle of nowhere, knocks them over the head, tortures them with horrible memories from their past, and threatens them with a gun?  Never.  I will never be like you."

She smiled again.

"We'll see about that," she said.

Suddenly, she stopped rowing and stood up, holding the gun in one hand.

"One of us isn't leaving here alive," she said, and rushed at me.

I got up.  I was in pain, but charged with adrenaline.  We started fighting.  I knocked the gun out of her hand, and in the excitement of doing so, I got what felt like superhuman strength and fought with all my might.  Something inside of me leapt to the surface, and suddenly I was fighting with a force I never knew I had.  I felt so alive, so powerful, so unbeatable.  I knew it was I who would win.  Good would triumph over evil.  I could feel her power faltering, and I pushed her over the boat.

Splash!

My heart stopped beating for a second.  Was this it?  Did I win?

She rose to the surface and laughed loudly.

"Did you think that was it?!  I am an excellent swimmer, Jordana.  Didn't you know?  Just like Genevieve Saville.  Don't you remember that day you found her splashing around in the lake with your father, wrapping her tanned and glistening legs around him, whispering in his ear?  Don't you remember thinking how happy your father looked, a way you had never before seen him with your mother?  It was at that moment you knew you lost him, wasn't it?  It was at that moment you knew you were nothing."

BAM!

And then silence.

The gun had gone off.

I looked down.  It was in my hand.  The water was starting to turn dark with blood, as the carcass of my tormentor floated down slowly.  I could still see her dark brown eyes.  I could still see the traces of that sinister smile.

***

Calmly, miraculously, I rowed back to the boathouse.  I went inside and sat there for a long time.  She was dead.  And I had killed her.  What was I going to do?

I went into the trunk of my car to grab a change of clothes.  I dried myself off a little bit and changed, out in the open.  I didn't even care.  What did it matter?  I got in the passenger seat and took a deep breath.  This woman was floating to the bottom of the lake, and I had murdered her.  Somehow, I didn't really care.  Maybe I'd get arrested and spend my life in prison.  Whatever.  Nothing seemed to matter.  I smiled to myself.  I was glad she was dead.

I flipped open the overhead mirror and stared at myself.

Dark brown eyes stared back at me.

I kept staring.

This is who I am now.  Jordana Sartofsky.  There had never been any imposter. 

I grabbed the deep red lipstick that I normally saved for special occasions out of my purse, and as I applied it I smiled a knowing, crooked, sinister smile.  My wolf's teeth were the most incredibly pure white.

Saturday night.  Crowded bar.  Music.  Whiskey.  Laughter.  Cherries.  Spiked Shirley Temple in the bathroom.  More laughter.  Ice cubes.  Whiskey.  Eyes.  Locked.  Confident strides.  Converging of energies.  Conversation.  Hesitation.  Questions.  Glances.  Another drink, please.  Music.  Heat.  Stories.  Flirtation.  Sex.  Sex.  Sex.  Whiskey.  A touch on the back.  More conversation.  Facades.  Walls.  Fears.  Hopes.  What do you do?  Small talk.  Big talk.  Medium talk.  Lips.  Eyes.  Teeth.  Wolf.  Lamb.  Seduction.  Eruption.  Fire.  Heat.  Volcano.  Mussing hair in the bathroom.  Lipstick.  Sex.  Fear.  Music.  New bar.  New friends.  Dancing.  Heat.  Sweat.  Lips.  Tongues.  Whiskey.  Hands.  Grabbing.  Lusting.  Lust.  Craving.  Intoxicated.  Uninhibited.  Let's go.  Sidewalk.  Hands.  Grabbing.  Fun.  Laughter.  Fear.  Cars.  Taxi.  Lips.  Touching.  Fear.  Fearlessness.  Excitement.  Nervousness.  Hidden flask.  More at home.  Apartment.  Music.  Conversation (brief).  Touching.  Kissing.  Unbuttoning.  Lips.  Eyes.  Skin.  Heat.  Untouched drinks.  Fumbling.  Laughter.  Underwear.  Hesitation.  Not again.  Fear.  Forget it.  Sex.  Pleasure.  Ecstasy.  Fun.  Sex.  Love.  Not love.  Just sex.  Silence.  Cigarette.  Soft words.  Promises.  Hopes.  Fear.  Asleep.  Awake.  The moon.  The stars.  The silence.  Finally, sleep.  Dreamless sleep.  Morning.  Sobriety.  Coffee?  Empty cups.  Embarrassment.  Shame.  Emptiness.  Words.  Breath.  Clothes.  Call me?  Taxi.  Promises.  Emptiness.  Goodbyes.  Silent cab ride.  Morning air.  Headache.  Emptiness.  Worry.  Texts.  Dry mouth.  Dry heart.  Home.  Sleep again.  Wake up alone.  Wake up alone.  Alone.  Alone.

a small heart beating

in the chest of a newborn

begins to break

and mourn for it's freedom

as it enters the Earth;

man's great kingdom,

where inequality reigns.

Holly Feldman was running late for her pilates class.  The stop light on Sunset and Fountain always took forever to turn green.  She flipped down her mirror and re-applied the new Laura Mercier gloss she had purchased from Bloomingdales the day before.  It was a perfectly subtle shade of poppy.  Adding new beauty products to her collection was one of her favorite pasttimes.  With a satisfied glance, she flipped the mirror back up and tapped her well-manicured fingers on the steering wheel to the Maroon Five song playing softly from the satellite radio.  She really needed this pilates class.  Her nerves were on edge ever since that second date with the lawyer.  "He likes me, of course," she thought, but some unspoken doubt in the back of her mind told her she could be just the flavor of the week.  The dating game was getting a bit old after three years of failed flings.  She was content being alone, she told herself, but men were nice to have around, nonetheless.  Especially when they had money.  She smiled to herself as the light turned green at the thought of yet another prospective source of second-hand income.  Just as she was halfway across the intersection, her lipstick fell from the seat and startled her....

Manuel Suarez was on his last three dollars, about to cross the crowded intersection in the direction of his favorite liquor mart.  A 40-oz would do him a world of good, what with this heat and his faulty leg giving out on him again.  This neighborhood had changed so much in the last few years.  All his old corner buddies had moved closer to downtown.  He had been invited to follow suit, but something held him back.  Maybe it was the old night club, Los Globos, the epicenter of his glorified youth.  He liked being around that frantic energy, even if the crowd had changed.  Some of the original bouncers were still there, along with a few old homies who, like him, had fallen into hard times.  They'd gather around the shaded parking lot in the early morning hours, drink their 40's, and reminisce over old times.  Manny sighed as the walk sign flashed; nostalgia was a cunning friend he had lived with for many years now.

Screeeeech!  BAM!  It happened before anyone had time to notice.  The old, limping Mexican man had appeared out of nowhere and caused a Mercedes to collide with a Range Rover in the middle of the crosswalk. 

The crowd began to assemble as a distant siren blared.  Whether it was coming to this scene or another was unclear.  The wreckage was a destructive mass of crushed metal and bloody splayed limbs.  Holly Feldman lay shallowly breathing her last breaths, her manicured hands stretched out only inches from the dirty, crusted fingers of Manuel Suarez.  They were almost touching.

A young art student passing by on the way to her favorite coffee shop stopped as she spotted this unlikely proximity of two broken bodies, intersected by fate and impending death, and thought to herself, "everybody bleeds the same."

Our fear of death consumes

every living microbe in our being.

We suffocate ourselves to seek a meaning.

But the truth is random, harsh, and empty.

Our skin is dust, nothing less

than flesh to push against flesh,

hoping energy serves to be tangible,

while hope is a slippery fish.

Our limbs twist.

We wish that failure wasn't death,

and life a dirty trick.

We slept for days and days and days,

soaking wisdom through our dreams,

sowing magic through secret seams.

Each stitch an earthly knowledge

of the past and present future.

i should have hugged you

so hard

that the clouds

dimming your eyes

smashed together

in those blue skies

raining down

to cure the land

letting the flowers

bloom again.