3
Forget everything I’ve told you about my boyfriend and about how much I hate his fucking job. Forget that he called earlier to apologize because he has to work into tomorrow but I threw a hissy fit even when I know it isn’t his fault. Forget that I cursed and cried because my boyfriend is going to miss the very special evening we planned for our anniversary. Forget that I have indulged one too many glasses of wine to help uplift the mood of my ruined expectations. Forget all of that because the doorbell of our apartment just rang out and I’m positive that Don is home! Was it all a prank so he could surprise me with an experience better than that which we intended? Has his office let him come home earlier than expected? It doesn’t matter because Don is home! I rush to open the door and yes! there he is, a bunch of flowers in hand. I flush red as I collect them and interest him in an embrace. ‘I’m so sorry for earlier’, I whisper into him. He gives me a tired squeeze and leaves a gentle kiss on my cheek, registering his forgiveness. I motion him in, set the other bags he’s holding on the kitchen counter and we both settle on a couch in the living room. After small talk about how our days went, why his office let him go early, and how we’re just so grateful that he’s home, we are about to eat when I hear my phone ring from the kitchen.
On the other side of town, Mr. Stern keeps his word by returning home in good time. Before he left for his doctor’s appointment, his wife made it very clear how important this dinner is and how it would present yet another opportunity for them to reconnect. She remains hopeful that something good would come of such arrangements. She doesn’t understand the reason for the animosity between the two of them, and even worse, neither of them want to speak about it to her. They’ve claimed — separately — that it is in her best interest that she doesn’t get involved. Still, she persists in her hope for reconciliation.
Mr. Stern, on the other hand, is antsy and even though the night hasn’t begun, he cannot wait for it to be over. He understands — and has long accepted — that his relationship with their son is beyond redemption. In the passion of anger many years ago, he revealed to him a horrible thing; a truth that neither of them has spoken again. This is the truth that has caused his son to become estranged from him. He’d rather die before his wife discovers the lie and so, he does not appreciate any meetings of the three of them lest the situation explode into what he cannot manage. Nevertheless, he is participating in tonight only for his wife. He is sure the boy is doing it only for his mother too.
Today keeps getting worse. It was my boyfriend calling to: one, apologize again and two, promise that he will make it up to me as soon as he’s back home. I was silent throughout the call as the realisation of my mistake rendered me speechless. Giving up, he hung up after several seconds of quiet had passed. Presently, I feel fear grip every bone in my body as I realise what a terrible mistake I have made. The man I have allowed into my home is not my Don.
At this time, dinner is ready, and Mrs. Stern sets the table. Her husband, accompanied by a glass of wine, hopes against hope that their son will not show up — he has an especially bad feeling about tonight. Mrs. Stern soon finishes with the table and retires to freshen up before he arrives. A short while later, just as she comes back out into the dining room, the headlights of a car shining through the windows of the house announce their son’s arrival. Excited, she rushes to the door to receive him. Mr. Stern groans with disappointment and finishes the remainder of his glass in one gulp. He too stands and heads to the door. Their son walks up to the front door, gives his mother a warm embrace, his father a firm handshake, and enters the house.
I have to think quickly; time is of the essence. I shake my head vigorously as if shaking the head has ever cured tipsiness. I am terribly upset with myself for making such an awful mistake as I only now begin to realise the dissimilarites between the man in my living room and my boyfriend. I compose myself, pick up my phone and text Don a simple message: Come home now. Emergency. I wait a few seconds for his reply. On my way. I drop my phone, grab a knife and walk out of the kitchen towards the living room.
Don knows his girlfriend is many things. Liar is not one of them. When he receives her message only a few moments after hanging up the phone, he realizes that, perhaps, she wouldn’t speak not because she is still upset but because she is riled. He replies the message and, amidst consternation, explains the situation to his superior and promises to be back at the office as soon as the situation is resolved.
As I enter the living room, I do my best to expel fear and I decide that there is no time for or benefit in beating around the bush. I am going to confront this issue head on. I meet the impostor in the same position on the couch as when I left. He doesn’t look phased or at all uncomfortable; he has made my home his own. He even motions to me to come sit with him so we can eat. ‘Who are you? And what are you doing in my home?’ He smirks and responds plainly, ‘I’m Don, who else would I be? Now, please, come sit. The food isn’t getting warmer’.
I am quickly losing my patience for this smug simulacrum of my boyfriend. I feel the weight of the whole day crashing down my shoulders but I force the tears back into my eyes. I will not give this man the pleasure of my weakness. I brandish the knife, take a step closer to the couch, and anticipate a reaction from the man. To my dismay, even then, he is unmoved and continues to motion me to sit down. ‘Please sit. Let’s talk about it.’ His calmness makes me doubt myself for a moment. Is this Don? Am I just drunk? I mean, until now, he has made no move to hurt or disarm me, right?
My train of thought is wrecked as the man stands quick as a wink and rushes towards me. In an attempt at self-defense, I lunge the knife forward but it cuts only air. He pushes the knife out of my hand and in that one move, slaps me across the face. He drags me by my hair to the couch and forces me to sit. Trembling, I oblige. The man, calm again, sits beside me and offers me my food. He says nothing else and just sits there, eating.
I can’t hold back the tears any longer and I allow them to fall as I force the food down my throat. The man still sits quiet as if none of what just happened actually happened. Just when My phone rings out again from the kitchen, startling me. The man instructs me to stay put and he stands to fetch it himself. I eye the knife hoping that he forgets that it is on the floor but he retrieves it as he walks past. The man lets it ring and so when I don’t respond, Don sends a message: I am almost there. Sit tight.
The man shows me the message and if I’d known that the phone’s screen is the last light I’d ever see, I’d have stared at it for longer. He drops the phone, grabs my mouth shut with one hand, pushes me against the backrest of the couch and stabs me severally with the knife in his other hand. When he is sure that I am irredeemably hurt, he leaves me and walks out of the house into the night.
Don soon arrives to find me on the couch laying moribund in a pool of my blood and tears. As I feel my life wane, I stare up at him. I cry, he wails. He apologizes over and over but it doesn’t matter now. I am going to die. All I want to do is warn him about the man that looks exactly like him. I want to tell him that the man knows a lot about our lives and is willing to go great lengths to hurt us but my strength fails and my life fades and I cannot get the words out.
Overcome with grief and out of options, Don calls his mother. He is already sitting on the floor but as soon as he hears her voice, he feels like he is sinking deeper into the earth. She sounds frantic; breathing heavily, speaking shakily. He pleads coherence from her but she fails to make any sense. Little does he know that at that exact moment, and on the other side of town, Mrs. Stern is halfway through dinner with her husband and Don.
