I don’t recall the exact day now - but it was cold. I had been out with the dog and then had to get the tube into central London for a meeting, which I was dreading. Make or break they say and this really was. My last chance. One last opportunity to bag a large job and bring some money into the company this year. The tube was virtually empty - only a handful of people. The transition from the cold into the unnatural warmth of the tube was always something that brought comfort to me. It was something that would normally make me happy - bring a smile to my face - but not today. The worry and anxiety were taking over. Perhaps this is why I was not quite focusing. Not quite aware of the person sitting four or five seats down from me.
When I did clock them, I couldn’t miss them. They were in a walker's waterproof jacket which was a dark green colour and a multicoloured scarf with matching fingerless gloves. They wore a bobble hat which was bright red. The combination of this outfit made this person stick out and the half-moon stainless steel glasses just added to the noticeability. They were reading the Evening Standard - last night's edition which they’d probably picked up off the seat or from the station. They didn’t notice me staring. They were a distraction.
I left the tube to change onto the Victoria line, a couple of stops later, and then at Kings Cross to get on the Northern line. Both times the same person appeared in the carriage I chose to sit in. Both times I had left them on the previous train. The first time I didn’t clock the strangeness of the situation. I wondered - I suppose vaguely as my mind was still on the troublesome meeting that was getting closer and closer - whether they might simply be identical twins. The paper they were reading seemed the same - there were similar pictures - but there were differences - a story about a politician on one was absent on the other. This could, probably, be explained by means of a different print run … but still.
When I saw the same person on the Northern Line I have to say that I freaked a little. This was beyond odd - could the person have taken a different route to get on this train ( i.e. could this be the first ‘twin’ ) It seemed unlikely, and then a quick look at the familiar tube map made me realise it was impossible.
What the hell was going on here? This one - the triplet - also was reading the paper - but the story here was like the first - a story about a court case for a shamed politician selling information for money to a businessman. The only thing was that here, in this headline, he had been found not guilty whereas I was sure in the first ( and I’m sure on the news this morning ) he had been expelled from the party and given a custodial sentence.
What was going on? The one thing this did do, was take my mind off my meeting. And I wonder, in retrospect, whether that didn’t help me out. For two hours, in front of the customer, I was someone I didn’t recognise. Confident, in charge, and knowledgeable: I smashed the meeting. In the end I got the sale and also sold them an option on renewing the contract … It was as if I was a different person.
What I found strange was that no one reacted to my news when I dropped back to base. It was as if they just expected me to get the company signed up. It was as if there was no doubt I could ever do anything other than be successful.
Has something changed? Had something happened to me on that tube journey? Had I crossed some strange border, or barrier, had I slipped into a different version of me - a better ( or at least more successful ) version of myself?
I said I didn’t recall the exact day - which I suppose is a lie - perhaps what I mean to say is that I don’t recognise the exact me. Am I the person then who has changed or am I this one now?
London. 2021. Nikon d750
You are the person then who has changed, methinks.
Was this you having a mental break or a spiritual
revelation? A ghost?
An invisible friend? A projection of you in a better outfit?
Let us know when you see him on the train again.
Loved this story. Thanks.