This room is completely unfamiliar to me, and I have no idea how I ended up here. I’m lying on the floor of this room, partially sit up, and glance around at my surroundings.
I have to admit, it’s a nice place, almost like a bachelor’s apartment. The furniture is minimalist and made of Formica, with some retro touches like a record player and a confidente. In a corner to my left, there’s even a minibar. It’s definitely a charming space, and maybe, under different circumstances, I would have loved to spend some time here, but I need to leave now. I don’t know how I got here, and I don’t know what might happen if I stay longer.
This is definitely 1950s décor, just the way I like it.
I get up and walk toward the door.
How strange!
The lock is installed backward, so I, being inside, am the one who needs a key. I struggle with the handle for a while, but it’s too strong.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps outside. I grab the first thing I can find as a weapon: an umbrella hanging on a coat rack next to the door. This is ridiculous!
Holding the umbrella up like a bat, I wait with some anxiety.
I don’t think I could knock anyone out with this; but if I push it in their direction with all my strength, I could seriously injure whoever walks through that door.
I watch in concern as the handle slowly begins to turn. I point the tip of the umbrella toward the door from the side I’m on. The door opens, and I thrust the umbrella with all my might.
But the person who enters manages to dodge the impact, as if they knew in advance I would be there waiting like this.
“That’s not the best way to greet an old friend,” says a very peculiar voice.
And that peculiar voice is none other than... my own voice!
As I look at this person closely, I am shocked beyond belief: it’s my exact likeness.
My first reaction is to try and stab him again, but no matter how many times I try, he dodges all my movements with an incredible skill, almost like James Bond or something.
He takes advantage of my astonishment to grab the umbrella from me.
“What the hell…”
With the utmost calm, this person locks the door and crosses the room to the bar, not even acknowledging my bewilderment. He seems very familiar with this place.
“Come sit down,” he suggests from the minibar.
As strange as it seems, I do as he says.
“You probably have more than one question about this weird situation,” he ventures, as he prepares two drinks of whisky with soda.
“You’ve read my mind!” I exclaim sarcastically from the chrome chair in front of the minibar. “Start by explaining who the hell you are.”
“Don’t you really have any idea?” he asks as he hands me one of the drinks. “Doesn’t it seem strange to you that the decor in this room matches your taste, that I look exactly like you, or that I can anticipate all your movements?”
He shakes the glass, making the ice cubes clink. It’s the only sound in the room besides our voices… well, my duplicated voice.
At this precise moment, impatience clouds my judgment. I abruptly get up, grab him by the collar of his shirt, and shake him a couple of times.
“Yeah, this is really weird to me! Explain it to me, no beating around the bush!” I shout.
“You’re deep inside your mind, Bruce; and I’m your conscience,” he explains calmly, unaffected by my anger, still in my grip. “If you let me go right now, we can discuss this in a better way.”
I release him so violently that he almost crashes into the bottles at the back.
“Yes, I know your name,” he explains as he regains composure. “And I know all the other details of your life, you can check it for yourself if you like.”
“What did I name my teddy bear when I was a child?” I suddenly ask, convinced I’m just dealing with a well-orchestrated complex joke.
“You called him Paddy, and you lost him when you moved with your family to the city.”
“Yeah, that’s true; but that’s a pretty common name for a teddy bear, and several families move at least once, so kids probably lose toys in the process.”
He shrugs.
“Alright, ask as many questions as you want, we’ve got all the time in the world…”
“What was the full name of the girl I liked in fifth grade? What desk did she sit at, and what did she say when I confessed to her?”
“She was Josephine Milford, third desk in the second row, and she laughed, saying you still wet the bed. Any more questions?”
I’m stunned.
“No, that’s enough,” I agree. “What do I owe the honor of this meeting?”
I take a sip of my drink, preparing myself for a very long conversation.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he says, somewhat relieved. “You’re here to recognize your preferences, the same ones you’ve been avoiding all these years.”
I’m confused again.
“My preferences...?” I repeat slowly, almost spelling it out. “What preferences? Food? Cars?”
He laughs in my face.
“Stop playing dumb!” he protests. “You know exactly which preferences I’m talking about... or rather: Which of our preferences.”
I shiver suddenly. He can’t be referring to...
“No, no!” I scream as I head toward the door. “Whether you’re my conscience or whatever nonsense you claim to be, you have no right to say that... I have a wife and kids...”
“The same ones who don’t deserve you hiding this from them,” he says calmly, still at the minibar. “Come on, Bruce! The sooner you admit it, the less traumatic it will be for you and them. I couldn’t care less if you keep lying to them, as long as you stop lying to yourself.”
“I’m not lying to myself!” I explode.
I struggle with the lock again, and this time, strangely enough, I manage to open it.
“Right now, I’ve opened the door, and I’m out,” I announce triumphantly from the threshold.
“Good luck then,” he says calmly.
“Aren’t you worried that this time, I might be the one to lock you in here?” I ask, both curious and euphoric.
“I have the key to all these doors; I can come in or out of any room whenever I want.”
When I step outside, I see a long hallway that seems endless, surrounded by thousands of doors. Still, I’m convinced I’ll find my way out.
Somewhere behind one of these doors must be the exit.
Just like the room I was in, these doors also have the lock installed backward.
I turn the handle of the nearest door, and I come face to face with the impossible… I’m back at the lockers in the baseball practice field, seeing myself at 12 years old with Ernie Hickings. We’re both in towels, and he grabs my arm, leading me to the showers. I almost forgot about this.
My teenage version looks at me with a mischievous grin and puts his finger to his lips.
I run away in a panic, opening another door, hoping against all hope that it’s the exit. But instead, I find myself again, this time at 18, in bed with my high school best friend, Paul Terry. We’re taking advantage of my parents being away on a trip. They both turn to look at me, laughing loudly. How many times did I try to block that scene from my mind?
I rush out of there too, and find another door marked "Exit." “Finally,” I think, but when I open it, I find myself again, now at 35, only a month married, in the marital bedroom with an escort, while my wife is visiting her sister.
After leaving that room, I can’t take it anymore and collapse on the floor, crying.
“Alright, alright... I admit it! I’ve been lying to myself all along, but now I admit it... Please stop this!”
And at that exact moment, everything around me turns white, and in the next second, I see through my half-closed eyelids another very familiar room: my therapist’s office.
As I recover from the shock, I walk to the door and open it. On the other side, I see the secretary taking notes, and the same patients from before sitting in the waiting area.
“Any problems, Mr. Foster?” the secretary asks kindly.
“No, no, don’t worry,” I reassure her.
I enter the office again and head toward the large window at the back. I see the same crowded street and my car parked outside.
Only then do I sit back down on the couch, sighing in relief.
I’ve been coming to therapy for two months—this was my wife’s condition for not leaving me and taking the kids—and this is the first time I’ve consented to a hypnosis session.
“Well, Mr. Foster, I’ve heard some very interesting statements from you…” the therapist says. “If you had been honest about it from the start, we could’ve saved all this wasted time... We’re in the 21st century, man! Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
“Yes, I know,” I reply distractedly.
It’s such a relief to be out of my own mind again.
