Silly Stories
Self-Talk
R. L. Copple
I talk to myself. Does that mean I'm freaking crazy? No. It just means there's two of me.
I claim I'm from an alternate reality, a parallel universe. Like, I crossed through some portal. Maybe the bathroom. And now I'm stuck with me.
At least, that's my story. I don't know whether to trust me. I never have before. Why start now?
"When is George coming over? I'm bored."
"You keep your hot little hands off him. He's my boyfriend, girl."
"Just as much mine as he is yours."
I narrow my eyes. "Who came into whose world? Go find your own freaking boyfriend."
"Like, I'm you. How can I get a different one? We'll have to take turns."
"Share?" The nerve of me.
"Tell him the truth. If he can't accept me as I am, let him walk."
"Duh! He's not Mormon, you know."
"Like, I didn't know that? He marries one, he gets two. What guy wouldn't think that rocks?"
Barf that. I'm not biting.
"I heard that." I frowned at me.
"Time for one of us to bite the dust."
"Girl, don't make me hurt me."
#
The doorbell rang.
"George. Come in. I've been, like, so ready to squeeze you."
He smiled, but glanced to the side. "Uh, I have my twin brother with me."
"A twin?" I craned my neck as he slid into view.
"Yeah." His laugh stumbled over itself. "You could say, we're like the same person."
He sniffed. "Girl, what's for dinner? Smells rad."
"Used what I had on hand. It's a killer dish. I, like, totally threw myself into it." I stared at the duplicate. "You brought the side dish?"
#
I still talk to myself on occasion. I'm not crazy, really. Not even a creative genius.
But, I can freaking cook, baby!
Visit R.L. Copple at
http://www.rlcopple.com
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