The Man Who Folded Himself by David Gerrold

various track officials saying how pleased they were to have such a big winner (I’ll bet!), because it helped publicize the sport (and probably attracted a lot of hopeful losers too.) Finally there was even a quote from me about what I was planning to do with the money: “I don’t
know yet, I’m still too excited. Probably I’ll take a vacation. I’ve always wanted to see the world. I’d like to invest some of it too, but I have to wait and see what’s left after taxes.” Faked, of course. I hadn’t spoken to any reporters at all; but apparently some editor had felt the story wouldn’t be complete without a few words from the happy winner.
    I was both pleased and annoyed. Pleased at being a “celebrity.” Annoyed that they were putting words into my mouth. Maybe today we’d do it differently.
    Could we?
    Suppose we didn’t stop at $57,600—suppose we went after an eight-horse parlay. That would be worth almost $750,000! Hmm. I thought about it all during breakfast at the local coffee shop.
    Afterward I went to the bank and withdrew two hundred and fifty dollars from my savings account so we’d have some money for the track today. I couldn’t deposit the big check yet, because I needed it to show to Danny, my younger self, this afternoon.
    I got home with time to spare. I decided to change into some cooler clothes—then I remembered the sweater and slacks. What would happen if I wore something else instead?
    I went burrowing in the closet, found some lightweight trousers, a shirt, and a windbreaker. They would do just fine. Now, what else was there I had to take care of?
    Nothing that I could see. I scooped up the check and put it in my pocket; I didn’t want to leave it lying around. Dan would be arriving at—
    There was a soft pop! in the air.
    I turned to see a startled-looking me.
    â€œHi,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
    His eyes were wide; he looked positively scared. “Relax, Dan” I said. He jumped when I spoke.
    For a moment, all he could do was stare. His face was a study in amazement. “You’re me—”
    I suddenly realized how silly this whole tableau was. I thrust the newspaper at him. “Here. I believe we were going to the races . . .?”
    â€œWe?”
    That’s right—he didn’t know! “Well, it’s no fun going alone, is it?”

    â€œUh—”
    â€œIt’s all right,” I said. “I’m you—I’m your future self. Tomorrow you’ll be me. That is, we’re the same person. We’ve just doubled back our timeline.”
    He blinked. “Oh.”
    He looked so confused, I wanted to touch him to reassure him, but I remembered how scared I had been. He’d probably jump right out of his skin. I smiled at him. “Okay, let’s do it this way. I’m your twin brother.” There was so much I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell him everything that Don had told me last night, but it wasn’t the right time yet. He was still looking at me too hesitantly. Instead I reached out and took his hand, shook it firmly. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Don. I’m your brother.” After a bit he returned my grip. I knew how scared he was—but I also knew how curious he was about to become.
    We bounced back in time to his “today.” (I snuck a peek in the closet when he wasn’t looking. There was only one sweater and slacks—of course, I hadn’t brought them back with me. But there were duplicates of the trousers, shirt, and windbreaker I was wearing now. So you could change the timestream . . . !)
    On the way out to the car, old lady Peterson surprised us—surprised Danny, I should say; I’d been expecting her. “This is my brother,” I said quickly. “Don,” I touched his arm. “This is Mrs. Peterson.” To her: “Don will be staying with me