The Man Who Folded Himself by David Gerrold Page A

for a while, so if you think you’re seeing double, don’t be surprised.”
    She smiled at us. “I didn’t know you were twins—”
    â€œWe’ve been—living separately,” I answered, remembering quickly how my Don had explained it. “So we could each have a chance to be our own person. Don’s been living up in San Francisco for the past two years.”
    â€œOh,” she said. She beamed politely at Dan. “Well, I hope you’ll like it in Los Angeles, Don. There’s so much to do.”
    He went kind of frog-faced at that. He managed to stammer out, “Uh—yes. It’s very exciting.”
    I couldn’t help myself. I started giggling; when we got to the car I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I wish you could have seen your face—” I said. Then I realized. “Well, you will—tomorrow.” He
was half glaring at me. “‘Uh—yes. It’s very exciting,’“ I mocked. “You looked as if you’d swallowed a frog.”
    He stopped in the act of unlocking the passenger-side car door. “Why didn’t you let me explain?” he asked. “She’s my neighbor.”
    â€œShe’s my neighbor too,” I pointed out. “Besides, what would you have said? At least I’ve been through this once before.” I opened my door and got into the car. (I could see this twin business was going to take some getting used to. Already I was noticing the differences between the Dan of today and the Don of yesterday. Sure, it was only me—but I was beginning to realize that I would never be the same person twice in a row. And I would never be viewing myself through the same pair of eyes either. Dan seemed so—uncertain; it was if he was a little cowed by me. It showed in little things—his easy acquiescence of the fact that I would drive, for example. All I had done was point him at the passenger side of the car while I headed toward the driver’s side myself, but he had accepted that. Not without some resentment, of course; I could see him eying me as I unlatched the top, preparatory to putting it down.)
    â€œPut on a tape,” I said, pointing at the box of cassettes. I started to name one, then stopped. “Want me to tell you which one you’re going to choose?” I realized that was a mistake as soon as I’d said it.
    â€œUh—no, thanks,” he muttered. He was frowning.
    I could have kicked myself. I had let myself get carried away with this wild sense of power. I hadn’t been considerate of Dan at all. Belatedly, I remembered how I had felt yesterday. Resentful, sullen, and most of all, cautious. Poor Dan—here he was, flush with excitement, filled with a feeling of omnipotence at the wondrous things he could do with his timebelt—and I had stolen it all from him. By my mere presence, my know-it-all attitude and cocksure arrogance, I was relegating him to second fiddle. Of course he wouldn’t like it.
    As he put on the tape of Petrouchka, I resolved to try and be more considerate. I should have realized how he would feel—no, that was wrong, I did know how he felt; I simply hadn’t paid it any mind.
    Thinking back, I remembered that as Dan, my arrogance had bothered me only at first—later, as I had gotten used to the idea of “Don,” I had begun to see the wisdom of following his lead. Or
had that been my reaction to Don’s suddenly realized consideration of me?
    It didn’t matter. There was bound to be some confusion at first, on both sides. What counted would be what happened later on, over dinner. I remembered how good I had felt last night in Don’s presence and I looked forward to it again tonight. I would make it up to Dan. (The reservations—I hadn’t made them yet! No, wait a minute; it was all right. I could make the reservations any time. All I had to do was flash back a day or so; I