Alter ego
[ˌaltər ˈɛgəʊ]
Noun.
1. a person's secondary or alternative personality
2. an intimate and trusted friend.
Origin: mid 16th cent.: Latin, other self'
You have been staring at that piece of paper for over an hour. Okay, you admit that it was the third one, but the words written on the were the same. You inked every essay that you wrote in blood scarlet, the same shade you used on pesterchum. Though the professor mentions nothing about it, you already know that the colour was starting to annoy him. But you can't be bothered to switch to something less glaring, like blue. That was Egbert's signature colour.
You inspect the essay that you were supposed to hand in the very next day. John had relayed the philosophy professor's instructions on a hastily scribbled note, simply stating that the requirements were to reflect on the subject matter. For once you have no idea how to fulfil those requirements, therefore the fact that you are close to giving up. Worse, John had gone out directly after dismissal - he refused to tell you why - and his phone was off, so no chance of you getting anymore much for calling him your best friend. Where is he, anyway?
Picking up the note again, you quickly scan through the words. Penned quickly on a random scrap of a post-it, apparently, in that characteristic blue of his. And that rather... rounded handwriting. Somewhat larger than your own angular script. Your thoughts flit back to the article on handwriting analysis that you had read a while ago, but you're too distracted to remember more than a few fleeting lines. Then again, you don't know why you even care about that stupid analysis. Why did you even pick it up in the first place? You recall once you had done it subconsciously and Jade had made a remark you did not like. Not that you would admit it anyway. Whatever.
You're not even sure what you're distracted by. Somehow your mind is just not functioning enough to properly write that essay. The crow you had sketched on your essay just proves that fact. You didn't even know you were drawing it, the thing just came out of your pencil. Jade always has pumpkins on her essays (or so the professors say), but you suppose that her pumpkins were obviously just doodles. Yours... not so much. Shaded, lighting all perfect, and very realistic. You suppose you're just good at drawing crows. Good at sketching in general.
In a wave of frustration you crumple the sheet of paper, obscuring the bright red words under its folds. There it goes into the bin. Sorry, crow. Not so sorry about the paper. Good riddance. Third time in an hour. Maybe next time you won't even bother aiming.
The dorm room is messy. Again. You are always annoyed by the fact that you have to clean up after your roommate. He's always leaving things lying around without keeping them. Take a look at the two bedrooms if you want proof of that fact. Your room is neat - everything in place, not a speck of dust. His room... well to call it a dump would be something close to its current state. That, in addition to the fact that he's constantly trying to prank you, is annoying. But you always manage to put up with his dorkiness. How strange. You haven't lost your prankster's gambit to him for a really long time now, so you consider that an also consider it an achievement that the only person who can put up with him for more than a year is is that guy anyway?
You glance casually at his work table. Looks like he hasn't started on his essay either. It's already eight in the evening. With your progress as a reference, if he doesn't get back soon he'll never finish that task on time. Overdose of coffee is a very bad thing. You learnt it the hard way; it cost you three full days of absence from school. For someone with a hectic schedule of an engineer-in-training, that was a lot you had missed. John is studying as a paediatrician, so you assume that his schedule is just as suddenly think coffee would be a great idea now: both to get yourself refreshed, and to try and think of how to complete that goddamn lousy essay. Though you remind yourself about the past three days and resist the temptation of that thermos somewhere in the pantry. You decide to distract yourself from it for the moment.
Speaking of best friends, you realize that you met him in a rather strange way: over the internet. As sharp as you are, you cannot remember the specific details of your first encounter, only that it marked the start of a relationship that has endured to this day. It was therefore a pleasant surprise that the both of you received offers to study at the same university, albeit under different degrees. Of course you agreed - being able to physically talk to someone you know you can trust is very reassuring.
Where is he, anyway? Third time saying this. Gosh, you're getting desperate. Though you'll never admit it. It's just not normal for him to just suddenly wander off like that, with his phone switched off and therefore uncontactable.
Best not let that get to your head. You're already distracted enough.
You gave up on the paper in the end.
Somehow you ended up boarding the bus with no destination in mind. You simply walked out of the dorm and let your mind wander. Your feet would choose the way, and they took you to the bus stop near the expressway. And went up the first bus that arrived at the station, the one numbered 413. You haven't seen this bus around before, though. Perhaps a new service?
Now you find yourself heading towards an unknown destination, staring out of the rain-streaked window. You absent-mindedly decide to check on John for a bit. Just in case he's decided to respond.
- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] -
TG: john
TG: are you there
TG: its getting late
TG: theres school tomorrow
TG: and that goddarned essay
- ectoBiologist [EB] is now an idle chum! -
You groan. Still busy? That guy sure is elusive today. Fine, you won't care about him then. So much for your concern.
TG: anyway im going out for a bit
TG: you better have brought your keys
TG: cos im not gonna come back and open the door for you
TG: got that
- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] -
Locking the interface of your phone, you stuff it back into your jacket pocket. There seems to be something else inside your pocket, and it takes you a moment to remember what it is. Might as well take a look at it again. You extract the crumpled piece of paper and unfold it, careful not to tear the cheap paper it was printed on.
A photocopy of the invitation from the NASA to join them as a junior engineer. Their base is also in Houston - convenient since you already have a home in that city. Though you're not so sure if you want to see your older brother again. Being stuck on a tropical island pursuing an university degree that you actually like is better than getting stalked by puppets at every corner. Sure, you respect him somewhat, but the puppets have gotten more than just creepy. Not to mention the fact that you have your best friend with you. Then again, the offer is very tempting. An institute of very high reputation is inviting you to join them as a member of their higly prestigious order. You're not sure whether you should say yes or no.
Looking out of the window, you think that it had been landscape flashes by, distorted through the raindrops that cling to the window. You have always shut yourself in the dormitory room immediately after returning from school, so you're pretty much cut off from the outside weather. But you don't really care about rain. It's nice, but whatever. John is the one who does all the grocery shopping, and sometimes cooking. In your opinion it's much better than what the canteen served, but Strange that you've never actually helped with those things. An equal share of work, you suppose. You clean up and do maintenance if needed, and he does all the other stuff.
You and John came to that agreement after you two discovered your hidden potential at cooking one summer. You remember that summer quite fondly, though you will never admit it. Your brother had to leave on some trip to the north (you don't really care about the details), so you had taken the opportunity to lodge at John's house. It took quite some time for you to get used to the colder Washington weather, since you were accustomed to the Houston heat. But you do admit that the Egbert family did take good care of you. You remember how his father had tried to show off his baking skills, andyour mutual agreement with John to stay away from the kitchen during meal times as much as also remember how you had 'accidentally' doodled on the wall (luckily it was in pencil).
But most of all, you distinctively remember how he had handled your nightmares.
You've been having them for as long as you remember. Ordinary people have dreams full of happiness, a respite from the pains of daily life. You don't, however. You have nightmares. Though you don't want to talk about it. You like to keep it all that doesn't mean you can forget them.
You still vaguely remember that particular dream you had that night. The landscape was desolate, and the very air reeked of death. Giant claws had gouged out scars into the earth, and those vents issued forth an orange gas you identified as sulfur. Then the crows came. Always the crows. Hovering above you like vultures. Black, screeching ones. Their descent was swift, every bird a sleek metallic dart.
Then a curious sensation, as if you had been underwater, and someone was dragging you slowly to the surface. The blood-red landscape faded away, melting into darkness. You thought it was strange, but a welcome respite from the never-ending crow assault.
You blinked several times before your eyes focused on what was in front of you. The moment you registered its presence, the shock had given you a seizure.
"John! What the - " You instinctively threw back the covers, accidentally flinging it into his face. You had been sleeping on a mattress that John's father had kindly laid out for you on the floor.
"Oh, you're awake!" He broke into a grin, then composed himself. "Um. Sorry if I startled you or something."
"What the heck was the point of that." You demanded in your customary deadpan tone, masking the shock you had just received behind an unreadable expression. "Explain yourself."
"Uh, you looked like you were... in pain or something. Kept twitching. Honestly you kind of scared me there, so I thought you had a nightmare, so um I woke you up...?" He frowned, blinking several times. "I mean, uh, if you like need someone to talk to or keep you company or whatever, just tell me, okay?"
You acknowledged his statement with a curt nod. John flopped back onto his bed, switching off the bedside lamp in the process.
"..."
"John. Hey John. You still awake?"
"Huh wha- yeah?"
"You haven't fallen asleep."
"Well no... not yet at least! Can't sleep? Do you need someone to talk to? We can talk!"
The bus captain's voice jolts you back to the present. You take a few moments to get your bearings before descending the steps and exiting the bus. Service number 413 terminates near the heart of the island, a marina full of people even late into the night. You have never been here before, but that fact doesn't actually bother you.
... maybe you should remove your trademark Aviators: it's dark, and wearing them would further obstruct your vision.
Nah. Your irises. Two words explain everything. You see no need to ramble to yourself.
But then again, you decide that your eye colour would not be too obvious among the many night owls here. Maybe, just for once. You shrug and carelessly stuff the pair of sunglasses into your other jacket pocket. You feel strangely exposed without them, though you quickly reassure yourself that it won't attract attention.
You walk aimlessly along the island's most famous river. The water is dark but not murky, and a few strangely-decorated boats ply between docks across its shimmering surface. A white bridge sails over its span just ahead, flanked by a row of shophouses. As you round the bend in the river, the shophouses give way to 'elegant dining establishments' and riverside nightclubs. You skirt around one particularly boisterous crowd. Their mannerisms tell you that you shouldn't be here, but you don't really care.
In the distance, the river flows out into the sea through a barrage of some sort. There are no buildings around its mouth, only a sculpture surrounded by groomed shrubbery. A casual glance at the accompanying signage tells you that this small green space was termed the 'Merlion Park', after the sculpture. You approach for a closer look. The sculpture in question is chiseled out of some kind white stone, bears resemblance to a lion with a fish's body. A hidden pump shoots a continuous stream of water out from the lion's mouth. You trace the path of the arc of water, and it guides your sight to the railings that separate land from sea -
- hold on.
There is someone leaning on the railing, looking out to sea. His back is to you, though you think you know who it is. Same messy hairstyle, dark blue jacket, and black sling bag. The badge pinned to it tops the resemblance off: a green slime ghost.
"John. What are you doing here."
He starts suddenly, and you can almost imagine the flash of recognition that lit up his eyes. There is a pause, and he turns around - slowly.
"Dave? Uh, what are you doing here?" It's him, alright. John blinks several times - taking in your strange eye colour, since he gets startled every time - and breaks into a bucktoothed grin. "I didn't expect to see you around here." He gestured to the surroundings
"Neither did I." For some reason you couldn't pull off that growl this time, and it came out in a weird strangled tone. "So. What are you doing here."
"Um." He breaks eye contact and shifts his gaze somewhere else. "I had... uh... business to attend to...? Hehehe...totally nothing to do with you or anything...yep...definitely not... totally unrelated stuff..."
You raise an eyebrow. Isn't John Egbert just the epitome of convincing lies.
"Right. Stuff."
"Yeah, stuff. Like you know, stuff."
"Been hanging out with Rose, I see." You waggle your eyebrows for effect, and he blanches immediately.
"What? N- no!" That trick always gets him. "It's not like that!"
You hide your amusement behind a blank expression. "Very convincing, Egbert."
"Uh." He flushes, embarrased... or guilty. Probably both.
"So."
"Uh... Ok. Fine." So he's confessing now. "I'm not sure how - " suddenly his expression changes. "Wait. You've forgotten, haven't you?"
"About what." You don't remember anything of note. Was there anything important?
"Oh, so you have forgotten." He grins. "That's great- but, wait, no, that's not great- Dave! How could you? Daaavveee!"
"How could I what." You are not understanding what this derp is talking about. "What did I forget."
"I know you don't like to talk about yourself but this is really just sad! Don't hate yourself or anything! People do care for you and remember this day for-"
Just...what. You seriously feel like shaking him by the shoulders until he gives you a satisfactory answer. However you settle with a forceful glare. He fidgets and stops rambling- one of the few advantages of having an abnormal, almost mutant eye colour.
"Don't you know what day it is today, Dave?"
You consult your phone. "December 3rd." What kind of a question was that?
"You still don't remember?" Oh gog this guy is infuriating.
"Seriously. What."
He wilts a little and tries to look disapprovingly at you, crossing his arms. John Egbert cannot look disapproving. He ends up looking a little like a constipated puppy. You can't help but feel slightly amused, if not annoyed. He really was quite cute in one of these momen-
"It's your biiiirrthdaaayy! December 3rd! Daaavvveee! How could you not remember this important day! "
"Why not." Oh, right. You wonder how you managed to forget all about it, but really birthdays aren't too big a thing with your family so it was all to easy for the day to slip your mind.
"Because it's your birthday! You should celebrate the day you were born, don't you think! And be grateful for being alive! Don't just stow away in your room and pretend no one cares- I refuse to let you spend your birthday with nothing but an imaginary cake and a birthday wish from only yourself, okay?"
His passion is only endearing at the best of times, and while you can barely resist quirking another smile you decide to stop John from going off on that tangent again with the question that he hasn't answered yet."What does that have to do with you being here anyway."
"Your present! Birthdays are never complete without a present!" He doesn't seem to be holding it. Probably in his bag. "I was going to spring a surprise on you, because birthdays aren't birthdays without surprises either, but..." He pouts.
"What is it, then." Might as well. You're curious to see what Egbert thought you might like, or need. You don't recall mentioning to him that you ever needed anything. Well, okay maybe that one time you asked him for a pencil. You half-expect it to be one of his horrible movies, which you will then use to whack him over the head with the moment you unwrap it-
"You can have it when we get back!" He pauses, then continues, "The package's kind of hard to unwrap...and we shouldn't be tossing the wrapping scraps here anyway. That's littering."
"Fine." Whatever. Waiting won't kill anyone. Consulting your watch, you confirm that the night is already late. "It's already nine. We need to get back. In time to finish that goddarned lousy essay." You roll your eyes at the prospect of that obnoxious piece of homework. It would be a miracle if the both of you could finish it on time.
"What's the hurry- Oh." He smiles sheepishly, fingers picking at the hem of his jacket. "Um, I forgot to tell you, but the essay isn't due- it isn't due- due until- until next Monday..."His enthusiasm is failing. Preposterous. You squint at him, and realize that John's eyes are glazed over and he's swaying on the spot.
"John. What." You tentatively reach out to touch his forehead. Damn it. He's burning up really bad. John doesn't even try to swat your hand away and instead even leans unsteadily against your touch. "Why are you even out when you're sick."
"Well, uh, I uh, I had- had to pick up- up your- your present...your present...can't miss your birthday...can't...can't miss..." You will never know how he pulled off being so upbeat just now. You move closer, steadying him with your other hand- he lets out a faint moan and tries to push away. Fails epically.
"You derp." You know you're supposed to scold him for this, but you can't help but feel otherwise. "You shouldn't have. You, of all people. And you call yourself a paediatrician."
"But...I can't miss your-"
The fever drains the last of his energy, and he collapses against you. Your hand drops from his forehead to grip his shoulders, and you totter a bit as well before shuffle-dragging John towards the bus stop.
"Let's just go back."
He squirms weakly in your grip. "nnngghh...I can- I can walk...myself..."
"No you can't. Shut up and conserve your energy."
John's head drops to rest against your shoulder and you can sort-of feel his unsteady breathing against your neck. He sags against you and you quickly ammend your statement. "No- don't make me have to carry you bridal-style. Carry your own weight. Just- be careful."
You try to pretend that this is just a particularly heavy package of some sort you are dragging and not the warm, fluffy-sweatered lump that is your roomate John Egbert.
You glance at the clock hanging on the wall. It's already eleven.
A lot of things had happened in the two hours that had passed. Too impatient to wait for the bus, you hailed a cab to the university's on-campus hospital. The two of you barely made it before the regular department closed; saving John a nerve-wracking trip to the Accident and Emergency department (he had a fear of those things). He then went into the consultation room, leaving you alone outside - again. Nothing much this time, apparently, just some seasonal flu. Though the general practitioner was not very pleased with how John had gone into town when running a fever, and you conclude that the doctor had the same opinion as you.
And now you are once more seated at your work table, staring at that essay. Again.
The bedroom door opens, but you don't bother to check who it is. There could only be one person.
"John. Get back in bed. You shouldn't be out." You scribble a few lines onto the paper. From the corner of your eye you notice that he is holding something.
"Ok, ok... I'll sleep, I'll sleep..." He drags a chair over and plops down on it next to you. "But you have to get your package first! Your package...if I sleep it'll miss your-miss your birthday..."
"John, I've got your present, thank you, now sleep." You examine the package. Wrapped in blue, the norm for everything John sends you. It is rectangular, and quite heavy for its size. You give it a suspicious poke, expecting another trap. "If it's a prank-"
"No it isn't!" He shakes his head so fervently you're worried he'd snap his neck. His eyes are shining with a fevered intensity. He's really serious about this present thing. "It's not! Really! I even got it from the marina and everything! I wouldn't- not on your birthday-"
"Okay. I get it." Yes, you get his as well humor him before he falls over dead from exhaustion waiting on you. Now that would be a terrible thing to do as a friend.
Retrieving your penknife from its case in one corner, you carefully slit open the wrapping paper. Something falls out and lands on your lap. It's a... a notebook of some sort, hardcover and all. The cover page is embossed with gear patterns, and you think that the overlay effect of orange on crimson is quite a nice touch. Inspecting its internal pages, you conclude that the bound volume is supposed to be a sketchbook.
"So... do you like it? Do you? Do you?" John breaks the silence with the exciting yappings of a puppy with too much energy. "You draw ever-so nicely! And I wasn't sure what else, so- do you like it? Is it okay?"
You take a few moments to compose your thoughts into a coherent sentence. "It's nice of you to think of that."
"...that's it?"
He literally seems to deflate. You almost see the metaphorical raincloud looming over his bowed head.
"Well - " You abruptly change your mind. "As I've said, it's really thoughtful of you, but - but - just don't do it next time. I don't want you to kill yourself over this. Just that. Promise me?" You're not sure how you manage to say these words , but they just came out. You stop yourself from slapping yourself, because in retrospect you sound like a cheesy sap. But if you did John would probably burst into tears, which you don't want to handle.
"... okay." He brightens up a little and forces himself to offer a small smile back. "I, I promise!"
Now you decide to be nice. Which is strange because it's completely not you at all, but you guess your conscience won't let you until you have. (flufffyyyy something screams at the back of your mind, which you growl and shut away)-no, that's not your conscience. The other one that's telling you to hug John like a good bro. "I would hug you like a real bro, but you're sick, and I don't want to catch it. So."
John favours you with a half-smile. He doesn't seem to mind, which is a good thing.
"Now you go back to sleep." You recover sufficiently from your personality lapse to growl at him. "Don't argue."
It's a good thing he obliged. Otherwise you would have to physically drag him back, which is a prospect that you would only consider at a last resort. However halfway through John's slow exit you change your mind.
"John. Wait. Just one more thing."
He looks at you expectantly.
"Remember the essay."
He rolls his eyes and falls back into his bed. You continue scribbling into the night, ignoring the protests from your eyes- wait. He's mumbling something in his sleep. Or maybe he's not sleeping at all. You squint in his direction and think you see his eyes open just a slit.
"Alter ego. one, an alterative...or second personality..."
He seriously can't be planning the essay right now.
"Two...a close friend..."
John rolls over.
"Dave."
You stare at him.
"You too, bro."
You're sure he won't register your next statement, but you think that you should just say it. Out loud.
"Thanks for everything."