Finally feeling well again, Marie sat in a new chair for the first time since she started coming to this salon, which was 30 years ago when she was 12. Several weeks of random vertigo, bouts of headaches, and intermittent blurred vision that her fleet of doctors couldn’t put together into any meaningful diagnosis had kept her from her regular hair visits long enough to expose her graying roots. She squinted to see the heirloom mirror hanging on the back wall she’d never seen before. Maybe it’s been more like months Marie thought, poking at the dulled hair farther out from her side part than made sense to her.

Cassie pranced around the corner with her with her caddy of magic. “Hey lady! So long, no see!” Her breath caught as she looked from Marie’s usual chair to Marie’s eyes, back and forth a few times while she decided whether to continue. Marie smiled and wiggled deeper into the chair, the ruddy leather whining. Cassie nodded and fished out her latex gloves from the bottom of her caddy.

“Any sore spots or places I should avoid?” She asked as she snapped her gloves on.

Marie answered yes for the first time to that question and hovered her hand over the upper right side of her skull. “This particular area has been sensitive.” She paused. “Like the air before a lightning storm.” Add one to the list of random symptoms no doctor can figure out she sighed.

“Noted.” Cassie cocked her head. As she mixed Marie’s signature pink, she eyed the tender spot on Marie’s head. “How’s your diet?”

“Fish, vegetables, dark berries,” Marie shrugged. “Mixed nuts. Celery with peanut butter here and there.” She adjusted the cape around her neck and uncrossed her legs so her hips were even before Cassie could tell her to. Couldn’t improve my lifestyle much at this point. At least physically. Throbbing in the base of her skull signaled that she was holding her breath. Just my luck, emotional baggage is causing a fatal tumor. Though it’s not like I’ve done nothing in that area, either—really couldn’t be more focused on self-care at this point. And it’s not all it’s cracked up to be for sure.

Cassie pursed her lips as she examined Marie’s head. “Maybe it’s not enough protein,” she said. “It does seem like your hair’s thinner.”

Marie nodded. “So it wasn’t just my imagination.”

“Right.” Cassie pulled out the big brush and swirled it in the cosmic pink. “I think.” Halfway through her first stroke, Marie winced and Cassie jumped.

“Oh, I see,” Cassie said. “Well, I guess it makes sense that this area’s still sore.” She smoothed the hair around the area Marie indicated. “The scar’s healing up really well, though, so you’re getting enough nutrients for that at—”

“Scar?” Marie turned her face upward as if to look at the top of her own head.

“Yeah,” Cassie said slowly. “From…surgery?”

“Oh. Right.” Marie shifted in her seat, crossed her legs, realized she’d crossed her legs, uncrossed her legs, crossed her legs at the ankles, folded and unfolded her hands. Marie had not ever had surgery. She still had her appendix and even all her wisdom teeth. She glimpsed Cassie’s face in the reflection on the heat helmet across from her: brief alarm followed by forced cheer.

“Did you have a memor-ectomy or something recently?” Her laugh barely left her throat before it deflated.

“How would I know?” Marie tried to turn her difficulty breathing into a chuckle.

“Ha, ha. Well, I hope it’s nothing I did.” Cassie’s laugh was fuller this time, had enough longevity to carry them through to the part of the procedure where Cassie had to take her pile of used materials and empty dye containers to the trash.

“That would make both of us,” Marie whispered as Cassie walked away. Lasso lasso lasso she employed a technique her old therapist had taught her to stop a spiral. Her thoughts wound darker, sharper, as she rifled through her last 24 hours, two days, week, month, year, when should it stop, how will it stop? Stop stop stop. This seemed to push her thoughts even faster. Lasso lasso lasso she thought, long, slow breaths through a straw-sized O in her lips between each one. One at a time she instructed her memories from the last twenty-four hours.

Rose from bed. Stretched to avoid charley horses. Stood slowly to avoid dizziness. Mixed electrolytes and collagen powder into eight ounces of distilled and filtered water. Journaled and read from one-inspiration-a-day book. Lifted light weights on vibration plate while listening to various independent journalists report on the latest chaos in the world and then a sermon. Logged onto work. Listened to regular lineup of self-care podcasts while answering emails, delegating, and completing tasks as quickly as possible—how has this become my life?—Lasso lasso lasso. This is work time. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Heated zucchini noodles and chicken-apple spinach in microwave, added hand-torn spinach leaves and cilantro, basil and buttercrunch lettuce leaves from garden box to the pasta, mixed. Returned to computer. Fired up another podcast. Avoided working on most important and desired things due to being unsure about desire and purpose since the start of college. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Checked email. A thank-you note, short but sincere. From an unrecognized address about an unfamiliar topic. She’d deleted it. Must be a wrong “number.” I don’t interact with that many people. Finished lunch, washed bowl and spoon, began moving pixels around while absently plowing through as many podcasts as possible and trying to plan out the time to catch up on reading that sleeping in had delayed—why do I have more urgency about consuming others’ content than creating my own legacy?—Lasso lasso lasso. So far, only thing out of the ordinary; even the thought interruptions had been a mainstay since the transition from high school to college. I did not do that transition well. Lasso lasso lasso.

“All right, ready for the glorious cleansing?” Cassie’s passion was genuine; for the first time, Marie was so jealous, her cheeks flushed. Cassie’s eyes dropped quickly from Marie’s cheeks back up as she pulled a smile onto her face. “It’s always so exciting,” she said weakly.

“Hopefully I have enough hair to do the color justice,” Marie said forcefully, overcompensating for Cassie’s hesitation.

“Oh, lady, you’ve been like that since you were little!” Cassie handed Marie a towel to wrap around her neck as she stood. “But not everything has to be about justice. Some things can just be about beauty.”

“There’s no difference,” Marie said, smiling and patting the sweat off the back of her neck with the towel before laying it across her shoulders.

Cassie nodded as Marie followed her to the sink to rinse her hair. As the pleasing rhythm of the water hit her skull, Marie began reviewing her previous 24 hours again. Went out for mid-afternoon walk so as to enjoy as much of the scant sun as possible at every chance. Ran into a neighbor on the way back to finish out the work day before logging out early for this appointment with Cassie. Neighbor was effusive with gratitude for the long letter of encouraging words, wise counsel, and helpful advice concerning the neighbor’s wayward son. Decided it would have ruined the moment—maybe the first one in which neighbor had been genuinely hopeful since neighbor’s divorce and subsequent struggles with her son—to reveal cluelessness about regarding the letter and opted to repeat “it was no problem” and “of course” and “I’m here for you” on repeat as discomfort grew.

Two things out of the ordinary. Three if you count the apparent scar on Marie’s head that’s either healed unexpectedly fast or has been there for some time. Another mystery symptom?

The water shut off abruptly. “Too hot? What’s wrong?” Cassie’s eyes were wide as she leered over Marie, who had realized at just that moment that she was hyperventilating. 

“When was the last time I came here?” Marie sputtered.

“Do you want me to look at my books?” Cassie stepped back.

“You don’t remember?”

Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “Of course I do. I just wanted to know how exact you wanted me to be. You missed your regular three-month cut and color, but the one before that was a month off. Ree, what’s this about?”

Marie’s stomach leapt to her mouth. “And you did my routine?”

Cassie frowned. “Yes.” She paused, fear briefly flashing across her eyes. “It’s what you asked for.”

“Is it not unusual for me to deviate from my schedule?” Marie kept the lid on her volume.

Cassie nodded. “It is, but I don’t want to be creepy. Besides, my mentor taught me that you gotta let people be, you know? Freedom really is the best business model.”

“Speaking of, how much gunk am I going to leave on my hair if I get up right now?”

Cassie put her hands up. “You’re not a prisoner, friend. You can leave whenever you want. It would just be great if you didn’t blame me for bad serv—”

Marie stood and pulled the towel cradling her head in the sink over her hair. She scribbled out her check for the full amount she usually paid, slid it into Cassie’s box at the front and drove straight home. She was halfway across the parking lot before she realized that she hadn’t had to stand up vertebrae by vertebrae to avoid light-headedness and temporary loss of vision. And that made her realize that, while that weird email and the thing with her neighbor was inexplicable, she hadn’t been having her usual unusual symptoms since at least then, either. She spent the drove home deliberating whether to be encouraged or to switch her focus of concern.

A matte-blue 1995 Honda Civic exactly like hers—fewer parking-lot dings, less camping-trip dirt—sat in her driveway. A magenta steering-wheel lock rested at the exact angle she’d just set hers. Will my door be unlocked, my own keys hanging on the little hook rack my last boyfriend whittled for me and my typical dinner of vegetable hash, sauerkraut and blueberries with a steaming mug of lemon turmeric tea be waiting on my table, too?

In fact, her door was unlocked, a matching set of keys on her Mercy Hospital lanyard they gave all the nurses hanging on the rack next to the one she always choose, and her typical dinner sat waiting for her. Her skin pricked all over as she peered slowly around her house. Nothing she wouldn’t usually move had been moved. As she tiptoed toward her kitchen, a second instance of her typical dinner appeared, then a woman with her exact haircut and color, just a month grown out.

Marie’s ligaments in her neck pulled her back like reins. She stopped mid-step, toe skyward, arms frozen swung front and back. The first question she thought to ask her clone produced an answer as fast as she thought it—how did you get into my house? I used the key, of course—yet that’s still what came out of her mouth. 

“Your house?” Marie’s clone said, raising her eyebrows just the way Marie did when annoyed by being surprised. 

“Uh,” Marie said, still frozen in her stride toward her kitchen. Her clone sipped her tea as she turned back to A Mother’s Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy, the book that Marie herself had been reading that morning. To the same exact paragraph, too?

“I made enough of our meal for you,” the other woman said, jutting her chin toward the plate of cooling food across from her.

“What is going on here?” Marie practically shouted.

The other woman startled hard enough to drop her tea mug—Marie’s favorite—and shatter it, releasing hot, orange liquid across Marie’s favorite table and onto the white tile floor.

“Good night,” the women said in unison. “Of course my favorite table and my favorite mug,” they said together as they both bypassed the towel drawer in the kitchen and ran toward the upstairs linen closet where the dark towels where. Marie got halfway up the stairs before she realized this woman was mirroring her every move. Not mirroring. Doing everything I’m doing as I’m doing it. She’s not copying me, she’s anticipating me. 

Marie stopped, but the other woman kept going. Marie watched her locate the exact towel she would have chosen and race past her back down the stairs, just as she would have done had she been home alone needing to clean up a spill. Not that she spilled. The last time was when an unexpected knock came at the door and she dropped her dinner plate as she was lifting it to clear it from her now-imperfect table. 

After letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, Marie trotted down the stairs and back into the kitchen to see the woman soaking up the turmeric tea off the tile first, using only one half of the big, dark towel she’d grabbed, just like Marie would have done. As she watched the woman methodically mop up the spill exactly the way Marie would have, Marie briefly considered that she was simply having a vivid dream but discarded the hypothesis: her dreams were always much weirder than this.

Marie hadn’t felt slighted by the lack of apology from the woman—she knew there was a mess to clean up and figured the woman would circle back to saying her sorrys when the emergent matter of keeping the tile and table from staining permanently was complete. But she just made herself another cup of tea and picked up Sue Klebold’s memoir again, just like Marie would have done if she were home alone.

What would I do if I came home and I wasn’t alone? Marie wasn’t used to having to jumpstart her brain, but it felt too heavy to turn over that thought on its own. I would call the police.  

Would I really?

Why don’t I know for sure what I would do?

Am I someone who’s always known for sure what she would do in certain situations?

Why is this other woman completely unfazed by my presence? Would I be that unfazed? She hasn’t looked up once since she sat back down.

She briefly reconsidered the idea that this was a dream. Just then, the other woman stood and started clearing dishes. “Will you be wanting to eat any of this food?”

Marie widened her eyes. “Really?”

“Wow, okay, so I assume that means you don’t want me to save it, then?” She swiped the plate from the table so quickly that a bit of the food flew off onto the floor.

“What are you doing in my house?” Marie’s eyes stretched wider.

“I live here.” The woman continued clearing the table.

Marie stepped in between the woman and the fridge. “I live alone, so no you don’t.”

“Yes, I know you live alone.” The woman registered no surprise but instead, handed her the plate and bowl she’d taken from the table.

Marie instinctively took them. “Okay, then again I ask you, what are you doing here”?”

“You live here, yes?”

Marie nodded. “Yes, I live here.”

“Okay, then.” The woman nodded and tried to step past Marie to the sink to get the sponge to wipe down the table, just as Marie would have done. When the woman noticed Marie’s face, she seemed annoyed. “Like I said, I live here.”

“And like I said, that can’t be true because I live alone.”

“But, like you also said, you live here.”

Marie sighed but before she could repeat herself, the other woman interrupted. “If you live here, I live here.”

“Oh,” Marie said, jamming her fists on her hips so hard she popped several knuckles. “And why’s that?”

The woman smiled for the first time that Marie had seen. “What do you mean?”

“Which part don’t you understand?”

“Um, all of that?” Marie said. “Why it’s true that if I live here, you live here.”

“Well, because I’m you.” The woman’s smile, not one that indicated joking, remained.

Marie’s eyelids fluttered. She was silent for several minutes before she finally thought of something to say. “Okay, I know what you meant is that you really relate to me or feel like we’re probably really similar or something, but that doesn’t mean you get to live in—”

“Oh, it’s neither of those things,” the other woman said in the soft tone Marie would use with a confused friend. “I’m quite serious.”

“How could you possibly…” 

“The neighbors thanking “you” for the letters I sent, the weird things they’ve said to “you” about things they were convinced you were there for…” the woman said, mirroring Marie’s tone exactly.

“Simple mix-ups.” Marie waved her hand. “They don’t really think you are actually me.”

“Okay.” The woman’s smile turned into a triumphant grin. “And did the doctors make a simple mix-up when I went in for brain surgery to remove a tumor you had no idea was there and you have a scar?”

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