Part VII: Time Warp 2000’s – Now: Special Delivery: #1 (Chapter 100)
December 31, 2000
Kaitlyn
will call, yanking me out of deep sleep.
I’ll
be slightly pissed – she’ll know how Mallorys loathe early morning telephone
calls –
But
she’ll be such a neat kid – too difficult to stay mad.
“Hey,
Sam,” she says, laughing and giggling like the teenybopper she is.
Lately
she’s been calling me by my name instead of “Grammy Sam.”
“I
got a cool factoid for you.”
“You
know what time it is?”
“I
know, Grammy, but I’ve got something important to tell you.”
“Couldn’t
you tell me later?”
“It
might be too late.” There’s an urgency in her voice that makes me pay
attention.
Kaitlyn’s
psychic ability is uncanny; we have learned to listen when her voice takes on a
certain tone, just like now.
“What
is it, honey?”
“Everyone
has a doppelganger.”
“That’s
a big word for a little girl. You know what it means?”
“Look-alike.
A twin.”
“Very
good.”
“Please,
Grammy. Did you know that, about everyone having a twin?”
I
yawn. “I think I might’ve heard it somewhere.”
“It
was on The Learning Channel. It’s just a theory, but I believe it. I think you
and me have a doppelganger.”
I
laugh. “Yeah, you’re my twin and I’m yours.”
It’s
true: if not for the disparity in our ages, we could have been twins. Except
Kaitlyn is a skinny child, and I can’t decide if nurture or nature is
responsible for that. But if you put our baby and childhood pictures side by
side, it’s hard to tell us apart. Those unmistakable green eyes and that long
red hair, she a smashing version of me.
“No,
we just resemble each other. It’s more than that.”
“How
so?”
“I
don’t know, but you’re going to find out sometime later today.”
“Find
out what?”
“I
don’t know, but it’ll come in the mail.”
“Today’s
Sunday.”
“A
man called Henry is going to give you a letter.”
“Oh,
honey, you’ve been watching way too much TV...”
“Please,
Sam, I’m right.”
“Honey,
you know how much I respect your intuition, but it’s not an exact science.”
“Sometimes
it’s not, but, today, it is.”
She
sounds so sure, so definitive that I begin to believe her. “We’ll see, I
guess.”
“I
know I’m right. I been practicing.”
I
must admit, I’m a little puzzled. How does one “practice” the psychic arts?
“Well,
okay, then, I’ll watch for Henry.”
“Call me when he comes.”