Evil boy twin

(This was originally written sometime last winter, but before I could publish it, Blogger exercised its veto power and deleted it. I tried again. Blogger vetoed the entry once more. I shook my fist in frustration and gave up, but decided that the story was worth re-attempting , so without further delay, here it is:)

EVIL BOY TWIN

(cue suspense music)

One fine day, I went to Avellino. For those of you unfamiliar with Avellino, it’s a nice little bakery on Railroad Ave., where they bake delicious treats and make caramel lattes with real made-from-scratch caramel. There is a mural of gold-edged clouds on the ceiling that makes me indescribably happy every time I look at it, and the storefront is sky blue with a big sign that says, in black on white, AVELLINO. You should go there some time and have a caramel latte (made with real caramel) and an apple pull-apart.

Anyway, it was a fine day, and as I stood considering the pastries in the glass case, I noticed the boy ahead of me in line: roughly my height, he had dark blonde hair and broad, friendly features, and he wore a black zip-up hoodie, jeans and Sambas. He had black plastic-framed glasses and a black messenger bag. I noticed that I also was wearing a black zip-up hoodie, jeans and Sambas, and I that I, too, wore plastic-framed glasses and carried a black messenger bag.

Coincidence? I wondered.

I decided it was assuredly not when, after I made up my mind to order a cinnamon roll (it was one of those cinnamon roll sort of days) and an americano (black), the mysterious boy ordered, yes, a cinnamon roll and an americano (also black). I was shocked, and quickly concluded that this boy was none other than my Evil Boy Twin.

For weeks afterward, whenever I saw him around downtown (note: there is a nice collection of “downtownies” in Bellingham, who travel on foot, are roughly between the age of 18-28, and for the most part recognize each other. Evil Boy Twin is one of these), I’d stare and silently refer to him, in my rather overactive inner monologue, as “Evil Boy Twin.”

I mentioned this to Mitch and he thought I was insane, until one day when we were eating breakfast at the Little Cheerful and Evil Boy Twin walked past the window. After I pointed EBT out, and cried, “That’s him! My Evil Boy Twin!”, Mitch still thought I was insane, but he laughed and said, “No, dear, that’s Matt.” As it turned out, Evil Boy Twin worked at the same bagel shop as Mitch.

So, my husband knew my Evil Boy Twin personally. And he mentioned one day to Evil Boy Twin (aka “Matt,” if that is his real name) that I had a theory about him being my Evil Twin, but in the telling managed to leave out the rather crucial part about being at Avellino and ordering the same things and so on–so this “Matt” thought I was not only utterly insane, but also creepy.

Oops.

Now whenever I see Evil Boy Twin/Matt downtown I tend to chuckle inwardly and hope for some anonymity, since, to my knowledge, EBT/M has never really met me personally, has he? Or do I crop up as Mitch’s Creepy Wife in his inner monologue?

I may never know.

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