I\u2019ve already forgotten the name of the drunk man stumbling beside me. I decide to call him Gavin\u2014it\u2019s as close to sparking a memory as anything\u2014until he corrects me or until I kick him out an hour from now. I learned a long time ago, or a long time ago for me\u2014names aren\u2019t that important.<\/p>\n
We approach the unremarkable house where I was made, standing in the middle of an unremarkable block.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve staggered halfway up the steps before I realize he\u2019s no longer at my side but lingering on the sidewalk, his jaw dangling and his eyes unfocused from inebriation.<\/p>\n
\u201cJim.\u201d He points, either at me or the two-story house behind me. \u201cI\u2019ve been here before. Was that you? Did we hook up already?\u201d<\/p>\n
Jesus. Can I not have one thing that\u2019s mine?<\/p>\n
I shake my head no and gesture for him to follow me inside. I hope Jim-Prime is asleep, so he can\u2019t ruin this like he usually does.<\/p>\n
But no. The door creaks behind me\u2014an irritating noise that Jim-Prime keeps asking me to fix, like he can\u2019t figure out how to operate a can of WD-40 when he\u2019s supposedly a genius. Jim-Prime emerges beside me\u2014somehow even his shadow seems to judge me.<\/p>\n
\u201cHoly shit.\u201d Gavin\u2019s eyes bulge. \u201cTwins?\u201d<\/p>\n
I fish cigarettes from my pocket and sink to the steps. I already know how this will go.<\/p>\n
Jim-Prime bounds past me to the sidewalk in his flannel bathrobe and beige slippers to approach Gavin. He speaks to my now-aborted date in a hushed tone and two minutes later, Gavin is moping into an uber.\u00a0Jim-Prime stands before me, hands on his hips. His judgmental sneer makes me want to punch him in the mouth, but I\u2019m too wasted to bother swinging. I snort in his direction, my nostrils filling with still-wafting smoke from my cigarette.<\/p>\n
\u201cJim-Beta. You can\u2019t keep sneaking out.\u201d His voice is reedy, pitching into the stratosphere. I loathe it even more than my own.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m a person too, you know.\u201d My words slur into a multisyllabic soup.<\/p>\n
He frowns. I prefer this expression to the smug know-it-all of a second ago, but still I smile a bit as I imagine hammering my fist into his perfect teeth. \u201cI didn\u2019t create you to indulge your every selfish whim. You don\u2019t exist, don\u2019t you understand that? If anyone finds out about you\u2026.\u201d He pauses for one of his melodramatic, long-suffering sighs. \u201cHow can you have so little self control?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI dunno.\u201d I exhale smoke into his face. The cigarette tastes like toasted chemicals so I toss it into the street. \u201cLet\u2019s ask the guy that made me?\u201d<\/p>\n
One year, two months and eighteen days ago, I woke up strapped to a hospital bed in the basement of this house. The first person I met after opening my eyes was a man who called himself Jim. I didn\u2019t immediately realize that we shared a face. He named me Jim-Beta and for two days he brought me food and interrogated me: could I recall his eighteenth birthday? No. The name of the psychology professor who tried to flunk him? No. The nickname of his beloved childhood frenchie? Still, sadly, no. My earliest memories are of being a disappointment.<\/p>\n
And being hungry. Always hungry.<\/p>\n
Jim-Prime tightens his robe around his waist even though the night is warm and sticky, then glances around. \u201cLet\u2019s get inside before someone sees us, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
I attempt to stand, clumsy and off-balance, and lurch forward off the steps. Jim-Prime catches me and pulls me up before I smash my face into the concrete. So considerate.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hate you.\u201d I attempt to wriggle free from his grasp but his arm around my midsection is too strong as he guides me back up the steps.<\/p>\n
If I really hated him, I\u2019d tell him the truth.<\/p>\n
Jim-Prime thinks he\u2019s my creator. He isn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
After Jim-Original determined that I possessed just enough of his memories to function as a person\u2014I retained his vocabulary and knowledge of the world plus some hazy childhood flashes, even if I lacked his supposed brilliance\u2014he enlisted me to help him craft his next project.<\/p>\n
\u201cC\u2019mon. I\u2019m putting you to bed.\u201d Jim-Prime directs me through the front door then takes my wrist like I\u2019m a little boy\u2014something I never was.<\/p>\n
One day Jim-Original was gone, leaving a still-sleeping clone abandoned on the basement table. He didn\u2019t say where he went, or why, or if he ever intended to return. Maybe he realized cloning himself was a terrible idea. I probably inherited being a fuckup from him.<\/p>\n
After he was absent two days, I carried the other clone upstairs and situated him in Jim-Original\u2019s bed, where I sat with him nearly every minute of every day as if he was my own creation. And I watched him wake from non-existence, weighted with our creator\u2019s memories and frustrating genius. Because he shares Jim-Original\u2019s memories, he has the memory of making me, of his disappointment in me. He believes he\u2019s my father, my god-figure, and didn\u2019t waste a minute before he started bossing me around. In reality, I\u2019m the underwhelming, rough first draft, but still closer to being his creator than he is to mine. I only remember being me.<\/p>\n
The bottle helps with that, sometimes. The trips to the bar and the men I try to lure home? They help less.<\/p>\n
Jim-Prime helps me undress, lowering me into bed. \u201cI\u2019m just looking out for us. You\u2019re my responsibility and you don\u2019t know how dangerous the world can be.\u201d He pulls a single sheet to my waist, then turns to leave.<\/p>\n
I envy Jim-Prime\u2019s ignorance. It would be so liberating not to know I\u2019m someone\u2019s discarded project.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d The words emerge as a hoarse whisper. I don\u2019t think he hears.<\/p>\n
Underneath the bed, I\u2019ve stashed a backpack with money and clothes and Jim-Original\u2019s passport. He\u2019s out there somewhere, and I\u2019m going to find him. Tomorrow, I\u2019ll go. That\u2019s what I tell myself.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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