An entry on my LJ from five plus years ago. The doppelgänger became part of my inspiration for a story Called “D T.”

I have a doppelgänger. That much has become clear over the past eighteen years. Obviously, there are cases of mistaken identity, innocent and expected confusion. I’ve written off most incidents as such. However, several of these sightings when taken in the context of a larger pattern continue to mystify me.

1. I worked at a fish processing plant in Anchorage, AK during my late teens and early 20s. The plant was bordered by a railroad track. Walking on the track or fooling around with cargo flats, etc. was instant termination from the company. On two occasions people accused me of clambering around the parked locomotive. The accusers were relative strangers (300 people worked at the factory) and had no motive to harm me. In fact, when confronted by HR and myself, they swore to their testimony. One fellow even apologized for getting me in trouble — he just felt it was his duty. I’m a pretty distinctive looking person, extremely easy to ID in broad daylight, I’m sure. Of course, I never went anywhere near those tracks.

I wrote off the incident.

2. A couple of years later I was walking back from lunch and this huge man accosted me. Now the fish factory was located in an industrial area adjacent to the airport. This man was delivering a semiload of whatever to a warehouse. The trucker was in his late 50s and simply massive. He wore a leather biker vest with no shirt. Lots of muscles, lots of tatoos. Extremely grizzled and forbidding — the man could’ve played a heavy in an action flick. He was chatting with a receiving clerk when he saw me walking by. The trucker frantically called to get my attention. I’d never seen him before, but he was so insistent I met him halfway. This man, who I’d heard speaking perfect English, started babbling at me in a combination of English and I don’t know what as he crushed my hand in both of his. There were tears in his eyes and he repeated, “Oh my God, it’s you!” and “How did you get here?” and when he realized I didn’t understand, “1955! 1955!” You were there!” As if he were trying to convince me that I was who he thought I was. Eventually, he stared at me, wiped his eyes and said solemnly, “Remember, you were there. It was you.” Then he patted me on the arm, his expression melancholy. He resumed a perfectly gruff truckdriver type conversation with the poor clerk who’d been standing there with his mouth open.

I wrote off the incident, although it bothered me for years.

Painting by D.G. Rossetti

3. I used to take a martial arts class in Seattle. I walked or rode the bus everywhere. I also carried a metal grip strengthener everywhere I went. This thing looked kind of like a foot long harp with four massive springs. Some joker at my former fish plant job painted it neon pink. So one evening I’m at the dojo and one of my classmates, a mechanical engineer, asked what the hell I’d been doing wandering the streets at 5am that morning. I’d been dead asleep and told him so. Other guys wear patches in the big city — he must’ve caught a glimpse and mistook someone else for me. My friend was adamant. “Nobody else I know wears a patch and lugs a giant pink hand gripper.” He’d pulled over and called to the figure. i guess my double grinned, waved and then disappeared down an alley. And frankly, my friend never did quite believe I was on the level about the whole deal. A year or so later, one of the police officers who attended class swore he saw me across town at night. Same thing, except i carried a blackthorn cane, having ditched the gripper. This one i had an alibi for — I’d been at dinner with friends that evening.

Now I’d finally decided something rather peculiar was occurring.

4. The last one I’ll mention (and there are several more) occurred a year or so later. I’d been working for a tree service. My job was to run the ground lines, cut rounds, feed the chipper, all kinds of backbreaking fun. I never climbed, however. I went into my favorite coffee shop on a day off, late afternoon. The barista, who I’d been buying coffee from for ages, expressed surprise at my arrival. She’d just seen me several miles away (on her way to work) about halfway up a humungous tree cutting branches and lowering them on a line. I told her it was my day off. Erin, my future wife, explained we’d been at her apartment all day. The barista shook her head. “No, it was you,” she said. She’d been stopped in traffic, or at a stop sign, I don’t recall, but I’d leaned way out and made a point to smile and wave at her. There was no question in her mind.

The other thing is, in retrospect, the three Seattle folks later admitted that whoever they’d seen had seemed unmistakable, but had acted in an odd, sly manner. I don’t know what it means. Creepy, though.

Anybody else out there have a doppelgänger?