The-Man-Who-Folded-Himself-David-Gerrold

I’ll know what to expect, and you’ll be learning it at the hands of an expert guide. Whatever we
do.”
“I’ve always wanted to try parachute jumping,” I offered. He grinned. “Me too.” Suddenly he was
serious again. “When you go, Dan, you have to take me. I’m your insurance so you can’t be killed.”
“Huh?” I stared at him.
He repeated it. “When you’re with me, you can’t be
killed. It’s like the check this afternoon. If anything happens to the earlier one, the later one won’t be
there beside it—it won’t exist. It’s more than me just being able to warn you about things—my sitting
here across from you is proof that you won’t be killed before tomorrow night. And I know that nothing
happens to me”—he thumped his chest to indicate which “me” he was talking about—“because I’ve
got my memories. I’ve seen that nothing will happen to me tonight, so you’re my insurance too.
I thought about that.
He was right.
“Remember the automobile accident we didn’t have last year?”
I shuddered. I’d had a blowout on the San Diego Freeway while traveling at seventy miles an hour. It
had been the left front tire and I had skidded across three lanes and found myself the wrong way, with
traffic rushing at me. And the motor had stalled. I just barely had time to restart the engine and pull off
to the side. It had been fifteen minutes before my hands stopped trembling enough for me to attempt
changing the tire. It was a mess. For weeks afterward I’d kept a piece of it on the dashboard to remind
me how close a call I’d had. I still had nightmares about it: if traffic had been just a little bit heavier . . .
the sickening swerve-skid-bumpety-bumpscreeeeeeech—
I figured I was living on borrowed time. I really should have been killed. Really. It was only a miracle
that I hadn’t been.
I realized my hand was shaking. I forced myself to take a sip of my drink. I looked at Don; he was as
grim as I was. “There’s too much to lose, isn’t there?” he said. I nodded. We shared the same memory.
There was a lot we didn’t have to say.
“Dan,” he said; his tone was intense, as intense as before. His eyes fixed me with a penetrating look.
“We’re going to be more than just identical twins. We can’t help it. We’re closer than brothers.” I met
his gaze, but the thought still frightened me.
I’m not sure I know how to be that close to anybody.
Even myself.
* * *
We ate the rest of our dinner in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. No, it was a peaceful
one, relaxed. I had to get used to the situation, and Don was letting me. He sat there and smiled a lot,
and I got the feeling that he was simply enjoying my presence. I had to learn how to relax, that was the
problem. Other people had always unnerved me because I thought they were continually judging me.
How do I look? What kind of a person do I seem? Is my voice firm enough? Am I really intelligent or
just pedantic? Was that joke really funny, or am I making a fool of myself? I worried about the
impression I was making. If I was shy, did they think I was being aloof and call me a snob? If I tried to
be friendly, did they find me overbearing? I was always afraid that I was basically unlikable, so I
wouldn’t give anyone the chance to find out; or I tried too hard to be likable, and thereby proved that I
wasn’t. And yet—