-Some people think that those who believe in the supernatural are weak-minded. That only those with no capacity for reason or logic can believe in the unexplainable or the fantastic. Crystal balls, Tarot cards, astrology are all a bunch of hogwash and I know that, or at least I thought I did.
I had my palm read at a community day event growing up. Apparently the white, Republican, suburbanites of Upper St. Clair, unbeknownst to them, were having their tax dollars used to sponsor a brand of obtuse Paganism. I must have been 12 or 13 and I still had a very blurry line bifurcating my imagination and reality. Therefore any insight the gypsy woman behind the booth could give me about my life, I would take at face value. The Palm Reader grabbed my hand and scanned it briefly, her eyes tracing the folded labyrinths in the skin of my paws. Her face crumpled slightly into a befuddled squint. She took my hand and drew it even closer.
“Hmm. That’s strange.”
“What’s strange?” I replied, already expecting the worst.
“Your life line…there’s two of them to start with,” she stopped to contemplate further. “Then they both end at the exact same point. They break in the middle and start new afterwards. I’ve never seen that before.”
I was briefly one-of-a-kind.
Ex. The normal life line compared to mine.
“What does that mean?” I asked. She paused, formulating a theory in her do-ragged head.
“That means that your soul shares another body. But by the time you reach your mid-life (see the break halfway through your life line?) both of those bodies will die. But one will be reborn from the others’ death.”
I turned away from the palm reader, completely shaken by the facts presented. I headed to the Plinko booth to take my mind off of the existential gut-wrench powerbomb that the lady just gave me, a bewildered 6th-grader. Luckily, Plinko was a pleasurable distraction. I was an unfocused adolescent and my developing mind quickly turned to more immediate activities: winning a Spider-Man keychain. But secretly, despite my best efforts to forget the prophecy, my knees knocked at the prospect of another human having equal stake in my soul.
I knew from Social Studies class that possession is 9/10ths of the law.
I never forgot that little nugget of information the soothsayer bestowed upon me. There was another copy of me somewhere out there, a simulacrum of myself, living perhaps an identical life. And worse yet, apparently we would end simultaneously and only one would be remain.
“So what?” I thought to myself a decade later. My mind tends to drift back to those kinds of things from time to time. “So what if another body has my spirit coexisting within the confines of its temporary walls of flesh? We are the same, aren’t we? I will still technically exist even if this particular body I occupy (and enjoy so thoroughly) should cease to be. The stuff that composes my essence will still be alive in another host. So who cares?”
I did. I do. Me. This Jeff Konkle speaking right now.
What to do then?
I must find the second Jeff Konkle…and destroy him before he destroys me.