Me? He mouthed the word and pointed at himself to check if the barista was in fact referring to his order. He got up and picked up their coffee and returned to the table. It was a relatively cozy diner on the sunny side of the city. She sat opposite, having tried to make the date a two-sided conversation, now capitulating slowly. He took a big gulp and leaned forward, raising his hand to an explanatory kind of angle.
"Like I was saying," he said. "I used to think the process works on a molecular level. You know the basic idea. Every cell in your body ages and is eventually replaced by a new one. It used to scare me, but after some time I just accepted it. Not much else you can do."
"Okay."
"That's when I met that man. The new me."
"Right," she said, resigned at this point, back to her hopeless humor-a-man mode. "How did that happen again?"
"Were you not listening? It was at a house party. Nothing crazy, just good food, good music, people just hanging out like before smartphones and everything. I knew the host, Gabbie, from college. We hadn't seen each other in a while. Her husband invited a few people and at one point I found myself face to face with that person."
"Okay. And you say it was you."
"Not physically, I mean. It wasn't a clone of me. It was just a new version of me that was meant to replace me."
"Well. You have to admit it sounds pretty wild."
"Trust me, I know what I felt. It's been haunting me for what, two years now? And no one wants to listen to this. I mean, I deserve to tell my story."
"So physically, he just looked like a regular man."
"Yeah. Not many distinguishing qualities, I mean, not more than everyone does. His ears were a bit small, maybe. His eyes seemed kind, like he was smiling the whole time."
"Was he?"
"He was just being polite."
"Did he... tell you he was the new you?"
"Well, not directly. I don't think they ever do that."
"So what made him not just another person?" She registered that it's a whole group now.
"I can't explain it well," he said. He leaned forward again, the conspiratorial manner now almost fully worn out. "I just... I hope you never have to experience that. It was a shiver. Something under my skin. A voice in my head, a new one. Never there before. A sudden feeling that something in the external world is not of it. It's not," he made air quotes, "other than you."
She just nodded along, smiling, already picturing the dating app's uninstall button.
"Look," he said. He pressed his palm against the table a couple of times. "This is how you know something is other. There is a point of contact. Something that tells you it's the limit of your body. I can tell where I end and this table begins. All I'm saying is..."
"Did you touch him?"
"We shook hands and I just didn't feel him. At all. Like my hand didn't end where it was supposed to. When he scratched his nose, I felt it. Just some of it. The process was not yet finished, or, perhaps, fleshed out. Get it?" He winced. "Either way, I just knew. I fuckin' knew. I looked into this man's eyes and saw why he was really there. I knew that sooner or later he would replace me. It just took him some time to learn my environment. He would take my place and blend in nicely and make my friends laugh. Better than me. A new version." He looked on the verge of something painful.
"I'm sorry," she said. "That's an awful thing to feel, regardless of everything else."
"Thanks. I realize I'm not the best at describing it. I just know what I felt."
"So you moved here."
"I did. Shortly after that night. There wasn't that much there anyway."
"Your friends?"
"We weren't that close. It's okay."
"In your mind is it, like, a pending process? Like you think he's going to find you one day and do what exactly?"
"I don't know. I moved here to avoid him. I hoped that I can just leave that city behind and have a safe life here, maybe. And maybe he would be comfortable there. The new me. And those would be our boundaries."
He looked her in the eyes. He wanted to grab her hand, but he was afraid that she wouldn't want that. She did it herself a moment later, a gentle touch, allowing him to feel that comfortable difference of bodies once again. He ended there, and there she began, and it was all separate, the way it should be, he thought. How would the world work otherwise? These are my borders and those are yours, and never shall the two meet, entangle, weave into each other. His shoulders were still tense, raised, guarding his body like the towers of a dilapidated castle. You need to know where you stand. You can't suddenly just blend with the other. It can't happen. Not to me. My body! Mine! Over my dead body, he thought, half-smiling, satisfied with another pun. You could say it out loud, buddy. Maybe she would like that one. Hard to tell.
He closed his eyes and imagined a line and a singular point lying somewhere on it, not the middle, closer to one side, infinitely thin, yet changing the entire object with its sheer presence, creating a difference, splitting the whole. He thought of a single section of the line. Whatever it was, there was now a way to perceive it as less than full and this would continue forever. He thought this point of difference ran along the edges of his body, carving his meat into shape.
He blinked. Some time must have passed.
"I think I would like to go outside," she said. "Could you grab me some napkins?"
"Oh. Of course," he said. He got up and approached the counter.
"Could I get some napkins?" he asked.
"Of course," the barista replied, grabbing some and offering them to him. Their hands touched for a moment. He looked up a bit confused and his face slowly began to morph into an expression of shock.
"Are you me?" he asked curtly.
"I'm sorry?" The barista leaned closer, thinking he had misheard.
"Are you me?"
No reply. He looked around frantically, some people around now aware of the situation, her frowning, all embarrassed, of course, why wouldn't she be? He turned around and brushed against another customer, again feeling no point of difference, now going around the diner, walking up to people, grabbing them by the shoulders, everyone looking around nervously, unsure how to react, a wild spark in his eyes, asking them the question, "Are you me? Are you, me? Are you?"