(Pauline Fisk, who founded Shrewsbury Flash Fiction, sadly died four years ago. I am here republishing one of her stories as a tribute and a memorial)
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Nothing prepared me for it. It was not an exceptional day. We were on my favourite beach - that’s as special as it got - me and my friends having a good time.
They were the ones who saw her first - a woman down at the water’s edge who looked just like me. I became aware of the nudging, and glanced where they were pointing. Dear God, it was like looking at myself. The shock broke over me like a wave. It wasn’t only the clothes that did it – the black t-shirt and sawn-off jeans that were just like mine. It wasn’t even the hair turned white prematurely like mine, or cut like mine, or the jutting chin or cheekbones.
No, it was the way that other person carried herself. It went through me like a knife, separating blood from bone. If that ever happens to you, you’ll know what I mean. She came slowly up the beach, fishing for pebbles with her eyes, picking up her choices, pocketing the special ones, throwing away the rest. She was lost in a world of her own. Except that it wasn’t her world. It was mine.
By now, our entire party was riveted, looking from her looking like me to me looking, I guess, exactly the way I felt - which was overwhelmingly embarrassed. This was worse than any possible public dress malfunction. If my soul had been revealed to the world's gaze, I couldn’t have felt more exposed. Never have I felt so vulnerable.
Only when that other person drew level did she raise her eyes. Instinctively I turned away, hoping she wouldn’t notice me. I could have asked who she was, but I wasn’t curious. I hoped she’d walk on. I didn’t want her asking who I was. Didn’t want to find I had a secret twin. Didn’t want to wonder what my mother, all these years, had kept hidden from me. Dear God, hidden from us.
That other person saw, of course. I didn’t have to see her seeing me to know she saw her replica. Her shock broke over me like another wave. I swear I felt the two of us being sucked down the beach like pebbles running for the sea. Each had thought she was the only pebble on the beach, special and unique. Now here I was, making less of her whilst she made something ordinary of me.
So, there you have it. Not much of a story you might think. Just some person looking for pebbles but finding me, skirting round the subject whilst I hid my face, then sauntering on, emptying her pockets as if something had been spoiled.
But there are secrets here that will never be revealed. A hidden truth set in cheekbones, chin and hair. A name I’ll never know because I didn’t ask, enthroned on my beach, surrounded by my friends, missing my chance, whilst my other self walked away, wearing her solitude like a crown.
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