If You Could Only See Yourself

Sparkle Ditch - #13

Lately I’ve had travel on my mind. And transportation. Being transported. The abstract feeling of existing in two places at the same time. Oblivious to distance. Colliding with a sense of transformation. The idea of duality.

There’s an opportunity here—rather a danger—to get carried away. Say too much and saturate the sensation.

So I’m now reaching into the distance, for an older story. One I’d not thought of in some time. Not until this current meditation on transformation transportation.

You’ll find some things in this older story that as a writer I’ve now (mostly) left behind, like drinking, quotation marks, and the first person narrative. But it’s still me that wrote it. And I still love it. As for my newer stories, that to me feel more evolved, coming from a more evolved writer, it’s still me. Just a better me.

With gratitude,

xo—RJO

DC-3

The Carlton Arms Hotel is under construction for some extensive renovations so I’ve been able to get an affordable room. Thankfully the hotel bar is still open. It’s nearly midnight. The bartender is a friendly fellow who’s been working here for decades. Collared shirt, vest, bowtie, looks to be in his 70s. He’s quizzing me on historical facts and telling me ghost stories about the hotel’s long past days of fame. It’s only the two of us in here and I sit quietly across from him, looking down at my book, reading the same sentence over and over as he continuously feeds a tour guide monologue into the top of my head. He carries on about politicians and peculiar guests who have stayed upstairs, famous people who sat right where I’m sitting, and all the unknown city secrets that hold infinitely more fascinating details than the grade school legacy everyone comes here to meditate upon. I’ve not gotten up and walked out yet because every time I empty my glass he automatically refills it without pausing between words. I’m briefly annoyed with myself for having come all this way just to sit at a bar. But it’s late. I suppose I came all this way just because I need a break from New York—and a girl that lives there. Besides, I haven’t been to Washington, DC since I was a kid.

“This next drink is on the house,” he offers, “if you can tell me who that lady in the painting on the back wall is.” I turn to see the one of four portraits in the room to which he refers.

“Dolley Madison,” I say. He fills my glass again.

“Which room are you in?”

“8,” I said.

“Good.”

He proceeded to let me know that the former head-vice-secretary of something or other jumped out of the bedroom window in room 19 and died with a messy splat like a rotten cantaloupe onto K Street. I continued reading as I finished the drink. After a slow paragraph my eyes got dry and the blurred words began to scatter and scurry off the page like cockroaches. I fell off my stool. The gentleman helped me to my feet and said, “I think you’d better get to your room. I have to close up here anyway.”

I woke the next day with the previous night’s train ride running through my aching head. The trip was uneventful apart from an acquaintance I made passing through Pennsylvania. I assumed she’d just boarded in Philadelphia as she approached me with exasperation, dragging a large duffle bag. There were plenty of vacant seats and I was solely occupying what was situated like a restaurant booth that could accommodate a party of four. I was hunched over a newspaper at the white tabletop when she dropped her bag down and collapsed next to it. She was directly across from me. “It feels good to sit down,” she said. About three minutes later she spoke again. Her name, she told me, was “Anna Whitman, Whitman like the chocolates.” I hesitated and then suggested, “Or like Walt.” She stared at me for a second, then said, “Or like that guy who shot all those people at that school in Texas.”

I pursed my lips and went back to the paper, though something about her kept me distracted. With my head still bowed I raised my eyes to see her face. As she gazed out the window I studied her profile and discovered she had a remarkable resemblance to me—the same complexion and an identical turned-up nose. We both had dark squinty eyes and short brown hair. She was wearing no make-up. I felt odd admiring her. I’d been examining her for a while when she turned to me and asked, out of a mouth like my own, “Have you been on here since New York?” I said, “Yes,” and she said, “Me too.” I said I thought she’d gotten on in Philadelphia. “Uh-uh,” she said, “I just haven’t been able to find anywhere I wanted to sit.” Then she turned and said to the window, “I guess it’s impossible to stay still on a moving train, huh?” Anna lit a cigarette and asked if I lived in DC. I replied with a polite, “No.” She took a long drag and said, “Well then, how about your name?” I lied and told her my name was James Madison. She smiled real wide and said, “Like the President!” I said, “Yes, I suppose so,” then told her I was going to sleep. As my eyes closed I saw Anna Whitman curiously looking me over.

I was awakened by her tapping me on the arm, whispering that we’d arrived. Anna followed me off the train and into the station. “Well, Mr. President,” she announced, “here we are.” She handed me a folded piece of paper, then walked away. I opened the note to find that it was, apart from a phone number written in ink, blank stationery from the Carlton Arms Hotel. By the time I looked up, she’d disappeared with her big bag. I hadn’t yet made arrangements for where I’d be staying, so I got a taxi to the Carlton Arms, checked into the smallest room, paid for the whole week in advance, and got drunk.

As I lay aching in the bed in room 8 I felt an urge to be upright. I knew I’d slept through the whole morning. I went downstairs, back into the bar. There was my friend from last night. “I hope you got some rest,” he said with judgmental concern. “You going to be staying here long?”

“That depends,” I said.

“On what?”

“On the service.”

Pouring me a hot coffee he said, “My name is Rudy, and when Rudy is on duty you’re all set.”

“Thank you, Rudy.”

After a sip I asked him what time it was. “Just past two,” he told me. I peered deep into the steaming black coffee. I could feel the heat opening the pores in my face. My headache was nearly defeated.

“Hey Rudy, is there a girl staying here?” I’d wanted to ask him last night but was reluctant to create the conversation.

“Not many guests here right now,” he said.

“I mean, is there a girl staying here alone, about my age?”

“Let’s see,” he said. “There was a young woman here for a while. Maybe last month. I believe she was in your room. Number 8.”

“Is that so? What did she look like?”

“Well, she was tall. And skinny. Pretty face. Short hair, like a boy’s.”

“Do you know her name?”

“Don’t believe so. What’s your name anyhow?”

I stuck with James Madison. No comment from Rudy. I showed him the piece of paper that Anna had given me.

“Do you recognize that phone number? Is it the number of this hotel?”

“Nope and nope,” he said.

Finishing my coffee I thought it was time I get outside.

It’s early April in DC and there are murmurs of cherry blossoms in the street. The weather is still cool as spring has yet to drag in. The air burns my nose and causes my cheeks to tighten. This town is one giant cemetery, one giant landmark, one great big memorial. From outside the Carlton Arms I can survey the white peaks of the marble tombstones that rise up and tower over Washington’s less important dead. I pull my coat collar tight under my chin.

After an hour of walking and an hour in Henry Knox Books, I make my way to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum and go straight to the airplanes. I always liked them best. I never was too interested in the outer space stuff because it seemed so distant, so not a part of my life that it could ever be real. My favorite airplane is the Eastern Airlines DC-3. It’s enormous, with fat engines, and it’s all bright shining silver. Rounding the corner I see it hanging in the sky. I’ve never been on an airplane. The idea of being thousands of feet off the ground and landing in a far off city in a matter of hours causes my mind to wander. Staring up at the belly of the plane I try to imagine what it must feel like to pilot something of this size. Taking off with great speed and watching everything you’re leaving behind shrink and fade away. I explore the rest of the museum, eat a hamburger, and decide to walk back to the hotel. It’s getting dark.

Ascending the stairs inside the Carlton Arms I can see the door of my room slightly open with light peeking into the hallway. I remember closing it. When I reach the top of the steps I cautiously push the door and widen the crack enough to stick my head in. There I see Rudy leaned up comfortably on my bed, asleep, with a book in his lap.

“Rudy!” He jumped with a jolt of confusion.

“I’m sorry Jim, I must’ve fallen asleep!”

“What are you doing in here?”

“I came up to return your book and then you weren’t here and your door was open and I just started looking through the book and I guess I fell asleep.”

“What book are you talking about?”

Standing up he said, “The one you were reading, downstairs last night, you left it on the bar.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you give it to me this morning?”

“I forgot. But I also came up to tell you that that girl came this afternoon, the one that was staying here.”

“The girl I asked you about?”

“I guess so. She came into the bar and asked if somebody was here that looked like you. She knew your name, too.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her there was a young man here that fit the description. She said she’d come back later.”

“When later? Tonight?”

“I don’t know. It’s not really my business now is it?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“Aw, there ain’t nobody down there.”

I opened the door and made a waving gesture with my hand. He walked out, stopped and said, “You’ll come down later?”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be down,” I said, and shut the door.

I stretched out on the bed and rested a while. The phone number from Anna was on the nightstand. I opened the paper and studied it, excited that she’d come looking for me. There was a telephone at the end of the hall and I decided to utilize it. I dropped a coin in and dialed. After five rings a man’s voice answered. I could hear a noisy gathering in the background.

“Hello? Yes?”

“I’m calling for Anna.”

“Who’s calling?”

“I am. Is she there?”

“Anna’s not here.”

I heard forks striking plates and glasses clinking. He was talking loudly but I figured it wasn’t directed at me, he was just trying to speak over the commotion.

“Do you know when I can reach her?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Is this where she lives?”

“What is it that you want?”

“I want to speak with Anna.”

“She’s not here.”

“I understand that.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Just tell her the President called,” I said, and hung up.

I got my book from my room and went down to the bar.

“How are you, Mr. Madison?”

“I’m fine, Rudy.”

Setting a drink in front of me he said, “Do you know what they found in Lincoln’s pockets when he was shot?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Confederate money! Can you believe that?” he said with a crazy laugh, slapping the bar.

“Listen Rudy, what else did that girl say that came in this afternoon? Did she tell you her name?”

“No. She wasn’t here but a minute and she didn’t have much to say except asking about you.”

“Strange,” I said.

“What’s that book you’ve been reading? I saw my name in it. Is it about somebody named Rudy?”

“Actually, there is someone named Rudy in it.”

“Ha! I’m famous. What’s he like?”

“He’s not such a nice guy.”

Rudy looked disappointed as he told me he had to go to the basement to get more champagne. “Who’s drinking champagne?” I asked. “You never know who might come in,” he said as he left. The amber whiskey in my glass, backlit by a candle, was melted gold and it sparkled in my eyes and made me warm and lonely at the same time. I leaned onto the bar and opened my book.

A moment later someone sat on the stool next to me. Of course it was her. “I called you tonight,” I said, swiveling to face her. She looked just like she did on the train. Not that I expected her to look differently, but I guess I didn’t know what to expect at all. She smiled with half her mouth and said, “Anything for the First Lady?” I got up and went behind the bar and poured Anna a drink. I asked her who the man was that answered the phone when I called. “How should I know?” she said, raising her glass to me.

“Is that where you live, where I called?”

“Sort of.”

“Why were you staying here at the hotel last month?”

“Well I had to stay somewhere. Are these really the things you want to know about me? Where do you live? Why are you staying here?”

I told her that I live in New York and that I came to DC to kill some time. I said I was at the Carlton Arms because of her. “That’s funny,” she said, “I was on my way back from New York when I met you. I hadn’t been there since I was a kid.” She took a drink and as I was considering asking her for more information she started talking again. The phone number she gave me was indeed where she lived, at her house that she shared with a man. She told me she was leaving him. I thought perhaps she’d wanted me to call her house just to make the man jealous. As she stared into her glass I stared at her. It was uncanny how much we looked alike. I wondered if she’d noticed it too. How could she not? Either way, I’d decided to stay at the Carlton Arms for as long as my money would hold out.

“Will you go with me to the museum tomorrow?” I asked.

“Which one?”

“The one with the airplanes.”

She nodded yes and then leaned over and kissed me on the mouth.

“Where are you staying tonight? Do you have to go home?”

“No. There’s a party at my house and I hate everyone there.”

“Good.”

We stood up together. I followed Anna as she led the way up to room 8. When I let her into our room I realized that I’d left my book downstairs again. I went back down to the bar and picked up my book. On the way out I saw the portrait of Dolley Madison glaring at me. I walked over and got up real close to the painting. “Dolley, honey,” I said. “We’re going to be up all night. Tell Rudy to make sure he has the coffee ready first thing in the morning.”

When I got back up to the room, Anna was standing naked in front of the mirror. I removed all of my clothes and wrapped my arms around her from behind. Our bodies were exact. Our reflection showed just one person. Anna. I knew what she was seeing, and that’s when she saw it.

“We are the same.”

Anna put her arms behind her so that her hands met at the bottom of my spine. I tightened my grip around her and felt her pull me in with surprising strength. Our skin was hot. I could not tell her body from mine. As she held me harder I forced myself into her more. My muscles began to tremble and I felt faint. But quickly, everything became clear. I could now see us, only me, in the mirror.