Clones Do Not Age

I woke up under a ceiling that’s become all too familiar. An all-white room lit by fluorescent bright enough to just about burns my irises off. All I’d hear would have been dead silence if it weren’t for the occasional beeping beside me, from the machine that’s telling me I’ve at least got a pulse.

The entire right side of the room is a window, overlooking the bustling city traffic. The headlights made it difficult to decipher where the streets ended and the night sky began. Sitting beside the view looking out is me. The other me. He was looking away, but I’m sure he knew I was awake. I couldn’t see his eyes but I could feel his gaze adrift—like the thousand-yard stare of a soldier who’d seen it all.

“Hey,” I whispered. A hoarse call that came out as a whimper. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Took you a while to wake up this time, huh.” Ah, that voice. Always gave me chills hearing how I used to sound like when I was younger, before all the most delicate partsof me gave up. I wheezed out a chuckle in response.

“Yeah. Your old man doesn’t have a lot of life in him left.”

Silence. I’d come to expect a witty quip or even the slightest bit of banter—this is odd.

“Is something bothering you?” I ask. The tone of my voice asked him to at least meet my eyes.

Minutes pass before he replies, never looking away from the view outside. “Sure. There’s nothing more enjoyable than watching yourself wither away of old age.”

“At least you aren’t the one bed ridden and tethered to a life support machine.”

Finally, he stood up. Slowly. He dragged his feet across the floor, and his chair along with it. As he turned around, he was careful not to look me in the face, but the slight tinge of red in his eyes told me enough.

The soft carpet muted his footsteps but I had a hunch he was stomping as he did. My ears can’t hear as well as they used to, but I knew. I saw him prop his chair up right beside me and sat down.

“We’ve lived a good life, the both of us. We did great things, huh?” I smiled at him and stretched my hand out for his.

“You’ve lived a good life. You did great things.” He said as he grabbed my quivering hand, shaking just as his lips did.

“Quit putting on a brave face, I’m you. There’s no hiding from yourself, you can allow a bit of vulnerability here.” I squeeze his hand tight. “And I lived it for the both of us. You were right there beside me the whole way, weren’t you?”

He closed his eyes, the folded face of a man holding back his tears. I felt his grip tighten on my hand as teardrops flowed down his chin.

A bit of time passed, the both of us sitting just like that. I’ve closed my eyes—it was getting too tiring to keep them open.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks. I knew immediately what he meant.

“The same reason why anyone clones themselves these days. There’s no better company than your own.” I open my eyes, looking back at his—no, at mine. How my eyes used to be. The exact same warm shade of almond I had before the cataracts took the color from my irises. Just then, he lets go of my hands.

“Do you regret doing it?” he shot me a smile.

“Not at all. Did you?” I shot him with an identical smile, though weary and wrinkled.

“Well, I didn’t make the choice, did I?”

“Technically you did. Well, I did. But I am you, so—” he snickers. Of course, he’d find my jokes funny.

He got up and stood facing the window wall again, overlooking that same dual night sky. He’s jittery, restless, anxious. There was always this rumor that clones could feel when your time was about to come. Maybe he’s just too afraid to tell me. Hell, I’d be afraid to tell me, too.

I admire his hair—my hair. Still that same hue of jet black as decades ago. Mine have lost their hue long before I was bound to this hospital bed. I’m lucky I even still have hair.

“What’ll you do from now on? Look after the kids? Grandkids? Great grandkid—” I ask, guessing farther down the family tree the longer it took him to answer.

“You know full well how old they all are.” He replies, never breaking his gaze from out the window. “Plus, they’ve already bid their farewells. It’d be like I was your ghost if I kept visiting even after you pass.”

“So, what’ll you do?” He takes a while to answer. Mulling it over. Take your time, kiddo. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.

“I’ll figure something out,” is all he says.

“You’ve got all the time in the world to figure it out. But don’t take too long.”

“Don’t rush me, old man. Unlike you, I get to choose when and how I die— “he pauses, ends his sentence abruptly. As if he regrets letting the idea out there.

“Are you sure about that?” I finish the thought for him, a knowing smile on my weathered face.

He shot me a smile in return. “I knew you’d ask for that.”

“Of course, you knew. You’re me.”

We both laugh, although his is heartier than mine. His has less of a wheeze weaved in between, like how I used to laugh. He’s blessed with lungs that will never collapse and decay like mine has. Of course, there’s still the same playful rhythm to my laugh. I’m just finding it harder to keep up.

He made his way beside my bed, the side where the machine keeping me alive was on. He crouched down to meet my eye level. I reach out my hand to him once more, and he grabs onto it—tight.

“Did you have any regrets?” he asks me, one hand on mine and the other on the socket.

“None that I can think of. And you?” he smiled. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the life we’ve had.”

“I sure have,” his words were a whisper now. He broke sight of me and looked down at the machine’s plug—I could feel his hesitation.

“Hey,” I interrupt him, squeezing out the last extract of strength I had. “Do you ever think we’ll see each other in the afterlife?” His smile changed, more genuinely this time.

Cracking a joke in the most absurd of times always did well for us.

“That’s one last joke out of you, old man. Get some rest.”

“Thanks, kiddo.”

He pulled the plug and stayed there, looking at me. Not many people get to look back at their own eyes as they go, and it’s as personal and intimate as it can get. The beeping slowly came to a stop. For the first time in a long time, there was only one.