The Copycat
The Fieldstone Review/July 2022
I did not choose black for my husband’s funeral but instead wore a vibrant striped dress. Seth exuded life and colour. He loved me in bright tones.
Afterwards, I sat in a wooden chair listening to the drone of mourners. A shadow fell and a woman wearing a black dress and pillbox hat with a veil stood in front of me. Before I could force a smile and engage in yet another awkward conversation, a familiar voice, sticky-sweet, emerged.
Linda.
I stood in defense.
“Allie, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I lost my mother this week, too. I get it. I totally get it. I’m here for you, Allie. I’m here.” Her fake soothing voice brought acid to my mouth.
I put my hands on Linda’s shoulders, forcing her backwards, watching her stumble and regain her balance as I kept shoving, releasing the rage of a lifetime until she fell through the door.
***
I didn’t even like her in second grade. She sat behind me in class, craned her neck over my shoulder to see what I wrote on my paper. I turned to see she’d copied my name into the top line. My name. Astonished, I jerked my paper to the right. Her eyes followed the paper. She smiled with her innocent, wide-eyed go-to expression.
Like a bigger version of Tinker Bell, her face carried no blemish, her lips were pillowy and pink, all her other features accentuated by two brilliant green eyes, eyes that looked into my irritated brown ones with hope or need or something.
“Copycat!” I said.
She smiled again, this time displaying her white chicklet teeth. “Meow!” She put up pretend paws and stuck out a little pink tongue. We both cracked up laughing.
***
Eventually, no one could tell us apart. In middle school, we shared tubes of Maybelline #52 cherry pie-flavoured lipstick and swapped our skinny jeans and form- fitting t-shirts. We joined the soccer team and spent afternoons kicking the ball back and forth, often discussing our different school subjects. Academics were my main passion, and Linda seemed to have similar priorities. She copied my notes and study habits, something I considered a compliment. Since everyone loved sweet, beautiful Linda, our friendship increased my social status, a win-win.
Linda eventually ditched me. One day, without warning, she turned her copycat attention to Deandra Evans, the pigtailed head of the cheerleading squad. She even swept her hair into the same tight side ponies, tilted her head and snapped her Bubble Yum gum exactly like her new friend. I spied her across the hallway leaning on Deandra’s locker, chatting and laughing away.
***
I didn’t intend to go to the same university as Linda. I just hoped it was a big enough place so I could easily avoid her.
One breezy fall day, walking across the quadrangle, I felt the green eyes coming at me like headlights. I froze in my tracks.
“Allie!” Linda said, “I love your hair!”
“Thanks.” I touched my recently shorn locks, feeling an eerie, familiar combination of pride and dread.
The next time I crossed the quad I found her, sitting in a ray of sunshine, her hair cut the same as mine. The pixie cut perfectly framed her defined cheekbones and big eyes.
“You should go to my salon,” she said. “Give me your number and I’ll text you the info.”
Her hair did look really good, and I had not made any friends yet, so I gave her my number. Our friendship began again.
After winter break, Linda met a guy. Patrick. I ended my freshman year without Linda.
***
Later in my college years, just after I met Seth and things were going well, Linda
texted me.
Hey, Allie-kins, Do you want to go out? Ladies’ night at the Driftwood!
Of course I said no, but she pressed me.
Oh, c’mon! It’ll be fun! Like the old days. Just you and me!
I wasn’t sure what old days she meant, but I could not resist the pull of being in Linda’s orbit.
All I remember about the rest of that night was the boom-boom-boom of techno music, the bodies bumping into me, the sweat dripping off my brow as I maneuvered- the bar looking for her. With no answers to my texts, I worried she was in trouble, but I also knew that she’d probably found someone else. Under a cold clear moon, I walked alone up the hill to my dorm.
***
The summer of my engagement, Linda reappeared after another hiatus. “She wants to bake our wedding cake,” I told Seth.
“Sometimes people change,” he said, painting an old chair blue, matching his clear, kind eyes.
On the day of my wedding, I could barely see the cake because all I could see was Linda standing in front of it, contrasting with the chocolate layers, wearing an off- white, form-fitting gown. She looked like a stunning meringue, her hair and makeup expertly done. I could feel my own dress and hair grow sloppy, ridiculous as I shrunk beside her. The whispers of my guests crowded my ears and mind.
I swore that day would be the last time I allowed Linda into my life.
***
After Seth’s funeral, as she lay in the doorway, I fought the urge to kick, to spit.
I looked down on her, “How dare you? You are not getting to copy this—my grief! No way.”
Linda slinked back, scurried away.
I pictured her licking her wounds, circling the neighborhood, green eyes darting around, looking to rub softly against a new leg, purring ever so sweetly.
