By Robert Garner McBrearty
The DNA results came back, and the news wasn’t good.
“We double-checked this to make sure the data was right,” my doctor said, “but it appears you’re no longer yourself.”
“Wow. Who am I?”
He shook his head sadly. “Apparently, no one. I’m afraid I won’t be able to see you anymore as you’re no longer yourself and I’m not taking on any new patients at this time.”
I went home to break the news to my wife and son. “I’m afraid I’m not myself,” I told them.
My wife nodded. “Actually, I’m not all that surprised.”
My son is almost a teenager now, but he stood behind her as if to use her as a blocker. “I was wondering too,” he said.
“I guess I’d better pack my things.”
I went down the hallway. The rooms were unfamiliar. In a bathroom, a stocky man in a white undershirt was shaving at a sink.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He turned his head. He slammed down his razor. His face was covered with white foam. “You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve to ask me that!”
My wife and son had followed me. “Who is that?” I asked.
“Who is who?” my wife asked.
“That man shaving in the bathroom.”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “We thought it might be you.”
“Well, no, I don’t think he’s me. He’s much heavier.”
“You seem like an okay guy,” my son said. “Let’s go out and throw the ball.”
We went out into the backyard. He found gloves for us and a baseball. My first throws went into the grass. “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve forgotten how to throw.”
“You’ll get it back, Dad. You’ll get it back.” I was touched that he still called me Dad.
My wife leaned out the sliding glass door. “The man in the bathroom has left,” she called. “Let’s have a picnic.”
After we finished throwing the ball, and by now my throws had targeted in, the three of us sat on our picnic table on the deck, drinking lemonade and eating grilled cheese sandwiches.
“We think you should stay,” my wife said, “even if you aren’t you. Actually, it might be better.”
The sun sank low as we sat there talking, for the first time in years it seemed, about who I had been and who I might become now.
Robert Garner McBrearty is the author of five books of fiction, with a new collection of short stories forthcoming from the University of New Mexico Press. His stories have appeared widely including in the Pushcart Prize, Missouri Review, Laurel Review, Fiction International, Matter Press, Fractured Lit, North American Review, and previously in MoonPark Review. His writing has received many awards including a Sherwood Anderson Foundation Fiction Award and fellowships from MacDowell and the Fine Arts Work Center.
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