Clone

by M A Gelsey

  “I’ve waited a long time for you to return to me, my love,” he whispered. Annabel’s mind went blank and she could not summon a single word to say, but Rex King did not seem to mind. The old priest cleared his throat and began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today . . .”

  Annabel didn’t hear the rest. She was too busy avoiding Rex King’s eyes and trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart. At the appropriate time, she repeated her vows, and managed to barely hesitate before sealing her fate with a simple, “I do.”

  2: JAVI

  The morning was thick with tension in the Vasquez house. All of Javi’s birthdays were tense. Technically, this birthday didn’t even belong to him. He’d never been told the actual day of his birth. His family had always celebrated it on March 15, the day that the original Javier Vazquez had been born and had died.

  He supposed a more industrious person might have done some research to learn more about his origins. It wouldn’t be difficult — he knew he was the third successful human clone, and surely all kinds of information about his birth would be publicly available, including the date. But he never bothered. He didn’t want to be reminded of yet another thing he and the real Javier did not have in common.

  Sometimes he wondered if his parents would prefer him if he didn’t speak, making it easier for them to believe the lie that he really was the son they had lost instead of an inferior copy. He had seen photos of the original Javier, and they both had the same tall, lanky frame, the same light brown skin, messy black hair and chocolate-colored eyes. Lately, Javi had started growing a wispy beard in an effort to distinguish himself from the specter of his original. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t make any difference.

  Today they’d celebrate his eighteenth birthday. Javi had known it would be the strangest of all his strange birthdays because the original Javier had died at seventeen. It was a car accident. He and three friends had missed a curve on the Pacific Coast Highway and driven his new car — a birthday present — off a cliff. In a way, this year was the first birthday that belonged to Javi alone. An observation best kept to himself, he knew.

  The conversation over breakfast was stilted, as his father tried to keep things normal by asking him about school and whether he’d heard back from any more colleges (the original Javier had wanted to go to Stanford and it was assumed that Javi did too — in fact he thought he’d prefer Georgetown but he hadn’t told anyone that yet).

  His mother had been holding back tears since she first greeted him with a tremulous, “Happy birthday, sweetie,” and a hug. He supposed he shouldn’t feel resentful for that. It had taken his parents thirty-five years to reach their only child’s eighteenth birthday.

  “I’m gonna go meet up with some friends,” Javi mumbled as he got up from the table once breakfast was finished. He felt guilty but had to escape. He hated that they both looked at him and saw someone else.

  “We’re gonna go out to the vineyard next weekend,” reminded his father. “See if they want to come.”

  “I will,” Javi said.

  “Be safe,” his mother whispered.

  “I will,” Javi repeated after a split-second pause.

  Thirty minutes later he was getting off the bus (he wasn’t allowed a car) and walking towards a park downtown. There he met his two best friends Herman O’Flannery and Fred Singh, both even more awkward and nerdy than he was. Herman was pale and slightly chubby with curly orange hair and too many freckles, and Fred was skinny and hunchbacked with glasses, black hair and skin the color of a coffee stain on paper.

  The three of them went to their usual haunt, a weeping willow tree with branches that bent all the way to the ground, almost creating a tent with their leaves. Fred lit a joint and passed it to Javi who inhaled gratefully, looking forward to the pleasant warm feeling and mental cloudiness that he always associated with pot. Javi passed the joint on to Herman who took two short puffs and passed it back to Fred.

  “Think we’ll see Stella today?” Herman asked, peering through the swaying branches of the willow.

  “Doubt it,” Javi said. Stella Castell was the most popular girl in their school, the one all of them fantasized about. It didn’t matter that they all wanted her; she’d never look twice at any of them.

  “I think we might,” Herman said, unperturbed. “It’s Saturday. She likes to come here on Saturdays sometimes. She likes the lake.”

  “Jesus, Herm. You sound like a goddamn stalker,” commented Fred.

  They all laughed, even Herman. Fred handed Javi the joint again and he took a long draw, waiting a few seconds before blowing out the smoke.

  “D’you know, I think her tits look bigger than before. Do they still grow when you’re eighteen?” Herman asked.

  “Maybe she had some work done,” suggested Fred.

  “I’m fucking tired of us all obsessing over Stella,” Javi said. “We’ve gotta broaden our scope if we don’t all wanna die virgins.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Herman said, coughing as he took the last puff of the joint and stubbed out the end in the grass.

  “Why is that?” Javi asked, although he thought he knew the answer.

  “You’re a clone,” Herman said as though explaining the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s exotic.”

  “If by exotic you mean freakish, then yes,” Javi snapped, and Fred snorted with laughter. “What does that have to do with girls?”

  “Girls like exotic,” Herman said.

  “Says who?” Javi muttered.

  “You’re an idiot, Herman,” said Fred. “Girls like tall, attractive athletes like Kato Barre. Come to think of it, that’s probably why Stella’s dating him.”

  “Stella’s got a new boyfriend?” gasped Herman as though he’d never heard such horrible news in his life.

  Fred gave him a scathing look. “Like you’d ever have a chance with her.”

  Herman groaned and lay back on the grass. “That doesn’t mean I want her dating someone else. Especially not an asshole like Kato.”

  “He’s not really an asshole,” Javi said fairly. “And he’s a lot less stupid than her last boyfriend — “

  “Todd,” finished Herman. “See, I liked her with Todd because I knew it’d never last.”

  “You’ve never even talked to her!” Javi said. On that score at least he was doing better than both of his friends. Stella sat in front of him in his Chinese class and every so often would turn around to pass him a test or homework paper. He’d usually say “thanks” and receive no response, but once she’d smiled and said, “no problem.” No wonder he was doing so badly in Chinese, he reflected. Too much time spent staring at Stella’s perfect blonde hair and perfect shoulders and perfect ass.

  “Changing the subject,” said Fred. “Either of you get any more college letters?”

  “Got into Berkeley,” said Herman.

  “UCLA and Stanford,” Javi mumbled. He didn’t want to talk about college.

  “Bet they flipped out when you got into Stanford,” Herman said, referring to Javi’s parents.

  Javi shrugged. “Haven’t told them yet.”

  “I got into Berkeley too,” said Fred.

  “Roomies!” Herman exclaimed.

  “Good for you,” Javi said, hoping to keep the conversation from circling back to him.

  “Why haven’t you told them?” Herman asked Javi, pulling another joint out of Fred’s backpack and rummaging around for a lighter.

  “Obvious, isn’t it?” Javi said. “If I tell them I got in, they’ll want me to go. Just like he always wanted.”

  The slight awkwardness that followed was broken when Herman spotted Stella Castell walking around the duck pond across the park hand in hand with Kato Barre.

  “Fuck everything,” said Herman, lighting the second joint.

  3: EDGAR PRIME

  “Just one more test Prime, then you can go to class,” said Dr. Midas.

  Edgar Prime sighed but nodded wearily. “Fine.”


  He was about three-quarters done with his first year of college. He liked Columbia well enough, despite it being the same university where his original, Dr. Edgar Midas, had gotten his Ph.D. and completed the first stages of his cloning research. After he’d established a name and reputation, Dr. Midas had set up his own lab using private funding. It was where Edgar Prime was conceived, and where new clones were produced to this day.

  When Edgar Prime was young, he had fantasized about going elsewhere, somewhere far away where nobody had heard of Dr. Midas and his brilliant science experiment, but it wasn’t long before he realized that such a place did not exist. Dr. Midas had friends and colleagues at universities all over the world, and his face was familiar even to those outside of academia. Edgar Prime had been dealing with an odd, reflected fame his whole life, and he often felt like the star act in a circus freak show. There was nowhere to hide.

  Dr. Midas had taken to calling him ‘Prime’ as though it was some sort of endearing nickname, but Edgar Prime took it as further confirmation that he was not expected to develop any identity of his own. While Dr. Midas had insisted on educating him and encouraging him to study hard so that one day he too might do great things, Edgar Prime knew that anything he accomplished would ultimately be attributed to his original, the man to whom he owed his genetic code, his life, and everything else. There was a time when he had considered changing his name so that he might be better able to carve out his own destiny. But what other name was more appropriate for a copy, a derivation? Dr. Midas would probably laugh if he knew that Edgar Prime thought such things — he had never thought of Edgar Prime as anything more than an extension of himself.

  “I’m going to start the slideshow now,” Dr. Midas informed him.

  “All right,” replied Edgar Prime.

  The lights in the lab dimmed, and Edgar Prime tried to pay attention to the photographs that appeared on the screen in front of him instead of dwelling on bitter thoughts. He had done a hundred tests like this before, but as Dr. Midas frequently reminded him the human brain was not fully developed until the mid-twenties. Dr. Midas wanted to study and catalogue every step of Edgar Prime’s development, and as much as possible compare it to his own.

  After the series of photographs designed to elicit various emotional reactions came math problems, science questions, and verbal exercises in both English and Spanish. Dr. Midas never asked him about history during these tests, preferring to focus on those areas he considered valuable. Edgar Prime thought this was likely why history was his favorite subject, even though he had never told Dr. Midas. It felt like something that belonged solely to him.

  After the fMRI was complete, Dr. Midas had his research fellow, Dr. Patrice Zhao, raise the lights once more. Edgar Prime stood up and glanced at the clock on the far wall. If he left in the next five minutes he’d be able to make it to his World History II class on time.

  “Excellent, Prime,” Dr. Midas said as he strode over from behind the panel of computer monitors on which he had been watching Edgar Prime’s brain activity throughout the session.

  “I’ve got a class to get to,” Edgar Prime said, not wanting to hear what Dr. Midas thought of his latest scans.

  “Of course,” Dr. Midas said. “Same time on Thursday then? And maybe we can have dinner sometime this week too.”

  “Sure,” Edgar Prime said. The sensation of looking at his older self had disturbed Edgar Prime since he was old enough to understand it. He supposed he should be relieved; Dr. Midas was still handsome and looked much younger than his fifty-five years. But Edgar Prime disliked seeing versions of his own facial expressions playing out on a much older face. Edgar Prime stooped down and picked up his backpack. “I’ll text you.”

  “Enjoy your class,” Dr. Midas said. Behind him, Patrice sat down at the computer and began typing furiously, completing her notes and properly cataloguing this round of scans. She rarely talked to Edgar Prime during these sessions, and when she did it was only as a research subject. Never as a person.

  Edgar Prime nodded to Dr. Midas and left the sterile white lab. He was grateful to get outside again, able to feel the sun on his face and pretend he was just like everybody else. The illusion lasted only an instant; standing on Riverside Drive outside Midas Labs, he drew a few stares and he knew they knew who he was, or rather what he was.

  He put his head down and walked briskly back towards campus, already looking forward to losing himself in a lecture on the Greco-Persian Wars for the next couple of hours.

  4: ANNABEL

  They returned to the house without Ms. Durant. Rex explained that from now on she’d be living elsewhere in town, but that Annabel could see her whenever she wished. Annabel felt distinctly uncomfortable standing on the threshold of the house where she had grown up next to her new husband. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she first entered the church, as though he was afraid she would vanish if he did. When the priest had said, “You may now kiss the bride,” Rex’s lips had been too eager and too moist.

  “Such a beautiful view,” Rex said. She glanced over in his direction, and saw he was looking not at the ocean or the barely-blooming wildflowers, but at her. She looked away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by the vista she had seen every day of her eighteen years.

  “Yes,” she said, stepping away from him and inside the house. Rex followed, more closely than she’d have liked.

  “Are you hungry, my love?” Rex asked.

  Annabel shook her head, trying not to cringe at the endearment, one foreign to her ears.

  “Are you sure?” Rex said. “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine,” lied Annabel. She went out onto the balcony and watched the ocean break against the waves, wishing she were anywhere else.

  Rex was eyeing her with concern. “I’ll make us some tea.”

  Annabel turned and gave him a weak smile, remembering the courtesies that Ms. Durant had drilled into her.

  Rex left, giving Annabel a moment of solitude. He’s trying, Annabel told herself, ashamed at how judgmental she’d been. She resolved to do her very best to make this work.

  Before long, Rex returned with two steaming mugs. She saw that he had put a lemon slice in her tea and accepted the offering, though she preferred almond milk.

  “Thank you,” she said, barely above a whisper. The joyous look on his face at this tiny gesture of gratitude was heartbreaking.

  “Can I get you anything else?” he asked. “Some fruit or a sandwich? I had Mrs. Lennox put a roast chicken on for our dinner, but it won’t be ready for hours. She’s also making blueberry pie for dessert. Your favorite.”

  “Tea is fine, thank you,” Annabel repeated, almost managing a genuine smile this time. She did love blueberry pie, but found it disconcerting that this stranger knew her dessert preferences so well.

  They sat down side-by-side on the two balcony lounge chairs, smelling the ocean, watching the sunlight glint off the water, and listening to the birdsongs and the sound of the waves.

  “I missed this view,” Rex said.

  “Have you seen it before?” Annabel asked, startled.

  “Of course,” Rex said. “We —” he stopped. The moment of awkwardness hung between them. “I used to live here . . . before.”

  “Oh,” said Annabel in a small voice.

  “We’ll be happy here again,” Rex promised. All Annabel could think was that they had never been a ‘we’ before, not in her lifetime. She didn’t know how to reply to that, so she took another sip of her tea.

  5: JAVI

  When Javi returned home hours later, he was still stoned. He walked into the living room to find the unwelcome sight of his only living grandparent: his father’s mother. An ancient woman with wispy white hair, she was wrinkled from head to toe and dressed all in black. She had come, he knew, to pay her respects at the gravesite of the Javier who had died. It had always been that way. In all of Javi’s eighteen years she had never once come for the purpose of seeing him or wishing him a happ
y birthday.

  Immediately upon his entrance she fixed her beady eyes on him, and muttered “El diablo,” under her breath, but still loud enough that he could hear it. She had never been shy about condemning her son’s choice to clone his dead child, and never failed to mention Javi’s “unnaturalness” during her infrequent visits. This would not be the first of Javi’s already uncomfortable birthdays that she ruined.

  “Mirabel,” Javi’s mother said reproachfully. She was seated on the couch opposite her mother-in-law, who had taken up her usual spot in Javi’s father’s armchair. The old woman gave her a sour look but did not comment further.

  “I’ll be upstairs,” Javi mumbled, trying to make his exit quickly. He hoped they couldn’t smell the smoke on his clothes or see his bloodshot eyes.

  “Come sit with us for a few minutes,” his mother said just before Javi was able to disappear down the hallway.

  “I’ve got some homework to do,” Javi said without real conviction.

  His mother gave him a stern look. Reluctantly, Javi slouched into the living room and sat down in the chair furthest away from his mother and grandmother.

  “Hello, Abuela,” said Javi as he slumped back in the chair.

  His grandmother merely grunted in response.

  “I was just saying you’ve gotten a lot of acceptance letters in the last few weeks,” Javi’s mother said in an attempt at normalcy. “Still no word from Stanford, but I’m sure it won’t be long.”

  Javi nodded even as his stomach squirmed uncomfortably. He didn’t want to lie about his Stanford acceptance, but he didn’t know if he could face their celebration that his original’s dearest ambition had finally been accomplished, albeit eighteen years too late.

  “Very nice,” his grandmother said with a disdainful sniff. Javi averted his eyes from hers, feeling that she could see the lie written across his face.

  “What could be taking David so long?” his grandmother asked suddenly, turning back towards Javi’s mother. “Call him, will you Josefina? He’s been forty-five minutes getting those flowers.”