Break through
At the risk of going off the self-disclosure scale, I will admit to a fascination for tales of The Paranormal. Knowing I'm not the only one gives me courage. The Internet is burgeoning with personal reports of paranormal encounters, reports that would never have been published -before now.
Some of the reports I have read have literary value (in my opinion). Let's suspend critical judgment about the veracity of such reports, shall we? I really don't care if they're true or false if it's a good read, agreed? I should also admit to trying my hand at writing a simulacrum of a paranormal encounter based on ideas cribbed from various reports that I had read.
My lurking in the paranormal account forums has not gone unnoticed. A spirit followed me home today. I have become the proud owner of a Doppelganger. How do I know? A picture "fell" off the wall, just as told in countless reports, almost as if intentionally. At least, I can think of no rational explanation for what happened.
I had just returned from a visit to the University art gallery, nearby, there to review a show. On the way out I passed a wastebasket. Protruding noticeably was a picture frame. That's not how pictures should be disposed-of (I thought), not, to be sure, at an institution of higher learning. I plucked it out. It was a black-and-white photostat print of James Dean in his sports car (the one that got him killed).
I'm a rational man, but just now, as I tapped "Dean" on the keyboard, the predictive spell checker suggested "dead" -and I don't believe it's a coincidence. It's a shame Dean died the way he did. It was like a self-fulfilling prophecy of "Rebel without a Cause," the movie that launched his acting career. Like Fate, if you see what I mean.
There were several students working in the University gallery office, one of whom noticed my puzzlement, and gave me a nod to remove the picture. Not so much indicated O.K., as encouraged me to take it. The other students were also aware, winking consensus, as if they had previously decided the picture's fate. That's significant, like the involvement of the fast crowd James Dean ran with and who are partly responsible for his demise.
"Rebel without a Crowd," is a title no one ever thought of (before I). What was I to do? For a moment, I considered dropping the item back into the waste basket, but only for a moment. Like in the movie, this was a game of Chicken. I gripped it more firmly for that, like the grip of Dean's hand on the wheel in the movie's game of chicken scene. It had become an ordeal (for me) of honor.
Returning home with the picture, I discovered to my delight that it fit one of my own drawings perfectly. The frame needed to be buffed, and the glass needed cleaning, as it was probably over 50 years old. As for the photo, it was an unsigned, cheap, photostatic reproduction which was worthless -except for sentimental value. I was in doubt about what it meant to the original owner.
James, in the picture, is seated in an open two-seater sports car, one that is obviously too small even for him. It is a Porsche -the one they named the "Little Bastard." Its brisk performance is legendary. Outrageously, the roll bar comes barely to the driver's shoulder. Anyone driving would be decapitated in a crash. At the thought I winced, folded the photo neatly, and deposited it in the kitchen waste basket.
I did a nice job using the salvaged frame for framing my own work of art (if I do say so myself), and it was hung neatly on the wall. I then went for a walk leaving my apartment. When I returned I found it on the floor in a heap of broken glass! I shuddered at the thought of cutting my bare feet for weeks to come on shards of shattered glass. Then, on closer inspection, the broken glass appeared to be confined to a limited area (easy to sweep), not spread across the floor.
I only wish all glass breaks could be so tidy. My drawing was undamaged -as was the frame. I briefly considered salvaging the frame for a second attempt but rejected the notion as pushing the limit. That is when I realized the accident shouldn't have happened. This isn't the first framed picture I have hanged in my life. I had been extra careful in strongly wiring this job because it's old.
Therefore, I can't avoid the conclusion that the Doppelganger theory is better than the poor craftsmanship excuse -or due to faulty materials, etc. Blaming a Doppelganger is simpler, even elegant in its mysterious motive. The spirit of James Dean haunts a bad picture of him in the car he died in, and it fell off the wall and crashed, as his car crashed in reality. It's almost too banal for Hollywood.
May James Dean now rest in peace. And out of nowhere, as I write, predictive spelling is showing a skeleton key emoji. That signifies to me that the last door on the left is open. Or, maybe, it is the ignition key to the Porsche. Trust the A.I. to be witty at times such as this.