The Other Girl

Last time I visited my parents was about three years ago. On that occasion my father’s girlfriend, Christine, decided that it was time for me to be brought up to date with my father’s friendships. What was the reasoning behind it, I cannot fathom. She had decided that I would meet them all on that day. My apparent lack of curiosity didn’t seem to deter. Kindly, she provided me with the come about of each friendship in great details. One of them was particularly odd. It was about Mark and Magda.

Mark, he had met on some ship, Magda was Mark’s wife. My father had met them years earlier, before they were married. Magda was about my age. As a child, she lived nearby my old boarding school. She never had a father but had adopted mine as hers. As a matter of fact, my father apparently gave her away on her wedding day. Even her two children considered him as their grandfather and call him so. How sweet! I recall my father mentioning his “grandchildren” during innocent conversations about birthdays and Christmases. As if it wasn’t enough, Christine was jubilant by the fact that we - Magda and I – were apparently absolutely identical in every aspect. We could be sisters. I was a little numb by the time we arrived at Mark and Magda’s home. We were sitting around the kitchen table drinking coffee. I was sitting directly in front of Magda. I was very quiet but she had much energy, she was chatty and bright, even funny. That we looked identical was an understatement. Not only could we have been sisters, we could have been twins, down to the same crooked front tooth, except reversed like looking at oneself into a mirror. When we left, she was thrilled to have met me at last, and wished for us to meet again. I was not.

Who was she really? Had I demonstrated more enthusiasm, what could have been the outcome of this meeting?