The Art of Mistaking Identity

The heavens had opened up, torrential rain pounding against my windscreen with relentless purpose. Peering gingerly through my drivers side window, the massive dark grey clouds and the menacing rumblings of thunder created a slight anxiety at having to drive to work that morning. Armed with only an umbrella, I had already received a soaking, as I bolted from the front door of our apartment to my car, fumbling with keys and central locking. Rain swept sideways, slicking my hair to my head on one side and no doubt washing away whatever makeup I had applied earlier.

As I pulled away from the kerb, I noticed a lone figure on the diagonal corner of the street that I was about to turn into. Jacket collar pulled up around his neck, hunched against the rain he was seemingly waiting for a bus. As I peered closer I realised I knew this man. It was the ex-husband of my very best friend. I hadn't seen him in a few years but it was very clear even in the storm, that this was him.

I turned the corner and pulled up beside him. Pressing the button to lower the window, I yelled out, "Hey!! Do you need a lift?". His small round glasses were fogged up but he pulled them down on his nose, leaning carefully into the car. Now. Let me be very clear. I am not in the habit of picking up hitchikers or giving strange men a lift. But I had known this guy since my teen years and I didn't hesitate. It would be good to catch up and find out what he had been doing all these years.

Climbing into the car, he placed a small briefcase on the floor and turned to me grinning. "Thanks, appreciate it. This weather's a nightmare isnt it?" I smiled and nodded. I asked him where he needed to go? He informed me that he worked in the City, as did I, so I happily concluded we had time for a chat on the way. He offered, "my wife has our umbrella, she left early this morning to catch the train to work." I looked sideways at him. He hadn't changed at all. "How long have you guys lived here?" I asked. He shrugged. "Not long, just bought the villa a couple of months ago." I grinned. "Good for you, its a lovely area, nice and central to the City too." Conversation dried up as the continuing rain, which hadn't, reduced my speed to almost a crawl, but the silence seemed a comfortable one.

As we approached the outskirts of the City, I asked, " so have you spoken to Belinda lately? I know you two stay in touch." He looked confused. "Belinda? Whose Belinda?" I thought he was joking. "Very funny. " His blank look started to concern me. I continued, " Belinda. My best friend. The one you married then left for someone who looked almost identical to her ." He started to fidget uncomfortably. I threw a quick look sideways. He had become quite pale and had one hand on the door handle. I frowned. "Mark ? Sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up. But she was devastated you know." He was literally squirming in his seat, but stopped abruptly. "Who's Mark?" he asked. I slammed my foot on the brake causing the car to skid slightly. He braced himself but was able to reply, "I don't know who Mark is."

We had stopped at the traffic lights. I looked carefully at him. " What? Of course you're Mark. I've known you for years. You're married to Robyn!!". He shook his head. "Um no, not me. My wife's name is Taryn." I could feel the blood leave my face and pool somewhere around my toes. I had just picked up a complete stranger who I thought was Mark. They were almost identical. I stammered. "I'm so, so sorry, I thought you were someone I had history with, you must have thought it really odd for me to offer you a lift like that." He breathed a sigh of relief. "No, I'm grateful for the lift. Thank you. "

Moving forward through the lights, I cast a furtive, yet increasingly alarmed look in his direction which of course, offered no consolation. The realisation hit hard that I knew nothing about this guy. I mean, all serial killers look normal don't they? My grip tightened on the steering wheel and as we moved closer to the Central Business District I choked out, " um, where can I drop you?"

He grinned. "Just pull over here, my office is just around the corner.". The rain had eased slightly as he opened the door but before he climbed out of the car he turned to me. "By the way, my names Tom. Given we're neigbours I'll probably see you around." I nodded mutely, a deep red flush creeping up through my neck and face. As he stepped onto the kerb, he looked back and grinned. "I'll return the favor one day ." I offered a smile as sickly as the lump of lead in my stomach.

Arriving at my parking space, I shook my head in disbelief. What an idiot I was!! I should have asked his name before he got in the car. But then, if I'd have known he wasn't Mark, would I have just taken off and left him there drenched? I put my head on the steering wheel trying to pull myself together. I could hear the words of my mother loudly, "Never, ever pick up strangers. EVER!" My twenty twenty vision had let me down. I was positive he was Mark. But.... his name was Tom.

The following week, I recalled this embarrasing experience to Belinda, who to her credit tried to stifle giggles, albeit unsuccessfully, while informing me that Mark had in fact moved overseas six months prior. Information, I told her, that would have been good to know six months ago.

Anyway, after that humiliating case of mistaken identity,Tom and Taryn would always wave when my husband and I ran into them at the local shops , but I could never really look at him without blushing, or at his lovely wife without feeling mortified, much to my husbands delight. And... I never offered Tom a lift again. EVER.