Free Woke Up Lonely by Fiona Maazel

across.
    The roommate said, “You ought to talk to each other—don’t just sit there in silence. When my son comes, you can bet we won’t just be sitting here in silence. Unless I’m slapping ’im up the head or something. Ow, don’t make me laugh. Ow, ow.”
    Anne-Janet turned to her. “It’s fine to sit in silence. This is a hospital. Silence is fine. ”
    “No, that’s not right. People want to feel like they got people.”
    “Feel whatever you like,” Marie said. “But the bottom line is the same. You’re born alone, you die alone”—and she closed her eyes with the thought.
    “Mom, you are not alone,” Anne-Janet said. But it’s not like she didn’t know what her sick parent was talking about.

Ned Hammerstein: In my heart, I knew it was true.
DOB 1.18.72 SS# 615-47-2165
    Esme couldn’t get her clothes off alone, so she used scissors. She cut through the foam tubed around her arms as well. Probably Martin had doubles in the basement. Doubles and triples. Same for her face—he had all the molds—so she pulled it off in haste. She never went to the basement, but it was like an almanac of all the lives she’d taken on as a means of escaping her own. And Martin was her curator. In this way, her only friend. He knew her better than anyone. He’d lifecast her body a hundred times. He had, over the years, captured its bow to time. He could even tame the outpouring of her moods—acne, sweat, tears. They’d had their glory days, though none so glorious as their stint in North Korea. Even Esme was shocked by what they’d managed to pull off there. Shocked and elated and dismantled in ways she hadn’t thought possible for anyone, certainly not herself.
    She put on a nightie and sleep socks, which came up well above her knees. She looked at her console of TVs. At her daughter’s room, where a stuffed platypus was bedfellowed among several sheep and a brindled whale, while Ida kept quarters under the box frame. On a scalloped foam pad. Why choose the underbed instead of the bed itself? Esme couldn’t say, but she imagined it was because down there, Ida felt both denied and protected—safe under the crossbeams but also in self-sacrifice, as if martyring her comfort would keep her mother home.
    It was too early for Esme to sleep, and so, instead: surveillance, what she did best. She could do this all night; it would be company enough. Ned, Anne-Janet, one feed per channel. She’d had their places bugged and wired. She took out a pen and paper and sat back to record what she saw.
    Ned Hammerstein, 2221 hrs: At his desk, typing. Wearing a Star Wars X-wing pilot’s costume procured via new friends in the 501st Legion’s Old Line Garrison. The 501st was mostly a Stormtrooper outfit, but it had connections. Compassion, too. When a man discovered he had a secret twin, and his response was to brandish affinity with the ur-twin, the 501st understood. The costume was pumpkin romper, chest box, black utility belt, leg straps, and, on the floor, a Rotocast vinyl helmet, which Ned would don for video conferencing. For now, though, he was just in a chat room.
    Girlfriend in a dumpster: But if Luke & Leia were supposed to be twins in Lucas’s grand scheme, why were the actors so dissimilar in appearance, and why all the flirting?
    Curious Yellow: Yeah, I still remember my reaction when I heard, “Leia. Leia is my sister!” I was like, huh? Totally UNLIKE my reaction to, “Luke. I am your father.” In my heart, I knew it was true!
    Thomas Merton: You know, I’m just going to say it. Incest is a taboo because it produces defective children. But if the twins live in a galaxy-spanning Empire, surely they can get gene therapy, or produce their children in a lab so there’ll be no defects. And if that’s the case, there’s NO REASON for them not to get together if they want to.
    Girlfriend in a dumpster: But if Luke & Leia were supposed to be twins in Lucas’s grand scheme, why were the actors so dissimilar in