Thanks to a Google maps mishap, I got lost on my way to the Syracuse University Bookstore Book Fair. When I finally found the fair location, I parked my car quickly, grabbed my bag, and ran toward a giant ice cream cone that I assumed was fair-related (thankfully, it was). I did not take any note of where I parked my car.
So when The Accountant & The Other 1/4 stopped by at the end of the event to meet up so we could grab dinner, I came to the realization that I hadn’t the foggiest where in downtown Syracuse I’d parked my car.
“I think it’s on Harrison,” The Other 1/4 said, with great authority, when we climbed in her car so she could drive me around to mine.
“It doesn’t sound familiar,” I said. I hadn’t told her anything that would give any clues to the location of the car. “I ran toward a giant ice cream cone, that’s all I know. I don’t remember seeing a sign for Harrison.”
“Let’s just try Harrison,” she insisted.
Back at Ithaca, I’d go to dinner with my ladies almost every night. Even though neither of us were particularly argumentative in general, The Other 1/4 and I would get into stupid debates and unending arguments at almost every single dinner. Finally, one evening, The Professor, in all her calm, amazing glory said, “Why don’t you two realize you’re both arguing the same exact point?”
And it was true. We were totally arguing on the same side of of almost everything, we just weren’t listening to the other person enough to realize it. After The Professor’s grand statement, things changed completely.
1/4 and I look enough alike that we get mistaken for each other. We can finish each other’s sentences, and explain things to each other using the weirdest examples known to man (akin to “You know how when you’re on an elevator and you have that feeling like the first day of school in the fall wearing a sweater and it completely reminds you of that time we went to Sylvan Beach and…”), and I can’t hide a damn emotion from that woman. If I’m trying to keep something a secret, she knows. If I’m upset and don’t want to trouble anyone with it, she knows. All she needs to hear is me saying, “Hey Lady,” when I pick up the phone and she instantly knows everything. I love her fiercely.
Once, when we did one of the freaky saying the same thing at the same time thing, The Other 1/4 was going to say it was because we shared a brain. Instead, she said “It’s because we share 1/2 a brain.” Hence, she is my other 1/4, and we may be short a lobe or something, but at least we have each other.
On the way to Harrison St. we passed several other parking lots and I made The Other 1/4 turn down a couple of side streets that looked slightly familiar. But, the second we turned down Harrison, there was the lot with my car.
“How did you know it was on Harrison?” I asked.
“I just did,” she said. “I must have been using the whole half when you were parking.”
Also, we can both balance 4 spoons on our faces at the same time. Not the same 4 spoons, of course. That would be weird.