Doppelgangers

Twelve-ish. Shade in the Murillo gardens, as satisfying as lemonade. In the heat, just for a moment, Miguel stood in front of me. The old Miguel, not the one we've got now. The fuzzy image held its hand out and led me to the old Arab wall. When we were first married, we tried to climb it in the middle of the night. A celebration. "This wall's been here hundreds of years," Miguel said. "If we can conquer that, we can conquer anything." I believed him. I open my eyes and he's gone. In these s...