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that’s
kind of the way I feel whenever I drive into Islandia. People stop
being people—well, regular people anyway. They become caricatures.
Not far away from the semi-affluent Suffolk County towns of
Smithtown and Hauppauge, with their spa franchises and their
top-dollar steakhouses, lies Islandia, where your worst prejudices
find a face. As you cross the border, Audis are replaced by flatbed
pickup trucks and rent-a-wrecks; the Whole Foods Market is replaced
by Walmart; and normal folks become zombies.
    Sitting in Gabi’s favorite Chinese buffet
restaurant, my seat by the window afforded me a spectacular view of
the bizarre and eclectic. We were sitting across from a table of
six obese women. They were sucking the meat out of king crab legs
at a rate that would impress a Detroit assembly line engineer. One
of the claw-sucking ladies had just sat down with a fresh pile of
crustaceous appendages. She had only gotten through a couple of
them when her dark-haired infant began to screech like a falcon
diving on its prey. She gave her offspring one quick, mean-spirited
glance from the corner of her eye. Now this was impressive: she
grabbed her child with one hand, stuffed a bottle of formula in its
mouth, and was chewing a fresh crab leg in ten seconds flat.
    Two guys were sitting down at a nearby table.
One was wearing a blood-stained bandana. They looked as if they had
just been released from lockup and were planning their next
convenience-store robbery.
    Outside, a toothless, gray-haired woman with
a sallow complexion walked side by side with her husband. They
looked like hillbillies from the Incest Foothills. They also looked
like they had the same parents; okay, maybe they only shared one
parent. Well anyway, the still must have been broken because they
were headed for the liquor store and their daily ration of joy
juice. They were carrying vinyl eco-friendly grocery bags (at least
they both had an environmental conscience). Do I sound judgmental?
Yes. Do I sound prejudice? Undoubtedly. The truth was that my heart
ached for these people. As bad as things had been for Ax and me,
these people had it worse. Ax and I still had hope, and these poor
folks . . . God only knew what would become of them.
    As I watched this menagerie of misfortunates,
I could not imagine having to copy any one of them. Ax and I both
share a similar nightmare—we’ve dreamed that we copied one of these
woebegone citizens and were not able to change back. Okay, it’s all
right to hate us for a minute. I completely understand. I hope
you’ll let it pass. Take all the time you need. Please don’t judge
us. Despite our special abilities, Ax and I have fears and
insecurities like anyone else. Perhaps we are a bit paranoid, but
for us, it’s a legitimate fear.
    So Gabi eats when she feels angst, and angst
she did after my abduction from the Suds Shack while on her watch.
She was keeping up with the six plump gals and was wolfing down egg
rolls and cheese-fried wontons as if they were M&M’s. So great
was her guilt that the waiter asked if we were ready for the check
three separate times.
    “Why would you feel guilty, Gabi? I was
drunk. I put myself in harm’s way. The only thing you’re guilty of
is coming down with a bad case of cramps at an inopportune
time.”
    “This always happens to me: I overeat, I
drink, and I get sick.” Chomp, chomp. “I’m going back for more
Philadelphia roll. I love cream cheese.”
    I watched Gabi shimmy out of the booth and
make her way over to the land of sneeze guards and high-sodium
treats. The tray of king crab legs was empty. The pachyderm-sized
babes had to keep themselves busy eating other delicacies while
they waited for the kitchen to steam up the next batch. As such,
there was a big line for the spare ribs. Gabi wouldn’t be back for
quite a while.
    I checked the time. I—rather, Allie—was due
at the Legal Aid attorney’s office later that afternoon, and there
was no way that she could go