beginning of a song.
“Good-bye,” I say, and break away from them. I hear them laughing behind me as I run to the door. There I find Becka’s black leather boots, her filthy knapsack, and a frayed coat with a big hood. As the family follows me to the front entrance, I step outside and close the door behind me.
It’s cold. I stumble out into the morning light, and make my way down a wet pathway to the street. The sky is overcast but bright, and I see my breath float before me as I walk along the sidewalk. I hear the sound of running water as melting snow travels through the gutter. I turn the corner of the block, and my pace slows.
I want this dream to end, but I have this sinking feeling that I’m not in a dream. Dreams aren’t this linear. They don’t involve details and sensations. I remember the bathroom light that I could control. My eyes wander ahead on the sidewalk, and they fall on a newspaper wrapped in plastic.
Reading. You can’t read in a dream. I am sure of that.
I near the newspaper, dreading what I am about to discover. If this is a dream, it’s one I might not be able to wake from. And if this is reality… I don’t even know what that implies.
I crouch down and pick up the newspaper. Beads of dew are cold against my skin, and I rip the plastic wrapper down the seam. I hold open the newspaper before me, letting the front page fall open. I stare at the headline.
EDEN PRARIE HEATS UP WITH RECORD HIGHS
I can read it. I can read every word.
Chapter Three
I walk the six blocks to my own house in mental silence. I can’t even comprehend the birds chattering in the trees, the cars driving through slush on the streets, or the sound of my (Becka’s?) boots clomping along the sidewalk. It’s all just noise, and none of it feels real.
Except it
is
real. I’m starting to understand that now. Somehow I’ve switched places with Becka, and my mind has entered her body overnight. It doesn’t make sense to me, and I’m not sure what is the appropriate way to handle this situation. All I know is that it seems reasonable to walk toward home, in a dream logic sort of way.
Because if I’m her, it only makes sense that she woke up as me. Maybe we can figure out things together.
I reach my house. The driveway is empty, and I’m glad that my mom won’t be around to deal with this. I can only imagine the stupid things Becka would say to her as me, and I’d rather not have to explain that later. I just want to find her and get us back the way we were. I walk up the path and automatically reach to my left side to take my key out of my purse.
Except my purse isn’t there, because I’m not me.
I look at the door for a moment, dumbfounded. Then I shake myself, and reach out to press the doorbell. When I see
her
hand performing the action, it gives me a sick chill. But that’s nothing compared to what happens next.
While on the front porch, I hear the doorbell chime from within the house; but at the same time, I hear it all around me, echoing from the sky as if the entire world were in the house, hearing the doorbell. I nearly fall over, and the shock of it makes my vision grow fuzzy.
But not fuzzy like when before I put in her contacts. The entire world seems to grow bright, as if it’s an overexposed photo, and I feel even more detached from the world than before. It scares me, because my first thought is that I’m dying, and I struggle to maintain consciousness. It takes all my focus, but I manage to make the world come clear again, and when I do, I find that I’ve collapsed onto my front porch.
I stagger up, gripping the door handle to steady myself. I look at the doorbell, but am too afraid to press it again. Instead, I step down from my front porch, and walk along the side of the house, back toward my bedroom window. Maybe I can sneak in that way.
I hear Becka’s boots crunch on the dead grass along the way. It’s odd, because even in this short time, I am starting to think of this