Pulling at my clothes, I groan, hating the feeling of how the fabric sticks to my clammy skin. Everything appears the same as I left it last night.
Somehow, I managed to fall asleep, but I didn’t feel rested. I’ve been reliving the same day, in my dreams, for damn near eighteen years. It’s the only dream I can seem to remember after waking. Sometimes the nightmare can alter, but the ending is never happy.
Locating a loose hair tie in my bed, I pull up my hair before finding my phone. It’s off.
Oh right… I remember now, a psychopath was texting me. Hence, the redecorated bedroom.
I peeked under my bed to find the kitchen knife I stashed, in case anyone was stupid enough to break in. It was a good thing I stored the weapon there instead of keeping it with me.
I sleep like I’mwrestling a bear. Andrea’s description of how I sleep, not mine.
My phone comes to life after pressing the power button, and I hold my breath, hoping there are no new messages. Relief washes over me when I don’t see anything but a calendar reminder. I worked at the market and the bar today. Shit. It’s going to be a brutal day.
Pushing my bed back from the door, I emerge to find our living quarters quiet and still. Secretly, I hoped to find Andrea panicking in the kitchen. Responsible for some form of transgression, against an unsuspecting breakfast staple.
I pad my way across the room, then gently tap my knuckles on her door, listening for any indication of life.
No answer.
Slowly turning the knob, I poke my head through to find black painted toes poking out from beneath a disheveled comforter; she’s asleep. Carefully turning the knob, I ease the door closed and breathe a sigh of relief that she is home. Safe.
It’s not just my safety I need to be concerned about this weirdo leaving me presents and sending unnerving messages. If I knew she was home… I should have stayed up. This isn’t just about me anymore.
This person knows where I live. I need to tell her. She’s my best friend.
I get a whiff of myself as I cross the open space, on the way back to my room. Phew! If a crazed lunatic did come into my room last night, they would have instantly abandoned ship.
In the shower, I try to visualize what information I ‘do’ have. Like laying cards out on a table, I sort them based on what I’ve seen, heard, and know to be true. Nothing connects. None of itmakes sense, and the more I think about it, without concrete evidence, I sound rather insane.
I debate on how I should tell Andrea… or when for that matter. Seeing her lately has been more erratic than using the Orange Line. Unreliable. From track problems to weather delays, you’d be better off taking a shuttle bus to your destination.
The longer I let this go, the messier it will become.
I could handle it if she's pissed, but what if she sees me in a negative light?
Stepping out of the shower, I towel off and head to my room. I don’t think I should say anything… at least not yet. Andrea is very protective. If I’m going to bring her into this, I need more information. I won’t derail our friendship on a hunch.
I have a stop to make before heading into work.
For now, I’ll stick to the allegorical bus. Predictably reliable, although don’t put anything on the floor… who knows what that mystery substance is. It’s better to keep all your belongings on your lap.
Leaving early for Star Mart, I have enough time to swing by the cell store when it opens and change my phone number.
Approximately fifteen minutes after entering the bright yellow store, I was walking out with a new number and a little less anxiety about being messaged by a ‘potential’ stalker.
The sidewalks are covered with brightly colored leaves, still dewy as I walk to work. I love this time of year. Parents hold their little ones’ hands as they walk through the park. Others walk their dog or jog for sport. Although we're all on the same path, each person obviously leads a very different life. I watch each of them. Wondering if the young man jogging has early onset heart disease and was actively trying to change a possibly bleak future. Then my gaze catches on an older woman pushinga stroller. Suspecting that she, like many women, has faced hurdles, prior to becoming a mother.
Some people climb mountains, while most are simply trying to avoid potholes on the road of life. I understand this makes us who we are, but I can’t help wondering if my destination would be different if my path wasn’t filled with bear traps and snake pits. Could I be the one pushing a stroller or was I meant to be more health-conscious, exercising daily in the park?
Maybe someone who didn’t constantly question why I’m still here.?
I stopped briefly at a bench to enjoy my last few moments outside.
I pull out my phone and shoot off a quick text to my parents, Andrea, and even my uncle, letting them know my new phone number. Andrea instantly replies.
Andrea: How do I really know it’s you?
Cindel: You slept with our Art History professor during our first semester.
