"Do you, Andrew Carlysle, take this man to be your lawfully wedded
husband?"
I heard the question, but didn't quite believe it. Even given everything
that had happened in the past 24 hours, it made no sense. Why was I
suddenly getting married? And why did the preacher call me "Andrew"?
I looked at Bryce, standing there in his tuxedo and his Air Jordan 11
Concords -- the same shoes he was wearing at the club -- and so many
questions were running through my mind. I tried to speak, but I just
stood there, mouth agape, unable to form words that would even begin to
logically explain what was happening.
"Well," the preacher said, waiting for an "I do."
"Maybe this would help," Bryce said, as he took off his tuxedo jacket.
Suddenly, underneath the jacket, he wasn't wearing a shirt and tie... he
was wearing a wedding dress. And he wasn't Bryce anymore. He was Monica.
"Aww, look," she said. "We're twins."
I looked at her dress then looked down to realize I was wearing the same
exact one -- a white, strapless ballroom gown that seemed to puff out
three feet in each direction at the bottom. Only while hers fell
perfectly on her flawless frame, mine was a mess on my 300-pound body.
That's when it hit me. The preacher called me Andrew because I was
Andrew. Except in a wedding dress. Holding a bouquet and getting married
to Monica. Or Bryce. I wasn't sure anymore.
Just then a man tapped on Monica's shoulder.
"Can I cut in?" he asked. Monica stepped aside and now standing in front
of me waiting for my answer was none other than my best friend Mark.
"Are you confused?" he asked me.
"I am," I said, finally able to speak, in a voice that sounded like a
hybrid of my own and Alana's.
"Do you want this to be over?" he asked.
"I do," I said. Before I could even follow up with a question of my own,
the preacher continued.
"Then by the powers vested in me by the State of Confusion, I now
pronounce you husband and wife," he said. "You may kiss the bride."
My eyes widened with panic as I realized what I'd done. Mark leaned in
to kiss me. I closed my eyes and right as our lips touched, I snapped up
in bed.
"Ohmigod, it was just a dream," I said to myself.
Wait... it was a dream. Then maybe the whole thing had been a dream and
I was still Andrew -- though an Andrew with some obviously psychological
issues to be worked out in years upon years of therapy sessions.
I looked down at myself. No such luck. I was in the same four-post bed
with the same fluffy bedding as yesterday, still wearing the bra and
panties I'd fallen asleep in last night. I glanced over at my pillow and
saw the unmistakable marks of smeared makeup, realizing I'd forgotten to
take mine off after Monica dropped me off well after closing time.
I managed to survive the rest of the night without anyone else's tongue
or any alcohol ending up in my mouth (the latter of which probably
helped me stay focused on the former), but I was still feeling like crap
this morning. My stomach was churning and for the second consecutive
morning I found myself rushing to the bathroom to make a sacrifice to
the porcelain gods.
I made it just in time, before vomiting into the toilet, and once again
immediately felt better, though I wasn't looking to make this a daily
habit. Though that did remind me of something I was fairly certain Alana
did daily. I pulled out the scale from under the sink and weighed
myself.
103.6 pounds. 16.2 BMI. +0.3 pounds.
Well, that was... interesting. I barely had anything to eat yesterday
AND I worked out AND I just vomited again and yet I'd gained three-
tenths of a pound. I guess what I considered a workout -- 45 minutes of
light jogging while checking Facebook -- wasn't exactly the kind of
workout Alana's body was used to. I made a mental note to hit the gym
harder when I got the chance. The last thing I wanted to do was wreck
this body for Alana before I could give it back to her.
Taking a look at myself in the mirror, my makeup looked bad, but wasn't
the Joker-esque disaster I'd been imagining. My hair, on the other hand,
was an utter mess. I started undoing the braids Monica had done the
night before and began to wonder just how I was going fix this
situation. Not the hair, the whole "being in the wrong body" thing. I
didn't have the first idea how this had even happened... well, I had a
ton of ideas but none of them were remotely plausible and sounded more
like something out of science fiction than real life. And even if I knew
exactly how this had happened and what was happening, that wouldn't mean
I'd be able to fix it overnight. So life goes on.
I started washing the dried and smeared makeup off my face when I heard
a voice behind me.
"Rough night?" she asked.
I turned around to see my little sister Alana -- or now Alexis "Lexi"
Carlysle -- in a pink bathrobe and fuzzy bunny slippers. My sister, or
at least the sister I had two days ago, would've never been caught dead
in fuzzy bunny slippers. I didn't want to make too many snap judgments,
considering how much my opinion of myself changed over the course of the
day yesterday, but it was clear that growing up with a loving older
sister rather than a distant older brother had done wonders for this
girl, regardless of how appropriate of a role model the Alana version of
me actually was.
"No, not in the way you're thinking," I said.
"Oh, really," she said, pushing past me to get her hair brush. "Didn't I
hear you coming in at 2 a.m.?"
"Was it that late?" I asked, playing coy.
"It was, which reminds me, what are you doing up so early?" she asked
back.
"Early? What time is it?" I asked, as we continued to have a
conversation in which we answered questions with questions. I hated it.
"It's 7:30," she said, finally breaking the string. I'd only slept about
five hours and despite the cross-dressing, groom-morphing nightmare and
the morning vomit, I felt totally refreshed.
"I just couldn't sleep anymore," I said. "I really wanted to get up and
get going."
Yeah, going back to my normal life.
"Going where?" she asked. "And will this 'going' require use of your
car?"
"You really want to borrow my car, don't you," I said. "OK, fine, if I'm
not 'going' anywhere, I'll let you borrow it, and if I am, you can take
it as long as you drop me off and pick me up."
She hugged me, put her brush back on the bathroom counter and started
running down the hall back to her room.
"Ohmigod thank you so much I promise you won't regret it I'll be super
careful with it and..." she started to tail off as she got out of
earshot. I gave my face one last splash of water and headed back to my
room.
I don't know if it was the realization that it was only 7:30 or just the
weight of my situation hitting me again, but I was suddenly tired again.
I slipped out of my bra and threw on the camisole from the night before
and jumped back into bed. I had to admit, I wasn't entirely hating the
oversized comforter, the satin sheets, or even just the ability to be in
bed on a hot summer day without sweating out of every fold of fat in my
body. But before I drifted off to sleep, I whispered to myself.
"I want to go back."
*****
I woke up to the ringing of my iPhone, which, embarrassingly, had Carly
Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe" as the ringtone. At least I knew it wasn't
Aiden calling. I wasn't looking forward to the inevitably awkward
conversation with him now that I knew I was cheating on him.
Rolling over in bed, I picked up the phone and saw it was Bryce calling.
My first instinct was to throw the phone out the window, but I pressed
the answer button instead.
"What do you want?" I asked, angrily and pointedly.
"Whoa, calm down, Ali," he said. "I just want to talk."
"So talk," I said. He could talk, but I didn't have to listen. And as he
rambled on with some half-assed explanation, I let the words go in one
ear and out the other. I was far more interested in fixing my own
problems than getting deep into Alana's.
"Ali..." he said. "You there?"
"Sorry, Bryce," I said. "I just need some time to process everything."
"What's there to process," he said. "Just call Aiden, tell him you're
done and we can be together."
"And Monica?" I asked.
"What about her? We're over," he said.
"Yeah, but we aren't! I'd like to still have a friendship with her.
Look, you just don't get it, and I don't want to have this conversation
right now, so why don't you call me back when you're ready to be an
adult."
I hung up the phone and pulled the covers back over my head.
"God, I didn't ask for this," I said, not expecting an answer.
But I got one.
I threw off the covers and sprung up from bed.
Wait a minute, I thought to myself. I did ask for this. Well, not this
exactly. But I asked for something. A reboot. I wanted a reboot on my
life, and my re-installed operating system asked me "do you want to
reboot" and I clicked yes. Holy crap, did I do some kind of magic OS
rewrite of my own life? Was this "A. Carlysle 2.0"?
I mean, it certainly wasn't unheard of for a character to switch genders
in a reboot. "Battlestar Galactica" had a female Starbuck. The new
"Green Arrow" show is supposed to have a female Speedy, and I heard the
"Evil Dead" reboot has a female Ash.
This seemed like a longshot, but it was no less stupid than any of the
ideas I'd had yesterday. I headed over to my vanity and pulled out the
yellow notepad where I'd written everything down. My four quadrants were
still there, with nothing written under them. But I finally had
something to add to the page.
Under "What", I wrote "life reboot".
Under "Why", I wrote "because I asked for it", then added "karmic joke?"
in parentheses.
Under "How", I wrote "magical software update" with a huge question
mark. And then I underlined the question mark. And added another one for
good measure.
Then I got to "Fix". This was the stumper. The one thing I hadn't done
with my actual reboot of my computer was restore from Time Machine, but
I didn't see how that would help me now. Even if Alana regularly backed
up her computer to a Time Machine drive, restoring from it would just
restore her life. At least, that's what I think would happen. But I
guess erasing her computer and restoring the software from scratch was
as good a start as any. But I didn't want to do that until I was sure I
had a backup of what was on there. Which meant I'd have to buy an
external drive. And that meant a trip to my old stomping grounds, the
Apple Store.
I walked down the hall to Lexi's room, where I could hear her talking on
the phone through her closed door. I waited for her to finish the
conversation -- taking care not to eavesdrop on what she was saying --
then popped my head in.
"If I let you take my car, can you drop me off at the mall, and pick me
up when I text you?" I asked.
"Sure thing," she said, with a bubbly smile on her face. "So when are we
leaving?"
"Just give me half-an-hour to get ready," I said.
"OK, so two hours," she said back. I couldn't tell if she was kidding
or, if like Monica, she really thought I'd take that long to get ready.
"30 minutes," I said, closing the door. "I promise!"
I went straight to the bathroom and took what I thought was a super-
quick shower but turned out to have eaten up 22 of my allotted 30
minutes. Washing this long hair was no joke. I dried off, wrapped a
towel around my body and then plugged in a hair dryer to speed things
along. I'm sure it's not what Alana would've done to keep her hair in
perfect condition, but I just threw the switch to the highest setting
and ran the dryer over my hair a few times while brushing it with my
other hand. As I did, the towel around my body came loose and fell to
the floor, exposing my naked body in the mirror. I looked up and
couldn't help but admire my own beauty. Why was I in such a rush to give
this up? A chance to experience life from the other side -- people would
kill for this? And with a healthy, stunning body, a loving family and a
massive group of friends? What was I rushing back to?
After getting lost in my own reflection, I only snapped back to reality
when I heard a knocking at the bathroom door. I scrambled to pick up the
towel and cover myself when I realized the hair dryer had long since
been put away and my hair had been pulled back into a side French braid,
and a light application of makeup had appeared on my face.
"Oh, thank god you're almost done," Lexi said as she opened the door.
"It's been..." I looked down at my phone on the counter before
continuing that statement. I'd assumed that maybe I'd gone 35 or 40
minutes, but I was shocked when I saw that it was now almost Noon. "OK,
90 minutes... So I was a little off."
"A little?" Lexi asked, with an annoyed tone. "You're not even dressed
yet."
"I'm just gonna throw something on real quick and then we'll go, I
promise," I said, though those words had meant little earlier this
morning.
"Fine, whatever," she said, sounding a bit more like the sister I'd
known. "I'll be waiting downstairs."
I put down the mascara brush and headed back to my room, once again a
little worried about the cruise-control mode I'd gotten into. Both times
it had happened, I'd been looking at myself in a mirror, so I made a
mental note to try and avoid that for a while. Which was certainly going
to make getting dressed a bit of an adventure.
Still, I forged forward, opening my drawers and picking out clothes. I
couldn't believe I was doing this, but I decided to embrace a fashion
trend that I absolutely hated. I put on a pair of black leggings to wear
them as pants. I always thought it looked incredibly stupid when girls
did that, like they'd forgotten a piece of clothing, but after spending
all day yesterday in either a skirt, bikini bottoms or a dress, I wanted
to at least wear something that felt like pants, and most of Alana's
jeans looked like they'd be a struggle to put on and walk around in. The
leggings felt a bit like a second skin while not leaving me feeling like
I was exposing myself.
The first T-shirt I grabbed was a white, one-shoulder number, and
putting it on quickly reminded me that I needed to be wearing a bra,
unless I wanted my nipples poking out all day, because the A/C at the
mall was always ridiculously cool. So I pulled out a solid pink bra,
similar to the one I'd worn the night before without quite the same
push-up effect, and put it on before throwing the T-shirt back on. It
wasn't the hottest look, but it was certainly something I could get away
with for an afternoon. I found the black ballet flats Monica had picked
out last night and slipped my feet into them before grabbing my
sunglasses off the vanity and heading downstairs.
"I hate you," Lexi said as I descended the staircase. That felt like it
came out of nowhere.
"What?" I asked.
"You can get dressed in ten minutes and look like a movie star," she
said. "I take an hour to pick out my outfit and I look like this."
She was wearing a low-cut ruffled blouse, a matching blazer/skirt set
and some silver shoes and, honestly, I saw nothing wrong with the
outfit.
"Don't be silly," I said. "You look fine."
"FINE?! I look... FINE?!"
OK, clearly that was the wrong thing to say.
"Lexi, don't be like that," I said. "You look amazing and you know it.
Now, are you going to drop me off at the mall then go impress whoever
you're meeting for lunch with that stunning outfit, or are we going to
stand here and be bitchy to each other all afternoon?"
"How'd you know I was meeting someone?" she asked.
"It's a big sister's job to know," I said, before pulling the car keys
out of my purse and tossing them to her. And in that instant, all was
forgiven as she raced out past me to the car.
*****
Lexi drove off with a huge smile on her face, as she went to meet Ryan
across town. Just two days ago a 10-minute drive with my sister had been
a total chore -- and nearly a total disaster -- but in the 10 minutes it
took to get to the mall from our house, we didn't fight at all. She did
most of the talking, telling me about how dreamy Ryan was and how she
couldn't believe someone like him wanted to go out with someone like her
and how amazing this all was, and it actually made me not completely
hate everything that was going on with me for a few minutes.
But even so, I was still firmly resolved to reverse this situation, and
that started with getting a hard drive. I walked into the Apple Store
and headed right back to where we'd always kept the external hard
drives. I really just wanted to grab the first one I saw, pay for it and
get out, because as soon as I entered the store, I got this nagging
feeling that something was wrong. It wasn't quite the vomit-y feeling
I'd been dealing with for two days, but something else. Like my Spider-
sense was tingling, only I wasn't Peter Parker (though given my current
state, Ultimate Jessica Drew probably would've been a more appropriate
analogy).
I bent over to look at the bus-powered drives on the bottom shelf when I
heard the unmistakable sound of an iPhone camera shutter. That's when I
realized that these leggings -- as comfortable as they were -- left
nothing to the imagination and bending at the waist the way I'd been
doing was putting on quite the show. I snapped back up and walked around
to the other side of the hard drive island, where any bending I'd do
would have my butt pointed at the store's back wall, rather than a crowd
of people.
I bent down again, this time bending at the knees, when one of the
store's employees approached me from behind.
"Can I help you find something?" he asked. I didn't need to turn around
to see who it was. The voice was unmistakable.
It was Mark.
I hadn't even considered the possibility that I'd run into him here, I
was so focused on just fixing my problem. Then I remembered the dream
from this morning, and our near wedding-sealing kiss, and started
blushing. I took a deep breath to compose myself before standing up and
turning around.
"Mark?" I asked, trying to play it cool.
"Oh..." he said, as if disappointed to see me, "it's you."
Not only was I not disappointed to see him, I was pleasantly surprised
that he didn't look much different from the way I remembered the Mark
from my life. From my new perspective he certainly looked taller, but he
was still in shape, still sporting a blonde crew-cut, still wearing the
blue store T-shirt, baggy jeans and a pair of beat-up old Jordans. About
the only noticeable difference was a tattoo of a dagger on his left
forearm.
But he didn't recognize me, at least the me I wanted him to recognize.
"Yeah, it's me," I said. "Alana Carlysle."
I was hoping he'd say "no, you're Andrew and what the hell is going on",
but I had no such luck.
"I'd heard you were back in town," he said. "I'm surprised you bothered
to show up here."
"Well, I needed a hard drive," I said. I was getting a really angry vibe
from him, and I didn't want to pry, so I tried to stick as close to the
basics as possible and hopefully just end this interaction quickly.
"OF COURSE," he said, loudly, "because it's always about what YOU want,
isn't it, Ali?"
OK, so it was becoming really clear to me that despite Mark's non-
existence in Ali's contact list, Facebook profile or e-mail history, he
wasn't a non-entity in her life.
"I didn't think..."
"No, you didn't," he interrupted. "Because you never think. You just do.
Like when you ran away to New York just to get away from me. You didn't
think about how that would hurt me, did you, Ali?"
The disdain he had for me dripped off his words, especially in the way
he said "Ali". I desperately wanted him to stop saying it, to call me
Alana or Andrew or literally anything else right now. He was my best
friend in the world and having him yelling at me like this, in a place
where we'd shared so many good times, it was... well, it made me feel
even tinier than I already did. I could feel my lower lip quivering and
my hands starting to shake.
"This was a mistake," I said, barely getting the words out.
"Just like saying you'd marry me was a mistake, right, Ali?" he asked.
"You make a lot of mistakes, but they're never your fault, are they,
Ali?"
Oh, God.
Alana's memories flooded my mind like an emotional onslaught. Four years
ago, nearly to the day, Mark had proposed to her, and she said yes. But
a week later, she had second thoughts. She left the ring -- and a note -
- on his dresser, and left for New York.
I felt all the blood rush from my face, and tears started to roll down
my cheeks.
"Oh, don't start with that," Mark said. He'd seen the "Alana uses
emotions to get what she wants" show before, and wasn't interested in
falling for it again. But as I continued to cry, his demeanor changed.
He quickly calmed, and motioned to another employee to get him some
tissues.
"Look, don't cry, I shouldn't have gotten so angry," he said. "I just...
I haven't seen you in years and then you just show up here and it
brought up a whole bunch of stuff that..."
He trailed off. A female employee who I didn't recognize handed me a
stack of tissues, but I couldn't stop the tears from coming. I just
turned around and started walking quickly to the front of the store.
"Ali, wait," Mark yelled out after me.
I pushed through the crowd of people as best I could, as some moved out
of the way and others moved closer to get a glimpse of the scene. I even
saw one person recording the whole thing on an iPhone, and wondered how
quickly "Crazy girl has emotional breakdown at Apple Store" would go
viral on YouTube. But I didn't break stride.
"Ali, please don't do this again," Mark said.
I was five steps outside the store before I turned around and looked
back at him. Tears were starting to well up in his eyes too. I'd clearly
opened an emotional Pandora's Box that none of us were ready for. I
wanted to say something, anything to reassure him. I even thought about
telling him the truth, as insane as it would've sounded at that moment.
But instead I just turned back around and ran down the hall as quickly
as I could.
So many things had changed in the last day and a half, and the thing
with Mark just really pushed it over the top. But one thing that hadn't
changed is that when I got emotional, I got hungry. So I made my way to
Panera Bread, because I needed something constant, something unchanged.
I needed a Smokehouse Turkey Panini and a large Diet Pepsi.
I walked into the restaurant and I could tell people were looking at me,
and I couldn't blame them. I hadn't even bothered to try and clean up my
face, which had to be a mess of smeared makeup and dried tears. I just
headed straight for the counter, and people actually got out of my way
to let me move up in line. That was a decidedly nice perk of having an
emotional breakdown, though certainly not enough to make me not feel
like shit.
As I approached the ordering spot, I reached into my purse to pull out
my compact and more tissues, to try and at least start to clean myself
up. I brushed away the two longest streaks on my cheeks, and looked up
to see Panera Bread Girl standing behind the register, not even looking
up at me.
"Smokehouse Turkey Panini with a..." I hesitated. Alana didn't seem like
a soda drinker, at least not at lunch.
"A bottle of water," I said, ordering what I thought would be right.
The redheaded object of my unrequited affections punched in the order
then looked up to tell me the price.
"Alana?" she asked. "Alana Carlysle, is that you?"
I just looked at her, dumbfounded. Panera Bread Girl knew who I was.
"It's me," she continued. "Sara Carpenter. From Hartt?"
Hartt... where Alana had gone to school for two years, before moving to
New York... after breaking off her engagement with Mark... and with that
reminder tears started to well up in my eyes again.
"Oh, honey, is everything all right," Sara asked.
"I've just... I'm having the worst day," I said. That was a vast
understatement, to say the least. I tried to hold back the tears, but
this body reacted to emotions far more rapidly than I was used to, and I
could feel them starting to flow again.
"Alex, can you cover for me for a few," Sara said to one of her co-
workers, a gangly teen who quickly stepped in behind the register and
kept the line moving as Sara came out from behind the counter and walked
with me to a table. She sat down across from me and took the mirror from
my hand, holding it up to my face.
"Here, let me help you with that," she said.
"Thank you," I said, through my sniffles. I got the crying under control
and cleaned up my makeup as best I could, as one of the other employees
brought over my sandwich and my water. I took a bite, then a sip of the
water, and started to compose myself.
"So Sara," I said, "what've you been up to?"
We both laughed. Her laugh was melodic, like a Disney princess. It was
almost enough to make me swoon.
"When was the last time we saw each other?" she asked. "Professor
Smith's Intro to Music class?"
"God, that was what, four years ago," I said.
"You were such a natural," she said. "I always loved the way you moved
on stage. I heard you were performing in New York?"
"I was," I said. "But I'm back here now. What about you? You work...
here?"
"Oh, this is just a temporary gig," she said. I guess it was possible.
I'd only seen her there starting a few months ago, and it's not like she
was there every day. And what reason did she have to lie to me?
"So what do you do the rest of the time?" I asked.
"Well I've got one semester left to get my master's degree and then I'm
going to go into teaching," she said.
"Teaching?"
"Oh, I'm still working on my music too," she said. "But I want to have
something solid to fall back on."
I took another bite of my sandwich, a big one. My appetite was starting
to come back, and on top of that I was too nervous to say anything. Here
I was having a conversation with my dream girl like it was no big thing,
and I couldn't even tell her how I truly felt.
"It's funny," she said. "I'm actually going to be in New York next week
to try and hit up some singer/songwriter nights. I was going to look you
up, but here you are."
"Yeah, the world works in mysterious ways," I said, in another
incredible understatement.
"Hey, do you want to hear my demo?" she asked.
"Sure," I said. I tried balancing my internal desire for her with what I
thought should be Alana's more measured reaction. "Do you have it here?"
"It's online," she said. "I can send you the link."
"That'd be awesome," I said. "I could use something good today."
"Yeah, you were kind of a mess when you came in," she said. "What's
going on?"
"Oh," I said, letting out a big sigh. "Where to start? Umm... well, how
about... I ran into Mark today, for the first time in years."
"Mark, as in your ex Mark?" she asked.
"The very same," I said. "Obviously it wasn't a happy reunion."
"At least this one is going better," she said. "I'd toast to old
friends, but I don't have a drink and your water is almost empty."
"Well, do you, maybe, want to get a drink?" I asked, hesitantly.
"It's 12:30," she said. "And I'm working for another few hours. But..."
"But..." I asked.
"No, I'm sure you already have plans," she said.
"Try me."
"Well, I'm playing a gig tomorrow night at the Red Door," she said. "I'd
love it if you came. I mean, you are practically the reason I'm still
doing this."
"I am?"
"Yeah, if you hadn't been there for me freshman year, I probably
would've given up on music entirely," she said. "I would've dropped out,
taken a job like this full time, and who knows where I'd be now."
"Probably still here, questioning every decision you'd made in life," I
said, speaking from experience. Sara laughed.
"Oh, god, could you imagine," she said, still chuckling. "Letting so
much potential go to waste, working in a mall your whole life?"
Great, now I wanted to cry again. But I took my last sip of water and
held it together.
"Well, then, I guess it's a date," I said.
"Yeah, I guess so," she said. "Hey, I've gotta get back to work, but it
was great catching up."
"And if you need to talk or anything," she added, taking a pen out of
her pocket and writing her number on a napkin, "just call me, okay?"
"OK," I said, with a big smile on my face.
Sara went back behind the counter and resumed working, giving me a
little wave as she did. I smiled and waved back, and then texted Lexi
asking if she could pick me up.
"Did you get what you needed," her response asked.
In some weird way, I think I did.
*****
"Whose car is that?"
Lexi spotted the car parked in front of our house as she pulled around
the corner.
"I don't know," I said. I'd never seen it before -- at least not as
Andrew -- but right now I could only think of one person in Alana's life
who would have a red Porsche 911 with "B MONEY" vanity plates.
Lexi drove past the car and pulled up our driveway, and, to my total
non-surprise, there was Bryce, sitting on our back porch.
"Is that Monica's boyfriend?" Lexi asked.
"Ex-boyfriend," I said, making sure to emphasize the "ex" part.
"So what's he doing here?"
"I wish I knew."
Lexi walked right past Bryce without him saying anything to her, but I
knew I wouldn't be so lucky.
"Where you going so fast," Bryce asked as I tried to quickly follow Lexi
inside.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Well," he said, sitting back down on one of our patio chairs. "I
thought we could talk."
He was wearing black skinny jeans, an Affliction T-shirt and the same
Concord Jordan XIs from the club. Aside from the sneakers -- my favorite
pair ever -- he looked like a total douche. I wanted to punch him, but
in this tiny frame, I was fairly certain that wouldn't do any good. So,
instead, I sat down in the chair across from him.
"So," I said. "Talk."
"You sure you don't want to go upstairs," he said. "Fix up your makeup,
put on something nice?"
"Holy shit," I said. "Are you TRYING to make me hate you?"
"Oh, come on," he said. "You know you like it when I talk shit to you.
It gets you all hot."
He leaned back in his chair and started to take his shirt off.
"No," I said. "NO. That is NOT happening."
He slid his shirt back down his torso. Well, that was at least one
crisis averted. But I still had to deal with this guy who apparently I'd
been sleeping with for six months, despite the fact he was dating my
best friend at the time. And of course I didn't even remember doing it,
because up until two days ago, I was a guy named Andrew, not a girl
named Alana.
"So you talk to Monica?" he asked.
"Yes, we talked a lot last night," I said.
"About us?" he asked.
"As I told you last night, there is no 'us'," I said. "We're not a
thing. We might've been before, but we're not now. And we never will
be."
"What the hell is up with you?" he asked, growing angry. "Last week all
you could talk about was wanting to be with me and now you're acting
like you hate me. And last night at the club you said you liked my
shoes..."
As he said that, he popped his feet up on the patio table, as if to
throw the shoes in my face.
"... but you've always hated that I wear sneakers all the time. It's
like you're a totally different person."
"Maybe I am," I said. I stood up, trying to send a signal that I was
done talking, but Bryce was too full of himself to pick up on non-verbal
cues.
"What does that even mean?" he asked.
"It means I'm done talking to you," I said.
I turned around and started to head inside, but Bryce kept talking.
"Fine, be that way," he said. "I'll come back when you're off your
period."
Oh. Hell. No.
I'd been a girl for less than 48 hours and in that time I'd suffered
plenty of indignities -- not the least of which was having this
asshole's tongue in my mouth -- but I was not about to stand here and
listen to some douchebag accuse me of PMSing when I was the only person
in this fucked-up love triangle who was trying to be an adult about the
whole thing.
"My period?" I asked, in a tone that, well, to be entirely honest,
didn't exactly disprove his point. "You have got to be fucking kidding
me. I've spent the last two days putting on makeup, parading around in
dresses, bikinis and every other embarrassing piece of clothing I could
possibly imagine, I've had my entire life stripped away and replaced
with someone else's -- someone who I thought was pretty awesome but now
I'm learning is pretty much a selfish bitch -- and you're gonna sit
there and accuse me of being on my period?!"
"Oh... ... kay... "
Bryce's eyes got wide, as he tried to process the crazy I'd just dumped
on him. I quickly realized I'd gone a bit too far in my freakout, so I
tried to do a little damage control.
"Ohmigod, you're right," I said, giggling. Playing the ditz was probably
the best thing to do here. "I'm acting so totally crazy. Women,
amirite?"
Bryce just sat there in shock.
"Like, I'mma just go take a Midol and lie down and like why don't I call
you later, OK, bye-ie!"
And with that I headed inside. I definitely laid it on a bit too thick
there, but it was better than the alternative, trying to explain what
I'd meant when I said I'd had my life replaced. That was certainly a
one-way ticket to the crazy house.
Instead, I was safely in my house, one of the few things that was
familiar to me in these two days of drastic changes. Unfortunately, one
of the unfamiliar things -- my vastly changed sister -- was standing in
my way.
"Did I hear him right?" she asked. "Are you sleeping with him?"
Shit. How much had she heard? OK... I needed to play this cool.
"HIM," I responded with mock indignation. "Hell no. He's pissed at
Monica and blames me for their breakup, so he was threatening to tell
her that I DID sleep with him, even though I totally didn't."
"Really?" Lexi asked, not quite believing my story.
"I mean, just look at him," I said, as Lexi did just that, looking out
our kitchen window as he walked down the driveway to his car. "He's
totally not my type."
"Oh, good," she said, with a sigh of relief. "'Cause you and Aiden are
like totally perfect together. How great is it gonna be to see him next
week?"
"So great," I said, faking enthusiasm. Truthfully, I was dreading it.
I'd barely had time to adjust to all the changes in my life and now I
was going to have to fly all the way across the country and spend two
days alone with a man I literally knew nothing about, aside from his
name and how we'd met. And I was going to have to act like I was in love
with him, despite knowing that I'd been cheating on him from the day we
started dating.
And here I thought my life as a guy sucked.
Lexi grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed up to her room
-- probably to gossip with her friends about her lunch date with Ryan
and the Drama with a capital D between her sister and her sister's best
friend's ex-boyfriend -- and I headed into the living room.
I turned on the TV, and went to turn on some baseball. Only, as it
turned out, in this reality, we didn't have the MLB package. Which meant
with the Red Sox off, watching any American League action was out. So I
settled for the only other local option on our cable system, the Mets.
Plopping myself into the familiar leather recliner, the one that had
been in our living room for more than 15 years, felt kind of good. I
leaned back, kicked off my shoes and just... exhaled. For the better
part of the last two days, I'd been living in a non-stop state of chaos,
and I was beginning to feel weighed down by it. Ironic, since I'd had
such a literal massive weight lifted from my body. Just getting a chance
to sit here and watch a baseball game -- even one I had no interest in -
- felt... well, right.
I got up to get myself a beer from the fridge, but before I could, I was
jolted back to my new reality, as my phone rang with Aiden's specific
ringtone.
"Hey sweetie," I said, trying to play the role of the dutiful
girlfriend. "What's up?"
"Are you all right?" he asked. I had to admit, though I still felt no
physical attraction toward other males, the sound of his voice - that
strong, deep voice with that Australian accent - kind of made me melt.
"I'm fine," I said. "Ohmigod, was I supposed to call you this morning?
My head's been kind of all over the place... you know, with the move,
and getting ready for next week, and everything."
"No, I just heard about what happened between you and Mark and I wanted
to make sure you were doing OK," he said.
Wow, word traveled fast.
"No, it was really no big thing," I said.
"No big thing? You ran out of the store blubbering with your makeup a
total mess," he said.
I didn't know what to say, but my silence spoke volumes.
"How did you..."
"Someone showed me the video," he said. "You're quite a smash on
YouTube."
I heard him laugh a little as he said it.
"Oh, is my pain funny to you?" I asked.
"Well, you have to admit, you were a bit... shall we say, 'dramatic',"
he said. "It's a shame you couldn't have channeled that emotion at your
audition."
"My audition?"
Once again, my lack of knowledge of my own life was lacking, leaving me
in an awkward position.
"Oh, speaking of which," he said, continuing on as if I had any clue
what he was talking about. "I spoke with some people here and they're
willing to meet with you when you're in town. They can't promise
anything but... fingers crossed!"
"That's great," I said. "But back to the thing where you were laughing
at me crying my eyes out."
"I wasn't... I didn't... I just... " he said, stumbling over his words.
"I'm sorry. But I did call to see if you were all right, right?"
I have to admit, he did. Plus, if I'd seen the video of how I'd acted at
the store, and it had been anyone but me, I probably would've been
laughing at the crazy girl too.
"OK, fine, you're off the hook," I said. "And I do appreciate you
calling."
"So you're OK then," he said.
"I am. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"OK. I love you."
"Love ya too."
I still couldn't bring myself to say "I love you" like an actual loving
girlfriend to this guy. I'd at least like to see him in person first.
Hanging up the phone, I grabbed a bottle of Heineken from the fridge and
headed back to the living room. I sat back in the recliner and popped
open the beer, but before I could even take a sip, I was interrupted by
someone walking into the room.
"Careful, now," the man said. "I wouldn't want my little princess
getting a beer belly."
I turned around as best I could in my chair and saw who it was.
My father.
"Come here and give your old man a hug," he said. He seemed happy, which
was a nice change of pace, and he wasn't yelling at me, my mom or my
sister, which almost never happened.
I got up from my chair and gave him a half-hearted hug, and he pulled me
in tighter.
"Oh, I'm sorry I missed you at the party yesterday," he said. "Your mom
said you went out with some friends."
"Yeah," I said. "I... I wasn't trying to avoid you or anything."
"Oh, I know that, sweetie," he said, taking the beer from my hand and
sitting in the recliner. "I'm just glad I got to see you before you
headed out of town again."
"So..." I didn't even know what to talk to him about. I'd never had much
of a good relationship with my own father, and 95 percent of our
conversations were just about sports -- at least when he wasn't yelling
at me for being a lazy freeloader. But given that this dad had divorced
my mother years ago, I was even more lost on where to start.
"So..." I continued. "What brings you over today?"
"Oh, Ron and I were talking about the Camero last night and he had an
idea for getting rid of that clunking sound," he said. "So he told me to
bring it over this afternoon. Any idea where he is?"
"No, I just got back in," I said, sitting down on the couch across from
him. "So how've you been?"
"Good," he said, taking a swig of the beer I'd gotten for myself. I
really wanted a drink of my own right now. "The construction business is
finally picking back up, and I think Marie and I might finally be ready
to settle down."
"Marie?" I asked.
"Oh, that's right, you haven't even met her yet," he said. "Well, we've
been going out for about a year. She's really sweet. Your sister loves
her."
"That's great," I said. "I'm glad you're happy."
I really was. My father and I had certainly had our differences over the
years, but it wasn't like I wanted him to suffer. And it's clear that
staying with my mother had been causing him to do just that.
This was so confusing to me. For every horrible thing I found out about
my life as Alana, I seemed to find out some great thing too. I really
couldn't decide if this version of my life was better or worse, and what
lessons I was supposed to be learning -- if any at all.
"Are you happy?" he asked me. "I know leaving New York must've been hard
on you."
"Not at all," I said, which was true. Leaving New York hadn't been hard
on me since I wasn't the one who left New York. "It's a new chapter."
"Oh, come on," he yelled. I thought for a second it was at me, but I
quickly realized he was reacting to something happening in the game.
"Stupid Davis..."
"Why don't I leave you to the game until Ron gets back," I said. "I've
got some stuff to take care upstairs anyway."
"Thanks honey," he said. "Let's make some time to catch up before you
leave though. Dinner this weekend?"
"That sounds great," I said, before heading back up to my room.
When I got upstairs, I found that my bed had been made, and there was a
basket of clothes sitting on top of it, with a note attached.
"Needed to make some room for laundry, so I brought yours up for you. -
Mom"
I tossed the note aside and started sorting the clothes. There was
plenty of stuff that made me shudder when I thought about wearing it, a
few things that were perfectly acceptable and one thing that caught my
eye - a silver ankh on a black string necklace.
It looked like the one Death wore in the Sandman comics, which felt a
little symbolic given my current state. I ran my fingers over the edges
of the ankh. It was cold, which was strange, given that it had been
sitting on top of the warm laundry. I slipped it over my head and onto
my neck.
"Death becomes me," I said to myself. I liked how the necklace looked on
me. It fell right between my breasts, but somehow didn't look
particularly sexual. As I packed up everything else, I decided to leave
it on.
I looked out my bedroom window, and saw my father and Ron working on the
car, which meant the living room was once again likely vacant -- if my
mom had started a laundry cycle, she'd likely be bouncing between the
basement and the bedrooms for the rest of the afternoon. I grabbed my
computer off the vanity to do a little more "Alana" research --
hopefully to find out more about Aiden and who else I might be meeting
in Los Angeles -- and figure out exactly what I needed to back up before
I wiped this thing clean. Just as I did, my phone beeped with a new text
message. It was from Monica.
"Call me."
Before I could even text back, another one came in.
"NOW"
Uh-oh.
*****
"What the fuck were you thinking?!"
Monica hadn't even waited for me to call her after sending her urgent
text. True, I had hesitated, looking at the texts for a couple minutes,
trying to figure out what to say to her. That was a long enough delay to
prompt Monica to call me, and yell at me as soon as I picked up the
phone.
"It's not what you think," I said, hoping she would calm down at least a
little.
"Like hell it's not," she said. "I can't believe you'd go behind my back
like that."
Part of me couldn't believe it either. I'd been living Alana's life for
less than 48 hours, and didn't know much about her -- at least not as
much as I wanted to know. But it was pretty clear that Monica was her
best friend, and sleeping with her boyfriend seemed like a real shitty
thing to do. And now here I was, being forced to take the blame for
something I hadn't even done.
"I didn't... I can't... I mean..."
I was at a loss for words. I briefly considered telling her the truth --
the REAL truth. But now didn't feel like the right time for that.
"You promised me," Monica said, "that you were never going to see him
again."
Wait, now I was really confused. Did Monica know there'd been something
between Bryce and Alana? Because Bryce sure hadn't made it seem that
way.
"I didn't mean to," I said. "It just kind of... happened."
"Oh, sure," Monica said, sarcastically. "You just HAPPENED to be at the
mall and HAPPENED to go to the Apple Store and Mark just HAPPENED to be
working at that time."
Holy shit, this is about Mark?! I let out a deep sigh of relief and
actually started laughing.
"What the hell is so funny," Monica asked.
"I just... I thought you were pissed about something else," I said. "The
thing with Mark it was totally an accident, I swear. I really didn't
think I'd run in to him."
"Well you did," she said. "And I saw the video. I told you nothing good
would come of ever seeing him again, but NO, you didn't believe me.
Well, see, I was right."
"You were," I said.
"So are you okay?" she asked, finally sounding like a supportive friend
instead of a betrayed one for the first time in this whole conversation.
"I am, really," I said.
It couldn't be further from the truth. I still had to deal with the
whole Monica/Bryce thing at some point, I couldn't just leave the Mark
thing hanging like that and, oh yeah, I still had the problem where I
was living a totally different life as the complete opposite gender I'd
been my entire life, and I was getting no closer to solving that
problem, thanks to having to deal with all of Alana's drama.
"No you're not," Monica said. "I can hear it in your voice. I'm coming
over."
"That's really not necessary," I said. "I just need some time to
process."
"Process? No, what you need is some girl time, some 'Grey's' DVDs and
maybe a little retail therapy."
"Trust me," I said. "The last thing I need is some retail anything. I'm
just gonna relax. I'll be fine. We can catch up tomorrow."
"You sure?" she asked.
"I'm sure."
And with that, a crisis was averted, at least temporarily. I knew I
couldn't keep Monica from the truth forever, but I was hoping I could
somehow get my life back normal before I'd have to deal with that.
I headed downstairs into the living room to watch some baseball and do
more search into Alana's life, but my mom was in there folding laundry.
Two days ago, running into my mom at home would've led to a long
conversation about where I'd be living next month. Now, well, I had no
idea what to expect from her. I knew we were much closer and much more
congenial than before, but that almost made things harder. I couldn't
ask her about my life or my family or anything like that, because I'd be
expected to know the answers.
"Hey mom," I said, settling into the small loveseat in the corner while
she laid out folded laundry on the couch.
"Oh, hi, Alana," she said. "Don't mind me. I've just got a couple more
loads to take care of. Which reminds me, I put some of your laundry
upstairs on your bed, and your last load is in the dryer right now."
"Thanks mom," I said. It'd been years since my own mother had done my
laundry for me. She made me start doing my own when I was 18 and still
living at home. I guess living away from home for years makes your
mother more amenable to helping take care of your chores.
I opened up my MacBook Air and tried to figure out the mystery behind
Alana's cryptic last Facebook status update. She posted it last week,
just before moving back home, but it seemed like Monica, Gwen, Alexis --
really anyone I'd encountered -- had no insight into Alana's plans
beyond the next week. I didn't seem to have a job waiting for me at
home, nor any type of permanent housing solution, so why'd Alana
suddenly pack up and leave New York?
The thing with Bryce had made it a little clearer why she hadn't
followed Aiden to Los Angeles. If she'd been sleeping with someone else
behind his back for literally the entirety of their relationship, it
would seem that she hadn't been taking it very seriously to begin with.
As I went through Alana's e-mails, I felt increasingly uncomfortable
with this whole situation, to the point it was once again making me
physically ill. For a while yesterday, it'd really seemed like this
cosmic mishap had dropped me into a better life, but I'm finding that's
not the case. And the novelty of the whole situation had worn off; it
wasn't "cute" anymore being in this tiny frame or having to pee sitting
down or wearing a bra. It was just wrong.
"What's wrong, honey," my mom said to me. Great, I was giving off that
"something's wrong" vibe to everyone now. I really should've just gone
back upstairs to my room to have some privacy.
I closed the laptop and put it on the seat next to me, then
instinctively adjusted how I was sitting, putting my right leg under me
while my left foot was on the loveseat as I wrapped my arms around my
left leg. I'd seen the body language before but never been on it from
this side, closing myself off.
"Mom," I said, hesitatingly. I wanted to ask her if she thought I... or
rather Alana... was a good person, but she's my mother. Of course she'll
think that. Hell, as much as my mother and I hadn't gotten along before
this insanity happened, she certainly would've said I'm a good person.
So I went with a different question, one that had been bugging me on a
smaller level since yesterday morning. "Why'd you name me Alana?"
She chuckled.
"That's a funny story," she said. "I can't believe I've never told you."
"I don't think you have," I said. "I mean, it's not like I don't like
the name Alana. I do. Even if everyone calls me Ali. Alana's a pretty
name."
"It is," my mom said as she continued to fold laundry. "But it wasn't
supposed to be your name."
"Really?" I asked, intrigued. "So what was my name supposed to be?"
"Andrew," she said, without hesitation.
My jaw dropped. This was the first time in two days I'd heard that name
-- MY name -- and to hear that it was SUPPOSED to be Alana's name was,
well, jaw-dropping (obviously).
"Yeah, up until the day you were born, your father and I were convinced
you were going to be a boy. We had your name all picked out: Andrew
Steven Carlysle. So imagine our surprise when you came out."
"Yeah, imagine that," I said. "So how'd you end up with Alana?"
"Honestly, it was always the name I'd planned on giving my first
daughter, but we were so certain we were having a boy that I never even
discussed it with your father," she said. "When you came out, and it was
clear you weren't going to be an 'Andrew', your father wanted to just
shorten it to 'Andi', but I held firm. You had to be Alana."
"Interesting," I said. "Wait... so why were you so sure I was going to
be a boy?"
"Well, I'd love to tell you it was an ultrasound or something high tech
or even based in science," my mom said. "But I'd be lying. It was
just... a feeling. All my sisters had boys first, same with your
father's sister. Heck, you're the only girl out of all your first-born
cousins. I'd never really thought about that before... it's weird."
"VERY weird," I said. I was getting the sense there was more to this
sudden gender reassignment than I'd previously believed. Whatever caused
this reboot went all the way back to when I was in the womb and changed
me then.
"But we got a girl, and we're very happy with our Alana," she said.
"Now, I can't even imagine if you'd been born a boy. You and your sister
get along so well, you're such an amazing dancer... who knows where
you'd be?"
"Probably not sitting here talking with my mom," I said.
"No, I'd imagine not."
She folded the last piece of laundry and put all the folded clothes into
the laundry bin to bring it upstairs to her bedroom. As she picked up
the basket and walked out of the room, she turned back to me.
"What sparked this trip down memory lane?" she asked.
"I dunno," I said. "Just... thinking about... stuff. Life... I guess."
"Well, don't over think things," she said. "You've always been more of a
doer. It drove me crazy at times when you were growing up, but you've
really made yourself into something special."
"Oh, I've made myself into 'something'," I said to myself under my
breath.
As my mom left the room, I stretched my legs back out, then sat back and
spread them in the most un-lady-like position possible. I really wanted
to stick one hand down my pants, grab a beer in the other and hope that
would magically turn me back into a man, but I knew it wouldn't help. So
I recrossed my legs and sat "Indian style" (I know it's not
"politically-correct" to call it that anymore, but the last time I was
physically able to sit like this, it's what it was called), popping open
my computer on my lap. I got through about three e-mails, but I just
couldn't concentrate. My mom telling me that I was supposed to have been
born a boy was messing with my head. So I closed up the laptop and
brought it with me as I headed upstairs.
I put the laptop down, took off the "Death" necklace and then took off
my shirt and bra. Having small breasts, wearing a bra hadn't been the
most annoying thing about this situation, but every time I took one off,
I was reminded just how uncomfortable they were. It didn't help that all
of Alana's bras could easily be categorized as "fashionable", as the
form was clearly much more important to her than the function. I rubbed
my shoulders where the straps had dug in a little; I had to admit that a
little bra discomfort was nothing compared to the pain years of football
injuries had left me with. I figured Alana had probably had her share of
bumps and bruises in her dance career, but I certainly hadn't felt them
yet in my time as her. Unless "stomach pain" was a symptom of dance
injuries.
I slipped on a black sports bra and a tight blue tank top and traded my
leggings for some running shorts. I needed to clear my head and I wasn't
sure why, but it seemed like the best thing to do was to go for a run.
It's possible that was the Alana in me talking, but it seemed like a
better idea than sitting around and wallowing in my misery. Plus, this
way if Monica decided to pop in, I wouldn't be home and I could put off
facing her for a little longer.
I grabbed my iPhone and some earbuds off my vanity. Before I headed out,
I stopped by my sister's room.
"Hey," I said, cracking open the door. "I'm going for a run. Please
don't take the car out while I'm gone."
"You know mom wouldn't let me anyway," she said.
"Fair enough."
I closed the door and headed out, popping in my earbuds as I waved to
Ron and my dad before embarking on my run. I didn't know where I was
running or why I was running. I just wanted to run.
I really wanted to run back into my old life, especially when Alana's
playlists started kicking in. As if the Ke$ha and Pink weren't bad
enough, I'm pretty sure she had every Taylor Swift song known to man on
here. And when it wasn't shuffling through a selection of Top 40 songs
that made me want to stick a Q-Tip into my ears until I heard a pop, it
was running through random broadway and ballet songs, which I'm sure
were from her life as a dancer. The only rap album she had on here was
"Take Care" by Drake, and I barely considered that rap. I made a note --
an actual note in the Notes application -- to buy some new music when I
got back home. If I was going to be living this life, even on a short-
term basis, I wanted it to have a decent soundtrack.
As I let the dulcet tones of the scorned Taylor Swift wash over me, I
just kept running. Before long, I found myself at the town reservoir,
about three miles away from my house. I'd been running for three miles,
and looking at the clock on my phone, I'd been doing it at about a nine-
minute-mile pace, and I wasn't even winded. I decided to keep running up
through the woods, to the lookout point above the lake. There was a spot
along the path where the trees and been cleared out and there was a big
rock that you could sit on and just look down at the water. It was
actually where I'd gone on my first "date" in middle school. A lot of
kids my age then went on "dates" there, since we weren't really old
enough to do anything special. It was either have your parents drive you
to the mall or the movies, or go to the reservoir. And the latter made
you look "sensitive".
A few minutes later I reached the spot and took a seat on the rock.
Looking down on that lake now, my emotions weren't being faked. They
were certainly conflicted, but they were real. The serenity of the whole
scene was relaxing, but inside I was a bundle of nerves that couldn't be
settled. I was impressed with my physical fitness in this new body and
worried that it was going to be something I'd have to maintain long
term. I wanted this nightmare to be over, but I also was in no rush to
get back to my mess of a normal life.
I took out my earbuds and Instagrammed a picture of the scene. The sun
wasn't quite setting yet over the water, but it was low enough in the
sky that it was reflecting nicely. It was, well, it was just pretty. But
it wasn't real -- the "lake" was man-made, obviously. Pretty, but not
real. The story of my new life.
I put my headphones back in and made my way back down the hill. As I
neared the bottom, I stepped the wrong way on a rock, and rolled my
right ankle. I was able to catch myself before falling over, but I
immediately felt the sharp pain in the joint. I tried taking a few
steps, and while the pain wasn't unbearable, I definitely wasn't going
to be able to run the rest of the way home. Walk slowly, maybe, but
definitely not run. Before I ventured back onto the road, I headed down
to the edge of the water and took off my right shoe and sock. I put my
foot in the water, which was colder than I'd expected. But that was a
good thing. It felt right, even if very little else about my body did at
this point.
*****
It'd only taken me about half an hour to run to the reservoir, but
thanks to my ankle, it took me almost 90 minutes to walk home. To be
fair, I'd stopped a couple times to get off my foot and massage the
ankle, but it still took way longer than it needed to. Now it really was
starting to get dark, and I was really happy that I was only a block
away from home. I probably should've called my mom or my sister or Ron
or even Monica to come pick me up and drive me home, but I had this
nagging sense of pride to try and fight through the injury. I did
wonder, though, if I was doing permanent damage to my ankle and if that
was something that Alana would have to deal with after I got back to my
life.
That thought got me thinking even more. Would Alana, this Alana, exist
after all this? What about Alexis? Would she still live her life, or
would she turn back into my juvenile delinquent sister Alana? For that
matter, were the people in my old life still living their lives? And
what did that mean for me?
I'd gone out on this run to try and clear my head, but now it was more
muddled than ever. And things were about to get worse before they got
better, because who should be sitting on my front porch as I turned the
corner?
Mark.
My house was three houses down from the corner, and Mark, still wearing
his work clothes, wasn't looking in my direction, so I spotted him
before he spotted me. I thought about trying to make a quick dash up one
of my neighbors' driveways then sneaking into my backyard, but with my
ankle being as messed up as it was, I wasn't going to be doing anything
quickly. And with the pool in our backyard now, there was much less
backyard to sneak into.
Any hopes of hiding or turning back around were dashed when Mark finally
looked over in my direction. He dropped the bag he was holding, hopped
up from his seat and quickly ran to my side.
"You're limping," he said, trying to get me to use his body as a crutch.
"You're not supposed to be here," I said, snippily. I pushed him away
and tried to keep moving forward, but the closer I got to home, the more
I was becoming aware of how much pain my ankle was in. I took a few more
steps and stumbled, and Mark reached out to grab me.
"I don't want your help," I yelled at him. "At least... not like this...
"
"Like what?" he asked.
"Like... it's... never mind," I said. I was on the verge of just telling
him everything, but instead I just accepted his help in getting me to my
front door. He helped me up the front steps to the porch, where he'd
left an Apple Store bag.
"So what are you doing here?" I asked. "Didn't get enough of seeing me
cry this afternoon?"
"I wanted to apologize," he said, "and give you this."
He handed me the bag, as I leaned back against the door. I needed the
support, as I'd reached the point I could barely stand without pain. I
really just wanted to get inside and get some ice on this thing.
Thankfully I was already going to see a doctor tomorrow, so I didn't
have to worry about making an extra appointment. Mark was standing there
waiting for me to look inside the bag, so I obliged. It was a hard
drive.
"You said you needed one," he said. "I kind of ran you out of the store
before you could buy it."
"How much do I owe you?" I asked.
"It's on me," he said. "For... well, for acting like an asshole. I know
we didn't end things on good terms, but I had no right treating you like
that today. I just, umm, well, you were kind of the last person I ever
expected to see today."
"You know," I said, "As bad as it was today, I have to admit I was still
kind of happy to see you."
Mark's eyes got really wide. That certainly wasn't the reaction he was
expecting from Alana.
"I'm serious," I continued. "I've had a couple of really confusing days,
and it was kind of nice to see a familiar face in a familiar place."
"Wow," he said. "You haven't changed one bit."
"Ummm... is that... good?" I asked.
"It's... you," he said. "Somehow, someway, you could always find a way
to be the coldest, cruelest bitch and the sweetest, most caring girl,
all at the same time."
"That's quite an apology," I said.
"Hey, at least you got one," he said. "I'm still waiting on mine."
"Fine, I'm sorry," I said.
"For?"
"For everything," I snapped. "For walking out on you. For walking back
in on you. For not being who you needed me to be and for being who I am.
I'm sorry I'm not perfect. I'm sorry I'm a bitch. I'm sorry you had to
fucking help me walk half a block home because my sorry ankle can't
tolerate being rolled over a little bit. I'm just sorry, okay?!"
I started to tear up again, and I could see Mark was upset that he'd
made me upset, but it really had nothing to do with him. Well, it had
everything to do with him, because he reminded me of my old life and it
hurt to see him. Seeing him made me want everything fixed right now, so
we could go back to bitching about movies and I could finally be honest
with him about Monica and he could help me get my life straightened out.
But instead here we were still bitter with each other about a wedding
that never happened and a reunion that shouldn't have happened and then
before I knew it, his lips were on mine.
Oh.
My.
God.
Mark is kissing me. My best friend in the world, the guy I've known
since we were both five years old, the guy whose blindside I protected
through multiple levels of football, is kissing me.
I flashed back to my kiss last night with Bryce. That one had felt more
wrong than right, for a multitude of reasons, but this felt totally
different. As our lips connected, I closed my eyes and the tears
stopped. Before I knew it, I was inside, lying on my bed with Mark
propping up my ankle with a pillow, putting ice on top of it.
"You know you shouldn't be here, right?" I asked, still somewhat
confused about how either of us had gotten "here."
"I know," he said.
"So..."
"So..."
"Mark, I appreciate your help," I said. "I appreciate the hard drive,
and I REALLY appreciate the ice, but there are SO many reasons why you
shouldn't be in my bedroom, not the