My Shallow Regret, Chapter 11 - Reversion free porn video

"Andrew, get your lazy ass out of bed!" My head was pounding as I heard my mother's scream reverberate throughout the house. The last thing I'd remembered was Bryce's punch landing solidly against my head, so I had no idea how I got home. I sat up in bed and started rubbing my temples to shake off this headache, and thought maybe I'd misheard my mother, but then she stormed into my room with a basket of laundry and dumped it on the floor. "Dammit, Andrew," she said as she shook the last pieces of clothing out of the basket. "I asked you to get your laundry out of the dryer last night and you couldn't even do that. What are you gonna do when I'm not there to clean up after you?" I looked at her confused. It was clearly my mother, but she wasn't talking to me like I was her daughter. She was talking to me like I was ... oh, shit. I sprung up from bed and ran to the floor-length mirror in the corner of my room, only there was no mirror there. "What the hell is wrong with you?" my mom asked, growing increasingly agitated by my behavior. "Everything," I said. "Everything's wrong." "Well, we finally can agree on something," she said, as she picked up a shirt off the floor and tossed it at me. "Now get dressed. I'm taking you to look at apartments in an hour." She stormed out, still clearly upset with my inability to do a basic chore and I was left alone to try and piece together what had happened. For the second time in a little more than a week, I'd woken up in a different life from the day before. As I looked around the room, everything started to come into focus. This was my room - the room as I'd left it when I was Andrew. It had the same queen mattress and box spring stacked on the floor, the same MacBook Pro on the desk, the same dirty T-shirts strewn about - not even accounting for the pile of clothes my mother had just left me to put away - and even the same Super Bowl poster on the wall. This was Andrew's room. And, once again, I was Andrew. The T-shirt my mother had tossed me was another clue - it was a New England Patriots shirt, identical to the one I'd been wearing when I fell asleep before waking up as Alana. I slipped it on, and though it was soft and baggy, it felt like a cage. I'd spent my first few days as Alana trying to get back to this life, and just when I'd finally become comfortable in my new life, I had it ripped away from me in an instant. Being back to my far more familiar gender was hardly a consolation, because I was more confused than ever. Had everything I'd been through as Alana been nothing more than a dream? No. I don't know how to explain it, but I knew in my core that it wasn't a dream. It was real. It was more real than anything I'd ever experienced before. I asked for a reboot, I got it, and it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. Now I just needed to get it back. Looking around the room for some kind of answer, I spotted my computer again. As crazy as it still sounded to me, wiping it clean and starting over had started this whole process, so it was worth trying again. I booted up the computer and discovered that it was still basically freshly wiped, almost as I'd left it 10 days ago. That certainly made the process easier, as I navigated to the utilities folder to start the re-install process. As the computer ran through the initial set-up steps, I got dressed, wearing a plain black T-shirt, baggy jeans, and my Air Jordan 11s - the same ones I'd gotten so pissed to see on Bryce's feet. I should've been comfortable in these clothes, but instead they felt terribly unfamiliar. I wanted to put on a dress, but looking at myself in the mirror I quickly realized how horrible that would look on me. The mental image of my 6- foot-3, 300+ pound frame in a cocktail dress made me laugh, which was the first time all morning I'd felt remotely happy about anything. My mother was downstairs in the kitchen making some coffee when I went down to get some breakfast. She seemed more stressed than usual, which wasn't a total surprise, given what she was going through with the divorce. I went into the fridge and looked past the bottles of soda and beer, taking a bottle of water instead. "Are you hung over again?" my mother asked. "God, I just wanted a bottle of water," I said, a little more snippy than I should have. I took a sip, and then apologized to my mother. "I'm sorry," I said. "For what?" she asked, as if she was completely caught off guard by me apologizing for anything. "For snapping at you just now," I said. She just looked at me, with that look that mothers give you when they know you're not telling them everything, but they also know you won't tell them if they ask. And dammit if that look didn't work every time. I had to remember it if I ever got back to being Alana, so I could use it on my future child. "I guess," I continued, "for not being more supportive, more helpful, while you're going through a tough time. I mean, it's not like I should be picking sides between you and dad..." "I'd never ask you to do that," she interjected. "I know," I said, "but it doesn't have to be just about picking sides. I mean, I'm 25. I should be living my own life. But here I am still at home, still making things hard on you, when you should be focusing on yourself and Ali." I took another sip of water and a deep breath before continuing. "I guess what I'm saying is, I need to get my life together, and thank you for showing me that, even if it wasn't want I wanted to hear." "Who are you?" my mom asked. "I'm... I'm Andrew," I said. "I think." "You can't be my son," she said. "My son would never say something that smart." "I'm trying to change," I said, meaning it in more ways than one. "Look," she said, taking a sip of her coffee, "I don't know if this is some kind of trick or something, but I'm not really in the mood to take you apartment hunting and it seems like you're at least willing to try it yourself." She reached into one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out my car keys. "Just promise me you'll really try today," she said. "I will," I said. "I just have to take care of one thing first." She reluctantly handed the keys over to me and continued drinking her coffee as I walked out the back door. It was strange to see my backyard sans pool again, but refreshing to see my black Dodge Charger sitting in the driveway. I went to plug my phone into the USB port, but as I started the car, the radio came on and a Taylor Swift song started playing. A few days ago I might not have even recognized it other than to know I didn't like it, but rather than put on my own music, I left it playing. It made me feel somewhat connected to my life as Alana. The song was "You Belong With Me," which felt fitting, because that's what I was going to tell Sara. I didn't know if she'd recognize me or even know who I was, but I had to take the chance that if I was going to be stuck like this that I could at least be stuck like this with the woman I loved. Eventually the Taylor Swift song ended and I put on my own music as I got closer to the mall, but I couldn't stop thinking about how much my time as Alana had affected me. I'd been Andrew for 25 years and Alana for 10 days, and yet sitting in this car at this moment, I felt more like Alana than Andrew. For all her faults and mistakes, she was the best version of me, the me I was meant to be. And a large part of that was being with Sara. I pulled into the mall parking lot and turned off my car, but just sat there for a few minutes, trying to gather my thoughts. I had no memory of Andrew's last 10 days, but given what I knew of my life before the change I found it highly unlikely that I'd said anything to Sara about my feelings for her in the time I spent as Alana. I started to think about being stuck in this life, but more specifically being stuck in a life without Sara. I'd dated as Andrew, and I'd been in relatively serious relationships - though certainly not in a long time - but I'd never felt the way I felt about Sara with anyone else. Not even close. And the more I sat in my car and dwelled on my current reality, the more I became concerned that I'd never get to feel that way ever again. But just sitting here dwelling on things wasn't getting me any closer to anything I wanted, so I finally mustered up the courage to go inside and try and talk to her. Walking into Panera Bread, I saw her standing behind the counter pouring a drink for a customer, but she didn't notice me. I wouldn't have expected her to, but part of me was hoping she would. That she'd see me standing in the entrance way, drop the cup and run to me, and we'd kiss and everything would be perfect again. But this wasn't a movie. Life didn't work like that. So she just kept on working, and I just kept standing there like a big fat idiot. Eventually I made my way up to the counter, where I was standing face to face - or as close as I could, given my renewed height - with Sara. She looked up at me in line, and I looked into her eyes, hoping to see a glimmer of recognition, but there was nothing there. "Can I help you?" she asked in a flat tone that suggested I was just another in an endless line of customers she'd have to help in a mindless job that had no relation to what she wanted to do with her life. "You..." I started to say, hesitating, unsure if I should even bring anything up. "You don't recognize me, do you?" "Oh, hey," she said, perking up a bit. It gave me a brief moment of hope, but then in an instant it was ripped away. "Smokehouse Turkey Panini guy, right? Sorry, I didn't recognize you without your Apple shirt." "I'm Ahhh..." I caught myself before I finished accidentally introduced myself as Alana, which would've been incredibly difficult to explain. "Andrew," I said, continuing, trying to play it off as if I hadn't nearly messed up my own name. "You can call me Andrew." "Hey, Andrew," she said. "So, can I get you the usual?" "Actually, Sara, I kind of wanted to talk to you," I said, as I fidgeted in place. I couldn't remember a time in my life when I'd been this nervous. Not even before my final football game against our crosstown rival which I was pretty certain would be the last time I stepped on a football field as a player. "You," she said, confused, "you know... do we know each other?" "That's kind of a complicated question," I said. "Is there somewhere we can go and talk?" "Well, I'm kind of stuck here for the next few hours," she said. I could sense her hesitance. She clearly had no idea who I was and now I was just some random creeper who somehow knew her name and I was freaking her out. So, for some idiotic reason, my brain - rather than telling me to back away and salvage my dignity - decided to go all in with the freak out. "Look, Sara, you're probably not going to believe this, but we do know each other," I said. "Or we did. It's hard to explain. But I know you, even if you don't know me or remember that you do." She just looked at me with a look on her face that was half confused and half scared. "You're a songwriter," I said, trying to prove that I knew her from somewhere other than our brief encounters across the Panera Bread counter. "A good one. I've heard your music. It's incredible." "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "You must be thinking of someone else. I don't do anything with music. I just work here. For two years now." I didn't know if she was lying to me because she was scared of me or if she really didn't write music in this reality, but either way I knew this wasn't the Sara I knew. "This was a mistake," I said, as I started to back away, with my heart sinking in my chest. She didn't say anything to me as I turned toward the door. Then, just before I was out the door, she yelled out. "Wait," I heard her say. I turned around hopeful. Was this it? Was this the big Hollywood moment where she said she remembered everything and we kissed with the music swelling and the sun breaking through the clouds and shining down on us and then smash cut to our perfect wedding? Of course not. "You forgot your phone," she said, holding it up and waving it so I'd see. I reached in my pockets, as if to confirm that in fact I didn't have my phone, and made the embarrassing walk back to her, silently putting my hand out to take my phone from her. "Here you go Andrew," she said as she handed it to me. "It was nice to meet you." "Nice to meet you too," I said, flatly, trying to hide my emotional disappointment. She gave me a half-hearted smile as I turned and left the restaurant. Deep down I wondered if I ended up stuck in this life, would this be the last time I ever saw Sara? I'd never dealt with awkward situations very well in the past - not that anyone does, otherwise they wouldn't be awkward - and it'd be easy for me to just stop coming in here for lunch. It'd probably hurt to not see her every day, but I think it'd hurt more to see her and see the way she looked at me like she just had. I trudged down the hall and rode the escalator up to the second floor to drop in on Mark at the store. With our regular schedules, I knew he'd be working today, and he'd be on back-of-house duty, which meant we could talk without having to worry about customers interrupting us. It was early, but the store was already busy and packed with customers, the angriest of whom had congregated around the Genius Bar. One of my co- workers tried to signal to me, probably to ask if I could help out, or even punch in on my day off, but I blew right past them and straight into the back, where I saw Mark sitting at one of the repair benches filling out some paperwork. "Hey," he said, not even looking up. "I didn't think you were coming in today." "I wasn't," I said, "but I needed to talk to you." "What's up," he said, as he put down the papers and spun his chair around toward me. I stood in the doorway, unsure of what to say next. I didn't want to tell him about everything I'd been through as Alana - especially not the whole kissing him thing, because that'd open up a whole crazy can of worms - but I couldn't just stand here and act like nothing had changed. Because no matter what life I ended up in, I knew my life was never going to be the same. "I've been thinking," I said, before hesitating. "That's never good," he said, half-jokingly. "I'm serious," I said. I decided to sit down at the bench opposite him, to try and get more comfortable for what was going to be an uncomfortable conversation. "I need to make some changes in my life." "Is this about your mom kicking you out?" he asked. "It is," I said, "But it's not just that. I mean, is this really the life I'm supposed to be living? I'm 25 years old, I live at home, I have a dead-end job, no girlfriend, no ... just nothing." Looking over at Mark, I could tell he was getting bummed out by my pity party, so I decided to shift the conversation - if not in tone, then in time. "Man, look, I shouldn't be hitting you with all this at work," I said. "Why don't we get a drink tonight?" "I can't," he said, as he began to shuffle through the papers again, clearly trying to avoid a touchy subject. "Why not?" I asked, trying to be gentle about prodding, but coming across more defensive than I would have liked. "It's Monica," he said. He put the papers back down and leaned back in his seat, looking up at the ceiling. Great, so in every reality, Monica wants to keep me and Mark apart, only here it's me who's the problem. At least as Alana, I had Monica's trust and could help re-build a bridge between me and Mark, eventually getting her to cross it. But here? There wasn't going to be any changing of Monica's mind, at least not without a miracle. And I'd already gotten my fair share of those for a lifetime. Multiple lifetimes, in fact. "I know she doesn't like me," I said, "but I just don't get why." "It's not that she doesn't like you," Mark said, trying to soften the truth. But he was a terrible liar. At least that was consistent in every reality. "She just doesn't know you like I do. "But it's not even about that," he continued. "So what is it about?" I asked. This time I wasn't even trying to be diplomatic. I just said it, angrily, because I could tell Mark was avoiding something with me, and I wasn't in the mood for games. "She's pregnant," he said. I expected my jaw to drop, but a different reflex kicked in instead: I started biting my lower lip. I wasn't sure why I was doing it at first, but then I felt a tear well up in my left eye. This wasn't the reaction of a friend who just found out his best friend was about to become a father. This was the reaction of a woman who was hearing about someone else's baby for the first time and just now realizing that her baby was gone. No, not her baby. My baby. Twenty-four hours ago I was ready to tell the world about my pregnancy, and now I was back in this life where a child wouldn't remotely be part of my future. It was killing me inside, and compounding that pain was the fact I couldn't tell anyone about it. I knew I wasn't going to be able to hold back the tears much longer, and it'd be hard to explain to Mark why I was sobbing if I started crying in front of him, so I just quickly got up and headed to the door as quickly as I could. "Dude, is everything okay?" Mark asked. "Congratulations," I said, my voice cracking. "I just... I gotta go." Mark, clearly confused by my sudden shift in behavior, got up, but I continued down the hall and out the door to the sales floor as quickly as I could, then used the sea of customers to run interference as I left the store and ran into one of the public bathrooms down the hall. I just sat in a stall for a couple minutes crying, thinking about the baby I might have lost, before composing myself with a renewed resolve to return to my life as Alana by any means necessary. And I knew the next best place to start. By talking to Alana. I drove home as fast as I could without risking getting pulled over, and rushed upstairs, only to find that my sister wasn't even home. As I looked in at her empty room, I saw the telltale signs of the sister I thought I'd left behind when I became Alana - stealing her name in the process. The ash tray on her counter, the cracked mirror with the leather jacket draped over it, the discarded boxers peeking out from under the bed that belonged to a guy who was probably at least five years older than her, these were all things Alexis never would've had in her room, and in her life. Rather than wait around and have Alana find me rummaging through her room, I went back to mine, where my computer was prompting me to reboot to complete the installation process. I wanted to wait to try and talk to my sister, but I also wanted to get back to being Alana as quickly as possible, so I closed my eyes, hit enter and braced myself. I took a deep breath and waiting, hoping when I opened my eyes I'd be back in my life as Alana, but instead after about 30 seconds I heard the telltale tune of a Mac starting up with a fresh operating system for the first time. The reboot hadn't changed anything. I sat on the floor by the end of my bed, despondent. I really believed for some crazy reason that this software reboot thing would reboot my life again, and couldn't figure out what I'd done wrong this time - or what I'd done right the time before to make it happen in the first place. I was banging the back of my head against my mattress in a futile effort to re-induce the head trauma that had snapped me back into my life as Andrew when I heard a knock at my open door. "What the hell are you doing?" I looked up to see my sister standing in the doorway. I'd still been holding out hope that I'd see Alexis, or something similar, but of course I had no such luck. This was the same Alana I'd left behind 10 days ago, the one with the dyed-black hair and the nose and lip rings and the smell of cigarettes wafting off her skin. "Let me guess," she continued. "You fell down and you're too fat to get up on your own." "Why do you hate me so much?" I asked. "Because there's so much of you to hate," she responded bitingly. OK, I walked into that one. But I seriously wanted to talk to her about this - not because I thought she'd have any answers on how to fix my situation, but because I needed to know if there was anything I could've done as Andrew to have a relationship with Alana like the one Alana had with Alexis. "Is that it?" I asked. "You just hate me because I'm fat?" I expected another joke from Alana, but she hesitated in her answer. "Well, no," she eventually said, trying to avoid eye contact with me. "So what is it?" I asked, pressing the issue. "What is it about me that makes you hate me so much." "I don't... I mean... It's not..." she said, fumbling for what to say. Then, out of nowhere, there was a shift in the tone of her voice. "Why do you think I hate you?" The way she said it, she almost reminded me of Alexis - which shouldn't have been so much of a surprise since technically they were the same person, just very different in the lives they'd lived. She seemed almost hurt by the accusation that she hated me. "I mean, isn't it obvious," I said. "The fat jokes, the vagina jokes, the way you mock me and cut me down every chance you get." "That's just stupid sibling stuff," she said. "I never mean anything by it. And besides, it never seemed to bug you before." "Oh, it always did," I said, "but I guess maybe now I'm just growing - save your fat joke - and I don't want our relationship to be like this. I know we'll always be brother and sister, but I want us to be friends too." Again, I braced myself for the mocking that was sure to come from my sister, but instead she sat down next to me on the floor. I instinctively recoiled a bit from the smell of cigarette smoke, but tried not to let her see that. This was the first time in years she'd been anything but cold and mean toward me, and I didn't want to ruin it just because she didn't smell like the lilac perfume Alexis had been wearing the past few days. "You think mom and dad are getting divorced because of us, don't you," she said. Admittedly, the thought crossed my mind, even before I became Alana, but I knew deep down that while we hadn't helped the situation, there's no way my parents were getting divorced solely because my sister and I didn't get along. "No," I said, "it's not our fault. But that doesn't mean we can't try to get along better. Even if just for our sake." "Well, it'll probably be easier when you move out," she said. "I mean, we won't be up in each other's business all day, so maybe that'll help, right?" "I guess," I said. "But it's also possible that we just end up drifting further apart and never talking to each other at all. And I don't want that to happen." "Neither do I," she said. "Sure, I give you shit all the time ... like ALL the time ... but you're still my brother. I can't imagine my life without you." "It'd be better," I said reflexively, without even thinking about it. "You don't know that," she said, trying to cheer me up. "I guarantee you that your life would be better if you had an older sister instead of me," I said. Alana probably thought I was speaking hypothetically, but I knew better. I knew she deserved the sister she'd had in my other life - and the only way to give her that was to get back to that life. I could've taken everything I'd learned as Alana and applied it to being a better sibling, but it wouldn't undo the damage that was already done. "Maybe," she said, "but I don't have an older sister. I have you. And I need to be better about appreciating that." "Thanks," I said. Then I gave her a hug. "You're welcome," she said. "And you're still fat." "And you still stink like cigarettes." We laughed and continued to embrace, when my mom walked in. "Who are you?" she asked. "What," my sister said to her, as we stopped hugging. "You look like my children," my mom said, "but you can't be. You're not being mean to each other." "About that," I started to say to my mom, as Alana and I both got up from sitting on the floor. "We're gonna try to be better," she said, finishing my thought. "Yeah," I said. "We know things are hard on you right now, and you don't need us making them harder." My mom seemed genuinely surprised by our sudden change of heart, though I'd imagine if she knew what I'd lived through over the past 10 days, she'd get it. "Wow, that's really sweet," she said. Then she turned directly toward me and added "but don't think this is buying you any more time here. I still want you in your own place by the end of the month." "I know," I said. "In fact, I'm going out to look at a place later this afternoon." "That's great," she said. "Maybe your sister can use her newfound understanding toward you to help you pack." "Yeah, that's not happening," Alana said as she blew past us and headed into her room. My mother just gave me a shrug as if to say "I don't get her either" then went back downstairs to continue whatever she'd been doing before finding us up in my room. Meanwhile, I went back to my computer to try anything I could think of to try and reboot myself back into my life as Alana. I did software updates and rebooted. I removed software and rebooted. I forced a hard reboot. None of it did anything. Eventually the afternoon turned into evening, and I was growing more and more frustrated with every passing failed attempt. I was just about ready to give up when I decided to try one last thing: restoring my data from backup, the only thing I hadn't done the first time I restored my computer last week. That was another process that was going to take a while, so rather than sit here and wait for it, all the while getting increasingly impatient, I went out to get a drink. There were plenty of places in town I could've gone, but somehow I found myself at Plan B, where I'd had my awkward encounter with Bryce and Monica. And yet this was more awkward - I was sitting alone at the end of the bar, by myself, with no one within three seats of me. And yet it seemed like the rest of the bar was full of people. It was like I'd created a bubble of sadness around me, and no one dared to come close to penetrating it. I sipped the last of my vodka martini - a drink I'd ordered to try and seem cooler than I was - and looked around the room to see if there was anyone I knew, who I might be able to go talk to and make this whole situation less depressing. But the only familiar face I saw, strangely enough, was Gwen. She was at a corner table happily chatting away with a few other girls, completely oblivious to my presence. I thought about going up to them and saying hi, but given what had happened with Sara earlier today, I figured that wouldn't end well. The night went on and I had a couple more drinks, all the while saying nothing to no one. I was about to call it a night and head home when I turned to the door and saw the last person I ever expected to see that night: Sara. She walked up to the bar and waited to place an order. I tried not to look over too much, but couldn't help but notice that not only was she wearing the same leather jacket she'd given to me just a day ago, but around her neck was a black string necklace with an ankh pendant, remarkably similar to the one I'd worn when I saw her perform a week ago. Had I been more optimistic - or still Alana - I would have taken it as a sign that the universe was trying to bring us together. Instead, I took a swig of my martini and tried to signal to the bartender that I wanted to close out my tab before she saw that I was there. My attempts to get the bartender's attention were failing about as miserably as everything else in my life, when I heard a loud, obnoxious voice break through the din of white noise that was the conversation in this bar. "Hey baby," he said, not talking to me, but talking near enough to me that I could hear every slimy word perfectly clearly. And each word was like nails on a chalkboard, if that chalkboard was next to a megaphone. "That jacket looks great on you. I bet it looks even better off you." I swiveled in my chair hoping my instincts were wrong and this was just some random asshole I didn't know. Of course, given how my day had gone, I should have known I'd have no such luck. I let out a deep sigh as I saw Bryce with his arm on the bar, leaning up against Sara, who was doing whatever she could to wriggle her way out of this situation - literally. She tried being polite, but Bryce wasn't getting the message, and even in this reality Sara wasn't the type of girl who would throw a drink in a guy's face. So, against my better instincts, I decided to intervene. "I don't think you're her type," I said, causing Bryce to turn his head with a dismissive look. "Oh, what, and you are, fatso," he said. It wasn't remotely the cleverest putdown he could have come up with, but I didn't really expect witty banter from him. I stood up and got right in his face, staring him down - and as much as I'd struggled to adjust to my change back to being Andrew, being able to literally look down on someone in this moment was certainly helpful. He didn't back away, but took his arm off the bar to square up to me. "This is none of your business, big guy, so why don't you just sit back down and stuff another burger in your face before I fill it with a knuckle sandwich," Bryce said, trying to sound tougher than he was. That said I knew from experience that he wouldn't hesitate to throw a punch, and as much as I wanted to hit him back, getting in a bar fight was probably the last thing I needed right now, so I tried to take the situation in a different direction. "I'm just trying to help you out, bro," I said in my own "bro-iest" voice possible. "I know this chick and she's a real bitch. You're just wasting your time and money with her. You want to score, check out the hotties in the booth over there." I pointed in Gwen's direction. I felt mildly bad pawning Bryce off on her, but she was there with at least three other girls as far as I could tell, and it seemed more likely that the group of them could deal with his bullshit much more easily than Sara could by herself. "For real?" Bryce asked. "You know it, bro," I said. "Yo, good lookin' out, bro," Bryce said. He started to walk away, then turned back to Sara and said, "enjoy drinking alone, bitch." As soon as Bryce had completely turned away, I rolled my eyes hard. After that awful conversation, I wanted to vomit. Where was my morning sickness when I needed it? "I'm sorry about that," I said to Sara as I took my seat again at the end of the bar. "I just know that guy is a total asshole and I figured you didn't need to deal with that tonight." "Thanks, I think," she said hesitantly. "Oh, hey, it's Andrew, right?" "Yeah, you're Sara, right," I said, trying to play it off as if I wasn't madly in love with her. "What are you drinking?" "I'll have a vodka tonic," she said to the bartender, who'd come over when it looked like Bryce and I might start throwing punches and breaking things. "And I'll have a Macallan, neat. Put them both on my tab," I quickly added. "You really don't need to do that," she said, but the bartender had already started to make the drinks. "It's fine," I said. "Besides, I owe you after calling you a bitch and being all weird at the store today." "Well, I know you didn't mean the bitch thing," she said. "And, weirdly, I've been thinking about you ever since I saw you this afternoon." "Well if some creepy guy I'd never met came up to me at work and pretended he knew me, I'm not sure I could stop thinking about it all day either." I didn't know what to say about this whole messed-up situation, so falling back on self-deprecating humor seemed to be my best option. Or at least the one I was most comfortable with. "No, it was something you said." Looking at her, I expected her to be nervous about sitting next to me, but she seemed at ease, much more so than she'd been at the store. It was almost like I was looking at the Sara I'd come to know over the past few days, rather than the one who barely knew me at all. "How'd you know I wrote music?" she asked. I didn't have a good answer for her, at least not one that didn't make me seem insane. And while telling Sara the truth about my dual life had gone well - incredibly well - when I was Alana, I didn't think it was worth pressing my luck again. So I fumbled for an answer that would sound at least somewhat reasonable. "I thought someone had told me something like that, but I guess they were thinking about someone else," I said. "That's the thing, though," she said as the bartender put her drink down in front of her. She took a sip - okay, it was more like a swig - then continued. "I did write music. Or at least I tried to. But it never went anywhere, and I never told anyone about it." "Well, obviously you told someone," I said. "Unless you know my freshman year History of Music teacher, then I doubt that's how you found out," she said. "But you knew. And you said my music was good. That's not something you'd say just because someone told you." "It was good," I said. "But how?" she asked. "I mean, I seriously never did anything with the songs I wrote, and I've never seen you outside of the mall." "I can't explain it," I said. Then, without thinking about it, I started reciting lyrics from one of the songs I'd heard on Sara's demo tape. "Your eyes were dangerous but they shined like stars/and I knew that I shouldn't but I couldn't help but like it when we made out in your car..." She gasped, stunned to hear her words coming out of my mouth. Then, in the softest, sweetest voice, she picked up the song and started singing. "And I was Rachel and you were Ryan and we were meant to be/I didn't think that you'd end up disappointing me..." "It's great," I said. "Just perfect, really." Her eyes were wide as she stared at my face, unable to grasp any explanation for what was happening. And maybe what was happening defied explanation. Maybe it was just that we were meant to be, across dimensions, across lives, and this was our connection. She reached out and touched my cheek, rubbing her finger along my three- day-old stubble. "You remind me," she started to say. She was barely speaking above a whisper, but I could hear her clearly, as if the rest of the noise in the bar was being muted my some unseen force. "I think I met you in a dream once. But you were different." She couldn't possibly be remembering when I was Alana, could she? "Does the name Alana mean anything to you?" I asked. I could feel the hope swelling inside me. I wanted to push it back down - a wise man once said in a movie, "hope is a dangerous thing." But with every passing moment, I could feel us getting closer to a connection. "I think," she said. I could see her struggling to remember. It was like that moment right when you wake up, and you think you remember exactly what you were dreaming about, but the more you try to focus on the details the further away they seem, until it's all just a cloudy fog of forgotten memories. I didn't want to be Sara's forgotten dream. I wanted to be her future. I grabbed the whiskey in front of me, my last drink of the night, and poured it down my throat as quickly as possible. "Screw it," I said, as I went for it. I pulled Sara in and kissed her. I expected her to recoil, or push away, and at first she did put her hand on my chest as if that's exactly what she wanted to do. But then she slid her hand around to my back, and it wasn't just that I was kissing her - instead we were kissing. And we kept kissing, and as we did, I closed my eyes. And, again, in an instant, everything went black.