Starting Over

         My alarm didn't go off this morning.  That's odd, because I'm fairly meticulous about setting it correctly every night.  I've never been late for work.  But that wasn't the oddest thing about this morning.  The other weird thing made me want to close my eyes and lay back down, hoping that everything would go back to normal if I re-woke myself up.  So, I tried it.
         I opened my eyes again, blinked twice, stared, then blinked twice more.  Everything remained hazy, like it was slightly foggy everywhere, even inside.  What the hell?  Maybe I should get my eyes checked.
         Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I felt slightly dizzy and a little disoriented by the  fuzzy quality that everything seemed to have acquired overnight. I stood up and started towards the window, to see if maybe it was just my spacious apartment that seemed to be radioactive today.  No such luck.  Must be my eyes.  Oh well, maybe I could just call into work, tell them I have to make a doctor's appointment for my eyes.  That would take care of both problems.  Stooping down, slightly exhilarated at the prospect of not wearing work clothes today, I grabbed the nearest pair of jeans, which I hadn't worn since the weekend, and a t-shirt.  The t-shirt had the logo “Back By Popular Demand” in bright white on a green field and had cost a pretty penny simply because of the store it had been purchased from.  So had the jeans.  I really could afford to take a day off, maybe do a little shopping.  No one will miss me except my secretary.  She'll be so bored.  That's alright, maybe I'll take her out to dinner tonight, to make up for it.  I'd love to see her outside of work...She is so freakin' hot!  And I've never had a problem with the ladies.  Involuntarily, I start to chuckle to myself.
         Tying up my Doc. Marten boots (which were also fairly expensive), I tried to not get ahead of myself.  One step at a time today.  I had to go and get this weird eye thing taken care of, although I was kind of getting used to it by now.  And then I could go shopping, maybe get some new shoes (these boots were at least three months old.  Time for a new pair, I think).  I walked down the hall, past my favorite painting (it's a Pollock, a small one, but an original), and into the kitchen.  The stainless steel of the fridge and the industrial style stove/oven looked a sickly green that instantly gave me a headache.  The morning light streaming in through the plate glass windows was reflecting off of the metallic appliances and making the green haze even brighter than it already was.  Instead of grabbing a bagel with cream cheese and capers for breakfast, like I normally would, I veered away from the fridge and into the adjoining dining room.  Towards the bar.  I know what will help with this headache, real quick.  I reached behind the bar and grabbed the first bottleneck my hand wrapped around.  Jackpot!  I had grabbed Johnny Walker, Black Label.  I put a few ice cubes into a tumbler and poured some of amber liquid over top.  Not quite a breakfast drink, but I have no problem with that.  The bottle is almost empty thought.  I'll have to pick up another bottle today, too.
         I started humming to myself a tuneless melody as I polished off the drink, a satisfied look on my face.  This is going to be a good day, I thought to myself.  Not even the green tint could dampen my mood.  I decided I could probably go for a coffee and a newspaper at my favorite coffee shop, Espresso Yourself (kind of corny, I know, but I love the place).
         I grabbed my keys and my brown leather jacket and made sure my wallet was in my pocket.  Locking my front door behind me and setting the alarm, I felt a little better to be out of the apartment.  I walked over the elevator and pressed the down button.  The door opened right away, revealing an empty elevator car.  Must be my lucky day after all.  This elevator usually takes so long to get all the way up here, and it's usually packed with people.  No complaints here.  I press the button for the lobby.  It lights up and the elevator door dings shut.  I fail to notice that is not green in the elevator car.
         A few seconds later (the elevator is one of those cool new speedy ones), the door opens into the lobby.  It is empty.  There are a few hundred people who live in this building, so there are always a few groups chatting, or someone checking their mailbox in the little alcove on the left, or some kids running around being kids.  But this morning, there is no one.  Well, almost no one.  The guard is sitting behind his desk, as he always is.  He grins stupidly at me as I walk to my mailbox, which is kind of weird because I never see him without some sour look on his face.  I smile back and give a little wave.  The guard, Gus, waves back and nods, still with that stupid grin on his usually glum face.  I turn around, stick my key in the lock, and open my box.  There is only one envelope, looks like junk mail.  I absently stick it in my inside coat pocket and shut the little metal door.  Stuffing my keys back in my pocket, I head for the front glass doors.  They swing open, and the cool spring breeze hits me in the face.  Feels nice to be outside, although the green light seems to be stronger out here.  It doesn't turn everything green, exactly, just adds a faint luminosity that bounces back to my eyes as green.
         I decide to go visit my eye doctor first, see if I can get this vision thing taken care of.  The subway station on my block is only a few feet away from the front door of my building and my optometrist's office is only a few stops down.  I see him fairly frequently, since I wear contacts, so it shouldn't be too hard to get a quick appointment.  In and out, no problem.  Then on to shopping.  Thinking about offices made me realize that I hadn't called my office yet (I'm a junior exec at a very influential ad agency, not bad for being only 26 years old).  I pull out my cell phone and punch in the numbers for my secretary, as I walk toward the subway station’s stairs.
         The line buzzes then rings.  Stephanie answers, tells me that I have phoned my office and that I'm not in at the moment.
         “Hey, Steph.  It's me.  I forgot to tell you, I have a doctor's appointment today, so I won't be in.  Let Mr. Andrews know that I'll catch him up on the 'Big One' tomorrow morning.  He'll know what I'm talking about.  I'll finish up some final work at home, after my appointment.”
         “Oh, hi!  I was wondering where you were.  No problem, I can handle things here today.  There are a lot of people out, even Mr. Andrews.  I had an early morning appointment myself today, before work.  I hope yours goes well, I know that mine...”
         “Hey, Steph, sorry to cut you off, but I really gotta go.  Getting on the train now.  Fax me anything that needs my attention.  Thanks, have a good day.  I'll see you tomorrow.”
         I snapped my phone shut.  Man, was she talkative today.  She's usually fairly cheery, but that was ridiculous!  And how did she know that I was going to see the doctor?  That’s kinda creepy.  Immersed in these musings, I missed the first train that arrived, realizing too late that the doors were closing and it was pulling out of the underground station.  The next one appeared about five minutes later, and I made sure I got on this one.  I wasn’t really in any kind of hurry, but I hated waiting for subway trains.  It’s just not a productive or engaging way to spend my time.  Stepping into line behind the fifteen or so other people jostling to get through the train’s doors, I noticed that the train was almost empty.  And the line I was in was neither as long nor as hurried as I had first assumed it would be.  The fifteen people in front of me were really only four, and there was very little jostling, as the train car and platform were devoid of crowds.  I was just so accustomed to large crowds and rude people in the subway stations and cars, that I had over-prepared myself to fight my way onto the train.  Maybe it’s time for a vacation, time to get out of the city.  I’ll give my travel agent a call soon.
         I slowly find a seat that faces forward (I can’t deal with riding backwards or sideways, and it seems most other people can’t either, so I usually end up standing), and wait for the train to reach my stop.  Because there are so few people, the train is oddly quiet, aside from the ever-present crunches and whooshes, scrapes and squeals, honks and rumblings, that come from outside the train.  But most people, like me, have learned to ignore that.  White noise.  Unimportant when compared to the conversation you are immersed in with your co-worker, spouse, friend, or stranger sitting or standing next to you.  However, there are no conversations today, save one.  Two older women sitting down at the end of the car, right before the door that leads into the next car.  I’m only sitting a few seats away from them, and they are in front of me, at the front end of the car, so I can hear almost every word they say in the eerie quiet of the train car.  The words “doctor’s appointment” catch my ear, and I can’t help but eavesdrop.  Is everyone going to some kind of doctor today?  Maybe it won’t be so easy to get in for an appointment after all.  Worth a shot I guess.  The green light doesn’t seem to be so bad underground, but my head is still killing me.  So as not to appear weird or creepy to these two ladies, I look at them through the reflection in the glass window next to me.  It reflects almost as well as a mirror, and it seems that I’m innocently staring at the darkness sweeping by.  It’s only when another train passes us going in the opposite direction do the ladies in my train become invisible.  The colors and lights blur them out.
         Both ladies wore long gray skirts, and bright knit sweaters, despite the warmth of the train.  They seemed comfortable with each.  The one on the left was wearing an ivory colored shawl over her hair and head, the one on the right was wearing a bright royal purple scarf that looked like it was very plush velvet.  Both had their long hunter green overcoats folded up in their laps, wrapped over their bulky bag-lady purses.  Seeming to be sisters, they shared the same facial features (and their faces were the only skin they displayed, aside from the one on the left, she had removed her gloves to apply a generous dose of old-lady lotion).  Bright blue eyes stared out from under bristly grey eyebrows, and there was a knowing clarity to the eyes that startled me. 
         “So how has your morning been, Glenda?”
         “Well, I got up early, y’know.  Had that appointment with that Doctor Whats-His-Face down at Whats-It-Called.  Went very well.  I was real glad that I went early, though. Long line behind me.  I got just what I wanted, as I see you did, too, Hilda.”
         “Yes, I got up very early, too.  Before the sun did, in fact.  That was a good idea you had yesterday, to do that.  Probably wouldn’t have turned out so well if we hadn’t have gone early.  Doctor Harris was very kind and he was very quick about it, seeing as my choice was easy, for me and for him.  I just hope that my dear little          Josef heeded my advice and went early too.”
         “Your dear little Josef is not so little anymore.  And maybe not so dear, either.”  The one on the left, Glenda apparently, jabbed her sister playfully in the arm, giving her a warm smile.  Hilda smiled back, a knowing and mischievous smile that you can only find on older women who still love life.
         At this point, a train passed us going in the other direction, blocking my view of the kindly old women reflected in my window.  When they appeared again, I noticed that they had stood up and were waiting for the doors to open and let them disembark.
         “Where shall we go to eat lunch this fine spring day?” asked the sister in the shawl, Glenda, of her twin.
         “It’s not so fine to eat outdoors.  Let us walk down to that little bakery that Papa’s friend used to own when he was alive, God bless both their souls, and feast upon delicious breads and cheeses and Pirozhki….”  The voices were cut off when the doors shut, with Hilda still going on about the wonderful foods the little Russian Bakery was sure to provide them for the lunch.
         Suddenly, for no real reason, I felt very lonely.  True, the train car was now empty except for me.  But more than that.  I felt the inexplicable desire to follow those two women and have lunch with them, ask them about their lives, hear their stories, for surely they were full of them.  Wow, I must be feeling worse than I thought.  I shut my eyes and tried to relax a bit as I wait for my stop.  Two more stops and I can get off of the train and get rid of whatever is wrong with me.
         Before I know it, the train halts and a disembodied voice lets me know that I have arrived at my destination.  Although not in so many words.  I stand up, check my pockets to make sure nothing has fallen out, and walk off the train.  Before the doors close, I glance back to where the sisters had been seated and smile.  Then, subconsciously shaking my head quickly back and forth, as if to rid myself of some unwanted thought, I scold myself for being so moved by the elderly Russian twins.  As I walk up the stairs of the station and re-enter the world aboveground, the sun strikes me and I feel a sickly feeling creep into my stomach.  I hadn’t noticed how the green light didn’t penetrate into the bowels of the city underground.  Maybe it’s not my eyes then…But what could it be?
         Unbidden, the conversation between Glenda and Hilda played back in my mind (I pride myself on remembering little details).  They had been talking about their doctors and how their meetings with them had gone well this morning.  Is everybody in the city going to see their doctor today?  Not for the first time, this question popped into my head.  I don’t understand.  Is this some sort of epidemic that has been able to sneak up on us, and I was just that ignorant as to be unaware?  Everyone else seems to know what’s going on.  Not even realizing it, I had walked right up to my optometrist’s building and was staring at the big glass doors as if I had never seen anything like them before, shielding my eyes from the green sun reflected in them.  Jarring back into myself, leaving those crazy thoughts (Are they, though?) outside in the breezy spring day, I walked through the cozy white marble foyer of the medical building, straight up to the receptionist at her desk.
         “Is Dr. Vincent in today?”
         “Actually, he is out for the morning.”  The receptionist informed curtly without so much as looking up from her computer monitor.  I could see a game of solitaire being mirrored in her glasses.  She wasn't usually so unhelpful and dismissive.
         “Well, where is he.  I need him to check out my eyes.  It's kind of an emergency,” I growled back to her as politely as a could.
         “If you must know, he had to see his doctor today.  But I don't see how it is any of your business.  You're more than welcome to wait, but I have no idea when to expect him.”  Again, with the barely raised eyes and condescending tone.  Maybe I need to get my ears checked, too.  I barely register the thought before accusing myself of becoming a hypochondriac.  I let loose a big sigh.
         “What do you suggest I do, then?”
         She looks up at me.  I barely recognize her as the same girl who has worked here for the past four years, even though I know it is her and the plaque sitting on the desk reads “Ms. Connie Hatcher” like it has for the past four years.
         “Why don't you try to go see your primary physician?”  I must have given her a blank, confused look, because she clarified.  “Your regular doctor?  The one you go to see when your stomach hurts, or you break a finger, or catch a cold?”
         “Thanks so much.”  I turn on my heel and walk back towards the door.  Holy crap, that was rude.  She really must have had a bad morning or something.  As I exit the building, I reach inside my jacket to get my phone so that I can call Dr. Krause's office to make sure he is actually in before I trek all the way out there (all the way out there being two blocks down the street).  As I take my phone out, a folded up envelope falls to the ground.  Curious, I reach down to pick up.  I had totally forgotten that I had put this in my pocket when I left this morning.  Looks like junk mail.  I walk over to a trash can next to one of the many caged up trees on this street, and toss the envelope in.  As I do so, the envelope flips over to reveal the back side, the part that you lick to stick it shut.  There is something written on it.  I bend over to read it.  It says in a neat, precise font:

From the Desk of:
Chairman Dr. Benedict R. Armitage
Board of Amelioration and Regularization

         That was it. No return address, no address of any kind save for mine.  Even the stamp was strange.  It was blank.  It only had the price of the stamp printed in one corner of the stamp in black.  I slipped my finger under the flap and slid it along the top of the envelope to open it.  Inside was a single sheet of paper.  I read it once, lifted my head up, and looked at the sky.  There was no need to read it again.  It was short and to the point.

Dear Sir or Madam:

You have not received this letter in error, so please do not discard it without reading it.  As head of the Board of Amelioration and Regularization, or the B.A.R., it is my duty and also my privilege to alert you to the fact that we have done it.  We have finally found a way to make life fair.  Through a truly painless process that your own primary care physician has been trained to perform, we can simply and effectively remove you from your life, if desired, and place you in another life of your choosing.  The only stipulations are few and very simple: (1) We cannot create new lives nor resurrect past lives, so the life you choose will have to already exist at this time. (2) We cannot reverse the process once it has been completed, so choose wisely. (3) This process is done on a first come, first served basis.  If your first choice has already been taken, you will have to choose another, and so on and so forth.  That is it.  Many people will not want to change the life that they currently have, and this is fine and even encouraged, but be sure to make an early appointment, or you may come find that someone else already has your life.  The first come, first served basis is what makes this fair, and therefore makes life, at it's very core and beginning, fair.  The process will only be offered two days this month, the ____ and the following day, the ____, so do not miss it.  Also, it should be known that if you have chosen a life of a person who has not gone through the process yet, you will remain in a state of limbo until such a time as they have vacated.  You will be totally unaware of this, so do not worry.  On the whole, the process should be almost instantaneous, given the small window we have allowed for the procedure to take place.  If you have any questions (i.e. What happens if you don't do it? What happens to the lives nobody chooses? Etc.), please refer them to your doctor, as he or she has been extensively trained and can answer anything you wish to know.  There is one more stipulation to this procedure, and probably the most important one.  (4) This procedure is mandatory!

                                                 

Always working for the equalization of the human,
                                                           Chairman Dr. Benedict R. Armitage

ps – Just as a reminder, we will be expelling a harmless chemical into the air on the final day that will seem to turn the outdoor light a slight green.  Do not be alarmed, this is merely to alert you to the fact that it is the last day to complete the procedure.

I quickly checked the postmark date.  It was dated Monday of last week.  It's Thursday, over a week later.  Today is the last day of this so-called procedure.  I'm headed to the doctor anyway, maybe he can make sense of this.  It's probably an elaborate hoax.  A small voice inside me lets me know that if it is true, it would explain all of the weird things happening and why everyone seemed so different.  I quickly stifle that small voice, smother it under an angry inward growl as I prowl down the street to my doctor's office.
         Walking along, I now look at the hazy green sky and the blurry fringe of light that radiates down and wonder what kind of chemical they would use to do that, if it what that letter said is actually true.  Which it isn't.
         As I walk through the door, I already sense that something is off.  This small reception area/waiting room is overcrowded.  No, more than that.  It's filled beyond capacity.  I inch my way towards the desk where Nurse Cathy always waits for me with smile.  I have to slide between people, large and small alike, sometimes up on my tip-toes, at one point almost crawling underneath some guy's legs.  He wasn't too happy about that.  Finally, I reach the desk, and Nurse Cathy isn't smiling.  She doesn't even have her eyes open.  Head down in her hands, eyes tightly shut, she senses my approach as my shadow falls over her and says, “Yeah?” in such a way that I'm half-tempted to slink back the way I came, hands-knees-tip-toes and all.
         “Nurse Cathy, I'm so sorry to.....”
         “Catherine.”
         “Pardon?”
         “It's Nurse Catherine, today, as it will be from now on.  Cathy is too childish of a name.”  She says this as she smacks loudly on a piece of gum that looks like it's nicotine enhanced and looks like it should have been tossed hours ago.  She doesn't appear to be enjoying it at all either, she seems to have a gum chewing addiction more than a cigarette problem.
         “Okay.  Nurse Catherine.  I know you must be terribly busy right now.  (She answers with a roll of her blue eyes.)  But it is urgent that I get in to see Dr. Krause, please let him know I am here.”  This last part comes out in a rush, as she looks at me sharply and with that air of wanting to interrupt and never letting me speak again.  Instead, she almost imperceptibly nods her head, smile sardonically, and takes my name.  She tells me that if I can find a seat, I should sit down, and she'll call me when the doctor can see me, sure it won't be too long.  I know she's lying, and that I'll probably be here all afternoon and into the night.  She confirms my assumption with an evil smile, a smile that says she knows who has the power in this room.
         As I turn away to try to find some corner in which I can curl up, Dr. Krause walks out of his office, looking tired but cheery as usual.  As usual!  Finally someone who is how they should be!  He sees me, calls my name, and tells Nurse Cathy (Catherine) that he can fit me in, it won't take too long.  They both smile at me, he benign and she hatefully, and I follow Dr. Krause to the back office.  Looking back over my shoulder at Nurse Cathy (Catherine), I smile too.  As kindly and pleasantly as I can.  I mouth silently to her “Have fun!” and walk into the quiet inner sanctum of Dr. Krause.  Behind me, Nurse Cathy (Catherine) is sticking her tongue out at me.
         Dr. Krause is a sober, sophisticated man and he has been my doctor ever since I moved to this city seven years ago.  I would trust him with my life.  I guess I do, since he is my doctor.  Before I even open my mouth, he holds out his hand.  Not palm out asking for something, but palm down and fingers straight, telling me to listen first, speak later.
         “I know that this has come as a shock to you, I can see it by the baffled and upset look on your face.  But I assure you, it is true.  I have gone through extensive training in the past few weeks to help facilitate the change.  And, yes, before you ask, I chose my own life.  The doctors performing the procedure world-wide got to go first.  All of us chose our own lives.  I will say, I have been worried about you, waiting for you.  I expected you to be one of the first in line, as soon as you received your letter.  You do have such a respectable and complete life.”
         “So, it's true, then?” I interrupt.  “People are being given the chance to change their circumstances and start over?”
         “More than that.  We are being given the chance to fully inhabit someone else's life.  You will entirely become that other person, although you will have a small part of you remain you, at least for a little while.  And you will probably retain some of your own personality, the stronger ones.  For instance, Nurse Cathy, who woke up very early to be here to help me, so I, rather foolishly, let her get her procedure right away, before the others arrived.  She chose to take over the life of Venus de Hi-Lo, a Las Vegas showgirl who seems to be doing very well for herself.  And I got stuck with her brooding little sister, who came in and chose to be her role model, Cathy.  Apparently, the poor child thought her sister had a vastly more glamorous life than it turned out to be.  But she's stuck.  And so am I, with a slightly more selfish and immature version of the nurse I have always had helping me here.”
         I could not believe what I was hearing.  This was way too strange.  I numbly nodded along with what he was saying as he tried to explain the procedure to me, trying to keep up and failing miserably.  Finally, he gave me a sympathetic look, followed by a sympathetic pat on the shoulder which turned into him helping me rise from my seat.  Actually, he pretty much had to lift me to my feet, I was so out of it.  He led me to the door and out into the hall, we made a left down another small hallway, one that was eerily darker than the first, and into the one and only door at the end.  I mumbled something about always wondering what was behind this door, and he replied that it used to be a broom closet and storage room, but now it was where the procedure was to take place.  I nodded mutely and stared at the floor as he put the key in the lock and let me in.
         The room was in fact not much bigger than a large closet, but it was room enough.  There was a chair that looked vaguely like a dentist's chair and large machine that looked like a pinball machine on steroids and minus the flashing, multi-colored lights.  He told me to take a seat and relax, he was going to hook me up and then put me under.  This procedure was minimally invasive and almost physically painless, but was best done when the patient was not awake, or the brain would fight it.  I shuffled over to the chair unaided, as Dr. Krause pushed a few buttons on the machine's keyboard and a monitor flared on.  He came over and put a seat belt on me, saying that it was purely for safety's sake, as he hadn't heard of a patient yet having any sort of negative reaction and needing to be strapped down  in any way.  He just didn't want me falling onto the floor as I slept.  He smiled as he spoke to me, but his eyes looked tired.  Then he hooked a single, skinny wire to my forehead.  The other end of the wire was connected somewhere to the machine, which beeped once.  That seemed to indicate that I was fully linked up and ready to begin.  Maybe I was being uploaded, my head felt kind of weird.  But my headache was gone.  Dr. Krause sat down at the keyboard.
         “Okay, I need a first choice and a second choice.”
         “Well, I guess......I guess I'd like my own life back.”  Strangely, I almost had to choke back tears as I replied.
         “Of course you would, your life is pretty grand, isn't it?”  Dr. Krause said as he punched some data into the machine.  “And your second choice?”  His hands paused, hovered over the keys, fingers almost wiggling as he waited for my answer.
         “I only get two choices?”
         “No, but it usually only takes two.  If neither works, then we bring you back and try again.  Hasn't happened with me yet, though.”
         “Has this procedure ever gone wrong?  I mean, is there a chance that I might not get either choice and be stuck in someone's life that I don't want?”  This whole thing is making me very nervous.
         “There is a chance.  But it is a slim one.  I haven't seen it happen yet, and I have done this quite a few times.”
         “If you had to guess, what would you say the chances are?”
         He thought for a moment, looked up at the ceiling, and then back at me.  “A million to one.”
         “Okay.  That's fine then.  I don't really have a choice in the matter though, do I?”  Dr. Krause shook his head.  “Well, I guess for my second choice I would have to choose......”  And I told him my second choice, which I thought was pretty good and would be a lot of fun.  (Who would you choose?)
         “Okay, very good.  Let's get started.”  He walked over to me, stood directly above me.  Reaching for something out of my line of sight, he said, quietly, “This is the most painful part of the whole shebang.”  Without another word of warning, he plunged a big hypodermic needle into my arm, somehow knowing exactly where my veins are (probably from years of sticking me with needles) and then withdrew it just as quickly.  My arm felt tingly and cold.  He smiled at me once more before he walked back over to the controls of the machine, waiting for me to fall asleep so that he could begin the process.  My mind drifted into nothingness, hardly able to hold on to any one thought.  I felt foggy.  Or maybe fuzzy.
         I yawned.  “How many times have you done this today, Dr. Krause?” I said in the last moment of clarity before the chemicals did their work.
         He whispered, “Too many times.”  He didn't even look up to answer me, for I was already gone.

*                        *                        *

         When I woke up, it was dark.  I wasn't quite sure where I was, either.  Maybe I'm still in the Doctor's office/closet, maybe he just let me sleep.  But then I heard a car backfire a little ways away from me and I saw the sweep of headlights across the street.  I knew where I was.  I saw, now that my eyes had adjusted to the dark, the sign for the convenience store across the street.  It was closed now due to the late hour, but that store is the store that I frequently go to when I need a quick bag of sugar or half-gallon of milk.  Or a six-pack.  My building's front door is no more than a twenty steps down the street.  It must have all worked out then, if it wasn't just a bad dream.  If I had had to settle for my second choice, I wouldn't be here, on my street, right outside my building, after all.  I must have had the good fortune to get my own life back.  This whole silly business has everyone stressed out for no reason.  Most reasonable people will just choose their own lives anyway.  I think it's time for a drink and some sleep.  Maybe I'll call in sick again tomorrow.  I start to stand up and dust my pants off.
         Something is terribly wrong.  My hands did not rub the dirt off of my pants.  In fact, they were not my hands and I was not wearing pants.  I was wearing a skirt.  And I greatly doubt that mere mortal hands could have gotten the dirt off of it.  It was filthy.  I ran a hand through my hair.  Instead of my nice neat short hair, I felt stringy long hair, matted down and itchy.  I drew my hand away and cried out.  I was greeted with an echo of a low, almost guttural female voice, and I think that was what sent me over the edge.
         I already had tears streaming down my cheeks before I hit the ground.  A smaller fist than I was used to was pounding the dirt of the alley between my building and the next.  I knew without looking that this was where I lived now.  I could already feel her memories and emotions taking over.  My name is Lola.  I've been homeless for four years now, ever since my firm kindly let me go after allegations of embezzlement.  My husband left me and took the money and the kids to Napa Valley.  He always wanted to live there.  The tears start to come less harshly as I think.  I fall into a sort of contented contention, knowing that my life is very hard but finding comfort in the familiarity of it.  The last little bit of me that is still me and not her clings on, but is losing ground.
         As I/Lola sit at the entrance of the alley, tears still making strange designs in the dirt on my face, a young man wearing a brown leather jacket and expensive jeans strolls confidently towards the door of the high-rise apartment building to my left.  He glances over at me, at a woman he has seen in this very spot most morning and evenings, when he leaves for work and when he comes home.  I do not recognize his eyes, but I know how soft the leather of that jacket is.  I know how those shoes fit perfectly to the shape of my feet now that they are broken in.  I know how much those pants actually cost (they were 40% of the original price, in case you wondering).  I know what brand of deodorant and toothpaste and hair gel that young man will use in the morning.  I even know what drink he's going to go pour for himself, the same drink that I/Lola would steal to have right now, with the memory of a flavor making my mouth water.  I know how wonderful that young man's life is, the people he loves and who love him, the money he works hard to make, all of the good and the bad.  I know......
         But the part of me that knows is almost gone.  My last thought, before I become Lola completely, is simple and slightly humorous in a very sad way. 
         “I'm one in a million.”