I’m early, so I sit on a bench with Lisa’s copy of an Alice Hoffman novel, stopping every now and then to watch a jogger push by. I’m so lost in the pages that I don’t realize Rhiannon’s here until she sits down next to me.
I can’t help but smile when I see that it’s her.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” she says.
Before she can tell me what she wants to tell me, I ask her about her day, ask her about school, ask her about the weather—anything to avoid the topic of her and me. But this only lasts for about ten minutes.
“A,” she says. “There are things that I need to say to you.”
I know that this sentence is rarely followed by good things. But still I hope.
Even though she’s said things, even though she’s implied there’s more than one, it all comes down to her next sentence.
“I don’t think I can do this.”
I only pause for a moment. “You don’t think you can do it, or you don’t want to do it?”
“I want to. Really, I do. But how, A? I just don’t see how it’s possible.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re a different person every day. And I just can’t love every single person you are equally. I know it’s you underneath. I know it’s just the package. But I can’t, A. I’ve tried. And I can’t. I want to—I want to be the person who can do that—but I can’t. And it’s not just that. I’ve just broken up with Justin—I need time to process that, to put that away. And there are just so many things you and I can’t do. We’ll never hang out with my friends. I can’t even talk about you to my friends, and that’s driving me crazy. You’ll never meet my parents. I will never be able to go to sleep with you at night and then wake up with you the next morning. Never. And I’ve been trying to argue myself into thinking these things don’t matter, A. Really, I have. But I’ve lost the argument. And I can’t keep having it, when I know what the real answer is.”
This is the part where I should be able to say I’ll change. This is the part where I should be able to assure her that things can be different, show her it’s possible. But the best I can do is to give her my deepest fantasy, the one I’ve been too self-conscious to share.
“It’s not impossible,” I tell her. “Do you think I haven’t been having the same arguments with myself, the same thoughts? I’ve been trying to imagine how we can have a future together. So what about this? I think one way for me to not travel so far would be if we lived in a city. I mean, there would be more bodies the right age nearby, and while I don’t know how I get passed from one body to the next, I do feel certain that the distance I travel is related to how many possibilities there are. So if we were in New York City, I’d probably never leave. There are so many people to choose from. So we could see each other all the time. Be with each other. I know it’s crazy. I know you can’t just leave home on a moment’s notice. But eventually we could do that. Eventually, that could be our life. I will never be able to wake up next to you, but I can be with you all the time. It won’t be a normal life—I know that. But it will be a life. A life together.”
I’ve pictured us there, having an apartment to ourselves. Me coming home each day, kicking off my shoes, us making dinner together, then crawling into bed, with me tiptoeing out when midnight approaches. Growing up together. Knowing more of the world through knowing her.
But she’s shaking her head. There are tears becoming possible in her eyes. And that’s all it takes for my fantasy to pop. That’s all it takes for my fantasy to become another fool’s dream.
“That will never happen,” she says gently. “I wish I could believe it, but I can’t.”
“But, Rhiannon—”
“I want you to know, if you were a guy I met—if you were the same guy every day, if the inside was the outside—there’s a good chance I could love you forever. This isn’t about the heart of you—I hope you know that. But the rest is too difficult. There might be girls out there who could deal with it. I hope there are. But I’m not one of them. I just can’t do it.”
Now my tears are coming. “So … what? This is it? We stop?”
“I want us to be in each other’s lives. But your life can’t keep derailing mine. I need to be with my friends, A. I need to go to school and go to prom and do all the things I’m supposed to do. I am grateful—truly grateful—not to be with Justin anymore. But I can’t let go of the other things.”
I’m surprised by my own bitterness. “You can’t do that for me the way I can do that for you?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
We are outside, but the walls are closing in. We are on solid ground, but the bottom has just dropped out.
“Rhiannon …,” I say. But the words stop there. I can’t think of anything else to say. I’ve run out of my own argument.
She leans over and kisses me on the cheek.
“I should go,” she says. “Not forever. But for now. Let’s talk again in a few days. If you really think about it, you’ll come to the same conclusion. And then it won’t be as bad. Then we’ll be able to work through it together, and figure out what comes next. I want there to be something next. It just can’t be …”
“Love?”
“A relationship. Dating. What you want.”
She stands up. I am left stranded on the bench.
“We’ll talk,” she assures me.
“We’ll talk,” I echo. It sounds empty.
She doesn’t want to leave it like this. She will stay until I give some indication of being alright, of surviving this moment.
“Rhiannon, I love you,” I say.
“And I love you.”
That isn’t the question, she’s saying.
But it’s not the answer, either.
I wanted love to conquer all. But love can’t conquer anything. It can’t do anything on its own.
It relies on us to do the conquering on its behalf.
I get home and Lisa’s mother is cooking dinner. It smells amazing, but I can’t imagine having to sit at the table and make conversation. I can’t imagine talking to a single other person. I can’t imagine making it through the next few hours without screaming.
I tell her I’m not feeling well, and head upstairs.
I lock myself in Lisa’s bedroom, and feel that’s where I’ll always be. Locked inside a room. Trapped with myself.
Day 6027
I wake up the next morning with a broken ankle. Luckily, I’ve had it for a while and the crutches are next to my bed. It’s the one thing about me that feels newly healed.
I can’t help it—I check my email. But there’s no word from Rhiannon. I feel alone. Completely alone. Then I realize there’s one other person in the world who vaguely knows who I am. I check to see if he’s written me lately.
And indeed he has. There are now twenty unread messages from Nathan, each more desperate than the previous one, ending with:
All I ask is for an explanation. I will leave you alone after that. I just need to know.
I write him back.
Fine. Where should we meet?
With her broken ankle, Kasey can’t exactly drive. And since he’s still in trouble for his blanked-out joyride, Nathan’s not allowed to use the car, either. So our parents have to drop us off. Even though I don’t say it is, mine just assume it’s a date.
The hitch is that Nathan is expecting me to be a guy named Andrew, since that’s who I said I was last time. But if I’m going to tell him the truth, being Kasey will help me illustrate my point.
We’re meeting at a Mexican restaurant by his house. I wanted somewhere public, but also somewhere our parents could drop us off without raising eyebrows. I see him walk in, and it’s almost like he’s dressed for a date, too—even if he doesn’t look sporty, he’s certainly trying to be his best self. I raise one of my crutches and wave to him; he knows I have crutches, just not that I’m a girl. I figured I’d save that for in-person.
He look
s very confused as he’s walking over.
“Nathan,” I say when he gets to me. “Have a seat.”
“You’re … Andrew?”
“I can explain. Sit down.”
Sensing tension, the waiter swoops in and smothers us with specials. Our water glasses are filled. We give our drink order. Then we’re forced to talk to each other.
“You’re a girl,” he says.
I want to laugh. It freaks him out so much more to think he was possessed by a girl, not a guy. As if that really matters.
“Sometimes,” I say. Which only confuses him more.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“I’ll tell you,” I reply. “I promise. But let’s order first.”
I don’t really trust him, but I tell him I do, as a way of inspiring a reciprocal trust. It’s still a risk I’m taking, but I can’t think of any other way to give him peace of mind.
“Only one other person knows this,” I begin. And then I tell him what I am. I tell him how it works. I tell him again what happened the day I was inside his body. I tell him how I know it won’t happen another time.
I know that, unlike Rhiannon, he won’t doubt me. Because my explanation feels right to him. It fits nicely into his own experience. It what he’s always suspected. Because in some way, I primed him to remember it. I don’t know why, but when my mind and his mind concocted our cover story, we left a hole in it. Now I’m filling in that hole.
When I’m done, Nathan doesn’t know what to say.
“So … whoa … I guess … so, like, tomorrow, you’re not going to be her?”
“No.”
“And she’ll …?”
“She’ll have some other memory of today. Probably that she met a boy for a date, but that it didn’t work out. She won’t remember it’s you. It’ll just be this vague idea of a person, so if her parents ask tomorrow how it went, she won’t be surprised by the question. She’ll never know she wasn’t here.”
“So why did I know?”
“Maybe because I left you so fast. Maybe I didn’t lay the groundwork for a proper memory. Or maybe I wanted you to find me, in some way. I don’t know.”
Our food, which arrived while I was talking, remains largely untouched on the table.
“This is huge,” Nathan says.
“You can’t tell anyone,” I remind him. “I’m trusting you.”
“I know, I know.” He nods absently, and starts to eat. “This is between you and me.”
At the end of the meal, Nathan tells me it’s really helped to talk to me and to know the truth. He also asks if we can meet again the next day, just so he can see the switch for himself. I tell him I can’t make any guarantees, but I’ll try.
Our parents pick us up. On the drive back home, Kasey’s mom asks me how it went.
“Good … I think,” I tell her.
It’s the only truthful thing I tell her the whole ride.
Day 6028
The next day, a Sunday, I wake up as Ainsley Mills. Allergic to gluten, afraid of spiders, proud owner of three Scotties, two of which sleep in her bed.
In ordinary circumstances, I would think this was going to be an ordinary day.
Nathan emails me, saying he wants to meet up, and that if I have a car, I can come to his house. His parents are away for the day, so he doesn’t have a ride.
Rhiannon doesn’t email me, so I go with Nathan.
Ainsley tells her parents she’ll be shopping with some friends. They don’t question her. They give her the keys to her mom’s car and tell her not to be back too late. They need her to baby-sit her sister starting at five.
It’s only eleven. Ainsley assures them she’ll be back in plenty of time.
Nathan is only fifteen minutes away. I figure I won’t have to stay too long. I’ll just have to prove to him that I am the same person as yesterday. Then that’s it—I don’t think I have anything else to offer. The rest is up to him.
He looks surprised when he opens the door and sees me. I guess he didn’t really believe it would be true, and now it is. He looks nervous, and I chalk it up to the fact that I’m here in his house. I recognize it, but already it’s started to blend into all the other houses I’ve lived in. If you put me in the main hallway and all the doors were closed, I don’t think I could tell you which door led to which room.
Nathan takes me into his living room—this is where guests go, and even if I’ve been him for a day, I am still a guest.
“So it’s really you,” he says. “In a different body.”
I nod and sit down on the couch.
“Do you want something to drink?” he offers.
I tell him water will be fine. I do not tell him that I plan on leaving soon, and water probably isn’t necessary.
As he goes to get it, I study some of the family portraits on display. Nathan looks uncomfortable in each of them … just like his father. Only his mother beams.
I hear Nathan come back in and don’t look up. So it’s a jolt when a voice that isn’t Nathan’s says, “I’m so glad I have a chance to meet you.”
It’s a man with silver hair and a gray suit. He’s wearing a tie, but it’s loose at the neck; this is casual time for him. I stand up, but in Ainsley’s slight body, there’s no way I can meet him eye to eye.
“Please,” Reverend Poole says, “there’s no need for you to stand. Let’s sit.”
He closes the door behind him, then chooses an armchair that’s between me and the door. He is probably twice Ainsley’s size, so he could stop me if he wanted to. The question is whether he’d really want to. The fact that my instinct is to wonder about these things is a tip-off that there may be cause for alarm.
I decide to come on tough.
“It’s Sunday,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be in church?”
He smiles. “More important things for me here.”
This must have been what it was like when Red Riding Hood first met the big bad wolf. What she felt must have been as much intrigue as terror.
“What do you want?” I ask.
He folds his leg across his knee. “Well, Nathan told me the most interesting story, and I’m wondering if it’s true.”
There’s no use denying it. “Nathan wasn’t supposed to tell anyone!” I say loudly, hoping Nathan hears me.
“While for the past month you’ve left Nathan hanging, I have been attempting to give him answers. It’s natural that he should confide in me when he is told such a thing.”
Poole has an angle. That much is clear. I just don’t know what it is yet.
“I am not the devil,” I say. “I am not a demon. I am not any of the things you want me to be. I am just a person. A person who borrows other people’s lives for a day.”
“But can’t you see the devil at work?”
I shake my head. “No. There was no devil inside of Nathan. There is no devil inside of this girl. There is only me.”
“You see,” Poole says, “that’s where you’re wrong. Yes, you are inside of these bodies. But what’s inside of you, my friend? Why do you think you are the way you are? Don’t you feel it could be the devil’s work?”
I speak calmly. “What I do is not the devil’s work.”
At this, Poole actually laughs.
“Relax, Andrew. Relax. You and I are on the same side.”
I stand up. “Good. Then let me go.”
I make a move to leave, but as I anticipated, he blocks me. He pushes Ainsley back to the sofa.
“Not so fast,” he says. “I’m not finished.”
“On the same side, I see.”
The grin disappears. And for a moment, I see something in his eyes. I’m not sure what it is, but it paralyzes me.
“I know you so much better than you give me credit for,” Poole says. “Do you think this is an accident? Do you think I’m just some religious zealot here to exorcise your demons away? Did you ever ask yourself why I am cataloging such things, what I’m looking for? The answer is you, Andrew. And ot
hers like you.”
He’s fishing. He has to be.
“There are no others like me,” I tell him.
His eyes flash again at me. “Of course there are, Andrew. Just because you’re different, it doesn’t mean you’re unique.”
I don’t know what he’s saying. I don’t want to know what he’s saying.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do. I look into those eyes, and I know. I know what he’s saying.
“The amazing thing,” he tells me, “is that you still haven’t learned how to make it last longer than a single day. You have no idea the power that you possess.”
I back away from him. “You’re not Reverend Poole,” I say, unable to keep the shaking out of Ainsley’s voice.
“I am today. I was yesterday. Tomorrow—who knows? I have to judge what best suits me. I wasn’t going to miss this.”
He is taking me beyond another window. But right away, I know that I don’t like what’s there.
“There are better ways to live your life,” he continues. “I can show you.”
There’s recognition in his eyes, yes. But there’s also menace. And something else—an entreaty. Almost as if Reverend Poole is still inside somewhere, trying to warn me.
“Get off of me,” I say, standing up.
He seems amused. “I’m not touching you. I am sitting here, having a conversation.”
“Get off of me!” I say louder, and start ripping at my own shirt, sending the buttons flying.
“What—”
“GET OFF OF ME!” I scream, and in that scream is a sob, and in that sob is a cry for help, and just as I’d hoped, Nathan hears it, Nathan has been listening, and the door to the living room is flung open, and there he is, just in time to see me screaming and crying, my shirt ripped open, Poole standing now with murder in his eyes.
I am betting everything on the common decency I saw in Nathan, back when I was inside of him, and even though he is clearly terrified, the common decency does rise, because instead of running away or closing the door or listening to what Poole has to say, Nathan yells, “What are you doing?” and he holds the door open for me as I flee, and he blocks the reverend—or whoever he is inside—from catching me as I run out the front door and into my car. Nathan summons the strength to hold Poole back, buying me those crucial seconds, so by the time Poole is on the lawn, my key is already in the ignition.