(Back in 2015 & 2016 when I was especially sick with the mast cell disease — before anyone knew what mast cell disease was — I wrote the following incomplete, fictional story titled, “The Girl Next Door.” I’ll finish it if/when I can.)
“Here we are, come in,” I say to my two police escorts as I open the door and welcome them in. “Home, sweet home.”
Before they even get past the front door the young, hyperactive cop blurts out, “Okay, where is she?”
Huh, not much warm and fuzzy “welcome to my humble abode” time, I think to myself. “That’s where it gets a little tricky,” I say.
“What do you mean? Is she here, or isn’t she? If you lied about her, you’re going to be in for a world of hurt.”
“I didn’t lie, she is here,” I said, “uh ... just not in the way you think.”
“Do tell,” said the older policeman as he fingered some books on my bookshelf, looking around, studying everything. Those were the first words he said since we left the police station.
I paused. This is the part where nobody ever believes me, so I’ve found that it’s generally best not to talk about this at all. But when two policemen have you in handcuffs, my decision is more like, do I tell them fast — just blurt it out, or do I find some way to tell them about it slowly? I decide to try to explain it.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” I say, searching for my next words. I walk over to my dining room window and point with my cuffed hands. “Technically, she’s right over there.”
The young, hyper cop comes over and looks out the window. He sees that I’m pointing at a walkway between two buildings. He quickly turns and looks at me. “What kind of game are you playing?,” he asks, seemingly about ready to punch or strangle me.
“No game, sir. This is the thing: Have you ever read about parallel universes?”
“What the ...”
After a long work day yesterday I decided to sleep in today until whenever. After I almost got enough rest I found myself sleeping in my bed in the house I grew up in. The bed was against an outer bedroom wall, where I had it when I was a young teenager. (I would later move it to an inner wall.) Then a former friend came in the room and told me I was being lazy and I should get up and yada yada yada. I beamed her right out of there.
Then a young, healthy version of Zeus came in and stood next to the bed. I thought about asking him if he had to go out, but he jumped up on the bed and laid down next to me. That sure wasn’t going to make me want to get out of bed.
After working until one o’clock this morning, I had barely woken up at 9:30am when someone kept knocking insistently on my apartment’s front door. I was dressed in old blue sweatpants with dried streaks of clay on them, a bright orange beach shirt, slippers, haven’t shaved in three days, just out of bed hair, green under the eyes because that’s what they look like when I wake up (thanks to the MCAS), but I answered the door.
A woman I know was standing there. “Okay, that outfit is pretty ridiculous,” she said. “But I was thinking, we should go out some time.”
I didn’t answer because I wasn’t awake and was barely processing what she said and I don’t really go out (also thanks to the MCAS). Then she said, “I have to go to work now, but maybe we can talk later?”
I’m still not awake, but she wears high heel shoes a lot, so she always makes me think of this Eagles song.
It’s always embarrassing when you’re asleep and you hear yourself snoring. C’mon man, roll over.