Portal (1)

Sometimes I wonder if there's a world where you never existed. In this world, somehow the rest of my life remains exactly the same.

But nothing reminds me of you.

I don't have to crane my neck to make sure you haven't come to our favorite restaurant at the same time as me.

I don't have to delete photos and throw away clothing with too much of an emotional attachment.

And most of all -

I wonder who I am in this alternate world.

I hate a lot of what I've become, even though I try not to. People say that I'm stronger now and more mature because of what I've been through.

But there are times when I look at old photos...

I see a girl with a hopeful smile and innocent sea-colored eyes. She stares up at me, not expecting for a second that she'll have to face what I'm about to put her through.

I feel I owe a debt to myself in the past.

The girl who always thought she'd travel the world and hasn't been outside of the state in seven years.

The girl who thought her life would be comprised of more valuable days than those wasted at dead-end jobs.

The girl who always wanted to be chosen. And thought that she had been . . .

What if there was a place where she hadn't been so disappointed?

The wind howls.

The house creaks.

I turn my head to stare out the window.

My knee bangs the rickety table and my tea shakes and splashes onto the picture's surface.

“Shit,” I mutter through a yawn.

I take the photo of the girl with a green hoodie throwing up a peace sign in front of a chicken coop and place it on the vinyl bench in the corner.

I amble over to the kitchen island and reach for a paper towel.

Something catches my attention out of the corner of my tired, puffy eyes.

Out the french door to the balcony there's an out-of-place, flickering light.

I turn to give it my full attention.

Zig-zags of gold and blue flutter up from the horizon.

“What is going on out there?” I wonder out loud.

Behind me, the house is quiet. Everyone else has been sleeping for quite some time. No one to provide assistance.

When I turn back to the doors, the lights are filling the February sky like ill-timed fireworks. I shake my head, and can't build an explanation.

The lights are joined by others and they zoom larger and closer, filling up the entire scene beyond the balcony.

I approach the doors in a daze.

“I'm still awake, right?” I ask myself.

“Hopefully not,” I answer.

But everything looks as it should. It's not a house that looks like mine but is supposed to be where I grew up. I'm not somehow the president of a foreign nation, which everyone is aware of but nobody talks about. The only thing out of place . . . are those lights.

I reach for the door handle.

“Gah!”

It burns. I bring my hand to my face and stare at the red splotches on my fingertips and palm. I've felt pain in dreams that seemed pretty real, but this was intense.

My stomps echoe in the quiet as I march back to the kitchen. But I wasn't going for butter or ice. I grab a pot holder.

I have to know what's on the other side of that door.

I take a deep breath and turn the handle.

Heat blasts me like an industrial blow-dryer. I can't see, but I'm not blinking. The light surrounds me, but doesn't hurt my eyes. I can feel it. It tickles in a pleasant way. I can tell the beige carpet is no longer under my feet, but I'm not falling. Just suspended in the overwhelming aura.

Then darkness.

My eyes strain for focus but there's nothing to see.

Then images appear slowly as if it's dawn.

I know exactly where I am.

This isn't what I had in mind. Almost the opposite.

Instead of a world where he doesn't exist, it's a world where I can make a different decision.

He just stands there, looking at me as if everything's normal and fine. The long, dark hair he used to have. His jovial blue eyes. I want to gouge them.

“What?” Kyle asks.

My face shares all sorts of wonder, confusion, and rage. I try to form a more coherent expression, but I have no idea what's going on.

“I just . . . What were we doing?”

“What are you talking about, Laura?”

“I mean, what was your favorite part of what we just did?” It seems like a good way to ask.

I'm pretty sure we just went to eat at that wing place on the first night we went on an "official" date.

“I don't know. I guess I liked the honey jalapeño ones.” Kyle shrugs.

My mouth drops open – I can't help it.

“What is going on with you? Do you need to sit down?”

“No, no. I'm fine.” Total lie.

“Well, we can go hang out at the coffee shop for a while. Maybe some caffeine will help you get over your food coma.”

“Heh. Yeah. Food coma.”

“We can go to my favorite place – The Fig Tree.”

“What? No. We're not going there. I don't want to go anywhere with you!” I end with what's practically a scream.

I take off down the sidewalk, bumping into strangers along the way.

//

[to be continued . . .]