Every Day
Page 27
“But didn’t you feel it that day? On the beach? Didn’t everything seem right?”
There it is again—the pull of the ocean, the song of the universe. A better liar would deny it. But some of us don’t want to live our lives as liars. She bites her lip and nods.
“Yes. But I don’t know who I was feeling that for. Even if I believe it was you, you have to understand that my history with Justin plays into it. I wouldn’t have felt that way with a stranger. It wouldn’t have been so perfect.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s my point. I don’t.”
She looks at her phone, and whether or not she truly needs to leave, I know this is the sign that she’s going to.
“I have to make it back for dinner,” she says.
“Thanks for driving all this way,” I tell her.
It’s awkward. So awkward.
“Will I see you again?” I ask.
She nods.
“I’m going to prove it to you,” I tell her. “I’m going to show you what it really means.”
“What?”
“Love.”
Is she scared by this? Embarrassed? Hopeful?
I don’t know. I’m not close enough to tell.
Tom gives me no small amount of grief when I get home—partly because I went to Starbucks, and partly because I then had to walk two miles to get back home, and was late for dinner, which our father roundly chewed me out over.
“I hope whoever she was, she was worth it,” Tom taunts.
I look at him blankly.
“Dude, don’t try to tell me you were just going for the coffee or the folk tunes they play on the speakers. I know you better than that.”
I remain silent.
I am assigned to wash all the dishes. While doing so, I turn on the radio, and when the local news comes on, Nathan Daldry comes with it.
“So tell us, Nathan, what you experienced last Saturday,” the interviewer says.
“I was possessed. There’s no other word for it. I wasn’t in control of my own body. I consider myself lucky to be alive. And I want to ask anyone else who’s ever been possessed like this, just for a day, to contact me. Because, I’ll be honest with you, Chuck, a lot of people think I’m crazy. Other kids at school are making fun of me constantly. But I know what happened. And I know I’m not the only one.”
I know I’m not the only one.
This is the sentence that haunts me. I wish I felt the same certainty.
I wish I weren’t the only one.
Day 6004
The next morning I wake up in the same room.
In the same body.
I can’t believe it. I don’t understand. After all these years.
I look at the wall. My hands. The sheets.
And then I look to my side and see James sleeping there in his bed.
James.
And I realize: I’m not in the same body. I’m not on the same side of the room.
No, this morning I’m his twin, Tom.
I have never had this chance before. I watch as James emerges from sleep, emerges from a day away from his old body. I am looking for the traces of that oblivion, the bafflement of that waking. But what I get is the familiar scene of a football player stretching himself into the day. If he feels at all strange, at all different, he’s not showing it.
“Dude, what are you staring at?”
This doesn’t come from James, but from our other brother, Paul.
“Just getting up,” I mumble.
But really, I don’t take my eyes off James. Not through the ride to school. Not at breakfast. He seems a little out of it now, but nothing that couldn’t be explained by a bad night’s sleep.
“How’re you doing?” I ask him.
He grunts. “Fine. Thanks for caring.”
I decide to play dumb. He expects me to be dumb, so it shouldn’t be much of a stretch.
“What did you do after practice yesterday?” I ask.
“I went to Starbucks.”
“Who with?”
He looks at me like I’ve just sung the question to him in falsetto.
“I just wanted coffee, okay? I wasn’t with anyone.”
I study him, to see if he’s trying to cover his conversation with Rhiannon. I don’t think, though, that such duplicity would be anything but obvious on him.
He really doesn’t remember seeing her. Talking to her. Being with her.
“Then why’d it take so long?” I ask him.
“What, were you timing it? I’m touched.”
“Well, who were you emailing at lunch?”
“I was just checking my email.”
“Your own email?”
“Who else’s email would I be checking? You’re asking seriously weird questions, dude. Isn’t he, Paul?”
Paul chews on some bacon. “I swear, whenever you two talk, I just tune it right out. I have no idea what you’re saying.”
Paradoxically, I wish I were still in James’s body, so I could see exactly what his memories of yesterday are. From where I sit, it appears that he recalls the places he was, but has somehow concocted an alternate version of events, one that fits closer to his life. Has his mind done this, some kind of adaptation? Or did my mind, right before it left, leave behind this story line?
James does not feel like he was possessed by the devil.
He thinks yesterday was just another day.
Again, the morning becomes a search to find a few minutes’ worth of email access.
There it is again—the pull of the ocean, the song of the universe. A better liar would deny it. But some of us don’t want to live our lives as liars. She bites her lip and nods.
“Yes. But I don’t know who I was feeling that for. Even if I believe it was you, you have to understand that my history with Justin plays into it. I wouldn’t have felt that way with a stranger. It wouldn’t have been so perfect.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s my point. I don’t.”
She looks at her phone, and whether or not she truly needs to leave, I know this is the sign that she’s going to.
“I have to make it back for dinner,” she says.
“Thanks for driving all this way,” I tell her.
It’s awkward. So awkward.
“Will I see you again?” I ask.
She nods.
“I’m going to prove it to you,” I tell her. “I’m going to show you what it really means.”
“What?”
“Love.”
Is she scared by this? Embarrassed? Hopeful?
I don’t know. I’m not close enough to tell.
Tom gives me no small amount of grief when I get home—partly because I went to Starbucks, and partly because I then had to walk two miles to get back home, and was late for dinner, which our father roundly chewed me out over.
“I hope whoever she was, she was worth it,” Tom taunts.
I look at him blankly.
“Dude, don’t try to tell me you were just going for the coffee or the folk tunes they play on the speakers. I know you better than that.”
I remain silent.
I am assigned to wash all the dishes. While doing so, I turn on the radio, and when the local news comes on, Nathan Daldry comes with it.
“So tell us, Nathan, what you experienced last Saturday,” the interviewer says.
“I was possessed. There’s no other word for it. I wasn’t in control of my own body. I consider myself lucky to be alive. And I want to ask anyone else who’s ever been possessed like this, just for a day, to contact me. Because, I’ll be honest with you, Chuck, a lot of people think I’m crazy. Other kids at school are making fun of me constantly. But I know what happened. And I know I’m not the only one.”
I know I’m not the only one.
This is the sentence that haunts me. I wish I felt the same certainty.
I wish I weren’t the only one.
Day 6004
The next morning I wake up in the same room.
In the same body.
I can’t believe it. I don’t understand. After all these years.
I look at the wall. My hands. The sheets.
And then I look to my side and see James sleeping there in his bed.
James.
And I realize: I’m not in the same body. I’m not on the same side of the room.
No, this morning I’m his twin, Tom.
I have never had this chance before. I watch as James emerges from sleep, emerges from a day away from his old body. I am looking for the traces of that oblivion, the bafflement of that waking. But what I get is the familiar scene of a football player stretching himself into the day. If he feels at all strange, at all different, he’s not showing it.
“Dude, what are you staring at?”
This doesn’t come from James, but from our other brother, Paul.
“Just getting up,” I mumble.
But really, I don’t take my eyes off James. Not through the ride to school. Not at breakfast. He seems a little out of it now, but nothing that couldn’t be explained by a bad night’s sleep.
“How’re you doing?” I ask him.
He grunts. “Fine. Thanks for caring.”
I decide to play dumb. He expects me to be dumb, so it shouldn’t be much of a stretch.
“What did you do after practice yesterday?” I ask.
“I went to Starbucks.”
“Who with?”
He looks at me like I’ve just sung the question to him in falsetto.
“I just wanted coffee, okay? I wasn’t with anyone.”
I study him, to see if he’s trying to cover his conversation with Rhiannon. I don’t think, though, that such duplicity would be anything but obvious on him.
He really doesn’t remember seeing her. Talking to her. Being with her.
“Then why’d it take so long?” I ask him.
“What, were you timing it? I’m touched.”
“Well, who were you emailing at lunch?”
“I was just checking my email.”
“Your own email?”
“Who else’s email would I be checking? You’re asking seriously weird questions, dude. Isn’t he, Paul?”
Paul chews on some bacon. “I swear, whenever you two talk, I just tune it right out. I have no idea what you’re saying.”
Paradoxically, I wish I were still in James’s body, so I could see exactly what his memories of yesterday are. From where I sit, it appears that he recalls the places he was, but has somehow concocted an alternate version of events, one that fits closer to his life. Has his mind done this, some kind of adaptation? Or did my mind, right before it left, leave behind this story line?
James does not feel like he was possessed by the devil.
He thinks yesterday was just another day.
Again, the morning becomes a search to find a few minutes’ worth of email access.
