Chiara opened her eyes to unfamiliarity.  The feel of the bed and sheets beneath her were off.  Something indefinable about her body felt strange.  She sat up, taking in the unbroken and unadorned white walls, white sheets, and glowing ceiling.  Wait, glowing?  That couldn’t be right.  And where was the door?  But more importantly, where was she?  Chiara began to scream.
Within seconds, a door-shaped piece of the wall slid open to admit a man in a pin-stripe suit.  He bustled in, looking flustered, and pushed a lock of hair out of his face.  “Please stop screaming,” he said, half pleading.
Chiara’s vocal cords stopped vibrating, but her mouth hung open.
“Oh, thank you!” the man exclaimed.  “The managers don’t like it when people set off the alarms.  I’m so sorry.  I should have been here when you woke up.  I’m just running so late today!”
It took a moment of effort, but Chiara found her voice.  “Who are you?  And where am I?  Who are these…managers?”
The man looked slightly taken aback.  “Why, the managers are the managers.  They keep things running smoothly, and that’s all you need know right now.  I’m Daniel, and you are…” he consulted a clipboard that hadn’t been in his hand a moment before.  “Chiara.  As for where you are, well…where do you want to be?”
“Home.  Let me go home,” Chiara said.
“If you want to be home, you’re home,” Daniel replied.  “But what you’re thinking of…well, that’s not possible.  Here, get dressed.”
He tapped a wall and a closet sprang into existence.  Chiara realized she was naked under the sheets, and blushed.  She bolted out of the bed and grabbed clothes at random, only momentarily wondering why they were all her size.  Daniel sat on the bed and looked away.
As she dressed, Daniel said hesitantly, “Chiara, I need you to tell me the last thing you remember before you woke up here.”
Chiara paused as she pulled on a shirt, one arm sleeved.  “I guess…well, I guess I remember the dream I was having.  More of a nightmare, though,” she said, frowning.
Daniel nodded at her, encouraging Chiara to continue the story.  She hesitated.
“I’m a cop.  I work homicide.  I’ve seen some pretty brutal things.  This asshole, his name was Fritz, he was my number one suspect for a murder case – bastard murdered his wife, beat her head in with a beer bottle, and got off on a technicality.  Something about inadmissible evidence.  Well, he got put away for armed robbery a few months after the jury let him go.  I wasn’t the arresting officer, but he had a grudge against me, for the murder charge.  He got out a couple days ago, released early for good behavior.
“So last night I was hanging out with my friend Lyla, just having girl time, you know?  My boyfriend – he’s a cop, too – was working late on a case.  Lyla went home around 11, and I went to bed.  A couple hours later I thought I heard someone come in, but I thought it was Derek, and I wasn’t really awake.  I didn’t want to get up to check.
“Then I started having this crazy dream.  It was weird, you know?  I dreamed I was in my bedroom, and I kept hearing footsteps, so I opened my door and there’s nobody there.  But these footsteps, they keep coming, so I followed the sound and all of a sudden I was in the kitchen and the light’s on and there’s Fritz standing by the counter and then he had one of my knives in his hand and then he was in front of me and it was a dream, right, and I know you don’t feel anything in a dream but I felt this crazy burning pain across my throat and…I woke up here.”  She finished her story in a rush, and her heart beat furiously as she recounted the dream.
Daniel watched Chiara carefully as he handed her a mirror that appeared from nowhere.  She held the mirror up to her face, and saw a long scar running under her chin.  She closed her eyes, fighting back a surge of nausea.
“Fritz wasn’t a dream, was he?” she asked softly.
“No,” Daniel said.  “Chiara, he was very real.”

The last time I saw her, she was going by Rachel.  I thought she’d long since left town, but one day I spotted her at the makeup counter at Macy’s.  Internal deliberations were brief; I had to talk to her one last time – I had to talk to the girl I didn’t know.
I didn’t think she’d noticed me, but just to be certain, I forced my trembling fingers to select a tie from the table in front of me.  A cursory glance confirmed its suitably boring nature, and then my feet were propelling me towards her.  My mouth suddenly turned into the Sahara.  Sadly, this effect was familiar; it happened every time I saw her, no matter who she was then.
As I came closer, I paused, realizing I had no idea what her name was today.  Oh, well, too late now – “Megan?  Is that you?” I asked, every nerve tingling.
She turned from her perusing, surprise evident on her face.  “David?  How wonderful to see you again!  It’s been so long…”
“I thought you moved, Megan.  How have you been?”
“Oh, fine, just fine.  It’s Rachel now, though.  I’m just back in town for a few days, catching up with old friends, you know.  We should get dinner while I’m still here!  Let me give you my new number…”
I smiled as I took out my cell phone and found “Megan” under my contacts.  “How long are you in town?”
“Oh, just a few days.  Are you ready?”
Her “new” phone number had a local area code.  She had never moved out of town, just out of my life.  I suppose inventing new names and lives for herself every week was too much of a chore.  Understandably so; a new life every week would get challenging when the same people were a part of it.  Come to think of it, though, I was the only person around consistently.  Until she got tired of me, that is.  I stayed the same.  Boring, unchanging David; though I was consistently dazzled by her selves, she wasn’t dazzled by me.
I think my favorite face was Elizabeth.  Contrary to the Victorian name, Elizabeth was a wild child.  That week she rode a motorcycle and partied with rock stars.  Irreverence was the order of the day.  Maybe she was out to prove a point; to prove that the name doesn’t make the person.  Regardless, whatever that week was about, I loved every second of the ride.
“So what have you been up to?” I asked her, almost hungry for the latest façade.
And Elizabeth/Megan/Rachel spoke: a glorious, gleaming, brilliant, brute of a lie, the brunt force of which could take your breath away…but if you knew her the way I had, it would punch you in the gut and knock the wind right out of you for a full minute. Pathological liar she may have been, but the lady had talent. And for that, I had to give her credit.
“Oh, same old thing,” I said, when she returned my question.  “I’m actually meeting my girlfriend’s parents this evening, though.”
“That’s wonderful! I’m sure they’ll adore you,” Rachel said, almost glowing.  But her eyes – tortured eyes, belying a confident smile.  The liar’s face dissolved, exposing the vulnerability underneath, and I was overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia for all the things she never was.
“David, I – I have to go,” she said, faltering.  And then she paused, placing a hand on my arm.  “I just want you to know…I always loved you.”
With that wonderful lie, she left my life for good, unaware of leaving my world upended and my heart broken, just like every time she changed the story.

copyright 2009 Anne Grady

roy suggested Something Sweet

and my suggestion was a gas station, because it had a disneyland-esque restaurant with apparently fantastic chicken strips

dreams are the fulfillment of a wish.

1. i’m wishing my friends were back

2. the gas station i suggested was an arco which i was trying to find last night because my gas light was on and i couldn’t get to the only arco i know of down here because it’s on the other side of the freeway and the road was closed on both sides of the freeway

3. i’m apparently lacking for chicken strips lately. i wonder if Cellar is open today.

I was up too early to be up this early.

My hands smell like lemons from making homemade strawberry lemonade sans juicer. Lemon juice stings hands with dry skin. I wish my roommates were home to share in the deliciousness. It is weird to say roommates, even after living with a (singular) roommate for a school year. But then again I spent most of my time off-campus, especially nights.

I miss sleeping with him. My bed is so empty at night. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to delude myself into saying I’m over him, because that’s just not happening.

As regards the one who has always been and remains unattainable: either he was drunker than usual, or I have more of a chance than I thought.

Decision making is good. Making a decision to make money is good. Making money to pay off the credit card bill, buy clothes that fit, and pay for my cell phone and rent and utilities - all good. Making a decision to spend $72 on two piercings…probably not so good. Making a decision to save more money to spend >$72 on a third tattoo…definitely not so good.

I can’t decide whether or not to go to my parents’ tomorrow after turning in my job application. Two hour drive for a neighbor’s graduation party, and for sushi night with a best friend who hasn’t spoken to me in two months and an ex-boyfriend, just because I don’t want to sit in this house by myself until Sunday night…I need local friends.

Happy stream-of-consciousnessing :)