Page 24 of Woke Up Like This
Nothing makes sense except my overwhelming urge to go home, crawl into bed, and avoid reality. So I run. Barefoot.
I only make it a couple strides before I hear Renner. “Where are you going?” he calls from the end of the driveway. He’s wearing joggers now, though he’s still shirtless.
“Home!” I shout into the wind, not bothering to linger.
I know this route well. I’ve been to and from Kassie’s a million times. I break into a jog whenever I pass by Old Lady Brown’s house on the next corner. She’s a miserable woman who spends her days screeching at passersby and journaling life’s injustices in her “disappointments diary,” which she’s requested to have published after her death. Amassive oak tree has practically eaten up her entire yard. The shadow of the spindly branches scares the shit out of me at night.
As I round the corner toward the house, I come to a full stop in the middle of the street. The tree is gone. Am I losing it? Am I forgetting which house had the scary tree? I question my sanity until I spot the disturbing cloth doll that always sat in the window. It’s definitely the same house. As much as that tree spooked me, the lawn looks like a barren wasteland without it.
A horn pierces the air and a fancy car lurches to a stop a few feet from flattening me. “Watch where you’re going, lady!” a red-faced old man hollers out the window.
Lady?Who does he think he’s talking to?
As Mr.Road Rage peels off, I note that there’s barely any sound. No loud revving of an engine. Now that I think of it, the cars in the driveways look different—sleeker, somehow. This is a middle-class neighborhood, not a high-end, luxury-car kind of neighborhood.
Even more confused, I pick up the pace to a full tilt.
I’m a sweaty mess when my street comes into view. It’s lined with smaller, older brick bungalows.
Mom’s sedan isn’t in the driveway. A collection of wilted red and yellow spring tulips catches my eye. Those weren’t there before. I try to open the door, but it’s locked. I peer through the window into the living room, but the blinds are drawn.
Maybe she’s at work. The pharmacy is at least a fifteen-minute walk and I’ve sufficiently tired myself out. I head to the backyard to grab Mom’s bike since mine is still being repaired.
The shed leans slightly. I don’t recall it being in such rough shape. Maybe the recent windstorm knocked it over. I peer in. Mom’s silver bike is propped against the shed wall. Upon closer inspection, it’s almost rusted over. I wheel it into the driveway and timidly hop on, bracing for it to collapse under my weight. When it doesn’t, I pedal as fast as my legs will take me.
I don’t even bother to lock the bike when I get to the pharmacy. Stacey, Mom’s longtime coworker, is behind the counter, rooting through the prescription bags in the pickup bin. She’s changed her hairstyle since last week. What used to be a brunette angled bob is now a sassy pixie cut streaked with gray.
“Stacey, it’s you,” I huff, resting both elbows on the counter.
She leans back slightly, probably scared I’ll drip sweat on her. Then she peers over the counter, appraising my PJ shorts, as well as my bare feet, which are now black from my journey here. “Are you okay, Charlotte? Do you need to sit down?”
I’m tempted to start sobbing right here in the pharmacy. I’m desperate to tell someone, anyone, that I fell off a ladder in the gym and woke up in an unfamiliar house with huge boobs.
But alas. There are people around, including an elderly woman with a poodle perm impatiently tapping her foot in line behind me. I must play it cool. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Never better. I’m just looking for my mom,” I say, feigning calm and collected.
Her stare is perplexed. She gives my hand a pitiful pat. “Dear, your mom doesn’t work here.” She can see I’m confused. “She hasn’t worked here in five years. She’s back at the uptown pharmacy now over on Oak. Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Why are you still in pajamas?”
I squint at her, trying to understand. Mom definitely still works here. I hung out here the other day and organized the shampoo aisle, waiting for her shift to end so she could drive me home. “Can I just ask ... what day is it?”
“Friday, June 12, 2037,” she says, like it’s obvious. It’s certainly June 12. But 2024, not 2037.
If it really were 2037, that would mean I’m ... No. It can’t be.
Mystified, I lean closer, peering over my shoulder to ensure the woman behind me isn’t eavesdropping. She definitely is. “How old am I?” I whisper for confirmation.
Stacey does the mental math. “You were born the same year my Teddy was born ... so that would put you at thirty?” She smiles sweetly.
Thirty. THIRTY?
A hot flash besieges me. Spikes of heat radiate up my back and neck. My entire body is a scorching inferno. My vision is blurring. I need to lie down. What the hell is happening to me?
Stacey prattles on, unaware of my utter confusion. “Seems like just yesterday you were in here buying candy with your friends for your movie nights.” No shit. Because it was last week. Kassie ditched Saturday night. Shocker. But Nori and I watched a horror movie about a girl who gets sucked inside a Ouija board. I slept with the lights on. I’m certainly no thirty-year-old.
Stacey chatters away about how she still remembers my zombie-cheerleader Halloween costume from when I was seven, but my brain zeroes in on the last bit. “And now you’re getting married next week. I hear you’re having quite the shindig. A joint bachelor/bachelorette if the rumor mill is true?”
“Married?” I rasp. “Excuse me?” I stare at her intensely, waiting for her to laugh and cop to the prank. And that’s when I see it. Sitting there on my finger. A sparkling oval diamond sitting atop a thin, yellow-gold band. It’s stunning. And heavy.
Before I can give it more thought, a tall woman with a giant black purse over her forearm approaches. “Charlotte Wu?” She extends her hand. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Ivory’s mom.”
