The next couple of hours passed by quick enough. All I really had to do was sit still and pay attention to everything that the lecturer, Julia, said. Highlight crucial information in the PDF version of the textbook, chime in with our answers to her pop quiz questions in the Zoom chat.
I was plenty occupied though, equally bewildered by the new changes in me brought on by the academic subliminals, not to mention how different it made the world seem. When I wasn't devoting 1000% to those notes or multiple-choice questions, I was able to simply observe, and it was precisely this that had a much more profound effect on me.
None of the intensity diminished; the seconds ticked by just as slowly because of the crazy wide-eyed focus. Around every corner lurked details that I usually would've overlooked. But now that I was under the influence, I could've easily developed several Homeric epics out of them. For instance, this guy called Kevin, he had a backdrop of the Aurora Borealis. I couldn't tear my eyes from it. It was like cloud-watching, but so much more beguiling. Nature's frozen pastel curtains, punctuated by dancing eels of light . . .
At the heart of this newfound exhilaration for the mundane was a simple appreciation for aesthetics. I just found everything so pretty. I heard the admiration welling from deep inside, in that same raised timbre that was now my voice. So innocent, so stereotypically girly. From this I deduced that stacking new subliminals didn't override the effects of the previous feminisation clips. Did this mean I was now also permanently some kind of idiot-savant?
Still, I couldn't help thinking what a shitty superhero origin story all this would make if it were turned into a comic book. I had no idea what the future held in store for me, but I hoped there wasn't an archnemesis-type situation looming on the horizon. What kind of showdown would we have?
"Ah-HAH, I've got you now my most hated foe, TitsBoy!"
"Yeah, yeah, eat my ass pal. I don't even know your name, but you're going down. Right. About. Uh. Just a sec, bud, bluetooth ain't syncing up my AirPods, pfft so embarrassing . . ."
Every so often, I also thought that I was picking hidden meanings in what Julia said. At first, I disregarded this as just more baggage from a long and storied history with recreational substance use. Having been born too late for the swinging sixties, I had felt that it was my duty to get experienced anyway. Playing in bands as a teenager, going to parties, it was an almost non-negotiable part of the initiation into adulthood. Even in a small town like this.
And if you're wondering why I haven't dropped the name of this town yet, there's a perfectly good reason. And we'll just leave it at that. For now, at least.
Where was I? Yes, Julia. Some of the words she used, they carried a weight to them. They hit me a certain way, like a recognition. And I would reel and quickly scan the faces of my fellow attendees. None of them seemed to register the words the way I had.
"Now, I want you to castyour eyes here, on this point," she said more than a few times, her voice dropping so low as to send a chill through me.
"Imagine," she'd said, much later. "Five Mondays from now. Who would you be?" She had been illustrating a point to help us understand a case study on a certain insurance policy that was high-risk because it also had an investment element. As she said the words, her gaze was directed at the camera, connecting with mine . . .
And so many other words that stood out, prediction, projection, forecast. During the longer lunch break I puzzled over them, orchestrated from them a theme of the future and identities, illusionary or otherwise. It all seemed so relevant to my situation, as if I'd infiltrated the collective narrative of the world itself. Nevermind the how, why should my stupid little misadventure connect in such a way to the greater movements of external reality?
I decided to bribe myself out of this compulsive overthinking before I drowned in it. I reached into the drawer for the pack of cigarettes, and opened the egress window of the basement.
The smoke curled like streamers, loosening as it drifted away the orange amber. I shifted the ciggie so I could pocket the lighter, and watched the road. The sun was at its most brutal, and there were no cars. Heat waves rose and warped repeatedly. Across the street a woman pushed a pram. Both of them were sheltered by a black umbrella.
As I exhaled, she tilted the umbrella and looked at me.
I dropped to my knees, leaving the cigarette on the ledge to roll away unto the grass.
I looked down at my hands, then to my knees. I was expecting pain from the impact.
But I was outside, walking. Pushing a pram. A skirt swished against my legs. I felt their smoothness as beads of sweat rolled down towards feet that were crying out for a pedicure. But I had no time, and self-care routines weren't a priority anymore.
My priority? Yes, my world revolved around the sun. The baby in the pram.
A boy.
Alex, his name was Alex. My boy, my child.
Five Mondays from now.Who would you be?
Rummaging. Someone was rummaging through my shit.
I was back in my body again, and I was on the floor of my parent's basement. My room.
I wasn't the lady across the street. Was I ever? It felt so real.
It could've been a hallucination though. Intro to schizophrenia 101. As I lay on the floor pondering the possibilities the way only a Youtube-enhanced idiot-savant could, the sounds of rummaging continued. What was it, a racoon? I didn't feel quite strong enough to get up and check just yet. Maybe if I just lay here and pretended to be dead . . .
Then I heard the sound of the garage door, and knew who I'd see when I sat up.