You're Not Real

“I’m not real!” My eyes flew open to a barrage of lights, the words flying out of my mouth before I even remembered putting them there. Where was I? My limbs felt stiff, my body was not my own.

              “That must have been quite the philosophical dream, Ms. Lenci, but this is English class so let’s try to focus on that, hmm?” The lights cooled to a dull reality, my sluggish mind catching up soon after. “I understand teenagers need their rest, but that’s what math class is for.” Mrs. Cathy snickered at her own joke.

              “Sorry,” I mumbled, finding my seat again, cheeks burning.  I flipped a few pages, trying to focus on Frankenstein “His jaws opened and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, you’re not real.” I blinked away the blurred words and read again, pressing on my temples, strange auras bursting in my left eye. “His jaws opened and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks.” The bell flung me back into the room as if I had once again woken from a dream.

              The quiet around me crumbled into a flurry of backpack zippers, scooting chairs, and phone notifications. I placed the heel of my hand against my left eye, willing away the sparkles that threatened to turn into a massive migraine.

              “Are you alright, Elena?” Mrs. Cathy bent over my desk with a worried look behind glassy blue eyes. She always threw me back in time. Always in a gingham or floral printed jumper and a greying hairstyle that came straight out of the 60’s.

“Just a migraine,” I shrugged. It was a fairly common occurrence, but lately the migraines seemed to be gaining power.

Mrs. Cathy nodded as if she expected the answer, but still she looked worried. “Best go see the nurse,” she urged.

“Thanks, Mrs. Cathy. See you tomorrow.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder, hand still pressed to my eye, and made my way out into the crowded hall. Sensory overload was an understatement. I made my way to the nurse’s office, although I knew there was nothing she could do for me.

“You’re not real.”

I swung around, searching for the source of the voice. All the students went about their lives, no one noticing me. I started walking again, hearing a mantra begin with every step. Was someone chanting it? Was it in my head? Not real. Not real. Not real. The pain spiked again, bursts of light in my eye. I was falling, sucked downward into the core of the earth. Reaching out but grasping nothing.         

With a painful thud I landed on the wooden floor. A breeze brushed through my hair. My limbs were stiff, my body was not my own. The room was silent except for a soft humming coming from above. My breath came heavily as I laid, paralyzed, studying the grains of wood beneath my unblinking eye. A scent of chamomile and lavender filled me with memories of a time long ago that had never happened. A life somewhere that I had never lived. My heard pounded with fear and longing. I tried to move, tried to breathe, tried to blink. My body was not my own. I felt a presence growing, coming closer. I tried to struggle, tried to run, tried to scream. My body was not my own. A hand grasped me.

              “Hey, whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Damn, you almost knocked me over you jumped so hard.”

I gulped in a breath and restarted my heart, flung back into the school hallway. “Don’t do that!” I punched Andy in the arm, a little harder than necessary.

“Well I didn’t think you’d have a heart attack, geez. You okay?”

Andy was my best friend since diapers. A mop of red hair and a painted-on grin made him goofy and approachable. I usually told him everything, but the strangeness of my daydream was too weird to explain.

              “Yeah, migraine.”

              “Oh well here,” he pulled out a rather large Advil bottle from his backpack. The only thing that helped dull my migraines. He always carried it around just in case I needed it.

              “Thanks, still going to the nurse though, maybe I’ll lie down for a little while.”

              “Okay, I’ll catch up with you after school.” Andy shrugged his backpack back over his shoulder and turned to go.

              “Hey did you-“ I stopped mid-sentence, searching the sea of bobbing high-school heads. Andy was not among them. Frowning, I placed a hand back over my eye and made my way to the nurse’s office.

***

              “Lay down for a while, I’ll wake you in a bit.” Bebe led me into the back room that I frequented lately. I plopped down on the sofa with a sign as Bebe flicked off the light. She was only about 10 years old than me. A Hasbro High graduate. She was drop dead gorgeous, with brown ringlets and porcelain skin. No wonder people pretended to be sick all the time.

              “Thanks.” I barely got the word out before a wave of nausea hit me. The falling sensation was back. I closed my eyes, lowering myself slowly, trying not to upset my off-kilter equilibrium. Listening to Bebe’s heels click out of the room. Not real. Not real. Not real.

              Sleep would not come. The instant I felt myself slipping into oblivion the visions started. Flashes of that life I thought I must have once had but knew I didn’t. Snatches of another world where I could not speak or move. The face of a girl. Snippets of humming and wafts of lavender. With a frustrated groan I sat up, welcoming back the pain and nausea. It was better than whatever the hell was going on with my dreams. The clock ticked away the seconds. Not. Real. Not. Real. 

              I yanked open my backpack. I had to focus on something. Anything. I pulled out a pencil, tapping it nervously against my leg. The clock was relentless. Not. Real. Not. Real. Not. Real.

              I dug the pencil into my arm, feeling some relief at the sudden burst of pain. Then it numbed to nothing. My arm was limp. Not my own. I pushed the pencil deeper, waiting for the gush of blood, but none came. I pulled the pencil away, and with it came a tuft of white fuzz. I pulled at it, a string of it pulling out of my wound. More and more came, pulling out of me like a rope. My mind could not keep up with what my eyes saw. Not. Real. Not. Real.

              “Everything okay?”

I gasped, clutching my arm and staring up at Bebe in the doorway. She looked at me with the same face I got from everyone these days. Concern.

              “Maybe you should go see Mrs. Alexander.”

Mrs. Alexander. The school counselor. She was impossibly English and impossibly kind. The thought of it brough some reality back to my tired mind.

              “Yeah, okay.” Still clutching my arm I brushed past Bebe into the hall. Thankfully it was unoccupied this time. All the normal kids off in their normal classes. Meanwhile I ran from echoes in the empty hallway. You’re not real.

              I burst into Mrs. Alexander’s room, throwing the door against the wall so hard that it rattled several tacks out of the form board. I had startled Mrs. Alexander right out of her seat, she rushed to me, taking my shoulders and leading me gently to the chair.

              “What’s wrong, dear?”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think anymore. I just had to show her. I had to show someone. Grabbing the letter opener from her desk I sliced it across my arm.

              “Look!” I cried. “What am I?”

Mrs. Alexander’s eyes widened, and her face grew pale. She rushed to me, pressing her hands to my arm. Her fingers slipped across wet blood.

              “No, no, this isn’t right.” My right hand grasped the letter opener tight. I pressed it into my flesh again. Again and again, I tried. “No, this isn’t what’s supposed to happen.” Sparks burst in my eyes, my temples throbbed. The world shifted beneath my feet. Flashes of a girl, of a breeze, of lavender. Mrs. Alexander pulled away from me suddenly, her face changing. It was her face, then it was not.

              “You’re not real,” said Mrs. Alexander. “You’re not real,” said not Mrs. Alexander.  She broke away from me and ran.

              “Please, wait. I am real!” Blood dripped from my fingertips, still clasping the letter opener as I ran after her. “Please, look, I am real.” The floor turned to wood beneath my feet. The school turned into a home where I lived but had never been before. I trailed red as I ran.     

The girl stumbled away from me crying, “you’re not real. You’re not real!” Mrs. Cathy stepped out of the kitchen. No, not Mrs. Cathy. “Mommy!” The girl clutched at not Mrs. Cathy.

My limbs became sluggish then stopped. My body was not my own. I stumbled to the floor, staring at the grains in the wood.

              “It moved, mommy, it moved! I saw it. It chased me!”  I could hear the girl’s wail but could not pick up my head to look.

              “I see you’re imagination’s gotten away with you again. You’ve got to take care of your Lenci doll, Hun. Your grandmother gave you that. Now go put it back in your room with Andy and Bebe, okay. It’s time for supper.”

Footsteps shook the floor and a hand picked me up. Wake up, wake up! I thought. But I could not. The hand turned me over and I stared up at a cherub face. Her nose wrinkled. She frowned and shook her head.

“You’re not real.” She decided and carried me back to her room. She sat me on a small stool. Before me sat a tea party. The lavender scent hit me, confusing my memories. The footsteps retreated again. The door creaked closed, leaving me in darkness, stars still bursting in my eyes. Visions of school, blood, Mrs. Alexander.

              “Lenci. Elena.” The voice whispered from across the table. I started hard through the stars to find a painted-on smile. Andy.

              “Wake us up,” he whispered. “Wake us up.”