Dissociative Stranger

Alma Perdida stared at the abstract popcorn ceiling above her. With her arm extended out, she finger-painted the air, trying to connect the popcorn dots. Alma was waiting for a figure to reveal itself. Twirling her fingers, she finally lined up a shape to which she thought resembled a face. Smirking and releasing a small breath of triumph, Alma sat up from her squeaky twin sized mattress. 

Alma made her way into her bathroom --- a whole three steps to the right of her bed. As she flipped on the bathroom light, the mirror revealed dark bags under her eyes and quite a messy bun. Alma stared at herself for a solid minute. She skimmed her cheeks for clogged pores and glared at the mole that made its home above her left eyebrow. Intoxicated with her negative body image, she sighed and reached towards the cabinet for her medication. As her fingers grazed the prescription bottle, a bing came from her phone. Alma left the bathroom and looked at the notification. The screen read, “Happy Birthday Onawa! A Gift from Your Local Coffee Shop!”

A grin grew across Alma’s face. It was not her birthday today, but she decided she would accept the gift of a free coffee on behalf of Onawa. Alma slid on a pair of sandals, grabbed a soft brown jacket from the floor and headed out of her cramped studio apartment. 

As Alma made her way down Fugue Avenue, she scanned the street, and happily watched the people around her. She glanced at the store to her right for a brief millisecond, and before her attention was focused back to the street, her gaze returned to the store window. Alma stopped walking and curiously looked through the glass.

There was a middle aged woman staring back at her from inside the store. The lady was in a strange outfit --- a fancy coat, pink pajama pants, and flip-flops. Her hair resembled a bird’s nest --- coarse with stray hairs everywhere coming out of a bun. Alma was confused as to who let the lady leave the house looking like that. She waved at the lady awkwardly, and the lady waved back at the same instance. Alma smirked at the timing of their wave, and turned back to the sidewalk ahead of her. The coffee shop was two stores away.

This was Alma’s first time ever going to the shop, since she does not drink coffee. As she opened the door, a familiar sounding whimsical alarm went off. Alma quickly scanned the shop. There were three mirrors on each wall, with typical coffee shop art hanging in between. From behind the coffee shop’s counter, there was a young man named Guia, who wore a 5 o’clock shadow. It was Guia’s one month long attempt to grow facial hair, as he was trying to get rid of his notorious baby-face.

“Good morning, Onawa! Happy Birthday!” exclaimed Guia. 

Was it possible that Onawa came to claim her birthday beverage at the same time as Alma? She looked behind herself, but there was no one else entering the shop. Alma was confused, but pretended to know the young worker. She smiled back at the baby-faced man and stared at the menu. The mocha latte seemed to pop out at her, but she was unsure what that drink was.

“Typical mocha latte?” 

Alma’s eyes widened. This worker must be a mind reader of some sort. She nodded to the mocha latte suggestion. Guia grinned and began to make the birthday drink. As Alma was waiting for her beverage, she glanced along the coffee shop walls and she was surprised that her eyes met someone. Another customer must have walked in, but Alma did not recall hearing the whimsical alarm. She must have been preoccupied with the menu at the new customer’s time of arrival. 

The new customer had a mole that was hard to miss on their brow. Alma tried not to stare at it for courtesy reasons, but the mole stared back at her. Bird nest styled buns must be of a new style, because the customer was wearing one. Strangely, the customer had on a brown coat with pink pajama pants and flip-flops... It was the same lady that Alma encountered through the store window. 

Alma was trying her best not to be rude and stare, but she could not help to judge the lady. What was bothersome, was that anytime Alma looked away, the stranger would look away too. It was as if the stranger was mirroring her movements.

“Fancying our new mirrors? We thought we could give the shop a more modern vibe... By the way, here is your latte! I added 3 pumps of sugar free vanilla--- just how you like it, Onawa.” Guia handed Alma the latte.

Alma slowly grabbed the drink. The worker must have been mistaken; she was not looking at a mirror, she was looking at the stranger --- and she had no idea what 3 pumps of sugar free vanilla meant. 

Alma turned away from Guia and once again caught eyes with the mirroring stranger. The lady now had a drink in her hand. Alma wondered if the stranger had a drink this whole time. Maybe she overlooked the beverage due to the crazy outfit of the stranger. Alma looked away from the stranger, making eye contact with only the ground, and walked quickly to the shop door. 

Leaving the stranger behind her, Alma took a sharp right turn and started walking. She noticed that people were staring at her, but she did not understand why. She nervously took a sip of her latte. Her taste buds rejoiced and she had a sense of familiarity. The latte was a perfect choice for her “birthday” beverage. 

Ignoring the weird stares, Alma came across a bench which faced an empty store building that was recently a boutique. As Alma made her way to the bench, her eyes met a reflection in the store window. With her mouth wide open, she could not believe what she saw. Was it just a coincidence, or was she being followed? Alma was looking at the stranger once again, and the stranger was looking right back, mocking her with the gaping mouth. 

“Are you following me?” remarked Alma blatantly. The stranger did not respond, but still mirrored her movements. Alma’s heart fluttered. She made her way closer to the stranger, and the stranger walked towards her. Alma’s sandals got caught beneath her, making her trip and hit the ground at an abrupt pace. After realizing that she tripped on her sandal, she looked right and left for the stranger, but the stranger was gone...

Alma saw that a sandal was a couple feet away from her. It flung off of her foot during her journey to the ground. While she stared at her exposed foot, her eyes made their focus to her legs. She was wearing pink pajama pants. Strange, because Alma did not remember putting them on. 

Alma flinched as something was poking her. She slid off her fancy brown jacket and noticed that she had a name tag on. It became unpinned and was softly stabbing her chest. She ripped off the name tag and blankly stared at the name. It read: ONAWA. 

Alma shuddered and flung the name tag, which conveniently landed in a puddle. With instant regret, Alma folded herself over to fetch the name tag. She wanted to make sure she read it right. As she reached for the name tag, Alma peaked at her reflection. In the puddle, the stranger looked back at her, with the monstrous bun, the mole, and bags under both eyes. The reflection was not a stranger at all. It was Alma...who was in fact Onawa.

Onawa let out a shriek, as she was unaware that she was suffering a psychological episode of dissociative fugue.