Anywhere

The orange light of the sunset seems to soften as it washes over the neighborhood, rows after rows of the same suburban houses. For a moment they look like perfectly squared, immaculate cubes of bright whites and pinks, then Harper blinks and every detail that makes a house comes into focus: terracotta roof tiles, the texture of the plaster, an array of aligned windows. Right as they think there should be flowers poking from behind the glass they spot some from the corner of their eye.

Their best friend, Neta, is standing next to them, one foot on the hot concrete and one planted on the pedal of her bike; she tilts her head to the side as she strains to hear if her parents are calling for her and Harper does the same. Their mother’s making barbecue tonight and they would hate to miss the first batch of grilled sausages. 

Once they’ve made sure it’s not dinner time yet, they turn to Neta. “Why are you on that thing anyway?” they ask. “I haven’t seen you riding a bike ever since we were, what, thirteen? And you broke your arm trying that dumb stunt at the park.”

For a moment they could swear a shade of reproach passes over Neta’s eyes, but it’s gone as soon as they notice it, replaced by the cheeky grin Harper has spent their whole childhood committing to memory.  

“What,” Neta jokes, and the scar on her upper lip stretches as she smiles wider, “can’t a girl go for an evening ride if she so wishes? These babies—” She wobbles a little, leaning sideways to slap her thigh right above the knee. “Ain’t for show, Harp.”

That’s when Harper notices she’s put on the same neon green sneakers with the yellow stripes and the soles that light up she used to wear all the time when they were younger, to the point she’d reduced them to a consumed, muddy mess of their original splendor. It’s weird, there should be no way they’d still fit her feet years later, not with the growth spurt she hit last summer at least, but before Harper can ask her about it, a voice rings out from the direction of Neta’s house. 

They both turn at the same time and, true enough, Neta’s father is standing in the middle of the front yard with his arms crossed, drumming his fingers on his hairy forearms. A big, fluffy dog is lounging in the grass at his feet, unfazed by his owner’s agitation, and he barely raises his white-peppered snout from the ground as Neta makes her way to the driveway in a few, quick thrusts of her legs on the pedals. 

“Text you later?” Harper calls out. Something about the words feels almost foreboding, like they should’ve kept them to themself, but they can’t quite figure out why’s that. The elephant in the room is sitting on the tip of their tongue, laughing at the way their mind starts spinning when Neta doesn’t respond immediately.

“Sure,” she says in the end, facing away from Harper and towards the open shutter door to her garage. The black seems to be blurring her at the seams. “I’ll call you.”

#

At some point, it comes back to them. It’s like dragging their head out of a sea of molasses, pulling and thrashing until it all comes trickling down their back in slow, fat rivulets and they can open their eyes again through the stickiness. At the same time though, when it finally does hit them, it’s like a shock to their system. 

They turn to Neta, fighting against the wave of nausea even such a small motion gives them, and their feet come to a stop in a puff of dust as they stop lazily pushing themself back and forth on the swing. Of course, Neta stops as well. 

“You’re not real, are you?” Harper asks her. They keep their eyes on their boots, lest they see again that reproachful stare from before. 

To their surprise, Neta simply gives a low, soothing hum. “I mean, your memories of me are real, as well as the part of your brain that’s making this.”

“You know that’s not what I meant!”

The chains of the swing groan as Neta gets up. She’s still wearing the same old sneakers, only this time Harper watches as they quickly grow caked in mud before their eyes. When they can’t see the yellow stripes anymore, they raise their head. 

“This is all dream,” they murmur. “I’m in a… stupid sleep chamber on a spaceship hurtling across the galaxy right now.”

“It wasn’t a lie, though.” Neta’s voice is soft, and it’s maddening to know it’s not her speaking at all. “When I said I’d call you. We can still keep in touch, I’ll just be…”

She trails off, uncomfortable, and Harper grinds their heels into the dirt. “You’ll be old. Older.”

Above them, the faux sky turns a deep blue; concentric white lines bloom and ripple as equally faux stars give chase to their own tails in their endless cycles. It’s like those cool long exposure pictures Harper’s mother showed them once, back when they and Neta had gone through a photography phase together. 

“That’s why I’m in a sleep chamber,” they say, almost petulant. “‘Cause space travel’s long and by the time we get to our new place you’ll be old and doing old people stuff and you’ll have moved on already. You won’t call me at all.”

Apparently their own subconscious doesn’t have anything to say to that.

#

One thing about dreaming, Harper’s learnt in preparation for being stuck in a sleep chamber, is that your brain can’t generate new faces from scratch: every person populating their own personal landscape should be someone they’ve at least seen once, from their neighbors, to Neta, to their mother and siblings. The postman too, sometimes, and the kid who walks dogs in the summer for a few bucks. 

It’s supposed to be familiar, more and more accurate with each passing day they spend smoothing out little hiccups and scavenging for details from their memories, which is what makes it much more jarring when they see her for the first time. Sitting on top of a brick wall is a person they’re pretty sure they’ve never seen, at least not in their neighborhood; she seems like a kid their age, swinging her legs to the rhythm of whatever’s blaring from her earphones, but the closer Harper gets to her, the more she start to look like someone’s abstract idea of what a person should look like. 

“Hey!” they call out to her, covering the little space left between them with hurried steps. They contemplate making the wall disappear, but quickly discards the idea as too mean-spirited when the person starts and nearly falls down on her own. Before they can even begin to ask what her deal is, she scrambles to put away her earphones and hops to the ground next to them, dusting imaginary dust from her skirt. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says in a hurry, “I know this is a protocol violation, not to mention a breach of privacy, but I sensed an anomaly in your REM sleep and I worried—”

Harper grits their teeth against a flare of irritation. “Who the hell are you?”

That seems to stop the person’s rambling. She blink in a somewhat exaggerated motion and Harper can’t help but notice how long her eyelashes are, or how plum her lips look as she says, “I’m Lily, the AI in charge of monitoring our passengers’ vitals as we journey. That includes ensuring the safety of your dreamscapes and its regulation, as authorized by section A.046 of the contract your mother… Oh, I’m boring you, am I not.”

At that Harper snaps back into attention. “Absolutely not,” they only half-lie. “Is spying on me part of your job?”

They watch with a sense of twisted curiosity as Lily shuffles in place, avoiding their stare like their baby brother whenever they catch him turning the walls of their home into an abstract art exhibit with his crayons. 

“As I said, I shouldn’t really be here,” she admits in the end, “but you were getting really agitated and it’s easier to intervene on a nightmare from within than it is from the outside.”

The sleepy suburban scene around them remains motionless, the perfect idyllic picture for a very uninspired postcard. 

“This isn’t a nightmare,” Harper says. They try not to make it sound like a question. 

Lily merely blinks again. “Is it not?”

#

In the end Lily does ask them permission to stay, which Harper finds themself granting with far less reluctance than they maybe should. She blends in the scenery as if she’s always been there, silent and observing, unless Harper caves in and approaches her first. 

“That t-shirt is in really poor taste, y’know?” they tell her one day. She’s lying on the grass of their front yard and she barely raises her head to acknowledge their presence. 

“This sun you’ve dreamt up is nice,” she says, a non-answer. “I like it a lot. What about my t-shirt?”

Seeing as she’s showing no intention of getting up for them, Harper plops down next to her with a huff. It’s not like here they have to even worry about the grass staining their clothes if they’re not careful. They take a good, hard look at the offending t-shirt: it’s got a print of a treasure chest with stylized eyes on top of it and sharp teeth poking from the half-shut lid. “Don’t you think a mimic’s kind of edging on dark humor given our whole… situation?” they ask.

Lily has the gall to look at them straight in the eye and say, “I was not programmed to have a sense of humor at all, apologies. Would you like to issue a complaint to my manufacturer?” 

Laughter shines through the cracks of her voice on the last few syllables and Harper watches, thoroughly unfazed, as she proceeds to break into a giggling fit at her own lackluster joke. Maybe they should issue that complaint. 

Instead, they clear their throat. “Hey, do you have a body? Out there?”

That seems to get Lily to sober up, and she turns her head towards them with a sheepish smile. The teal dots of her buzzcut shine as brightly as the lush, trimmed blades of grass as the light hits them. 

“Yeah, I do.” She nods, staring into the middle distance. “Though not as, huh, organic as this one. Not that this form is actually organic, I guess? I just picked it ‘cause otherwise I would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb.” 

“You still kinda did,” Harper says before they can think better of it. They try and fail not to feel too bad when Lily goes saucer-eyed, but at least she’s looking at them now. They hurriedly continue, “um, organic’s overrated anyway if you ask me. I would love not to have to deal with my skin breaking out, or having braces.”

It all sounds very lame to Harper but it startles another laugh out of Lily, which does make them feel a little better about their tact and lack thereof. This form of hers has dimples and they wonder if her corporeal body does as well. They hope so, it’s a good look on her. When she’s done laughing, a smattering of flower buds is peppering the ground around her. They weren’t there before and Harper’s pretty sure they’re not the one who willed them into existence, but for some reason the idea of Lily being able to alter this carefully recreated old home doesn’t bother them much at all. 

“I was really mad at my mom when she said we were moving to a different planet.” Their voice draws Lily’s attention back from the flowers to them fast enough to make them blush. “I knew she had her reasons, but this…” They gesture at the view in front of them. “This has been my whole world ever since I can remember. And now I’ve lost it.”

Lily hums, pensive. She props herself up with her elbows and seems to take a moment to truly consider the space she’s in for the first time. Wherever her eyes linger the scenery changes ever so slightly: bright splashes of color, unfamiliar shapes, plants Harper’s never seen, not even in picture. The driveway to Neta’s house slithers like a live snake with scales made of glistening cobblestone. 

Then, in the sort of abrupt way that seems to characterize everything Lily does, it all goes back to normal. 

“Are you upset?” She asks them. She smiles when they shake their head. “Good. I was worried you’d kick me out, to be honest.”

Truth be told Harper’s got a lot to say about the whole ordeal, but all that comes out of them is a strangled “I wouldn’t kick you out.” Then, “why’d you do that?”

The buds around Lily, the only thing that didn’t revert back to Harper’s own vision, start to stretch open. “I… think I was trying to be metaphoric? Like, I dunno, something about how your memories will always be part of you and that it’s okay to move on? Look, I’m new to this job—”

This time it’s Harper who bursts out laughing, hands clutching their sides as they kick their legs up. Their back hits the ground and their frohawk splays out under the weight of their head, brushing their nape. “You…” They gasp for breath, giggling all over again the moment they glance up at the consternation clear on Lily’s face. “You crashed my dream, started turning everything upside down and it was all… You don’t even know what you’re doing!”

The consternation quickly turns to indignation. “I so do!” 

“You don’t! Okay, maybe you do, a little. Still pretty hilarious.”

They both stay quiet for a while as Harper’s laughter subsides, leaving them with a welcome soreness in their stomach. They sigh, willing the grass below them to become a plush, velvety pillow. 

“You got anywhere you wanna go?” they ask, eyes closed. 

When Lily speaks, they can hear the thrill in her voice. “Why, I thought you’d never ask.”