The Life They Live

Shards of glass fall to the hardwood floor, shattering into smaller fragments that sprinkle across my bare feet. I can’t look into another mirror. Gripping my cleat in one hand, I move to the master bathroom. Before smashing the last reflection, I catch a glimpse of someone else staring back at me. The eyes are mine, but their hair is longer and dark brown. My beard has grown a peppering of grey. A scar appears across my eyebrow. A memory of a fist adorned with rings flashes through my mind, colliding with my face. My life was dark, my body grows sore and tired from events I did not remember until now. 

I drop the shoe on the floor. Sweating, chest heaving, I don’t understand what’s going on.  

“What is this?” I say aloud. 

“Honey? You, okay?” A woman’s voice calls from the bedroom.  

Terrified, I look towards the door. I live alone, there is nobody in my life, aside from my mother, who would call me Honey. But then I remember, Rose is my wife, and she sounds worried. 

“Rose!” I call, leaving the bathroom to look for her, but she’s not here. There’s nobody here.  

I’m not married, nor am I in any kind of relationship.  

The lighting in the room dims and the source of light changes from the overhead ceiling fan to two lamps sitting by each side of the bed. Patterns on the bedspread and the pillows change from autumnal leaves to a dull grey mosaic. Fear quickly turns to familiarity, and then confusion. 

I head to the living room and see everything I own changing. The paintings on the walls twist into different images. Cabins nestled in remote forests turn to abstract splatters of muted colors. Rounded stones of the fireplace reform into a beautifully laid brick facade. My taste in decor turns from rustic to modern. 

“Babe,” a man's voice says from behind me, “what’s wrong?” 

I turn to look at my boyfriend, Rob. I remember now, I’m not alone. Rob and I found this house on the beach together. It took us months to find the right pretentious color for that fireplace, cinereous. 

He walks over and puts one hand on my shoulder and the other on my freshly shaven face. My eyes follow his inner forearm to a tattoo of a caterpillar on his bicep, the only tattoo he would commit to. He’s a biologist, and we moved here so he could study coastal insects. His hands are warm and safe, familiar. 

“I-I don’t know,” I say shakily. “Something is happening. I feel like I’m going crazy. Everything is changing and I’m not myself. I’m not who I was.”  

“What do you mean? You look the same as this morning. Nothing has changed.” 

I raise my voice, “Look at me! Look at this scar!” I point to my head above my eyes, “This was not here this morning.” 

“Babe, what do you mean? There is no scar,” he brushes hair from my face with the back of his hand. “Just your beautiful brown eyes.” 

His words echo in my mind. Resonating through my skull, further sending me into a panic. I recite them out loud, “brown eyes.” 

“Yeah, like little chocolate chips.” 

“Brown eyes,” I repeat as I push past him and rush to the mirror in the bathroom. He’s right, my eyes are brown now.  

“Rob what the hell. My eyes are blue,” I shout, with no response. “Rob!” I leave the bathroom and search the room where I left him. He’s not there, he’s not in the living room or the bedroom. I check the rest of the house and can’t find him anywhere. 

Rob is not my partner; I have no partner. 

My brain spins as the paintings did on my wall. Like sand violently thrashed about in a wave crashing on the beach outside my house. I turn to walk towards my back door, hoping that some semblance of my life stays intact.  

When I open the back door, the beach has been replaced by a lush emerald forest. Trees and low brush surround my small yard. A dirt path leads into the woods across the grass from my back porch. I close the door behind me. Step by step, my feet lead me down the trail.  

The woodland is beautiful, but silent. A warm sunlight dives through the canopy, dappling the bare dirt beneath my feet. I reach out my hand and run my fingers across the spicebushes lining the trail.  

This feels real, this feels right. The first thing that has felt right since everything started. I remember this forest being a tranquil grove that released me of my many earthly worries. Down this trail will be a boulder next to a creek that I occasionally sat upon to ground myself. The trickle of the stream and chorus of tree frogs muffled the anxious voice in my head. The voice that tells me nothing I ever do will be enough. With my feet soaking in the water, and hands on the cool stone, I could feel safe and at peace.  

I can hear the babble of the creek already, I’m not far.  

My outstretched hand recoils from the foliage and I notice blood dripping from my finger. The spicebushes are flush with roses, riddled with thorns. These are rose bushes, and the path is lined with them. Not another plant in sight. Looking from my finger to the ground, I notice the path has changed as well. Elaborate chiseled stone tiles have replaced the soil I stood on. Each tile is handmade with a unique image on each. A detailed form of a chrysalis peeks from between my feet. I continue down the path to see more depictions of butterflies, snakes, and moon phases. No pattern arises amongst the collection. Just more iterations of the same figures. 

Increasing my pace, I wonder if my spot near the creek is still there. I can still hear it. The trees around me shrink and change shape. They become well-manicured topiaries of animals. More trees still stand tall beyond these effigies. A fountain rises from the ground before me as the path opens into a wide marble platform. Rhythmic falling of water from the fountain replaces the dulcet flow of my creek.  

Circling the platform, I see nothing but hedgerows and marble statues. 

None of this feels right.  

I’ve lost it. I’ve lost the creek and the boulder. My face flushes and hands begin to shake. Tears trail down my cheek as I feel myself breaking down, losing myself. Sitting down on the fountain ledge, the splashing of the water speckling my back, I nod my head between my knees.  

“Sir?” 

Jolting my head up, I lock eyes with a man wearing a tuxedo standing a few feet in front of me. Not sure what to say I open my mouth, but remain silent. Before I can process a man dressed as an attendant calling me sir, his body thins and becomes transparent. He disappears into a mist.  

Immediately after, a rumble comes from the earth around the marble platform. The intricately trimmed topiaries topple between the hedges. Statues burst; the rows of roses move to only surround the stone base. Large concrete structures rise from the ground, stretching above me reaching to the sky. Windows materialize on the sides of the structures giving the pillars an identity, office buildings. 

People emerge from between the structures, walking with purpose. Some cross the courtyard and disappear behind concrete. Others stop to sip their coffee or look at their phones. 

I live in a city. This is a courtyard I typically walk to around noon to enjoy my lunch. The building across from me is my building, and I live in an apartment complex a few blocks away. Around lunch time I usually stop by to give my two cats a few treats and come back here to enjoy some fresh air. They’re probably knocking the plants off of my kitchen counter, impatiently awaiting my arrival. 

Standing to go feed my cats, I feel a headrush. The courtyard spins and I lose my footing, falling into the fountain, sinking beneath the surface. Turning and thrashing around, trying to find right myself feels impossible. Nothing solid yields itself for me to grab onto. A torrent pulls me deeper and the temperature plummets. 

Opening my eyes momentarily bears a vision that forces the air from my lungs. I’ve sunk into an abyss with no light to guide me to the surface. There is nothing down here. 

Weightlessly floating, I stop trying to swim to a surface that no longer exists. I give up on trying to save myself. Somehow, this is my life. Chaos, uncertainty, and confusion. My diaphragm pushes out the last of the air in my lungs, but no bubbles emerge from my mouth. I take in a tiny breath, then suck in as much air as I can. The water around me has disappeared, like everything else in my life. I’m not sinking into a dark pool of torment; I’m suspended in nothing, empty space. 

 Then, an otherworldly force pulls me from the depths. I’m thrust to the surface with a mouth full of salt water. I blow the seawater from my nose and empty my mouth. Wiping my eyes clear, while kicking my feet to stay afloat, I scan the closest stretch of land near me. My eyes land on a house beyond a sandy beach.  

Neurons in my head fire and my eyes widen as I remember the house.  

A wave breaks over my head and spins me into a somersault, crashing me into a sand bar. 

---- 

I wake up on the beach, half sunk into wet sand. Laying in my depression, I attempt to process what just happened.  

Was that a dream?  

Did I sleepwalk into the ocean and wake up mid-swim? 

A crust of salt stains my exposed skin as I sit up to brush off the grit. Not sure what to do now, I crawl to the water edge and sit back on my feet.  

As if by muscle memory, my eyes close and inspire the briny shore air.  

I feel at home here; I feel like this is where I am meant to be. 

Slowly opening my eyes to trace the horizon from one end to the other, I take in every familiar detail. The waves lap lazily over the stretch of ocean before me. There are no debris or boats to corrupt this serenity. A breeze carries the sound of laughing gulls from a nearby jetty; riding the breeze is a monarch butterfly. It flutters over the restless sea and disappears in the dunes behind me.  

I turn to look inland and see the home that Alex and I share. A home that took us years of saving. We’re planning to start a family soon.  

A smile peaks in the corner of my mouth as I stand to head home.