Azalea

Today, I woke up and I’m here. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and be there.

Here, I’m wealthy. A trust-fund kid living off the hard work of generations of Andertons before me.

There, I’m a copy editor. I wouldn’t say I’m struggling, but it’s not much better than paycheck to paycheck.

Here, it’s ok that my memory skips a day. Any confusion can be written off as a rich girl’s eccentricities.

There, my life is planned around missing every other day of my life. Not being present, not remembering half of the days of my existence.

There, I’m essentially a hermit. I work from home, take advantage of every delivery service possible and rarely venture out. I hope that if this is my daily routine, I’ll stick with it even on the days my consciousness isn’t present and yet I still, somehow, continue to live and function.

Here, I mostly lay low and try to minimize contact with others, but with no job, no one else living in this enormous mansion with me, I get bored. Especially since every other day, I’m a hermit. When I’m here, it’s hard to resist living life to the fullest. Which, I can because I totally have the funds to.

Here, I look around and realize that exact mentality may have just gotten me into a lot of trouble.

Like any good 20 something, my first move in the morning is to grab my phone off my nightstand. This is true here and there, though here my nightstand is a chic piece, white top with sandalwood legs, clean lines, looks one-of-a-kind though it’s really from a limited run. There, my nightstand is an old crate turned on its side.

I can do this grab-the-phone move even before I’ve opened my eyes. Before I fully remember whether I’m here or there.

Though I never post, I have social media accounts. I know it’s too risky to post, but I like to see what the rest of the world is up to. What’s trending.

Today, I see the unthinkable: me. I’m the first video to pop up in my feed. That can’t be good. The algorithms are supposed to show you what’s most popular first. How can I be most popular?

I study the video. 

I’m standing on a corner downtown, near Azalea, a trendy restaurant. That tracks. I do like to sneak out to a nice meal now and then.

But I’m totally disheveled. I’m holding my heels in one hand, the French tuck of my button up shirt is more like the shirt was lazily crammed into the front of my shorts. And one sleeve of that shirt is rolled up while the other hangs loose at my wrist. Don’t even get me started on my hair.

I’m talking to no one in particular. Like a street corner prophet - preaching away to anyone who might listen.

I can’t quite make out what I’m saying though. Whoever filmed this was across the street. They did a pinch zoom in on me, making the view wobbly and a bit fuzzy, though it’s undeniably me. And the filmer keeps snickering with whoever they are with, totally drowning out what I’m saying.

The only caption with the video comes in the form of two hashtags that have been trending of late: #queenieknows and #thisonescrazy.

That must be why it came up first in my feed, the hashtags. The only comments are emoji reactions, but tons of likes and loves to the video.

Not good. But it feels contained. Just bad luck that this is the first thing I have to see this morning.

I swipe up. There I am again. Same rumpled hair and clothes, same street corner. This time, the view is from through a window of the trendy restaurant.

This time, the audio isn’t of me, but of the filmer giving a running commentary, guessing what they think I’m saying.

I don’t look mad or upset. I look like I’m trying to convince people, like they are the ones who are crazy, not me. I seem fairly upbeat about whatever it is I’m saying. Like I have this amazing news to share and why doesn’t anyone believe me?

This video has the same hashtags plus #yourvideomyaudio, another trending idea of dubbing your voice over someone else’s video.

Again, lots of emoji reactions, but also a few comments like, “But what is she really saying tho?” And “Someone uncover the real audio, plz.”

I swipe up again. There I am again.

This time, the video is pixel perfect, but shows me from the side and a little behind - the filmer standing at my 4 o’clock, but close, no zooming this time.

And it’s almost like I was wearing a microphone attached to their particular phone because the audio is crystal clear. 

I sound a little tipsy, but certainly not drunk. And I feel fine this morning, no hangover to speak of. I wait for the video to cycle back to the beginning to really pay attention to my words. The start of the video is not the start of my rant, catching me mid-stream, mid-sentence.

“And then I’m there. I swear. It’s true. It’s totally true. One day I’m here, the next day I’m there. And I don’t remember anything from the day I’m gone. I’m living two separate lives at the same time. Two alternate universes. It’s real. I looked it up once. Something about quantum something with the space-time thingy. It’s like, like, like there are two mes, but my consciousness jumps back and forth between the two. One day I’m here. One day I’m there. But I’m always me. But different.”

I keep going, but the audio cuts out as the filmer flips the camera to selfie mode and just shakes his head at me.

I listen and watch two more times before venturing into the comments.

Mostly people laughing at me, calling me crazy. That’s all fine. But then two comments that really signal the trouble ahead. 

“Hey, isn’t that Brie Anderton? That super rich girl whose grandpa invented zippers?”

Ok, not what my grandpa invented, obviously, but they recognized me somehow.

And then there’s: “She’s right. This is real. This happens to me too. Brie - if that’s your name. I’m here, in my current reality, even days this month. Can we meet? I’ll be at that corner in front of Azalea at 7pm every night that I can be. I hope you’re here on even days too. I need someone to talk to about this.”