Between Us

“She’s not coming back, is she?” Daniel looked at me expectantly. I was the star of the show, as it were, and so I should know better than anyone. Only I didn’t. 

We’d been stuck here for weeks, or maybe months. It was hard to tell. The sun hadn’t moved in the sky. It was a deranged thought, but I was certain it hadn’t. Daniel stood in front of the fireplace holding a glass of merlot. I sat in a red wing chair facing him. I could see the sun out the window, forever looking like it was one o’clock in the afternoon. 

I was angry at him. After all this time, my feelings had never wavered, never decreased, never increased. I sensed an emptiness behind them, though. It was as if no one had bothered to delve into why his actions upset me. They weren’t fully formed thoughts; they weren’t rich. 

How I longed for us to be rich, fully formed people. I seldom thought of myself as more than that simple pronoun, she. Once I’d been Zoe, once Rachel, now Amanda. Amanda didn’t suit me at all.

Daniel sighed. He looked bored, and somehow arrogant. I would have loved just one more person in this room to help break up the tension, but I was all alone with him in this little tableau. 

 Above us, something shifted. The sensation was little more than the feeling of being lifted. “Something’s happening,” I said. 

Daniel rolled his eyes. He wasn’t optimistic. I think that that, more than anything, is what fueled my hatred. It was the way he shrugged his shoulders, the way he rolled his eyes, the flippant way he disregarded my hopefulness. 

“She’s back. Katrina. She’s opened the document!” I held my breath. I could practically feel the blinking cursor pulsing through me like a heart beat. 

“You know what she’s going to do,” Daniel hissed. “She’s just going to look at us. Or worse, she’ll make us do something, and then erase it and leave.” He sipped his merlot and rested a hand on the mantel. 

It was true. Katrina had done that before. Once she’d let me yell at Daniel and slap him across the face; I felt so triumphant I wanted to slap him again for the sheer exhilaration it brought me. Then Katrina muttered something about it being out of character for Amanda to do such a thing. Of course it was out of character for someone named Amanda. I should be Zoe again. Zoe could be outspoken and brazen. She could slap someone and enjoy it. 

Instead Katrina pressed down hard on the backspace key. Letter by letter the moment disappeared. Worse yet the rage that left me was collected and rebottled, leaving me feeling like my chest might catch fire. 

The cursor blinked. Daniel smirked at me. I told you so. 

I stood up. To Daniel’s amazement I stood up, crossed the room, and opened the door. There was nothing outside, but that didn’t matter. I floated in nothingness. 

I imagined this was where the kitchen should be, with a refrigerator and a chalkboard on the wall to write notes back and forth to my husband. Stupid things like, I’ll be home late tonight, or Good luck on your presentation! I forgot to buy milk, or maybe, once upon a time, I love you.

The chalkboard hung in front of me, on nothingness instead of a wall. Katrina was so blocked. She had a brilliant mind when she showed up and used it. All I needed now was a piece of chalk. 

A tray materialized at the bottom of the chalk board with a short stubby piece of chalk. I could barely write with it.

I wrote: Let me be Zoe.

Katrina clicked Find and typed in Amanda, then in the replace box, Zoe. She clicked replace all. I smiled a little and my fingertips tingled. I even began to think of myself as Zoe again. 

On the chalkboard, I wrote: Let Zoe hit Daniel.

For a minute nothing happened. My palms began to sweat. I imagined the distrust building in Katrina. I wished the chalk board were bigger. I erased the message with my hand and wrote: Just start typing. 

Still nothing. I wrote: She hates Daniel. Give her this moment. Crammed in at the bottom, I added: The rest will come. 

I felt Katrina guide me. I re-entered the great room. Daniel stood at the fireplace with his wine at one o’clock in the afternoon. He was a dullard, at least in this draft, and he didn’t seem aware that I was a different person. 

I stormed over and slapped him across the face with my open, chalk-covered palm. Katrina gave me rage at a level I’d never known before. Daniel opened his mouth in shock and dropped his wine glass on the floor. It shattered. The merlot splashed onto my legs and coated the hardwood floor.

“You’re supposed to be at work!” I shouted. “You promised you’d stop drinking!”

“I’m off early today,” Daniel lied. 

“You’re not!” We couldn’t afford for Daniel to lose his job right now. 

“I am.” He slurred his words, though. 

I slapped him again. He stumbled towards me and reached for my dress, but I stepped backwards, suddenly afraid he might hit me back. 

Daniel stepped on the stem of the wine glass and slick merlot. He careened sideways; his head slammed against the raised brick hearth. He did not get up. 

I bent down to look at him. He had merlot on his nose. I should check for a pulse. I should call 911. But. Something in my chest loosened like an artery unclogging. When I straightened up, I knew I would do neither.

Then I felt it. Katrina pressed the backspace key. Daniel was dead, and he wasn’t supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to kill him.

I could let Katrina delete everything, but then what would it all have been for? 

“Stop! Keep it!” I shouted, looking up towards the heavens as if I might actually see her. 

Katrina stopped. She retyped the letters she’d removed. The cursor blinked. 

I sat down in a chair and waited. I hadn’t realized Daniel was an alcoholic. Apparently, neither had Katrina. I hadn’t known it was in me to stand by and watch someone die. I might as well have shot him. A twinge of remorse worked it’s way through me, but it was better to move forwards now than go back to the way we were. 

I stared at Daniel for five more minutes, then dialed 911.