The Happy Place

Matilda Gardner woke up suddenly, her whole body jerking so that it pulled the covers off of her head. She glanced to the left and saw a window above her bed, sunlight streaming through sheer pink curtains. But this was wrong. It was all wrong.

Matilda slowly sat up and looked down at her blankets. There was a quilt lying across her bed, and underneath the quilt were white sheets. Slowly, apprehensively, she turned her head to the right and saw a completely unfamiliar bedroom.

There was a white vanity table and mirror, cluttered with make-up accessories and a jewelry box; an open door led into a small walk-in closet; and there was a bookshelf, but most of the books looked like high school textbooks.

The only object she could not properly identify was some kind of oversized, brown leather bag, which lay on the floor next to the shelf. She approached it as if it were a strange animal that might bite her, but when she opened it, she saw only a science textbook.

Matilda swallowed hard and dropped the bag on the floor. Running to the vanity mirror, she stared at her reflection. It was some relief to see that she still looked like herself. The curly black hair of her Lebanese mother, and the blue eyes and pale skin of her Irish father, were all still intact. But the frilly white nightgown she wore - she had never owned anything like that.

She sank onto the vanity stool, trying to remember everything that had happened the night before. She found she could remember her entire life up to this point: her mother cheating on her father when she was ten years old, her father falling into bouts of alcoholism, interrupted only by bouts of depression; the divorce proceedings in which her mother had tried to make her lie in court to make her father look bad so she could win custody; and then her father's early death from alcoholism. All of these painful memories were chronologically correct and very vivid.

If she did not have amnesia, then she must be having a mental breakdown. Like her father, she suffered from depression, and last night, she had entered a hospital for treatment. But the hospital room, sparse and impersonal, was nothing like this bedroom that clearly belonged to a specific girl. But the girl must be feminine, probably pretty, and comfortable with herself. Whoever she was, she was nothing like Matilda.

She found herself envying this girl, whose room she had taken over. Then she remembered that she had not yet figured out why she was even here. Maybe there was no girl who had been here before. Maybe it wasn't a mental breakdown. Was the hospital trying to test her sanity? Was it normal for a hospital to do that sort of thing?

A knock on the door startled her so much she nearly crashed to the floor.

"Tildie? Are you up yet?" asked a female voice, and then the blond head of a woman in her forties poked through the door. "Oh, you are up! Good. Put some clothes on, I have breakfast waiting for you."

After she closed the door, Matilda sat staring at it, shocked. Whatever person she had thought she would meet, it was not a motherly woman calling her by her nickname. Her own mother had never called her by any affectionate nickname, as her mother had never been very affectionate. But this strange woman acted as if she knew her. If that was true, then she would know why and how she had arrived in this room.

She rushed to dress, throwing on a white blouse and blue skirt, which she barely noticed were fresh and new-looking but old-fashioned nonetheless. She found a pair of brown pumps, and she was surprised to find that they fit her perfectly. But she refused to puzzle over anything until she spoke to that woman.

Outside her bedroom door was a carpeted hallway. She had half-expected to find the white, sterile walls of a hospital, but she knew then that she was in a regular house. She hurried to the stairs, hurried down it, and blew through the living room without bothering to look at it. Voices and breakfast smells were coming from the kitchen.

The kitchen was large and cheerful. Its walls were covered with flowered wallpaper, and fresh air came in through a window with fluttering white curtains. Cabinets and counters ran the length of the kitchen, and in the center was the breakfast table covered by a clean white cloth. The woman she had seen was at the stove, flipping pancakes.

"There you are," she said, waving her spatula. "You didn't bring your satchel down with you? You don't want to be late for school."

"School?" Matilda gazed at her, nonplussed.

"Yes, school," she said, smiling. "My goodness, you haven't lost track of the days? You're only sixteen. But don't worry," she began laying pancakes on a plate, "tomorrow's Friday, and I'm sure you'll stay up late, whether I try to stop you or not."

Matilda heard footsteps behind her, and she turned to see a balding man in a gray suit and tie come into the kitchen, waving a newspaper.

"All I ever read about these days is the Korean War," he exclaimed. "Never any other news. We just finished the Second World War, what do I want to read about another war for?"

"Maybe you should take a break from the newspaper and read a good book," suggested the woman. "Now, aren't you going to say good morning to us?"

"Good morning, dear," he said gruffly, kissing her on the lips. "Good morning, Tildie," and he kissed her on the forehead. He sat down at the breakfast table and separated sections of the newspaper.

"Here's the comics for you, Tildie," he said, gesturing at them. "You want to read anything about housekeeping, Laura?"

"I'll read that later, Ted," replied Laura.

Any thought of challenging either Laura or Ted about the situation she was in had left Matilda's mind. Overwhelmed by her own astonishment at everything, she sat down at the table and mechanically pulled the comics towards her. But she did not read them, though.

Without making it too obvious what she was doing, she peered at Laura and Ted in turn. The utterly unnatural thing about it all was how natural they were behaving, speaking of breakfast and the Korean War, not to mention the fact that she had dropped into their house overnight. Apparently, she was the only one in a state of shock. Did she really belong to this place - and time, the Korean War had started in 1950 - and she had merely dreamed that life of misery which she had clearly remembered?

What a coincidence, thought Matilda, cutting into pancakes that Laura had set in front of her.

"Don't you want syrup, dear?" asked Laura. "You never eat it plain. You're certainly absent-minded today, aren't you?" She poured syrup onto Matilda's plate.

She had always wished she lived in the 1950's. Divorce and adultery were evils to be avoided, looked down upon, and children had grown up in homes with both parents . . . She had once expressed this wish to her history teacher, who had dismissed her fantasy as silly and superficial. There were many complications, her teacher had explained, about the 1950's, such as racism and the Korean War and the Cold War. But she was stubborn, wanting to believe that maybe if things had been somehow different, her parents would have been different, too. That was all that mattered, that her parents were different and happier and she was happier.

Matilda had finished her plate of pancakes, which had been cooked perfectly, but she felt sick. Had her neurotic wish for a happier time fueled a mental breakdown in which she hallucinated her dream? She supposed there were worse hallucinations she could have, but she preferred to be sane and rational, even if she were unhappy - or did she?

"Well, time for work," said Ted, standing up. "See you all later."

"Bye, dear," said Laura, and they kissed.

"Hope you have a good day at school, Tildie," said Ted, and he left.

"Speaking of school, it's time for you to leave." Laura gathered up the plates. "Get your satchel upstairs. Oh, hello, there."

Matilda looked up, and for what seemed the hundredth time that morning, she was surprised. An African-American man in a blue business suit with a briefcase had come in through the back door.

"Morning, Laura, Tildie." He smiled. "Laura, my wife was wondering if you could watch our son this afternoon when she goes to the committee meeting."

"Of course, anytime," replied Laura. "She can bring him over whenever she likes. Cup of coffee before you go?"

"No, thank you, I need to get going. Have a good day at school, Tildie." He smiled again and went back out, presumably to let his wife know what Laura had told him.

Was this normal? Matilda tried to remember the history of civil rights, and she was pretty certain that white people in the fifties did not ordinarily associate with African-Americans in such a casual, friendly way.

Laura reminded her again to get her satchel, and Matilda did so. Once she left the house, she could see more of this strange world she had fallen into.

Matilda, after being kissed by Laura, left the house. Outdoors, she felt even more like she was in a dream than inside. She stood on a front porch, complete with a porch swing, and up and down the street were large, middle-class homes that one would have seen more than half a century ago. Small children played in the front yards, while elderly people sat on the porches, talking or reading the newspaper. Between houses, she could see women hanging out laundry to dry, chatting with each other over the fence. The weather was beautiful, mild and sunny. If this was a hallucination, she thought, it was the best kind.

She stepped off the porch and stood on the sidewalk for a few moments, wondering vaguely where the school was. Then she saw a young Asian man near her age, wearing a blue, high-collar shirt and slacks. He had slung his own satchel across his shoulder, and there was a look on his face, as if he were stunned by everything like herself. She strolled towards him.

"Hello," she said hesitantly, and he jumped. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

He cleared his throat. "N-No problem," he stammered. "Uh, truth is - " He stopped, embarrassed.

"Do you know where we are?" she blurted.

He gave her a smile of relief. "No, I don't. Do you?"

She shook her head. "I know I'm going to sound crazy, but I just woke up in a house with people who know me but I don't remember ever meeting them."

He nodded vigorously. "Exactly. That's what just happened to me."

"I remember last night," she whispered. "I was hospitalized for depression."

"Me, too," he whispered back.

"You were?"

"Yes."

They stared at each other.

"Do you think we've completely gone crazy?" asked Matilda, trying to hold in panic at the thought.

"I thought I was crazy," he admitted, "but now I don't think so. You see, people can't hallucinate the same thing at the same time. Why don't we take turns describing what we see right now and then we'll be able to tell if we're in the same place? If we see all of the same things in the same place, it'll confirm whether one of us is hallucinating or not."

Matilda agreed, and a few minutes later, they knew they were not hallucinating.

"But if we're not hallucinating," said Matilda, "then what's going on?"

"I don't know. Actually, do you mind walking? I'd feel better."

"If you don't mind me asking, what was your life like before this?" she asked.

"Not great. I lived in New York City, and my family's pretty poor. I went to - " He paused. "That's strange. I can't remember the name of my high school. Well, anyway, I kept failing, and I felt like I was letting my parents down. I started feeling really depressed. Last night, I - " He wrinkled his eyebrows. "I did something. I think it was bad." He shrugged.

"Well, last night, I arrived at the hospital," said Matilda, "and I think my mom didn't want me around, that's why she put me there instead of getting me therapy. They put me in a room . . ." Her voice drifted. "Then I woke up this morning and Mom - I mean, Laura - "

He grinned. "Do you often call your mom by her first name?"

She laughed. "No. I mean, she's not my mom. Is she?"

"Better not call your mom by her first name," he joked.

They had reached the street corner, and across the street was the high school.

He looked at Matilda. "My name's Michael, by the way."

"I'm Matilda."

They shook hands.

"Sorry, what were we talking about?" asked Michael, as they crossed the street.

Matilda tried to remember. It was something about her mother.

"Mom made great pancakes this morning," she commented. "I love her pancakes."

"French toast is my favorite," said Michael. "I had some this morning. Do we have a test today?"

They walked up to the school, which was already crowding with students.

Matilda felt that she had forgotten something. But, she concluded, if it was important, she was sure she'd remember.