1

Alas, the cross she bears

He gave me two choices.

Door A had ‘Normal’ written on it.

Door B said, “Go back and try again.”

Now, before you assume who was the Choice Guardian standing in the middle, no, it wasn’t Lucifer or some mind concocted God figure. It was another version of me standing in the ethereal river of life, where two ordinary wooden doors stood on either side.

The blinking cursor on the screen taunted the writer, who had no clue what to type next...

“Cough… cough.”

“God, it sounds like he's coughing his lungs out,” thought Sarah when she heard the sound from across the room.

Sure enough, her autistic brother had flung every single sheet and comforter she had bundled him up in and was lying butt-naked on the bed.

In freaking winter.

“Of course, you would cough! Why can’t you keep your damn sheets on?!” she said, while throwing the fabric back on him for the fifteenth time that night. “If you die from pneumonia, it’s not my fault. You’re the one who loves to sleep naked.”

With a hardly concealed growl, she dropped herself on the chair in front of her computer. It was 9:25 pm, and she barely wrote a lousy three hundred words on her page. Sarah leaned forward on her elbows and tugged her shoulder-length dark brown hair with a huff.

She despised this. Every chance she tried to write, relax, or do something for herself, her brother, aka The Kid, would attract attention.

He flushed the toilet every five seconds, stomped the floor the instant he woke up, tried to steal food, and screamed at the top of his lungs while jumping in the air. If he was having an anxiety attack, it didn’t matter how many drops of a tranquilizing home remedy she gave him; nothing helped. And he ripped the seams whenever he tore his clothes off! So, on top of the normal house chores she had to do, Sarah Brown needed to sew all his clothes. Literally.

It was a nightmare! Sarah often expressed complaints like, “I’m supposed to be a sister! Not a permanent nanny! Siblings have their own lives! They don’t depend on the other like a god damn lifeline! Why couldn’t I have normal!?”

The truth is, autism is a most puzzling mental condition. Symptoms can range from 'capable-of-taking-care-of-themselves' to 'not-able-to-bathe-unless-you-do-it-for-them'. Forget about finding a job, getting married, and having kids. Her brother Jacob would be eternally two years old, a baby in an adult body until he died. That was the bitter, raw truth, and she knew it.

With her creative muse vanished, Sarah saved her work and went to the kitchen to get a drink.

She slowly caressed one of her dogs that loved to follow her around. “What do you have to worry about?” she asked her furry companions as if they could understand.“You’re fed every day and get cuddles. Not a care in the world for you.”

Sarah drank from her soda and thought back to when her father was still around. He would often criticize her for treating them better than her own brother.

He would often ask, “Why do you call him Kid? Why don’t you call him by name?”

Sarah grimaced at the memory. Despite the lovey-dovey words, the old man washed his hands like Pontius Pilate the day Jacob turned eighteen and he was never seen again... ever. Sarah was lucky that she had her stepdad’s support, and her mom messaged her every day to ask how they were. All she had to do was look after Jacob, the dogs, and the house. If only she had somebody to delegate tasks to... then Sarah wouldn’t complain so much. But no… She was by herself in Argentina, where life was expensive and ten times as painful.

“Screw this.” she said as she chucked the soda can.“I know everybody has a cross to bear, but this is ridiculous. I wish I had a normal life.”

Little did she know that two intangible messengers were listening, and her wish was their command.

2

You asked for it, lady

Sarah woke up to her dogs pawing at the sheets, whining for her to get up. She loved them, but she hated getting up in the morning. It was yet another day that she had to deal with…

The silence… there was no stomping, no screams, no violent toilet flushing. Just her dogs begging for her to take them to the bathroom.

As she watched them run out to pee, she noticed the number thirty on the back of her left hand, followed by the total lack of another human.

“That’s strange.” she thought. “Was he taken away?”

A quick search told Sarah that no such thing happened. Only her clothes were in the closet. His bedroom was now her yoga room, and a quick scroll through the pictures and messages on her phone showed no signs that Jacob ever existed.

“Whoa. What happened?”

Just then, the bible that she used to keep on her mantelpiece fluttered through pages, stopping on Matthew 7:7, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”

“Okay... So that means no kid?” she asked aloud.

The beeping alarm clock startled her into her new reality. Somehow Sarah remembered her life with her brother, but at the same time knew that she had to get ready for work in twenty minutes. So, as if Sarah had been living in that reality her whole life, she quickly poured water in the dog dishes, refilled their food, and got ready.

Sarah was overjoyed when she realized what her job was. Her dream of being an actress came true! She was starring in her own musical film! The lights, the cameras, the sound, the stage, the glamorous costumes... she was so happy she could cry. So when the day ended, she returned to her dogs, and Sarah was eager to wake up in the morning.

Only her dogs weren't there the next day.

“Well, I'm promoting my new album and traveling on a world tour so I can't take care of them properly,” she said, trying to justify the loss. The number twenty-nine appeared on her skin but she didn't register it. Again the bible fluttered to a new verse, Isaiah 55:2 “Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy?”

Not really wanting to think about that, she cast aside her sadness and went to work like she had the previous day. She was busy packing her things, signing autographs, and appearing at the wrap party for the movie. Sarah didn't even notice her Mom's message on the phone when she arrived at midnight and crashed on her bed.

A loud car horn made her jump out of bed and crash to the floor. Her sleep-dazed brain barely noticed the New York City taxi drive by her window, or the lack of space around her, or that it was still dark outside. The occasional passing car was the only light in the room.

After a really strong latte, however, that's when Sarah started wondering:

Her brother was gone, her dogs had vanished, the house changed, and she had the number twenty-eight tattooed on her hand. What the hell was going on? She was in a luxurious tiny city apartment, filled with high fashion furniture and gadgets. But there were no family photos or any other sign of human memories. Just a bed in a corner, a laptop, suitcases filled with costumes, a small kitchen, and random books that were never read.

Sarah observed the French cut, red lace lingerie she was wearing, and wondered when she started wearing such flimsy attire. She never liked lingerie! She liked long baggy pants and cotton shirts thank you very much!

As she looked in the mirror her mind answered for her. Staring back at her was a thirty-five-year-old woman, with premature wrinkles from lack of regular sleep, but with a body to die for. Clearly she still had the time to exercise even with the long hours at the studio, the book tours, the talk shows, the concerts, the autographs...et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. She had what every woman considered normal: success and good looks. Wasn't that what she asked for?

Where was her family? Oh yeah, her Mom was in France singing in a choir and her father (a completely different man than the one she remembered) was a Reverend in a really popular church. At least God was still the same in the family. But where was her stepdad? Life just wasn't the same without him. He had taught Sarah so much...

Of course. Because her brother was never there, Mom never met him.

“This isn't right...” Sarah thought as the alarm went off.

3

It's all fun and games until...

“Why should you be beaten anymore? Why do you persist in rebellion? Your whole head is injured, your whole heart afflicted. From the sole of your foot to the top of your head there is no soundness - only wounds and welts and open sores, not cleansed or bandaged or soothed [...].”

Did Sarah notice that the bible stayed on Isaiah 1:5-6 even when the numbers twenty-seven through twenty flew by? No.

Did she really care? Not really. The flair of the job and New York City distracted her. But what Sarah considered normal, like talking to Mom every day and taking time to write, was becoming less and less recurrent.

And did she notice that her heart was 'afflicted' without a solid family base to connect to? No.

She was too busy doing yoga, commenting on every new thing on social media, talking to so-called 'friends' whenever they went to parties, and in other words doing whatever fad society liked at the time.

New diet? Check.

New virtual reality goggles? Check.

Downloading that new date app even if you hate it? Check.

Noticing the number eighteen burning on the back of the hand? Um, no.

Not until the bible slammed on the floor, not opening to a specific verse but allowing a hand-written note to fly out of the book as it fell with a bang.

If I spend so many hours convincing myself that I am right, is there no reason to fear that I am wrong?

Sarah had just arrived from a gay pride party.

The memories from the past few days cleared the mental fog caused by copying behavior to fit in a world where everyone was apparently gay.

The men had criticized her lack of femininity when she dated. The women criticized her masculine ideals whenever she debated on feminist politics going too far. She expressed her views on a talk show once, and everything had gone downhill.

Sarah had explained how there really were no laws prohibiting women from the same rights as men. That men and women are different for a reason and that both roles are necessary for society.

Her bible had opened to Romans 12: 7-8 that day, “The administrator must be content with his administration, the teacher, with his work of teaching, the preacher, with his preaching. Each must perform his own task well; giving alms with generosity, exercising authority with anxious care, or doing works of mercy smilingly.”

Therefore, if you're going to have a family, focus on family. If you're going to have a successful career, focus on your work. You can't have both prestige and love.

The only reason why feminists supported abortion was that they refused to be wives and mothers. They wanted to be forever young and sexy, using their children and husbands as trophies to serve their every desire. Such behavior was a disgrace to what womanhood actually is.

Suffice to say, the audience was outraged.

That was day seventeen.

Just to forget how empty and lonely she felt, she had tried the new fad: legal marijuana.

Day sixteen was the day she woke up in a new, completely male body.

“OK, please don't change anything else God.” the new Sarah had thought that morning.

Yes, she wasn’t a “she” anymore. But Sarah-now-Sam was the first transgender male to have the sex appeal of a man, with as much charm and sultriness as a woman on stage. Sam Brown, was more famous than Madonna herself now. And he felt free.

If things had stayed the same, Sam would have been happy... if the drugs to drown the emptiness didn't ruin his career.

Day 15: He had moved away from New York, retired from the stage, invested his millions in real estate, and was now a successful writer at home.

Day 14: He had to find a new job to pay the bills.

Sam tried to document all the changes but since they were so many, he had no time at the end of the day. And like any other nine-to-fiver, whenever he was too tired to work on his project, he watched movies, played games and did everything else to forget the emptiness of a life with zero meaning... a robot life in another big city.

“A world without God is a world without purpose.” He wrote in his last book. “It hurts to be different. It hurts to be yourself.”

A painful lesson indeed.

4

Lady Vanity, The Guardian, and the one in between

“Unless the Lord Almighty had left us some survivors, we would have become like Sodom, we would have been like Gomorrah.”

The open bible on Isaiah 1:9 was the last thing Sam had seen before he fainted on the floor of his apartment. The stress and pain of working non-stop got to him. His books weren't selling, his properties were confiscated, and all the riches he made were spent. He didn't even notice the countdown on his hand reaching zero. One thing he knew, was that he was no survivor. Sam had tried and failed to make something God-worthy out of a normal life.

Life was over.

Or was it?

Sarah's vision was a blur of beige colors before she could make out the wooden floor she laid on.

Her body felt sluggish as if she hadn't moved in a while.

Slowly Sarah rose on her feet, taking in the large studio. The floor-length windows were a galactic portrait, with stardust and swirls of energy flowing in a constant stream. The only furniture was an antique desk with an old-fashioned desk lamp illuminating a few scattered documents, and a large leather back chair facing towards the wall that had a canvas showing glowing silver tree branches.

Before she could walk to it, another presence in the room spoke.

“My, my. What are you wearing?” said a female voice.

A svelte woman with six-inch heels, dressed in a black lace and sequin jazz dress covering everything except her long fishnet laced legs, walked behind Sarah.

Her dazzling beauty wasn't what shocked Sarah the most; the other woman was herself, all dressed up like a Broadway showgirl.

“They call me Lady Vanity,” her sultry voice said.

“Oh, don't scare the poor girl. We don't have the time.” said another voice from the other side of the room.

Sarah whisked back and saw Sam, her complete masculine version.

She noticed she was wearing gray sweatpants and a matching cotton t-shirt with no shoes on, giving her the impression that she was a medium between the two.

Sarah stared at the calm, piercing brown eyes of the Caucasian male walking up to her from the desk, dressed in black slacks, matching suspenders, and a crisp white dress shirt opened at the collar.

“I make quite a handsome man, don't I?” teased Lady Vanity.

“I said we don't have the time,” said Sam, raising his voice to get his point across.

Lady Vanity simply clucked her tongue. “You're no fun,” she said before walking to a mini bar that had somehow appeared out of thin air.

Before he could say anything Sarah interrupted, “Where am I? Who are you?”

“You'll know soon enough. The important thing to know now,” Sam answered, “is that this is a crossroads between reality and the mental world. Everything you imagine exists here among us.” He gestured to the surroundings before speaking again. “Time is of no consequence here. Every experience you've had until now was just in your mind, carefully calculated by us of course. I represent the Refined Spirit; the flame that feeds your existence. Whereas Lady Vanity is the diluted form of it; intermixed with the pleasures of the world.”

“The snake in the garden.” Lady Vanity replied as she took a sip from her martini.

“Now, I would love to explain more, but we must get back to work,” said Sam.

“Yes, please. My audience awaits,” said Lady Vanity as she walked out of the room.

“What did you learn?” asked Sam, giving her a hard stare.

“That life isn't about getting what you want. It's about learning to play with the cards you're dealt with.” Sarah answered.

“Even if it means putting up with the kid?” asked Lady Vanity.

“His name is Jacob,” Sarah growled through gritted teeth.

“Well, excuse me...” Lady Vanity said with a haughty tone, wrinkling her nose and looking at Sarah with a disdainful drag of her eyes.

Sam looked satisfied with Sarah's reaction. “Enough said.”

Sarah woke up with a jolt. Was she dreaming? Did she have some out-of-body experience?

A snore startled her from her thoughts and she glanced at her side.

There on his bed was Jacob, finally asleep, softly snoring without a care in the world.

Her dogs were curled up on their mat.

The house was still there. The computer with the blinking cursor was exactly where she left it. Sarah would definitely write about it later. For now, everything was back to normal.