SEPTEMBER 2007
I woke up with a start, staring at the ceiling of my room, which looked blurrier than usual. I figured that I was still barely waking up and rubbed my eyes. Still blurry… I rubbed my eyes harder. Still blurry — but now with minor aching around my eyes.
I looked at my hands, trying to make sure I still had some semblance of sight. They looked a lot clearer compared to the ceiling. But after positioning them farther away from my eyes, they… lost focus. What the fuck? Did my eyesight get worse overnight?
Wait… why did my hands look like… that? The faint scars from cutting myself weren't there anymore. My usual chipped, black nail polish was completely gone. My hands looked… wrong! Bigger. Way rougher and… hairy around the knuckles. What the fuck?
I lifted my torso from my bed, which also felt weird — lighter and broader. I looked down and… my boobs were gone… My boobs… were gone. What. The. Fuck!? I frantically groped at my chest that had somehow disappeared overnight. Flat. Absolutely nothing! Just smoothness that continued all the way down!
I'm hyperventilating at this point. I desperately scanned my head in all four directions trying to get my bearings. My long, flowing hair which usually whipped around my shoulders when I looked left and right had also disappeared! Instead, my hair now felt uncomfortably short, dry, and hella itchy! What was going on!?
This definitely wasn't my room. My bedsheets were usually crisp and clean-smelling, but now they were stained with what looked like— I frantically kicked off the sheets and threw myself out of the bed, feeling violated! I took a closer look at the walls — these weren't my posters! Where were my various band posters that I stole from Spencer's? They were gone! Replaced with foreign, cartoony wall scrolls! Was I dreaming? Was I on a bad trip? Was I kidnapped?
"What the fuck is going on!?"
I gasped in horror and covered "my mouth" with "my hands." That wasn't my voice either!
But it seemed familiar. I think… I- I recognized it! I fell to my knees, barely catching myself with one hand. I immediately wanted to vomit.
I looked around the floor and saw a suspiciously familiar pair of glasses lying upside down. I gingerly picked them up by their frame. I took a hesitant breath and slowly positioned them closer and closer to my face... The more and more the floor slowly became focused as the glasses drew closer to my face, the more and more my horror grew. The glasses fit perfectly around my face and, much to my chagrin, the room finally looked clear and sharp.
I was finally able to clearly see "my body." And I wish I didn't. I refused to believe this was happening. No, I fucking denied it! I'm- I'm clearly having a nightmare! I just needed to wake myself up. Somehow…
I hesitantly looked down at my foreign right hand. I curled it into a fist and closed my eyes. Without hesitation, I quickly punched myself in the face as fucking hard as I could, hoping the pain would wake me up — just open my eyes as soon as I registered the pain and jolt myself awake. It was the only plan I had but it had to work. It had to!
I felt my fist impact against my nose and I saw stars through the darkness. I gritted my teeth and clutched my nose as warm liquid flowed down my nostril. The tears ran down my cheeks, flowing freely from my now-opened eyes. I saw them drip into the inside of the glasses that were now askew. I slowly moved my fist away from my face, now covered in an alarming amount of bright red blood. My face throbbed as warm pain radiated from my face. Not only was I still stuck in this miserable situation, but now I had to fix these wounds.
I turned to the door and hesitantly placed my hand on the knob. I drew in a slow breath, preparing myself for whatever was out there. I turned the handle, expecting the worse… I slowly peered down an quiet, unfamiliar hallway — eerily silent. My eyes darted around from door to door until I saw one with a sign marked "bathroom." That's where I needed to go — the one room in any house where a mirror was guaranteed to be found — the one object that could confirm if I was really in a horrible nightmare that I couldn't wake up from or just a drug-induced hallucination that felt way too real.
I took one reluctant step after another as I got closer and closer to the bathroom, my head looking down at the floor. I tried praying. I'd sacrifice anything if it meant things would go back to normal. I'd stop doing drugs, I'd start pay attention in class, I'd even stop threatening to kill myself every other week. Maybe.
I threw the door open. I still kept my head down as I swiped at the wall, searching for a light switch. Somehow, the bathroom light flicked on, properly lighting the bathroom's tiled floor. I positioned myself in front of the sink taking deep breathe after deep breath, anxiety rising with every repetition.
I looked up to see my reflection… and the cold floor rushed to slam into the side of my face as I passed out.
Somehow… I was in Jeffrey's body.
AT HIGH SCHOOL
I approached the high school's entrance and pushed through the doors. The truancy officer was surprised that "I" was actually late, destroying "my" perfect attendance record. He also commented as to why "I" would even bother coming to school as it was almost noon with lunchtime already underway.
"Yeah whatever, probable pedophile" I muttered under my breath.
I eked out an an excuse and headed straight towards the cafeteria to find Jecka. If Jecka was there, then there was a good chance I'd find "me" sitting with her.
As I walked through the hallway, I noticed other students, even faculty members, visibly cringing as I walked by. Being ugly was one thing, but being in this body was physically painful. Just putting on clothes this morning was nauseating. I somehow managed to find a balance between wearing something that was both clean and inoffensive — a black shirt with a weird-looking skull on it and khaki shorts. No one would suspect it was me somehow inhabiting another body against my will... right?
I finally entered the cafeteria and… Jecka wasn't at the usual table where we sat. I scanned the other tables, then the lunch line, and then back to our usual table. I started panicking. I tried finding someone that I would know, anyone that looked familiar. Anyone who'd know-
"Jeffrey! I'm talking to you, you fucking nerd! Don't ignore me!"
Somebody grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and whipped me around. I felt a fist punch me for the second time today, knocking the glasses away, and audibly clattering to the floor. I squinted, trying to focus through the pain and blurriness.
"Kylar! You do exist!" It was hard to focus, but I was able to recognize his brown, greasy hair and permanent scowl that he was always on his face, whether he was angry or not. And right now, he was definitely angry.
"What the fuck does that mean, bitch? You think you can talk to me like that just because you think you're smarter than me for reading those comic books of yours? That's fucking gay, dude!" Kylar ranted as he shook me by the shirt.
I tried to retort with a comment about his lacrosse obsession but I wasn't used to being manhandled. I was utterly helpless.
"Okay, break it up youse two! You don't want to end up in in-campus suspension again. Right, Kylar?" Coach Colby's voice was audible somewhere behind me as I tried to futilely unwrap Kylar's grip from my shirt. If I knew Colby was the one who would end up saving me, I'd prefer that Kylar beat me to death instead.
"Nah, I guess you're right, Coach." Kylar literally threw me away and I collided against the cafeteria floor, knocking the breath out of me.
"I'll find you later, nerd. And if you run, you'll die tired… Hehe. That sounded cool." Kylar chuckled as he and Coach Colby walked away, not even giving me a second glance. Time continued as normal, as if I wasn't just assaulted, unprovoked. No one intervened. No one bothered. No one cared.
These miserable thoughts continued as I swiped at the floor, trying to find those glasses that I now realized were vital to just being… normal. I really needed to find them. Otherwise, I was useless without-
A sickening crunch was heard behind me. I already knew what made that sound as I turned to where it came from. I was able to barely make out a Vans sneaker on top of the glasses that I had relied on all morning. I raised my head upwards to see who it belonged to.
"Whoops! Sorry, dweeb. If these were so important to you, I figured you'd take better care of them" Emily chided, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She kicked them towards me, not even trying to prevent further damage. She didn't even wait for a response as she walked away.
I quickly scooped up the glasses and tried catching up to Emily, desperate for answers.
"Emily! Wait! I have to ask you something!" Emily stopped and turned, her hands on her hips as she talked down to me.
"Fuck off nerd. It's bad enough I'm still at school this late in the day. I don't wanna talk to someone who's a step away from being considered a short bus kid. Walk away before I bomb your trailer park."
"C'mon! Please just tell me if you've seen Jecka or- or Nicole somewhere."
"Why? They wouldn't want to fuck you either. But if it gets you to stop talking to me, then fine. They're in the girls' bathroom. Just don't let them know that I told you. I don't want to be responsible for whatever happens." Without waiting, Emily turned on her heel and quickly walked away, disgusted.
It didn't matter, I finally had my answer — a Nicole did exist. She was real and that meant that I had a chance of undoing this. I sprinted out of the cafeteria, clinging on to whatever small hope I could hold on to.
The problem with no one wanting to talk to you was the lack of details. They just wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible. That left me searching every girls' bathroom for Jecka and my supposed doppelgänger.
That left me with time to think. On my own. Without people constantly interrupting my thoughts, trying to get my attention. Just like back when I was alone. It felt… uncomfortable. And being in this body felt miserable! Not only did people not want to talk to "me," they tried to actively avoid "me!" I hated the irony so much, I could taste the bile in my mouth — it threatened to choke me. And this pissed me off. This pissed me way the fuck off. I had to find "Nicole" and make somehow make everything normal again. I fucking had to.
I kicked open the door to another girl's bathroom. After systematically opening what felt like every other girls' bathroom door in the school, after hearing the umpteenth girl scream and call me a pervert, I was starting to give up.
But, then I finally found "her." After turning the corner to check the stalls, I saw a familiar flowing, black ponytail at the end of the stalls, next to a sink, looking into a mirror... I saw a familiar shirt — it had multiple lines of the same word "no" written on it. I'd seen it a million times. And finally, I saw a familiar pair of ripped jeans that had been worn a million more times.
I was looking at my perfect copy... Perfect. Everything down to the last, minute details. And it hurt to realize that "she" was not me. Instead, I was Jeffrey. And realizing that made something inside me snap.
I quickly approached her. "Hey there, 'Nicole'" I said with as much fake enthusiasm as I could gather.
She turned to face me and physically jumped. "Oh hey, Je- Jeffrey! Th- this is the girls' bathroom, y'know. You can't be..." I instantly recognized the cadence of whom was using my voice to talk. And it made me even more furious.
I grabbed "Nicole" by the throat, slammed "her" against the bathroom wall, and pulled out my trump card - a handgun from the room I woke up in. I stuck the barrel against her face, making sure it was always within "her" sight.
"Recognize this? I found it underneath your pillow? I brought it just in case. And this counts as 'just in case.' I'm going to say this only once — fix this. Now!"
"She" looked down, long black hair obscuring "her" eyes. In a barely audible voice "she" whispered, "If you're going to pull the trigger, at least take the safety off…"
A long silence passed as I processed what "she" just said. I took the gun barrel off "her" face to examine the side of the gun.
That was the opening "she" needed to wrench the gun from my hand and kick me away. I stumbled a few steps away, trying to recover my balance. Realizing I lost my only advantage, I hesitated to face "her" again. I turned to see "her" pulling the gun's slide back, ejecting a single bullet from the gun. "She" removed the magazine, tossing it and the gun to the ground. "She" held up the bullet and spoke in the same slow, monotone voice as before.
"Only one bullet. I always saved it for myself in my darkest moments. How does it feel now that the shoe is finally on the other foot? It's not fun being me, is it? Does it hurt? Is it painful? Miserable?"
I could only take anxious breaths, as "she" started to pace around me. I didn't want to talk at this point, much less give "her" the satisfaction of affirming "her" words.
"On the other hand, I've been having a great day! Guys come up to just talk to me. Girls are actually nice to me. And my Sidekick's been ringing nonstop; it's full of messages! People actually bother to text back when I look like this! In comparison, its just another day for you, isn't it? ...What's it like seeing the world through those broken glasses?
As if to illustrate "her" point, the already-damaged lens that Emily stepped on fell out and shattered on tiled floor. The world distorted even more — turning from a half-blurry mess into an unrecognizable sight as I realized that I was crying. I caught a glimpse of "myself" in the mirror, pathetic and gross.
"She" stopped pacing around me, stopping at "her" original position, against the wall. "She" leaned back and folded "her" arms, reveling in "her" victory as I continued looking at myself...
The bathroom door suddenly swung open, bringing me out of my daze. I turned to see Jecka, and I immediately turned away, ashamed to have her to see me like this.
"Nicole, what's taking you- Jeffrey? What are you doing in the girls' bathroom? Why is there a gun on the floor!? Nicole, what happened here?"
I turned, opening my mouth to talk when I realized Jecka wasn't referring to me. She was looking past me. I turned my head, following her gaze and I saw "Nicole" leer at me for a brief moment. Then "she" looked at Jecka, clearing "her" throat.
"Loser, tried to pull a gun on me because I wouldn't put out for him. He was shaking the whole time he was trying to act tough that he dropped it."
My eyes went wide. I gasped. I stood frozen, in sheer terror, as I just witnessed my body perform a near-perfect impression of me.
"I- no! It wasn't- Y-you tried-" I was at a complete and utter loss for words. Nothing I said or did would matter at this point. Defeated, I stopped trying to explain.
"No one know what it feels like to be on the other side of them," "Nicole" said cryptically. "I created you. And you created me."
"Jeffrey, why'd you create Nicole!?" Jecka interjected, looking bewildered.
"I- I didn't!" The rising lump in my throat stopped me from talking any further.
"Nicole" then picked up the discarded magazine and gun. "She" reloaded the bullet that was still in "her" hand and racked the gun. "She" flipped the safety off and placed the gun on the edge of the sink closest to me.
"When you finally get tired of being an anime-loving virgin loser. Save it for yourself… Jeffrey."
"Nicole" walked out of the bathroom with Jecka hastily running after her. She was clearly afraid to be alone in a room with me, with… Jeffrey. I was still frozen in place, beyond help at this point...
It was a long time before I moved again. I walked over to the mirror to stare at my reflection — still ugly, still pathetic. I continued staring my reflection as a familiar gun barrel entered my peripheral vision. I nestled it under my chin and cocked back the hammer. Whether I'd wake back up as Nicole didn't matter. I'd rather die as Jeffrey if I couldn't live as Nicole.
In the end, Jeffrey was right — Nicole did get too much attention to know how much it hurt to be him for a day. And I want it to stay that way…
