Author's note: my apologies for the delay, I wanted to get this out last weekend but life got in the way. Enjoy!
Reminder: Stephanie Meyer's owns Twilight & it's characters, I just like to play with them.
Chapter Two: Reality Check
Weak sunlight streaming through the windows behind me is what woke me from my deep sleep. I automatically stretched out my arms and uncurled my legs, unfolding myself from my foetal position. From my awkward sleeping position I discovered I had quite the kink in my neck. With my right hand I lightly tapped in front of me, in a vain attempt to find my glasses, while raising my left hand to rub out the kink. Within a few moments I located my blue framed glasses, and put them on, bringing my world into focus.
"Hang on a second!This isn't VIA first class," I thought, taking in the fact I was sitting on a brown sectional couch in a room filled with moving boxes. To my right was a small stone fireplace, and placed in front it were two suitcases, and a book bag that all looked vaguely familiar. Swinging my legs off of the couch, my feet touching the hardwood floor, I got up to explore just exactly where I was. To my left, was a small entry way with a built-in bench nestled underneath a stained glass window. Behind the sectional were three larger windows looking out onto a nondescript quiet residential street. I walked around the couch towards these windows overlooking what appeared to be a deep seated wooden porch with stone pillars supporting the roof. Beyond the porch, dawn was struggling to break through the low hanging cloud cover.
As I started to turn my back to the outside to explore some more of my surroundings, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a red car in the drive way with a broken headlight. Get out!That really happened? Instinctively I pinched myself on the arm, ouch! Ok I'm awake, not dreaming.
The last thing I recalled doing yesterday was after an 8 hour delay due to an early January snowstorm belting most of Ontario & Quebec, was finally boarding Train 54 at Union Station, Toronto, for the 5 hour trip back to Montréal. Classes resumed in a few days time and I wanted to unpack and mentally prepare myself for the next stage of my PhD dissertation.
Comfortably settled in my first class seat, I was beginning to doze off while re-reading Twilight.I only ever read it the first time under duress as it was our September pick for Book Club. Jen's daughters were clamouring to read it and she wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And what better way than to drag all eight of us club members into it. I'll admit that the premise intrigued me and I could understand why girls all over were fawning over the book: star crossed teenage lovers. What's not to love, right? Compared to what was currently out there on the market there was little foul language, and best of all for parents: no underage sex. Or drugs or alcohol either come to think of it. Since I had found a trade paperback I found it portable and often carted it around in my book bag.
Hey I wonder…..I crawled across the couch towards the bag at the other end and zipped it open, rummaging around until my fingers grasped onto the edges of a book….hmmmm what's this? Pulling it out I discovered that it was not Twilight but a battered copy of a Harlequin Romance.
Really, Harlequin? Who is this person?
The events of what I thought were a merely a dream flooded back to me, as I flopped back into the sofa. There really was a car accident. I really was examined by – snort — Dr Cullen, and yes, he really does have honey coloured eyes.
It was the eyes that tipped me off. I always had trouble picturing the pale faced blond doctor with honey eyes. It seemed unnatural to me as undoubtedly was the point to convey to the reader his supernatural nature, and yet as he knelt beside me in the dark wet night, examining me for any lacerations, I was taken aback by his eyes. They really are honey coloured, almost liquid gold with flecks of something else I couldn't quite name, that just draw you in. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud.
Whether the good doctor noticed anything was amiss or not, he didn't let my staring him square in the eye faze him. He merely informed me that he happened to be driving along behind me (yeahright!) and 'witnessed' the whole accident: it appeared that I fell asleep at the wheel, veered off the road and into a tree.
Any sane person, who is at this point confronted by a fictional supernatural hero, would indeed be laughing aloud at the absurdness. I on the other hand, did not, and truth be told, I'm not overly sure why I did it, but I went along with his observation, as sure, that seems plausible. I would indeed be in Washington State driving late at night, and sure why not, it could happen, I would fall asleep at the wheel.
Twirling my hair with my right hand, I pondered for a second the possibility that this is indeed a dream. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Still awake, despite repeatedly pinching my left arm. Last night I certainly thought I was dreaming, a type of lucid dreaming brought on by what I had just finished reading. I remembered in time to not call him Carlisle, though come to think of it, he did happen to know who I was – my subconscious filling in the gaps? – and I was beginning to think as to why exactly the good doctor would appear to me in my dream, after all he isn't exactly a lead character in Twilight except to put Bella to rights after all her accidents and mishaps.
And a librarian? Really? That's the best my subconscious could do? Stretching some more on the couch, I began to think back to when I last had a shower, or changed my clothes. Hmm I left Frieda's condo early Friday morning the same time she left for work at City Hall, spent 8 hours waiting at Union Station.Got on the train…..24 hours ago? Looking down at myself I was in dark blue jeans and a nondescript back long-sleeved shirt. Though not covered in obvious dirt they did have a distinctly disheveled look and faint smell of b.o. to them. As well, I obviously slept in them, it would be nice to shower and change into something more comfortable. Glancing back at the book bag on the floor, I leaned over and heaved it onto the couch. Trashy romance novels aside, if this Anya Simms is anything like me, than there should be a change of clothes and toiletries in here.
Aha!Success! Rummaging into the bag I began to pull out its contents: a folded pair of plaid pyjama bottoms, a grey t-shirt, a Michigan State sweatshirt, a change of underwear, a pair of black socks, a small makeup bag, a coiled ring note book, 2 pens, one blue, one black. In the small outside pocket I found a wallet, flipping it open was a Michigan State driver's license with my name and face on it. Well at least this is me: Anya Marie Simms. Same date of birth.Same weight, same height,heck even the same eye colour. A mug shot is a mug shot despite what side of the border you're on. There was also a small wad of green bills, one bank card and a VISA credit card.
Scratching my head I tried to wrap my brain around the fact I have a Michigan State licence when last time I checked I was born & raised in Montréal, Canada. Wait…how did that story go? I mused. Grandpa Simms worked in Detroit at a bank and the only reason he headed back to Ontario was because his father had fallen sick and couldn't run the farm anymore. If that never happened, than Grandpa would have stayed in Detroit…
Swallowing hard it dawned on me that I not only, until recently, lived in Michigan, I more than likely,am American. Not Canadian. Grabbing the note book and a pen, I flipped it opened to two blank pages, writing across the left sheet: THINGS TO DO and across the right sheet: THINGS THAT ARE DIFFERENT. Under that heading I wrote, 'nationality = American'. Shaking my head, and clutching the change of clothes and toiletries bag I headed towards the stairs in search of the washroom. Not only did I need a shower to shake off the cobwebs and wrap my brain around the fact I was American, but I also needed to empty my bladder; I had no idea when I last went but I desperately needed to go.
At the top of the landing, I found myself in a small hallway with 3 doors running off it. Immediately in front of me was a bedroom, its door labelled "Guest Room", and inside against the far wall under the window, were a neat row of boxes labelled "linens", "towels", "bathroom cleaning supplies" and "Bathroom accessories". Walking to the one labelled 'towels' I removed the packing tape and opened the lid. Inside were neat stacks of towels, all folded into squares, face cloths & hand towels on top, bathmats directly beneath and further down larger towels. I grabbed a facecloth, bathmat and two large towels, and tucked those under my left arm, as my right hand was still holding my change of clothes and toiletries bag.
Back out into the hall I went to the door to the left of the spare room, as it was labelled "Bathroom", though the large claw foot tub made the note a bit redundant. It was evident that this room had been recently renovated and probably enlarged, as aside from the white tub under a large frosted window, there was in the far left hand corner a walk in shower stall with a rain shower head as well as a regular shower head in one wall. On the far right wall was an antique chest of drawers converted into a bathroom vanity. Beside the vanity was the toilet and I'm relieved to say, a fresh roll of toilet paper on the roller.
Nature's call answered, I walked over to the shower stall and turned the water on. While waiting for the water to heat up, I opened the makeup bag and found what I was looking for: hotel sized shampoo and conditioner bottles and a small box of Dove soap. Settling myself into the shower I mentally examined my options:
A) I could pretend that I am indeed still dreaming and eventually I'll wake up. Massaging the shampoo into my hair I found this farfetched. This is too life-like to be a dream. I wouldn't even know how to describe the feel of a rain head shower.
B) There was indeed an 'accident' last night but it wasn't a car accident. There was a train accident and I'm actually in hospital somewhere deep in a coma. This is limbo I thought while rinsing the shampoo out. Plausible. If I'm in a coma and this is my subconscious creating a magical world for me, not too hard to believe it would take the residual threads of what I was most recently reading to create my limbo. Good thing I wasn't reading a crime novel or else I'd have to worry about gangsters after me and not just honey-eyed doctors.
C) Not a dream nor is it limbo. It's an alternate world - ahh a parallel universe – I thought while massaging the conditioner into my hair.What was it that Pierre, my ex who was addicted to sci-fi would prattle on about? – something about string theory and how the universe is divided into an infinite number of worlds that run side by side. How in some worlds it was small subtle differences. Like being American instead of Canadian. Or there could possibly be bigger differences, such as fictional honey eyed vampires are not so fictional after all.
Ok…so I'm in a parallel universe. The question remains: how did I get here and more importantly, how do I get out?