CHAPTER SEVEN #2
‘It’s fine, show me that list again.’
‘It’s on the bench.’ She pointed to the kitchen.
My nose scrunched at each suggestion. ‘Staring into old photos?’ My mouth continued to twist into various positions, no more words coming out.
She waited with raised eyebrows for a sentence that would never be brought to life, because what the hell was she even thinking with that suggestion?
‘What?’ she asked at last.
‘What the hell is staring at old photos going to do?’
‘I don’t know, reconnect us with ourselves?’
I threw my hands in the air with defeat. ‘Sure, let’s try it. I don’t want to spend another day sitting next to that chattering chimp.’
‘Izzy?’
‘I have no idea what her name is.’
‘Well, I do. It’s Izzy, and I hope you’re being nice. I won’t return to my body only to find my name tarnished at work. You may get away with being a brooding asshole at your job, but at mine, I’m a ray of dedicated sunshine. You hear me?’
‘Loud and clear.’ Though if things went to plan, I wouldn’t need to worry about that tomorrow.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at Nora’s with my laptop of photos.
‘Not you again.’ I scowled at the slinking cat and perched myself on one of Nora’s barstools.
Nora lifted her head from the box of photos she’d been buried in for the last five minutes. ‘That’s Lucky.’
‘I don’t care what his name is. I don’t want him near me. And who the hell keeps boxes of photos anymore? Haven’t you heard of a hard drive?’
‘Hard drives didn’t exist when some of these were taken.’
‘What’s looking at photos of your great, great, great grand-mother going to achieve, anyway? I thought the point was to look at ones of ourselves?’
‘I want to ground myself in my family. To remember everything that led to my chance at this life.’
She made it sound like we were so blessed for the opportunity to exist day in, day out, under the demanding pressure of society.
I huffed at her optimism, barely noticing my newfound flexibility as I tucked my legs up on the barstool where Lucky couldn’t rub his head against my feet.
The black furball leaped onto the seat next to me then climbed onto the black bench, and I pulled my notebook and pencil out of my bag to ignore him.
The point of the sharpened lead pressed against the page and all my worries disappeared for the next half-hour until the timer I’d set for hash browns chimed from Nora’s phone.
‘Finally,’ I groaned.
‘Oven mitts are in the cupboard,’ Nora called.
I found the yellow mitts and used them to pull the aroma-filled tray out of the oven.
‘I love hash browns,’ I moaned.
‘I’m not loving the sounds you’re making with my voice.’ Nora stood by the kitchen with a bundle of photos in her hand.
‘Let’s eat then switch bodies.’ I placed the tray on the stove top and searched the pantry for tomato sauce.
‘Let’s switch while they cool,’ Nora argued.
‘I can’t concentrate. I’m starving.’
‘I can’t concentrate with a bulge between my legs.’
A river of insecurity flowed through my chest as I wondered what went through her mind when it came to that bulge of mine she’d acquired. I quashed those insecurities by retorting the only way I knew how: shifting the subjective bulge.
‘I’m managing with two bulges on my chest, you’ll be fine.’
As I turned from the pantry, Nora grabbed the bottle of tomato sauce in my hand. Our eyes met, and a war began.
‘Let go,’ I hissed through gritted teeth.
‘You let go.’
‘You.’
Our voices deepened with each shitty, argumentative word until we were growling at each other like savage wolves. Eventually, our tightened fists released an explosion from the bottle, red liquid squirting through the air and covering more than the hash browns.
‘Look what you’ve done,’ she yelled.
‘What I’ve done? You wouldn’t let go of the damn bottle.’
‘Not everything is about food, Corey. We have more important things to take care of.’ She tried to pull the bottle closer.
I gasped and released my grip. ‘Wait, wait. That’s it! The umbrella!’
The sauce bottle hit the floor, one last pathetic squirt shooting up between us.
‘What umbrella?’
‘The night I dropped you home.’
Nora stared at her palm, and I lifted my hand to compare the curved line that marked it to the one on hers.
‘The lightning,’ she whispered. ‘Of course. I wonder where the umbrella went.’
‘Maybe we only need to remove these lines from our hands?’
Nora nodded and scrunched her forehead in thought. ‘That would be easier, at least. Or, I think it would be easier. How do we remove a mark from our body? It’s almost like a scar. Don’t they take months to fade, even with oils that claim to help?’
Excitement sizzled inside of me. I’d been doubtful the photos would help, but now I was confident we were on the right track and would soon return to our own bodies. ‘Bleach.’
‘Bleach?’ Nora shrieked. ‘I’m not soaking my hand in bleach. You’re meant to wear gloves and a mask when you use chemicals for a reason.’
‘I’ve never used gloves or a mask and I’m still alive.’ I smiled proudly.
‘For now,’ she muttered.
I grabbed a handful of hash browns and walked to the bath-room. Crunching the crispy potato-filled batter, I shoved aside bottles of moisturiser, make up, and hair products underneath the sink. ‘Where’s the bleach?’
‘I’ve got it right here.’ Nora held up the bottle from the kitchen behind me.
‘Why am I in here amongst all your crap, then?’ I mumbled.
The entire room smelled of citrus. I was surprised the walls weren’t orange and yellow.
‘I thought you were looking at everything you’d want to use if this didn’t work.’ She shrugged.
‘I’m not going to even entertain the idea of this not working. Your life is less than ideal to live.’ My nose scrunched at the idea of using those bottles, so I settled for the delusional ‘out of sight, out of mind’ method and closed the door. Back in the kitchen, we argued about how to do it.
‘Let’s pour it into a bowl and soak our hands,’ I said.
‘That’s terrible for our bodies,’ Nora gasped. ‘We only need to trace the scar with a soaked cotton bud.’
‘Fine.’ I refused to admit her idea made much more sense.
Twenty minutes later, we examined our hands by the window in the remaining sunlight.
‘We should have taken a before photo, I have no idea if it’s made any difference,’ I grumbled.
‘We don’t need a photo for comparison. I can assure you, it’s no different. Besides, it didn’t work.’ Nora gestured at my unchanged body.
She kicked her toe against the pristine white wall, and Lucky meowed, winding between us and sniffing our legs.
‘Poor boy’s confused.’ Nora leaned down to cuddle him, but he reared back and hissed.
She sucked in a sudden breath, her lips downturned like a child whose ice cream had fallen from the cone to the ground. I placed the tips of my slender fingers on the edge of her shoulder. Barely touching, but enough to pretend I cared.
‘Why don’t we focus on the umbrella?’ I suggested, starting to fear this wasn’t as easy as we’d assumed.
She looked at me with hope and nodded. ‘We should find it.’
It wasn’t outside her apartment anymore; I’d glanced around each time I’d come here since.
I wanted that umbrella for more reasons than she knew.
The pictures on it were a reminder that my father wasn’t always a monster, a little piece of hope I clung to each day, praying he’d remember the person he used to be.
‘Let’s go downstairs to look before the sun sets.’ Nora walked to the door.
I wouldn’t say no to another look down there, so I followed her out the door as she bounced down the steps while Lucky cleaned the tomato sauce with his tongue.
Nora was thorough, I’ll give her that. While I’d glanced in the exact spot of our argument, she committed every corner, groove, wall, and drain to memory.
‘It could be anywhere,’ she cried.
‘Maybe someone donated it,’ I suggested.
‘That hideous thing? I doubt it. We should check the bins.’
‘They wouldn’t have thrown it out.’
‘I would have,’ she muttered.
‘It wasn’t hideous.’ My eyes narrowed. Little did she know she was insulting my childhood.
‘I’m really sorry that you have such bad taste, but now’s not the time to reflect on that. We need to find it.’
As the pink sky darkened, I groaned at the thought of spending another day in this body. ‘It’ll be night soon; we’ll have to look for it tomorrow.’
‘We can’t, I need to go to work tomorrow. I’ve got to repair any damage you’ve caused.’ Nora darted around corners like a frantic magpie desperately searching for something shiny.
‘I don’t know how to break this to you, but tomorrow we’re taking a sick day to sort this out once and for all.’ I wiggled my finger back and forth between us.
Nora folded her arms neatly across her chest, a bouncer ready to deny my request.
‘Trust me, Nora. One day off won’t hurt.’
‘This sucks,’ she hissed.
‘Well aware,’ I hissed back as though we were a pair of snakes having a hiss-off.
At least I could slither away to my apartment for the night and avoid mirrors to pretend I wasn’t experiencing a mental breakdown.