I woke up to the smell of paper.

“Ghrgbhgh?” I said, sitting up. As I raised up my head the sheet of notes drifted off of my face, revealing Sophie smiling at me from her chair in the corner.

“Cute,” she said, striding over to pick up the paper that was rapidly drifting to the floor. Right. I had fallen asleep on the couch. I had…

“You know it’s like 9:40, right babe?”

My eyes dilated. “What!?” I jumped up off the couch, glancing at the clock. That, as well as the angle of the sunbeams lancing through the windows of our studio apartment confirmed that I was, indeed, very late. “What the fuck Sophie, why didn’t you wake me?”

She had moved over to the kitchenette and was efficiently buttering some toast. “I tried three times, you literally wouldn’t let me. You know how you get when you're sleep deprived.” I was only three-quarters listening as I scrambled through my closet, slipping on gaff, sports bra, and my favorite button-up before hobbling my way over to the table halfway through pulling up my slacks.

“What, should I have just not studied then?” She slid a plate of the toast over to me, which I folded up and started shoving down my mouth in a decidedly unladylike fashion.

She rolled her eyes with a slight smile. “You heard what I said last night.” She sat down next to me and pulled me into a side hug. “You’re so smart, you’re going to get this job. You never needed to worry.”

I casually tapped her head with mine. “Thanks, I mean it. But it’s my job to worry.”

“And it’s mine to be the voice of confidence, I know,” she said. “But that won’t be your job for long. ‘Neurology Technician’, Grace, I don’t even know what that fully means and here you are unsure if you qualify. If you didn’t you wouldn’t have gotten the interview in the first place, right?”

She was right, as usual. I finished up my toast looking into her eyes. Her blond hair tied back in a messy ponytail, even the baggy tank top and sweatpants she slept in. God she was so amazing. Every time I was sure my anxious tendencies would drive her away, she would just dig in her heels harder to chase away those pesky voices in the back of my head. I felt her rub my shoulder, and I couldn’t help but break into a big goofy smile. I wiped my hands on the napkin and gave her a small buttery kiss on the nose.

“Alright,” I said. “I get the job, and then no more worrying.”

“Sounds like a plan. Though,” She glanced out the window. “You probably should be worried about missing the bus.”

I practically tumbled out of my chair and dashed to pull on my shoes. “What’s the weather?”

“Eighty-four degrees.” She grabbed my bag off the counter and handed it to me as I stood up.

“No jacket, rip,” I said, pulling it over my head and double-checking for wallet, keys, and phone.

She pulled me in for one last hug. “You look great regardless babe.” She gave my hip a playful tap with her own. In retaliation I grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a full kiss, which got me a delightful squeal. After a blissful moment she pulled away and practically pushed me out the door. “Knock ‘em dead!” She giggled.

“I will!” I called back down the apartment building hallway. I checked my watch for the time and- oh I forgot my watch. As I slammed open the stairwell door and descended, my shoes slapping against the cement floor, I haphazardly pulled my phone out to check the time. Ok, I could catch the bus.

Which I did, thank God, arriving at the stop only a few seconds before it pulled up. I spent the twenty-minute ride watching the city roll by while fidgeting with my keys. My leg was bouncing furiously. I had a few sheets of paperwork and my own personal notes for the interview in my lap, but I had promised her that I wouldn’t fuss and I knew obsessing over the documents would only heighten my anxiety. I wished I had as much confidence in myself as she seemed to have in me, though. It was one matter when I was there with her, caught up in her love and momentum, to feel good about myself, and quite another when I was sitting on the bus alone, on my way to an interview that would change my life’s trajectory forever. Those little fears began creeping back. I had messed up the paperwork, I should really double, triple, quadruple check it. I was dressed too loudly, the interviewer would be some old Christian who wouldn’t want anyone like me working there. I would fuck up during the interview, or on the first day, or on the second day, and they’d all realize how unqualified I was, I wasn’t a real professional like them.

I let out a deep breath. It had taken years for me to even realize that those thoughts were there, and even longer to learn to stop giving into them. Sophie, and my friends, and a string of semi-successful therapists had got me here, and I knew, deep down, that I was doing so much better. I was doing great, in fact. But those voices still stuck around in spite of it all.

To distract myself, I put in my headphones and let my indie garage rock playlists carry my mind far away, dashing across the sunny rooftops of the neighborhoods that rolled by as the bus descended into downtown.

 

---

My bus blessedly arrived on time, which is far from a given when dealing with the city, and I took off down the sidewalk. The buildings around towered much higher than the mid-rise Sophie and I rented in out west, and held an odd mixture of historic city blocks overflowing with color and life and the increasingly sleek corporate design of office buildings and financial centers. I had actually grown up relatively close by here, and in fact this very street was part of my walking route to high school back in the day. Actually, yeah, this was Gate Street. I was starting to recognize a lot of the landmarks, though some had been replaced with Starbucks, and I craned my neck around- yes there! Nestled into a crowded mess of old brick and encroaching concrete, on the same block as my destination in fact, was Bloo-Mart, a shitty little bodega I had worked at for my summer job most of high school. God, it looked even grimier than it had six years ago.

I openly grimaced. Those were bad times, and I did not enjoy reflecting on them. I had no outlet for my mental health issues, and that coupled with the stresses of high school life and issues with my gender that I hadn’t even realized I had had resulted in some of the worst years of my life. I was depressed and had repressed my emotions to all hell, and I had gone into my first year of college a shell of a person. It took years of opening myself up before I was able to admit to myself the kind of help I had needed, but that, coupled with realizing that I was trans, and reconnecting with Sophie, had brought me back to feeling whole again.

Honestly reminiscing brought me a surprising burst of confidence. Yeah, I was doing as well as Sophie promised, just look back to where I was six years ago. As I passed by Bloo-Mart I glanced in the windows. How many summer days had I stood at that counter, feeling like shit, wondering why everything felt so off and hollow? How many hours had I wasted away imagining getting swept away to a far off place, with a different name, a different body, a different brain? I was surprised I hadn’t figured my gender out then, to be honest, I spent so much time in my own head just to escape the “sirs” and “young mans” you get from the ungrateful customers that pass through convenience stores in this part of the city.

I shook my head as I passed the store and neared the building my interview was in. The building where I would hopefully get a job and-
I must have tripped.

I felt dizzy for a moment, and then far worse than dizzy. It was as though gravity had not just disappeared, but the very concept of “up” was gone too. My vision whited out and my ears filled with pressure, the noise of the city falling into a senseless buzz and I couldn’t escape the feeling of falling, not down but in every direction and no direction at once. A pain built behind the front of my skull, the pressure in my ears only contributing, and I felt wind whipping by my face. Far too powerful, I had never moved that fast or been in wind that strong. It pulled at my hair, and my headache split, lancing pain up and down my body, and it just kept going and going and going and-

“Sir? Are you ok?”

Ow.

“Er…”

Ow. Something was touching my shoulder. It was bright. Ugh. I opened my eyes. Ow, that was bright. Oh, it was a man, he had his hand on my shoulder. Wait, he was crouched over me. I suddenly felt the hot concrete of the sidewalk under my back. I blinked rapidly.

“Wha..?” I said. Ow.

The older-looking man looked concerned, and when I spoke his eyes opened wider. “Oh sorry ma’am. You uh, took a nasty fall.”

I propped myself up on my elbows. Just as quickly as it arrived, my headache vanished, retreating so suddenly I wasn’t sure whether I had imagined it. Without the pressure on my thoughts I put together what had happened, and shook my head.

“Sorry,” I said, sitting up. I noticed the sun wasn’t directly shining. When had some clouds rolled in? The forecast had said clear skies all week. “Must’ve tripped.”

The man sat back. “Are you feeling alright? You looked like you were out cold.”

Huh. I rubbed the back of my head. It was a little sore from lying on the ground, but there wasn’t any blood or injury. Still, concussions didn’t always have external indicators. Usually, though, the pain wouldn’t be that brief. And other than a slight amount of disorientation, I didn’t feel off in the way concussions were supposed to make you feel.

“I think so,” I said. “Thanks. I’ll be more careful.”

His eyebrows unknit slightly. “Can you stand?”

I stood.

“Apparently,” I said with a wry smile.

“What’s your name?”

I held out my hand. “Grace.”

He shook it, still running an appraising eye up and down. “Mack. Who’s the president?”

I laughed. “Mack, I have a degree in cognitive science, I know how to identify a concussion. In fact, I’m heading to a lab for a job now, so I promise if I have any issues I’ll be in good hands. Thank you though.”

That seemed to satisfy him, and he gave me a smile. “Well, good I suppose. Take it easy, Grace.” He walked away.

I shook my head. What had happened? I’d never had a fall like that. And the intensity of it made the complete lack of injury even more confusing.

Wait, my bag. I picked it up. I had an interview to get to. The street was a lot less crowded than it had been before my fall, thankfully, so I could run the rest of the block to the sleek building near the corner. I was on crunch time, so I nearly sprinted through the lobby, not even bothering to look at the office registry, and up to the second floor. I had been into the office only a week ago to hand in my preliminary information, so I knew exactly where it was. I got to the frosted glass door that led to the company’s lobby, but I paused. What was wrong? Something was off. Wait. I looked at the words printed on the door. Dr. Monroe’s Family Rhinoplasty.

What.

This was the right room, I was sure of it. I looked up and down the hall. No, I was in the right place. Shaking my head, I pushed through the door.

I was not in the right place. The room, despite being the same overall architecture as it had been the previous week, was filled with faux-velvet waiting chairs and plastic potted plants.

Confused as all hell, I stepped up to the front desk. The receptionist was a younger woman with aggressively straight blond hair and inch-long false nails. She looked up at me with a smile. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m looking for ‘Central City Cognitive Therapy’? I could have sworn it was right here, am I on the wrong floor?”

She tilted her head. “Well, I’m not sure where that is necessarily, let me check the directory.” She clicked away on the computer for a second. Another second. She looked up with a less pleasant smile. “I’m sorry, it appears there isn’t a ‘Central City Cognitive Therapy’ in this building.”

I blinked.

“This building is 232 Gate Street, right?” I asked, incredulity leaking into my tone.

She nodded. “I don’t know what to tell you, I’m sorry but it’s just not here.”

“Uh,” I said. I stepped back. I had just been here, I knew it. “Alright, thank you,” I said, my voice uneven. “Sorry about the confusion.”

“I hope you find the right place,” she said as I stepped out of the waiting room and back into the sparse office hallway. I pulled out my phone to check my email. Maybe they’d moved and sent me the new location?

Network Not Found.

“What.”

My phone was working, the clock showed the right time. But I couldn’t open my email app. It was like… it was like my account didn’t exist at all. I went to my contacts and pulled up the office’s number, but my phone refused to call it.

Network Not Found.

Had my data plan run out? I should have noticed if it did, what on Earth? And that didn’t explain the email, or the office.

In a daze I stumbled back out onto the street. I looked up at the building. 232 Gate Street. It said it right there. I spun around, looking out across the street. Something was off. Something both small and major, I felt it. What was wrong? It was like the cars parked on the side of the street were in the wrong places. That didn’t make sense, did it? Maybe I did have a concussion.

Wait. A horrible doubt wormed its way into the back of my consciousness. No. No.

I sprinted down the sidewalk, back to Bloo-Mart. Shitty-ass Bloo-Mart, with the lines of dust caking the ground around the door and the uneven linoleum tiling. How places like this stayed in business I had no idea. Ignoring the front register, scrambling around with tunnel vision, I found the magazine rack. There, the local paper. I snatched it off the rack and, by the sunlight filtered through the greasy windows, I read the date.

June 9th, 2016. Six years in the past. Down to the day.

No. No. No. That’s stupid, that’s impossible. No. No. No no no no no no.

I took a step back. Wait.

My breath catching in my throat, I turned around on lead feet to look at the register.

Standing behind it was a ghost.