Somebody Else

by Sara Jae

Somebody Else walked into the gas station bathroom. He followed Somebody Else inside, the heavy metal door slamming behind them. It was Somebody Else who removed the plastic stick from its crumpled paper box and Somebody Else who hovered over the toilet. The streams of golden liquid soaked the top of the plastic, its fabric engorged. He turned around for this part, as requested, even though Somebody Else didn’t particularly care. Time could be the only space between then and now, and now and then, Somebody Else thought as she waited.

Somebody Else never imagined such a scene, not even in the childhood classrooms of chronic daydreams. Kisses and partners, and travel, and chaos could all exist in those corners of the mind, but not this; the cold darkness of the place, and how a small line of light crept into the room via the space between the door and the wall.

Somebody Else ran through scenarios of telling her mother—his mother. Somebody Else was certain his mother did not care for her, but she couldn’t quite grasp why, though she would certainly understand now if certain colors erupted on the plastic window.

His head spun, and he paced the small room, and Somebody Else looked at his body, torn from nerves, the sweat pooling by his temples, as if a crevice had formed above his ears. Somebody Else wondered whose religious mother would be more disturbed.

Somebody Else imagined the call, or the sit-down, in a living room somewhere, maybe his mother’s white living room. Perfect living room. The living room with all the framed photos of the family dressed in white shirts and dark slacks. Would Somebody Else sit there and confess to the sins of the evenings in the back of his mother’s van? Was it for Somebody Else to confess? The way he held her on his lap, the way he stroked the small of her back, and how he pressed into her even after she whispered no in his ear? Maybe he did not hear.

Somebody Else leapt off of him in the tan fabric bench of the back row. Was it five seconds, or ten seconds, or a minute? Time seemed to warp then, so much so that all sensation in the body evaporated like a solitary cloud into the ether. Somebody Else grabbed the clothing from the floor and the front seat, a stray bra like an orange cone in a work zone. He followed suit, seemingly in a daze at first, and then with force, pulled himself into the driver’s seat.

His response was, We shouldn’t be alone like this. It’s dangerous—as if the danger was the aloneness, or the fabric seats, or anything but the person holding the steering wheel.

Somebody Else noticed the lack of volume change in her breasts over the next few weeks, only noticing the constant fatigue and melancholy. He had not broached the topic again, only once to Somebody Else, saying she should purify herself in rainwater if they happened to find themselves naked in the back seat again. Somebody Else wasn’t sure how one found themselves in such a situation, as if a crane would lift and then drop her through the roof of the vehicle.

Somebody Else never wondered how love and hate could coexist, as she felt it in the backseat, having wished for months to be wrapped up in his body, the only piece of him he gave away with ease—but how she detested his thrust into her, his tearing down of fences and barbed wire. How it was not enough to open the heart, or it was too much.

Somebody Else lost track of time; her eyes were now accustomed to the darkness. He looked down at his watch and back up to her. Without a word, they moved toward the sink, where the white plastic test sat teetering on the edge. Whatever it said, there would be consequences. Time was cut. Then and now. Now and then. Somebody Else caught a glimpse of his eye then, something she had avoided until now, worrying it would be too much. It was too easy for them to feel each other in a space, big or small, and avoiding his gaze felt safer. Somebody Else needed to be alone with her thoughts. And then, as she pulled her eyes away from his, she laid them on the plastic test window.

Tears came to somebody else before she could contain them, exploding like a storm breached river. He fell into her and they embraced a deep embrace. She could feel his tears on her shoulder. They carried on like this for a while, some indeterminable amount of time. Love and hate and warmth and desire. She cried from the depths, the way only someone could when it was over. Maybe she had reached his heart at some point, but one cannot mine with little oxygen. She knew then that she would always be Somebody Else.

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