The World as We Knew it (chapter 2) a stranger

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CHAPTER 2

A STRANGER

Memory: my parents used to bring home all sorts of animals. cats, dogs, monkeys, snakes, even fish. Being the scientists they are, they would bring home their work. They would run tests on them, see how they react to certain medicines, which reaction most human-like. They studied animals. Once, dad brought home a baby orangutan named Habi. I was around seven at the time, but I can still remember the bright fuzz of his face, the curling of his little fingers. Habi would pick at my hair and hang on to me. I carried the little monkey everywhere with me; to the park; to the woods behind our big house; to the dining table. I fell asleep every single night raking my fingers through his bright orange hair. he’s going to have to go back, just like every other animal we bring here, dad reminded me. he told me this almost once a week, seeing how attached I was getting, hoping this won’t end in heartbreak. I know, I know, I brushed them off. Habi ate off my plate, and I let him. he always sat on my lap. he was my best friend, until, a couple of months later, he had to go back to the lab. I had cried and cried when he left, but my parents didn’t budge. we did warn you, my dad said, not unkindly. And he did warn me. But I hadn’t known how attached I’d grown. You never really do, until it’s taken away.

The next thing I know, I'm waking up to the sound of swings creaking. I'm momentarily confused as to why I'm sleeping on a park bench—Yikes!—but then the events of this morning come back to me. In the car, I look in the mirror. My eyes are puffy, and my lips are chapped and red from the cold. I fish out a throw blanket from the backseat and slip it over my shoulders, shivering. I need to go to a police station, since I left my phone at my parent’s house and can’t call 911. The only problem is I have no idea where a police station is. I mumble a few curse words as I crank the engine.

Apparently, asking for directions isn’t very productive. The lady I ask is sitting on a bench in front of a rundown convenient store, has a straight black wig on, leftover makeup still on her eyes, and is smoking a cigarette. “Don’t know.” She says as she blows out smoke. “Don’t you have a phone?” I start to tell her that, no, I don’t have a phone, but she was already walking away. I walk into the store. The cashier glances at me, the sound of bells announcing my arrival. She looks nice enough that I walk up to her and ask directions to the police station. She gives them to me, makes sure I understand, then sends me on my way. The police station itself is a high-tech-looking building, with organized gardens that have bright yellow flowers blooming as if it was the middle of spring, and not the dead of winter. The parking lot is halfway full, despite the hour of day. I leave the blanket in the car.

I walk carefully on the sidewalk near the beautiful garden, practicing what I'm going to say. My name is Addison Lascoh. I have a—predicament? Problem? Emergency? None of these words seem to suffice. I don’t think any word could suffice. There is no such thing as a strong enough noun for this unbearable crisis. The closest thing I could think of is disaster. A fat man wearing a bright orange vest opens the door for me. I mutter a thank you, while I walk past him and into the building, out of the frigid cold. Inside, I walk purposefully to the glass window across the room, housing a woman in a blue and black uniform. “May I help you?” she says without glancing up from the file she held in her hands. Yes, I answer carefully. I have an emergency— “Steve!” she yells behind her. “In here.” A man in the same uniform but in black comes out of a door beside the tall window. He silently gestures for me to follow him. I trail behind as we walk through a long, dimly lit hallway with checkered flooring and into another room. This room has rows upon rows of desks topped with old fashioned computers and printers, some occupied some not. He takes a seat at one, nodding for me to do the same. I comply. “Tell me about your emergency.” He says as he turns on the computer. “Miss...?” “Addison Lascoh.” I take a deep breath. “I went for a drive last night to relieve the stress of the day, but when I got home, around four in the morning, my parents didn’t remember me. They kept saying I'm not their daughter. Also, there was someone in my bed. I'm an only child.” The sound of clacking keys fills the room as he searches for my name and asks me questions. “And you had no idea who this someone is?” he asks. I shake my head. “Addison Lascoh, you said your name was?” “Addison Lascoh. L-a-s-c-o-h.” I say slowly, my fingers fidgeting nervously. The man stops typing, looks confused, then starts to type again. he glances at me, almost suspiciously. “Who are your parents?” “Remilda and John Lascoh. Animal scientists.” I don’t know why I add that, but I feel like it would clarify who they are better. Because that's who they are. The policeman turns toward me. “Is this a joke?” he asks, his face a mask of careful calm. I turn the question over in my head—is this a joke?—but find myself unable to bring any meaning to the arranged words. Yes. This is a joke. Ha-ha. We all laugh and go home to our perfectly working lives, with our perfectly working minds. But this isn’t some joke, no matter how much better that would be. How much better that would feel. Laughter instead of tears. Normality instead of confusion. “No.” I say, looking him straight in the eye, like a challenge. I almost want to laugh. “Why in the fucking world would this be a joke?” And precisely three minutes later I'm kicked out of the police station, out onto the cold, pristine sidewalks. I whip around, my shocked reflection staring back at me through the spotless double doors. And then rage. I reach over and grab a stone from the flowerbed. “You little—" I grunted, swinging my arm back, ready to throw the smooth stone at the door. A voice interrupted my temper-tantrum. “I don’t think it’s the best idea. You know, vandalizing police property.” I turn to see a young man with brown floppy, disheveled hair, leaning against a dirty silver convertible. He flashed a crooked smile. “But who am I to judge?” he had a slight British accent. He also had a nicely shaped jawline, which shaped into a nicely shaped chin. His whole build was nicely shaped, as if someone took their sweet time crafting him out of stone. his cheeks were a bit red, and his eyes were bright clue. He looked like a painting. I roll my eyes. “What do you want?” I ask. He looked me down, then up then down again. a full body-scan. I almost felt self-conscious. Almost. I turn to leave. “Wait.” His lilting voice made my footsteps falter. “Why were you so mad, just then?” I turned my face to look at him and was surprised by the sincerity I found there. I stopped myself from telling him. “No reason. some mistake.” I bit my thumb nail. The nicely shaped boy smiled again. “Oooooh. They tell you your name doesn't exist, either?” I felt my mouth drop open; I closed it. I involuntarily took a few steps toward him. “h-how—” “Same thing happened to me. My dad doesn't recall having a son and I haven’t even tried with me mum yet. Pretty sure she won’t though. But, hey, its not that big of a loss if she doesn't. Never was around enough for it to make a difference.” I expected him to want a response after all that he told me. but before I could think of something to say, he was off talking again. “Well, one thing we could do is go and get some coffee. I’ve got my dad’s credit card.” He smiled and I realized with a jolt how close I was to this man I don’t even know. I must have walked without realizing it, because I was about two feet in front of this stranger. I stepped back. “Oh, come on.” he said, feigning impatience. Or, at least, I thought he was feigning it. He walked around the car gracefully and opened the passenger door. For a second I thought he was getting in or grabbing something, but he just stood there, staring at me. Then I realize with a shock. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I could have opened it.” and then I was sliding in the passenger seat. He glided in behind the steering wheel, and then it became real. Because no matter how pretty the stranger was, he was still a stranger. I was sitting in a stranger’s car on my way to get coffee at a coffee shop I’ve never been to before. I shrink in my seat.