I am sitting on the edge of my bed. My phone lies hot at my side, screen black. I just ended a call in which I fear I may have broken the heart of someone very dear to me.

The time is one thirty-seven AM.

As though entranced, senses dulled from lack of sleep, I stumble out of my room. The house is dark, silent. I am the only one awake, save my dogs. They wait patiently for me in the lamp-glow that streams from my open door. I need to let them outside.

One wags her tail. The other has none, but I think even if he did he would not be so kind to me. In my bid for self preservation I have sunk the ship on which I once was co-captain, leaving the remaining crew of one to drown. He must know. He does not blink.

I whistle under my breath and pat my leg; come with me. They beat me to the backdoor.

My breath in the night isn't yet visible– the weather hasn't dropped quite low enough for that. Still, I shiver.

The stars are not forgiving as they stare down upon me. Under their incessant eyes I stand, cold, and in this moment I feel truly miniscule. One winks at me and drops from her perch. I watch her go and whisper words so softly I cannot hear them.

In my pitiful state, it takes me a moment to notice that, strangely enough, I seem to be falling upwards. Through tears, I grow smaller and larger than I have ever been in my life. Macro and micro meet, and that incomprehensible middle ground happens to be me.

Now I'm beginning to hear true quiet. It's an odd phenomenon, the way in which the world seems silent until there is really no noise. Crickets, cicadas, the droning buzz of the nearby highway. My neighbor's rattling air conditioner. All have ceased their murmuring. It is only me here.

And then it isn't.

As though drawn through a large metal straw, I find myself dragged into a tight tunnel. It's barely a heartbeat of this discomfort and then I'm no longer falling. I'm standing, and it's so bright I have to shield my eyes for a moment.

When I draw my hand down tentatively, I am met with a overwhelming sense of deja vu. This is deja vu as I have never experienced, though. It's as if I am the event that brought the emotion to life, an inciting incident beyond my own small frame of comprehension. I am in a room. The atmosphere here is warm, homey. There is a cat laid on an overstuffed pillow in a window nook. Its tail twines lazily over a draping pile of blankets. It is not startled my my sudden appearance.

I live here, I know, but at the same time I know that I don't. At least, not now.

“Oh, it's you. A little earlier than I expected, but that's okay. Want some sparkling water?”

I am hearing myself, but older. She sits at a table decorated with a vase of flowers and stacks of books that have seen better days. Like the books, she is worn with what looks like time and a surplus of love. Our hair is the same color, but hers has the smallest streaks of silver creeping in at the temples. Mine is longer. I notice the plain silver band on her finger. I have questions I do not ask yet.

“Yes, please,” I say, taking the seat opposite hers. She smiles and nods, reaching for one of the thin bottles at her left. She– or I, I suppose –cracks it and slides it to me. I sip. It's my favorite brand.

“Made a wish on a shooting star, did you?”

“And if I did?”

“Well,” she tells me, smiling gently. “You're sitting at my dining table, so I would think so. You wanted to see how it ends, yes?”

I take another long, burning sip of water. The bubbles sting my throat, pleasantly searing. My voice is quiet as I pointedly ignore her question.

“What's his name?” I ask, gesturing at the cat. She looks at me.

“You already know.”

“I do, don't I?” I say. It's true. To be sure, though, I drum my fingers on the seat of my chair. The cat perks up and pads to me, ears forward. I check his collar.

Printer.

“You picked it out, back then,” she tells me, still smiling. “Who am I to crush a childhood dream?”

I begin to laugh. “You named your cat Printer? God, it's even stupider now! Tell me you didn't–”

She interrupts me, grinning widely. “Oh, yes. His full name is HB Inkjet Printer Deluxe. I just couldn't fit it on his tags.”

The absurdity of the entire situation is already beyond belief, but this pushes me over the edge. There is a stretch of a solid few minutes in which I can't speak through my hysterical giggling. She joins in, and we laugh and laugh. I almost forget why I am here.

Then a light voice calls from the other room. Printer darts out from under my hand and is gone. I can hear the rattle of kibble being poured into a bowl, the sound familiar. My smile fades. My counterpart looks me in the eye. She nods.

“It's her.”

“How?” I ask, voice breaking slightly at the end of the word. I would be embarrassed, were I not so desperate to hear the answer.

“It's not for me to tell you. All I can say is that It will be fine. You will be fine. She will be fine. It isn't broken yet,” older me says, listing her head in the direction of the door. I hear her voice again– she also sounds aged, years passed from where I am now to this dream-place in the fold of a page. Invisible but still there. I groan and drop my head to my hands.

“But I hurt her.”

“And? She hurt you too,” she tells me insistently. “Neither of you did it intentionally
You're both young. You're going to do dumb things, and it's going to hurt. Just be patient, okay?”

She gestures around the room.

“This is for you, when you're ready. I think you can find the way back yourself.”

With this she leaves the room. I can hear them murmuring together from behind the wall. I wonder what it was like for me, to wake up next to that beautiful girl (woman here, I remember) every day. To feel quiet breathing next to her and to know that they belonged to each other. To be so loved despite such hatred thrown in their way by someone who should have instead been a pillar of support.

I wonder this. I wonder, and I understand she is right.

I must find my way back here on my own.

Instinctively I tip back in the chair. Just before I slam back onto the gleaming hardwood, I am sucked through that tube again.

A lamppost buzzes behind my house. My dogs are standing by my side. I am in my backyard.

The time is one thirty-eight AM.

I go inside and go to sleep.