"it's more than a feeling of deja vu. things are repeating. but this time ... i know how to stop them."
[ sequel to THE MANDELA EFFECT ]
au
ft. jason patric, the corey's, etc
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MONDAY, DECEMBER 8th 1987
the corey's and jason left my house early this morning since they all had somewhere to be.
jason said his parents are in town today for a visit, so they went out for lunch.
feldman and haim had to be on set for license to drive. i can't wrap my head around the fact that they're still filming it. apparently they're almost finished and heather graham replaced me as mercedes, as i requested.
it's been a boring and awkward first full day here in '87 as a permanent resident. aunt maggie finally came home. she's been downstairs and i've been hiding out in my room too anxious to face her.
the phone sitting on my bed side table rings, startling me from my thoughts.
god, i miss caller-id already.
"hello?" i ask, once i place it to my ear.
"kennedy, we got a real problem on our hands." haim's voice comes through on the other end.
"oh god, what now?" i flop onto my back, my mattress cushioning my fall.
"he's an idiot, kennedy!" i'm guessing feldman ripped the phone out of haim's hands, "i told him it didn't look right, but he went ahead with it anyway!"
"give the phone back, corey!"
i hear rustling and distant arguing between the two and then haim is speaking to me again, "you think you come find us at a party? we need advice from a girl, particularly one who's sober."
"am i your sober advice girl?" i ask.
"yes."
i sigh, "where are you guys?"
"the valley, 3022 valley vista boulevard."
"i'll be there in 20."
=
getting out of the house was easier than i anticipated.
i thought for sure aunt maggie wouldn't let me out of her sight, but i actually think she's too mad at me to even look at me.
i've re-read the numbers on the mailbox at least five times praying i'm at the right house.
not that the absurd amount of cars parked out front doesn't give it away, but i like to be sure i'm at the right address to minimize any potential embarrassment.
i step outside of my aunt's muted yellow buick and onto the street. the sun set a few hours ago and the cold air is whipping against my face. i make a run for the front door, ringing the doorbell.
the muffled sound of music is now blasting through my eardrums the second a guy swings open the door.
"you rang the doorbell at a party?" are his first words to me.
