Misc. Bits

Beverly-Jim

Submitted as my entry to the That Strange Morning Contest, hosted by @CoffeeCommunity: https://www.wattpad.com/1173100316-contests-that-strange-morning-closed

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I slowly open my eyes, only to recoil at sunlight pouring in through an open window. My head is already pounding—no doubt  thanks to last night's debauchery.

My whole body protests as I make myself sit up. I need food and water.

But before I can satisfy my basic needs, I realize—to my horror—that I am not in my apartment. I look to the left and see the snow-covered New York skyline from an unfamiliar vantage point. I look to the right and see a chest of drawers and a mirror.

My heart stops. The distressed face looking back from the mirror is not my own. Gone are my short spindly body and glasses. Instead, I see a tall woman with fiery red hair.

I leap out of the unfamiliar bed and immediately regret it. I double over, fighting back a wave of nausea. Hangovers apparently don't care about little problems like inexplicable full-body transplants.

After successfully warding off the urge to vomit, I slowly make my way to the kitchen. I pour myself a tall glass of water and begin nursing it. I force myself to take slow, deliberate breaths. I need to start thinking more clearly.

Where to start? My most pressing task is to make contact with myself—or, more precisely, my original body.

I instinctively pat my right pocket, where I keep my phone. Predictably empty. They are unfamiliar pajama pants after all.

I take another sip of water and head back to the bedroom. I scan the chest of drawers and finally have some luck. A phone is strewn among the clutter. I try my thumb on the fingerprint reader, and I catch another break.

The phone unlocks, and the background is a picture of my host and—thankfully—a familiar face: my friend, John. I finally connect the dots, which unfortunately leaves me with more questions than answers. I'm in the body of Beverly, a woman from the art school John recently started dating. Last night is a little hazy, but I vaguely remember seeing her at the party.

Hands shaky, I pull up Beverly's texts and send a short message to John, careful to avoid letting my terror slip into my words.

Hey, could you give me Jim's phone number? Kind of an emergency - will explain later.

I set the phone down and let out a deep breath. Can't panic now. I just need to find my body and go from there. One step at a time.

As I work to keep myself from the brink, I see my reflection again in the mirror. I really do look like shit. Red frizzy hair shoots in every direction, and a trail of dried yellow bile runs from the corner of my mouth down to my chin. I wipe my face with my sleeve. God, I must have been blitzed.

The phone on the dresser buzzes, and I swipe the notification.

Fuck. Are you Jim too?

My eyes go wide, and my headache throbs.

Yes. You're also Jim??

Three dots briefly appear, and the phone buzzes again.

There's a bunch of us. Like literally everyone at the party thinks they're Jim. We're all meeting at our apartment at noon.

I feel my heart pounding in my chest. This can't be happening, can it?

I look down and notice my knuckles have turned white from my iron grip on the chest of drawers. With great effort, I relax my hands, take another deep breath, and send a short reply.