Shifted [z.m au]

XIV. Unreliable.

◾ un·re·li·a·ble

noun:
/ ˌənrəˈlīəb(ə)l /

not able to be relied upon.

-

The bus to Bradford didn't leave until two in the afternoon. Then the driver had to stop to a fix a flat tire a few miles north.

As we bumped over the narrow highway that led through the small farm towns, I began to feel more and more nervous.

What shall I say to Zayn's grandma? I wondered. Of course, I'll have to pretend to be Zayn. She wouldn't understand about our shifted bodies. And she's so frail, I don't want to give her a shock.

So I'll pretend to be Zayn. And I'll ask if Rena is visiting. And then what? I asked myself.

What will Zayn do when he sees I've caught up to her? Will he run again? Will he try to kill me, too?

My boyfriend...

Staring out at the endless green fields, I kept thinking how Zayn was my boyfriend. Boyfriend.

I repeated the words in my mind until they had no meaning.

Zayn's grandma farm stood a little less than a quarter mile from the Bradford bus stop. I watched the bus rumble away and began to walk along the soft, grassy shoulder of the narrow highway.

Wildflowers bloomed in the field to my left. The tall grasses swayed in a soft breeze. A column of silvery gnats rose up in front of me. The gnats—thousands of them—circled wildly, silently, like a soft, silver cyclone.

I stepped onto the road to walk around them. A few seconds later Zayn's grandma' barn came into view. It had been painted white at one time. I remembered it sparkling in the sunlight as Zayn and I ran inside to explore and climb the hay bales. But now the paint was cracked and peeling, the dark boards showing through.

Behind the barn stood the old farmhouse. A two story while structure, the house had seemed enormous when Zayn and I were still in preschool. But now it looked like a small, old fashioned house with its open back porch and shuttered windows.

"Zayn, are you in there?" I murmured as I eased myself over the rail fence and started across the tall grass of the backyard to the house.

"Zayn, I'm coming. I know I'm going to find you now."

I stepped up onto the back porch, the old boards creaking under my sneakers. I made my way to the kitchen. And knocked loudly on the door.

"Oh, goodness! Hello!" Zayn's grandma let out a squeal of surprise. A smile wrinkled her round face. She pushed open the screen door for me.

"How are you?" I cried, wrapping her in a hug. Her tiny body felt frail, almost brittle. I loosened my hug and stepped back to look her.

Her gray-brown eyes were as bright as ever. But the rest of her face had faded. She was tinier and more birdlike than I recalled. She reminded me of the flamingos whose pink color had faded to powder white.

"It's so good to see you." she said, grinning at me. "I—I'm just so shocked." she placed a hand over the chest of her pale blue housedress.

She led the way toward the kitchen table against the wall. She walked slowly, a small step at a time. I guessed that her arthritis was bothering her.

The house smelled of roast chicken. I saw a large soup pot steaming on the stove. I suddenly remembered I hadn't eaten since breakfast.

I turned to see Zayn's grandma leaning both hands on a chairback, staring hard at me. She scratched her curly hair. "Now, let me see... When were you here last? Two summers ago? Yes. I believe it was."