Were I Her

Chapter 5

We are driving in Steven's  car back to Natalie's home. Steven himself is driving, but not without clumsily glancing in the rearview mirror every 5 minutes to check whether or not Natalie in the back seat is yet to snap back to the supposedly wicked version of herself before. The girl has done some serious damage on this man, I'm telling you. I haven't seen his shoulder relax ever and when I caught his eyes as he peeked at me the third time in a row, he twitched in his rocky frame and choked out the goofiest smile I have seen on anyone faces. He even offered some weird gestures with his one free hand as an attempt to wave at me but turning it into a face scratch halfway, probably realizing how silly it is to wave at your step-daughter in a car ride home from the hospital. Sorry as I feel for the poor man, I actually appreciate the unconsciously-delivered comical vibe that is his jitteriness. So I offer him my greatest beam out of gratitude. And obviously all this step-daughter-step-father-interacting doesn't go oblivious to Lauren, who sits to my left in the back seat. She quietly reaches out and affectionately squeezes my left hand, which lies resting next to my side. Her touch startles me for a second but her motherly-warm smile calm me down.

Well, barring any unnecessary back stories that I am absolutely clueless about and Lauren's out-of-character tantrum back then at the hospital, these two folks seem really lovely and nothing like Natalie, who is, objectively speaking, quite contemptuous, manipulative and bossy.

In the silence of the ride, my mind starts juggling with the options at hands. I can either tell the Tylers the truth about my condition and the possibility of their daughter's, or act along as Natalie and live under their roof until I figure out how to get back to my body. The former I doubt will result in any but either of two following scenarios: One, Steven will immediately turn this vehicle around, race back to the hospital and run me an MRI to make sure my brain isn't knocked down and spitted out at the accident scene. Two, they will drive ahead and stop at the door of the first exorcist they can google out in the terror of sitting next to an evil spirit possessing their poor daughter's body. So as a pioneer in optimism, I go for option number two and spend the rest of the ride plotting on how to get away with coming home and acting like I live there when I don't even know where that is. You would think that I would stalk Natalie and know everything about her by heart just because she is Luke's girlfriend. I mean sure, the thought is tempting, I'm not gonna lie. But your buddy Penny rose above that mediocrity long time ago my fellow, right when she figured her cowardice plays as an effective incentive to uphold her dignity and not be a stalker.

Lucky for me, I have a whole trauma incident as a perfect excuse to play dumb, that and the fact that I am playing Natalie. Hah! At least this brain manage my humor.

It's very late into the night when we finally pull into the Tylers' drive way in front of their detached house. I plan to be discreet, which means I let Lauren take the lead and I gingerly follow behind her. While Steven takes the car to the garage, Lauren and I enter through the front door. Inside, their house looks even lovelier than the outside, which says a lot about Lauren. The whole space is now lit with bright yellow lights that allows me to take in the array. I'm sure it takes a lot of dedication and diligence to keep the house so organized and the odor so pleasingly aromatic. The only problem is, I haven't magically guess where Natalie's room is. I need Lauren to show that to me.

Then I soon realize that won't be a problem since Lauren insists that she should help me go up the stairs and get me to my room, making sure that I don't get dizzy half way and fall down the stairs or something. Fine by me. So I let her support me by my side and lead the way to the furthest door on the left of the second level's corridor. When she opens the door to Natalie's room and turns on the light, I don't think it's too different from what I expected.

Her room is probably double the size of mine and exquisite looking. It's lit up with a row of lights embedded to the ceiling. In the center of the area, a king-size, four poster, hard-wooden bed with mauve silky bedsheets situates and spreads out at its feet is a massive white furry carpet. A line of closet's doors runs a whole side of the wall facing the bed, promising colossal piles after piles of clothes. And of course how can I miss her huge standing mirror next to a dressing table with lines after lines of make up tools, cosmetics, skin care products, et cetera. I have to say, I am immensely impressed with her decoration, and though I am itching to go through the room where I will probably stay at for who-knows-how-long, I have to sit on the bed and patiently convince Lauren that I don't need her help in the bathroom.