Cloud Chasers

sixteen | in search of lost time [pt. one]

As he walked back home, that night, Chase felt the need to put on his headphones. His mind was remembering more than it needed.

He needed the way home. He didn't need to know he was in a band with his long-time friends and had mild success in this reality. Just the way back home, nothing else.

He still lived in the suburbs. Even in the darkness, he could tell this house was in better condition than the one from his world. Strangely enough, the key of his real world's house opened this door.

Inside, it was nothing like the mess his real house was. New furniture, clean floor, tidy spaces. His room, too, was larger and more decorated. He recognized posters of The Beatles, and some other bands he'd never seen before. But, as soon as he stared at the posters for more than one second, memories of those bands and their music invaded his mind. Music he'd never heard before but now felt like singing along to.

He looked away, telling himself he didn't need to know these things. He wasn't long for this world. He was going back to the real one, soon.

The next morning, he woke up with the anxiety of having missed something or being too late. But when he checked his phone and saw that it was nine in the morning, he calmed down and stretched.
A hint of sunlight beamed through the window, shedding itself on the saddle brown walls along with the wavering shadows of the ceiling fan. The smell of coffee laced the cool air.

Chase frowned. Was there someone else in his house? His mind projected the image of his mom. Now, was this a fake memory or a regular one? Of course he would expect his mom to be there, but his mom... well, she was dead.

As he got up, he texted Joyce, How's otherworldly life treating you, Blackbird?

He went downstairs and ambled toward the kitchen, where he could hear footsteps and rummaging over his drumming heartbeat. With the image of his mom omnipresent, he reached the kitchen and saw her standing there.

He blinked to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. His mom jumped and dropped a cup into the sink. "Chase?" she said with a feeble voice.

"Mom?" he said, his wide eyes scrutinizing her. She was wearing a white shirt and black pants, her blond, not gray, hair reaching her shoulders.

She ran toward him and thudded against his chest. He locked his arms around her, his eyes prickling with tears.

"I thought you were dead," they both said at the same time, once they let go.

"What?" they once again said in unison.

He stared at her face, so smooth and free of wrinkles or bags under her beaming eyes. Her blond hair that he remembered only from his childhood, now establishing itself as a more recent memory in his mind.

The fake memories brought him up to date. About his dad dying the same way, his mom getting help from his institution, remarrying with a guy Chase initially hated, then learned to love as a family member. About his mom never taking her own life. About her feeling better, being present in his life, loving him.

"Wow," he said, his eyes glazing over.

"What are you, mocking me?" his mom said. "You had that terrible accident, yesterday. They said you were dead. And yet, here you are. Without a scratch."

Chase's mind went back to a time that never was. He'd called an Uber and was on his way to meet his bandmates, when the hover-car stopped in mid-air, about a thousand feet off the ground, and plummeted to the bottom like a bad show's TV ratings.

The driver, after realizing the emergency landing system didn't work, tried to maneuver the hover-car but only made things worse, turning it upside down.