Transplanted Life
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
But what does it mean?
Some people would ascribe my jumpiness at work yesterday to knowing something big was going to happen, but that's bull. Omens are connections we make after the fact in most cases; in others its the willful ignorance that you've been antsy before and nothing important happened. The reality is that I had had a new job shoved to the top of my to-do queue with the actual doing being slowed down by the person who requested it calling every fifteen minutes to see how I was doing. He'd probably be annoyed if he knew that I already wasn't fully concentrating because I was refreshing in another window to see if they had made a trade.

It did get done, in the end, but it took all day and then some, so I had to catch the 6:00 bus out of Waltham instead of the 5:30, and though it seems like an hour should be enough time to get from there to Coolidge Corner, it's not, so I had a cranky Kate waiting for me at the theater when I showed up fifteen minutes late for the seven o'clock show of Rescue Dawn.

"Sorry, Kate, I had--"

"Werner Herzog in the jungle."

"The guy needed it for a presentation--"


"Tomorrow night, I promise. I'll skip the comic shop."

That mollified her a bit. After all, it's not actually important that I get the new comics the day they come out; it's just a habit thing. I'm only half-kidding when I say that everyone should cultivate a few habits like that, since they make great bargaining chips, at least in minor situations like this.

Anyway, she was satisfied, so we went across the street to J.P. Lick's to have some ice cream, where we bumped into Sam and Amy... Who had just seen Rescue Dawn and were raving about it. Amy asked if the Sox had done anything cool, and I mentioned Eric Gagne. That led to a long conversation about whether or not they should have given up Gabbard, whether the minor league outfielder they sent along was more valuable than Wily Mo Pena (whom they hadn't been able to trade), and so on. Not your typical girl talk, I guess, although this is Boston - the Red Sox are are everybody's talk.

The exact details of the conversation aren't that important - Sam said she was sick of seeing "Whiffy Mo" strike out, if you're curious. It was the way Amy answered: "C'mon, Carter, at least strikeouts aren't double plays."

The whole table fell silent, and Amy looked at us like we were nuts. "Well, they aren't. Back me up on this, Marti."

At that moment, I had completely forgotten what the point he'd made seconds before was. Amy looked at me like I'd lost my mind when I said nothing.

Sam was the first one able to talk. "Yeah, right, double plays, whatever. Who cares? You just called me Carter!"

It took a second for this to register with Amy, but then the enormity of it hit her. Sure, she knew that my ex-boyfriend had been switched with Sam at one point, but that was just knowledge. For her to actually use Carter's name... That had to come from experience.

I immediately whipped out my cell phone to try and talk to him (what can I say; I never purge my contact list of potentially useful names), but he wasn't answering him. I promised Amy that I'd pick his brain at the office today - even if we don't work at the same location, the phone systems are connected.

We're all a little excited - there's little more frustrating than having a mystery on your hands and not being able to find any clues whatsoever. Of course, I'd be lying if I said we weren't also a little scared, Amy in particular. She doesn't talk about it much, but ever since she learned that she really had been someone else, she's always been a little nervous about the person she'd been before - what if that someone wasn't a good person?

As much as she hates not having a past, she's not quite sure she likes bits of one breaking through to who she is now.


Labels: , , , ,

Damn! Now that's freaky!

Amy's reality must be so twisted. I feel for her, she must be so lost and confused right now.
Post a Comment

Powered by Blogger

Note: This blog is a work of fantasy; all characters are either ficticious or used ficticiously. The author may be contacted at