Stranded in Parallel [Chapter 13]

“Heading off to work!”

I heard those words somewhere amidst my restless sleep. I was just awake enough to hear the door close with a hasty slam down on the ground floor shortly after. When Mom left like that, it was because she was running late.

Part of me wanted more sleep, but the awake part of me desperately needed the bathroom. My legs were heavy as I pulled myself out from under the covers.

Even though it was just a few feet from the door of my room, the walk to the bathroom felt like I was moving through water. I barely kept myself from collapsing as I sat down to relieve myself. The back of my throat ached, and my pajamas were soaked in sweat. While returning to my feet, I felt every ounce of air in my lungs being used.

As I washed my hands, hung over the edge of the sink like a used rag, I couldn’t help but look up at my reflection. My eyes were red and puffy. I recalled the words that I had exchanged with the notebook the night before. I angrily pushed water up into my face and bangs to clear my mind. The sticky feeling of my face reminded me that it had been at least two days since I had showered, maybe more. With one last push of energy, I yanked the clothes off my shoulders, dumping them on the bathroom floor and fumbling for the shower handle behind the crinkled plastic curtain.

The water was just barely warm enough when I finished stripping down and stepping in. I hung onto the molded plastic shelf as the water attempted to stave off the chills running down my body. When standing became too arduous, I descended to my knees, then eventually found myself sitting on the rough pattern of the tub floor.

I don’t know how long I held that position, barely conscious, but when I came back to life, the water had gone cold, sticking my hair all down my goosebump-covered body. After turning the water off and getting my joints to work again, I dragged myself to my bed, wrapped only in a towel. It was all I could do to drag the wrinkled comforter back over myself, sloughing the damp hair off my face.

As my shivers subsided, I could only think about how alone I was. Calling Mom at work would only cause her more stress. There had been a handful of times when Dad had taken care of me when she was at work on a weekend. I faintly wondered where he was or what he was doing at that moment, if his freedom was treating him well.

My hand made its way into a ball as I remembered what Ohanzee had written the night before. That my condition was his fault. That it was despicable that he had left. The very thought of those words made me want to rip up the notebook and cease all communication with my otherworldly stranger.

I forced myself up, towel hanging down on my body. Perched on the edge of my bed, I glanced about the floor for where I had thrown it the night before. I found it leaning against the base of my dresser. After straining to pick it up, I slumped back on the comforter, allowing it to sit in front of me, awaiting its fate.

The wrinkled tips of my fingers pushed through the pages, bringing me back to Ohanzee’s fresh words. His dark cursive letters dug into the pages like dark crevices, leading me into his world. My blocky, penciled-in letters looked out of place. I gritted my teeth as I reached the last of the pages we had used. Of course, I hadn’t responded to his accusations. The words laced with hatred and criticism, written in frantic strokes.

I dared just enough to glance over the words that he had thrown my way, but a sudden shift in the lettering caught my eye. On the page there were words that I had yet to read.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry……

You probably won’t read this immediately. I understand. If… our connection ceases before you dare to allow me back into your world, then know that I am sorry.

There is also much history with the pale… white skinned people in my world. The coastal peoples of this land have had contact with them for over a hundred years. Perhaps more. But we have resisted much of their intrusion here. Alas, they still make themselves apparent from time to time.

I grew up on the shores of the great freshwater seas to the east. The white skinned people come down the waters on their boats to explore and trade with us. They only have a vague sense of respect for our lands and people, and they seem to have no concept of Elohi in the ways we experience it. Their own technologies are strange and unnatural, and yet terribly effective. Vehicles, weapons, tools. But that is not their worst aspect. It is the energies they carry with them within their bodies.

When I was a child, one of their parties came to our land. Many people in my community fell sick soon after. Many collapsed, their bodies losing the energy to move or breathe. Many died. My parents included. The white skinned visitors felt no remorse and offered no aid, leaving before the worst of it. Those of us who survived it… never returned to full health. The sickness took from me my ease of breathing and the strength of my body.

I came to this academy to study the healing aspects of Elohi. To prevent others from suffering the same sickness. Perhaps to heal myself in the process. I do not know. If… you find yourself able to accept my words again, then perhaps… I can share with you more that I know. Perhaps even knowledge concerning powers of healing.

Tears filled my eyes as I read the response over and over. With the remainder of my strength, I dug around in my rumpled covers for my dull pencil. The lead danced around the paper as I forced out a response.

“I’m here.

Help me.

I will do anything.”

Stranded in Parallel [Chapter 12]

I didn’t talk to Mom at all during the rest of the procedure. I vigilantly made sure not to doze off again, keeping the notebook at my side away from her view. I kept mostly silent when the treatment was over and we made our way back out to the car. I hardly made eye contact across the table at the restaurant as we ate an early lunch out. Despite feeling wary about it, I left the notebook in the car when we had gone inside, just so Mom wouldn’t feel the need to talk or ask about it. I hid it away under my thigh again as soon as we got back in the car.

“I’m going to take a nap,” I muttered as we walked through the front door.

“Good idea,” Mom sighed, setting aside her coat and shoes. “I won’t make too much noise. Maybe I’ll even take one myself.”

Without responding, I hurried up the stairs with the notebook pushed against my chest, worrying about its sudden curvature from having sat under my leg for so long. The door latch had barely clicked before I was splayed out on the bed, the lined pages open in front of me. I only paused to lean down and grab my pencil off the floor in case any sudden thoughts came to me.

My fingers traced the words where Ohanzee had said he worried about me. Or rather, worried about things. He also remembered the sarcastic statements about me and my misfortune. The dulled end of the pencil in my grip danced about the edges of the paper as I decided how to describe myself.

“My misfortune? I should just say how crap my life has been. Do you use that word? Should I start with my illness? Or my father disappearing? Since you’re in your academy, do you get to hear from your family? Do you have family?”

I looked at the pages expectantly after responding, even though I knew a response was far off. After reading back again through the last few exchanges, I noticed my pillow not far off, calling my name.

When I awoke, it was already getting dark outside. The bandages on my elbow, leftover from the procedure, held tight, digging into my arm and reminding me of the day’s ordeal. On top of that, my head hurt, my chest felt heavy, and my stomach tightened around the undigested food from lunch. I forced myself out from under the tangle of covers and outside my stuffy room.

Downstairs, I could hear the clanking of dishes and running water. Mom looked up from the sink as I stepped into the front room. “Good morning.”

I glanced at the dim front windows, then the clock on the oven. It was past our normal dinner time. “’Morning…” I grumbled.

Mom turned off the water and put aside a freshly-washed handful of silverware. “I already ate. I was going to wake you up, but it looked like you needed the sleep. Help yourself.”

“Yeah,” I said under my breath, looking at my feet.

I trudged to the fridge to judge the offering, then went to get a plate and serve myself. The vaguely square slice of casserole went into the microwave, the glass plate spinning like my own path around the kitchen. My stomach was still complaining, but if I didn’t eat, Mom was going to ask questions. I retrieved the food and sat down at the table as Mom finished up the dishes.

“Do you need to use the bathroom? I’m going to take a shower,” she said, standing at the base of the stairs.

“No,” I said, staring at the plate of food.

“Okay. Back to work tomorrow morning,” she grumbled before pausing once more. “Feel free to have more of that tomorrow for lunch. There’s plenty.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, barely wanting to eat it fresh. I forced down a few bites, listening to my mom stepping up the creaky stairs. Once I heard the shower on, I dumped the rest of the food into the trash, jostling the contents of the bin a bit to hide the evidence.

When I heard Mom’s door close upstairs, I snuck back into my own room, ready to grab up the notebook.

Is that why you wished you could come to my world? To escape that life? I don’t want to assume what you are going to say, but this world isn’t perfect either.

I have a family, a tribe. I am also no stranger to sickness. My birth parents died long ago from a sickness. But my tribe took care of me after. I came to this academy so I would not end up a burden to them. And to gain useful knowledge, so I can help them in exchange one day. Help people in general.

Before I could fish for my pencil, I heard footsteps outside in the hall. “Back in bed?”

I hid the notebook at my side and watched the doorknob for any movement. “Just reading!” I called back.

“Okay, then. I’m turning in soon. Don’t stay up too late.”

I sighed and nodded. “Okay,” I grumbled back, guarding the view of the notebook with my knees. After a few moments, I allowed myself to reposition, with my back against the wall and the pages open across my legs.

“I’m sorry about your parents. If nothing else, you’ve helped me. I asked my mom what the word Dakota meant. She said it was a friend or ally. You’re my Dakota, I guess. Sorry if that sounds corny. I don’t know much about our people’s practices.”

I began to slide back down the wall to rest my head and patiently await the response, but the dark scratches on the paper began to appear almost immediately.

Why not?

My eyes shot open as I examined the words. I expected more to come, but it was clear that the question was the only thought on his mind.

“I guess… we don’t practice anything special. Not even the people on the reservation.”

Reservation?

I ended up on the next page to continue the line of questioning. “Where… the land that was given to us to live on. I guess it’s like a way of making up for things. I figured the academy… your academy… was something like that?”

Given by who?

I knew the answer to the question, but writing it out felt strange, like some sort of blaming, pointing finger. “The government. White people.”

The people from across the sea. How far have they come into your land?

“It is… they entered this land long ago. They made colonies, and then went from there. It is a nation of its own, built on the lands of many tribes. The tribes are still around, but there aren’t as many of them… us. But it all goes from sea to sea. It’s… this is tons of history I’m describing badly. I couldn’t tell you with the remainder of the pages of this notebook. Especially not with how much school I’ve missed.”

They know nothing but conflict and destruction and theft. I’m sorry that your world fell to them.

My hand shook as I scribbled out the words. “That was the past. This is now. They’re different. Not perfect. But… they… see us. As people. My own father was of their kind.” I bit my lip as the tears came to my eyes.

You said he disappeared from your life. That is despicable. And your illness… that is the white blood in your veins.

Before any further words could come across the page, I flipped the notebook whole across the bed and onto the floor. I found my face in the pillow, shoving it deep enough that Mom wouldn’t hear my sobbing from down the hall.

Stranded in Parallel [Chapter 11]

I discovered something I hadn’t realized before. As Ohanzee’s words appeared on the page, I could feel a warmth through the paper. I described the feeling to him in turn, and he said he, too, had sensed the same feeling. He directed me to place my palm firmly upon the paper and that he would do the same.

My fingertips slid across the harsh lifelessness of the paper. At first, I felt a dejection that my imagination had been toying with me. Then the sensations turned suddenly to warmth, softer and fuller than could be imagined. Presenting the open pages on the bed before me, I was able to rest my hand fully against the pressure that was shifting carefully to match my own. Every inch of my palm soaked in the sensation. Without a word having to be exchanged, our fingers began to intertwine, beginning to cross into each other’s worlds.

I held tightly against that new, warm sensation, begging in my heart for it not to end. I felt my eyes start to well up with tears. I watched them fall onto the page amongst our exchanges as I grasped at my arm with my free hand. I shuddered and almost spoke, wanting to say something but being too afraid to do so.

I woke up with those tears running down my face and into my pillow, my hand grasped tight in a ball under my pillow. Shoving my face deeper into my bedding, I cried and cried until the sensations from the dream had subsided.

I must have slept like I hadn’t done so in a week. I mean, all the times waking up early in anticipation of checking the notebook had taken their toll on me. When my breathing felt like it was somewhat back to normal, I pushed myself up to my knees and made sure Mom hadn’t heard me crying.

It was still dim outside. It seemed like it was still early, but the pitter-patter against the window betrayed rain and the clouds producing it. I tiptoed out of my room and downstairs to seek out the clock on the oven. It read 11:12— almost noon. Mom was long gone. Actually, she was closer to coming home than anything. I dashed back up to my room in order to make up lost time.

The notebook was still in its usual hiding place. I rushed through the pages, the sensations from the dream still lingering. A sole message was written in response to what I had jotted down out of desperation the night before.

From what I understand, crossing from world to world would be… unlikely.

My eyes welled up with tears, but I wiped them away before they could fall upon the paper. For fear of Mom coming home early and finding me like this, I folded the notebook closed and hid it away again.

I somehow went the whole rest of the day without even thinking of the notebook. No, that’s a lie. I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound foolish. Ohanzee’s words crossed my mind multiple times. Something about how the sentence was written felt like it was teasing my ignorance, fed up with my naive otherworldly understanding.

I was almost glad when Mom came stomping through the door, damp from the continued rain and ready to ask me about my day. Of course, nothing had become of it, but as a person, I was obligated to respond.

“It was fine.”

Even while washing dishes, folding up empty moving boxes, eating dinner, watching a movie with Mom, then washing up, my mind kept going back to formulating a proper response.

When it was adequately late and I had spent an adequate amount of time present in this world, I excused myself to my room for the night. I double-checked that Mom was still downstairs before closing the door behind me and pulling out the notebook from under my nightstand.

My heart was thumping as I landed on the page with our most recent exchanges. My eyes darted across the last familiar message and on to a brand new sentence.

Are you still with me? Your world and all?

My heart jumped, and the nervous knots in my stomach instantly dissolved. My lack of a response might have been seen as the connection between our worlds falling apart. If nothing else, Ohanzee had been awaiting a response.

“I’m here—my world and all. I was just… busy,” I responded after digging up the dull pencil.

In my rush to write back, I didn’t hear Mom’s feet plodding up the stairs. She came knocking on my door. I managed to push the notebook and pencil up under my pillow before she cracked the door open.

“Remember to get to sleep at a decent time tonight, Nat,” she said, leaning in a little way past the door. “We have an appointment tomorrow morning.”

Those words bit at my nerves. “Got it,” I hummed, rolling over onto my back as if I had nothing to hide. I only glanced up as Mom slipped back out. Knowing her, she would come back to bug me if my light was still on for much longer. It wasn’t worth the risk.

---

As much as my body didn’t agree with it, I was up early as planned the next morning. For once, Mom was dressed as heavily as I was, despite it still being summer. We had both figured out that long sleeves were a must deep in the air-conditioned confines of the clinic. Since the excursion out in public the other day, the feeling of being able to hide behind a face mask was starting to feel more and more comfortable.

“You have time to pick out a book if you want,” Mom suggested as I made it downstairs right before our departure. She waved a book of her own at me. I blinked a few times at her before shrugging and dragging myself back up the stairs.

By then, the shelf in my bedroom had been reassembled like it had been in my old room back in our original house. I scanned the selection of books, but the thought of forcing myself to focus on any one thing for multiple hours already made me tired.

“Don’t take too long with it, Nat!” Mom called from down below. “We don’t want to be late!”

I nearly sighed and turned around when the sight of the notebook poking out from under the corner of my pillow caught my eye. I don’t know what came over me then, but I hurriedly tucked it under my arm and dashed back downstairs.

The rain had let up, but most of the cloud cover hung in the sky like a blanket, stuffily clinging to your body as you suffer from chills.

Apart from the façade of our apartment and the tall, boxy structures of the hospital, I still didn’t recognize any of the surrounding town. I recalled what Ohanzee had said about this location, how it was the center of power, Elohi. He had also said that he lived in an Academy. Something like a school, I imagined. I wondered if it was made out of stone and brick like the hospital, or wood like our apartment. I wondered if it was built up several stories high or if it spread out across the land. I wondered if they had anything like a mall, a restaurant, a… whatever people did for fun. I wondered if they did the same things for fun as we did in this world. Not that I knew about those parts of my own world.

The procedure at the clinic isn’t terrible, but it also isn’t pleasant. Having a needle in your arm isn’t pleasant. Sitting in the same position for multiple hours isn’t pleasant. Being asked multiple times how you are isn’t pleasant. Having to lie each time isn’t pleasant. Having your Mom sit beside you and glare pity your way isn’t pleasant. In one of the few moments where Mom decided to skim her book instead of the lack of emotions on my face, I found myself staring at the endless dripping of the clear liquid falling from its container and into the tube hooked to my arm.

I had smuggled in the notebook without Mom noticing that it wasn’t a regular book. It had slid down from under my arm and into the chair on the side further away from her. I realized I had forgotten to bring something to write with, but then again, being asked about what I was writing was probably a path I didn’t want to go down. All I really needed at that moment was to look upon the words.

With my free arm, I pried the notebook out of the chair and rested it against the slick fake-leather armrest, the pages facing away from Mom’s view. I glanced between her and those pages to see if she cared or not that I was seemingly reading again. I casually flipped through the pages to avoid drawing attention. After scanning the old conversations, I reached the page where I had hastily responded the night before. Fresh words awaited me.

I’m glad to hear.

You went silent on me for so long. I feared it could have been this… connection fading. Disconnecting.

I’ve been busy too. With my normal studies, but also considering this… matter. It’s made me worry. You’ve made me worry. No. No, ignore that.

I couldn’t help but read through our old exchanges in your absence. You said… you had a load of misfortune. Were you making that to taunt me, or is that true? It’s hard to imagine what misfortune could be affecting such a… positive person.

I am worried, after all. My studies have taught me more about this… phenomenon. Our situation. There may be a catalyst that has allowed our worlds to come this close. An element of change. Something in the flow of Elohi. Can you think of anything like that? It could be related to one of us, but it also may not.

I hope you can understand what I’m saying. I’m sorry for writing so much. I’m very tired and headed to sleep soon. But please write me again.

I bit my lip and narrowed my eyes, trying to hide any emotion pushed up to my face by the words. I was glad that the mask was covering my face as my teeth bit into my lip. I turned my eyes sideways to make sure Mom wasn’t looking. I glanced downward, looking over the words again. …misfortune… catalyst…

I decided that closing up the notebook so soon after opening it would seem suspicious. I stared off into the distance as if I were contemplating a word or a sudden plot development, or simply resting my eyes. I locked onto the clear plastic tubing of the IV again, its slow drip remaining constant despite everything else. The sack of magical make-me-feel-good potion gathered in the drip chamber like drops of rain into a tiny horizon. I could almost feel each of them through the pressure of the needle in my arm, slowly stealing the warmth from my body one ounce at a time. With each continued drop from the IV, I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

Before it knew it, I felt something pulling at me. No, it was something pulling away from me. Warmth. The warmth I had felt in my dream the night before. I felt as if I could hear a voice. It was his. The one I felt and heard in the words on the page. And while I could feel them, they were too distant to hear properly.

Just when they felt like they were going to disappear, I felt myself being pulled back. My free hand was in Mom’s grasp, who was shaking me and calling my name.

“Try to stay awake, Nat. They want you awake in case you start to feel sick.”

I shook my head and glanced over at my other arm, still attached to the bag and its tubes. I pulled my hand away from Mom’s grasp and felt for the notebook in my lap. Somehow, its black and white splotchy cover had appeared in Mom’s lap instead. Without thinking, I snatched it up, tucking it into the cushion furthest away from her.

“Don’t touch my things!” I hissed at her. My voice pierced the quiet room, causing the handful of others in the clinic space to glance our way.

“It was about to end up on the floor, Nat,” Mom sighed. “I didn’t take a peek at your diary, don’t worry.”

Stranded in Parallel [Chapter 10]

Despite imagining Ohanzee probably going off and doing his own things, I couldn’t help but flutter around the notebook, glancing at the pages every once in a while. It was almost too late when I finally noticed the clock on the oven ticking off into the afternoon, when it was nearing the time Mom got back. After a final glance, I shut the notebook and dashed upstairs with it to hide it back in my room.

I situated myself before the TV in the back room, like I had been there most of the morning. Mom eventually did come home, dropped off her stuff, and marched back down the hallway. I glanced back at her with a not-too-happy smile that I tried to make as genuine as possible.

“Feeling better, I guess?” She asked, hands on her hips.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Mom nodded. “Still want to go out? Anywhere?”

I looked down at the floor. Then the TV. At myself, still in pajamas. Then back at Mom. I couldn’t tell if she looked tired from work, or if there was some sort of loneliness in her eyes. “Sure,” I muttered.

A smile that I hadn’t seen in a while crossed her face. “Good. I heard of a few good spots downtown. Let me get washed up. You should get changed… if you want to.”

Mom turned and nodded and almost gave me a chance to stand up and do as she said. She paused and turned back one last time. “Oh, and we can’t forget to mask up.”

As I rode in the passenger seat of the car, watching the unfamiliar town cross by, I couldn’t help but think of the similarities that Ohanzee had described. At some point, probably long ago, something happened that drove our worlds down different paths.

A familiar word on a building flashed by my eyes out the window and I couldn’t help but ask about it. “Mom, what’s Dakota mean?”

Mom pulled her eyes away from the road for a moment to offer me a glance. “Huh? Like the states? Well, the name comes from the Tribes that were local to these parts. I think Dakota is a part of the Sioux nation in general. We have some Sioux in our family. Do you remember old man Red Cloud from town, too? I’m pretty sure he was full Sioux.”

I nodded and shrugged a little bit before glancing back out the side window.

Mom reached out and patted at my shoulder. “Sorry, were you asking about what it means, though. Was it something like ally? Friend? Sorry, I should know these things better. Here, Nat. We’re almost at the mall. How about we shop for some clothes?”

My eyes crossed over to the other side of the car. Past the steering wheel was the massive white brick building, with an even bigger parking lot, filled to the brim with cars.

“I don’t need any clothes,” I mumbled.

“You do,” Mom said with a low groan. “You’ve been wearing mostly the same stuff all through middle school.”

I clicked my tongue. “School clothes? Do you think anyone is going to be looking at my clothes when I have a plastic bag strapped to my face?”

Mom had already begun to pull into the parking lot despite my objections. “If you give people a chance, they will give you a chance in return. They’ll get a chance to learn what a wonderful person you are, even if you do have to speak to them from behind a mask.”

“If it’s about my personality, then why even care about what I’m wearing?”

Mom snuffled and pinched my knee. “See, there’s that sassy girl people will be begging to hang out with. Come on, we don’t have to pick anything that doesn’t call out to you.”

I didn’t have a chance to say anything in return as Mom was already hopping out of the car with her keys and purse. I affixed the mask to my face and pulled my hood over my head. If people weren’t going to be privy to my face, they wouldn’t see the rest of me either.

The endless tiled hallways of the mall continued off like the arrows of a compass, leading to the complete opposite ends of the Earth. I stared out from under the rim of my hood at the passing people, many looking to be of school age. I would have felt like one of those Hollywood movie stars avoiding paparazzi if it weren’t for my mom lingering by my side, making comments about the store facades.

“This place has changed a lot,” she commented, looking up and down at the stores. “We came here a long time ago, back when… your dad had a training with his job here. Here, this big store probably has the best selection.”

The floor tiles transitioned from one color and size to another, meaning we were in another realm of discomfort. Mom eventually ended up drifting to one of the employees, who shoved us off in the direction of clothes matching my size and shape and age range.

The only time I let any of the clothes enter my field of view was when Mom brought them up in front of my face. I offered a few grunts and shrugs in response. That means of communication seemed to be of no consequence as she alternated between putting back some articles and laying others across her arm.

“Here are the fitting rooms,” she instructed suddenly at the rear of the department. “Go try some of these on. If they fit come out so I can see them.”

Inside the cramped room, I was faced with myself. At least, the parts of me not hiding under the mask and hood. I tried to ignore the set of angled mirrors as I pulled off my protective layers.

It had been a long time since I had looked at myself in the mirror. Any traces of myself in the bathroom mirror back at home were just afterimages able to be ignored. As I pulled the T-shirt off my head, I locked eyes with someone I didn’t recognize.

Halfway undressed, her ribs showed, her skin was pale, and her arm was decorated with splotches from various needles that had pierced her skin. Her hair was dry and unbrushed. Behind the mask on her face, I could see her tired eyes, even a frown. The person in the mirror was the person I had described perfectly in the notebook to the strange boy, a description devoid of any fake embellishments or sugarcoating.

The image of that helpless person dissolved behind a wave of tears. I hurriedly pulled my shirt back over my head, tucked my hoodie under my arm, and undid the lock, leaving the selection of clothes behind.

“Natalie,” said mom as I shuffled out of the fitting area.

I wiped my eyes on my baggy sleeve and fumbled to fix my hair. “Nothing fits me. Can we just go?”

---

Mom didn’t try to suggest anything else that day. After returning home, Mom retreated to the kitchen. “I’ll get started on dinner.”

I dashed up to my room, still imagining the sad, scrawny girl in the fitting room mirror. For a second time, I imagined ripping out the page where I had described myself, or blacking it out with the thickest marker I had. Pulling out the notebook, I threw it down on my bed and riffled through the pages, trying to find my way back to our last exchanges. Before I could vandalize my own work, my eyes fell upon the very last thing I had written, a little rounded face smiling. I had written in response to Ohanzee nearly missing breakfast because of me.

I found myself in the bathroom, notebook in hand. I dared to look at myself again. With the mask off and the semi-stranger’s words in my mind, my mouth couldn’t help but take on a hint of that shape that I thought I had forgotten. At least only for a moment.

There on the bathroom counter, I wrote a short response in the notebook.

“You might not see this for a while. But that’s okay. I was just thinking how crazy it would be if more than just these words could cross worlds. Like… if a whole person could cross between.”

Stranded In Parallel [Chapter 9]

“I’ll ask my coworkers tomorrow what’s fun to do here,” Mom mentioned that night at dinner.

“You have to work tomorrow?” I said, finally looking up from my plate of food. “Isn’t it your weekend?”

“Right, I forgot to tell you,” Mom nodded, sighing. “I have split days off. I’m off again on Tuesday. Which is when we take you in for another treatment.”

I sighed and nodded. “Ah.”

“I asked my job for that arrangement so we could keep those appointments.”

I nodded again in understanding. My heart fluttered slightly at the idea of having uninterrupted time with the person in the notebook the next day.

“But hey,” Mom continued more hopefully. “I’m in early and out early, so we can maybe do something in the afternoon.”

---

As expected, Mom got ready and said her goodbyes before I had barely fluttered my eyes open. Once I was awake, however, the prospect of returning to the notebook was too exciting to allow me to go back to sleep.

After freshening up, I pulled it out and splayed myself out on my half-made bed. Nothing had been written since my farewell. With barely any room left on the second page of our exchanges, I began on the next fresh set of pages.

“You may not be awake yet, but I am. I wonder if it is the same time in this world as it is in yours. At least I wanted to tell you about myself before you have to explain more of this parallel world stuff to me.

You were right. Natalie is a girl’s name. If my mom realized I was talking to a boy who was also older, I might get in trouble, but since we’re in different worlds, I guess it’s fine. I could even tell you what I look like, so you can imagine who you’re talking to. I have straight, dark hair that goes halfway down my back. I’m pretty skinny. That’s just from not eating a lot cause I don’t always feel good. I have kind of bad teeth. I mean, I brush them, but they are crooked… just a little bit. I never got braces because my Dad said I didn’t need them. I think I didn’t get them because I had other things to worry about.

I live in a two-story house with my mom. Actually, an apartment. We just moved here. Which is where I found this notebook. I guess I already told you this part. If our worlds are parallel, does that mean this building exists in your world too? Like, we could even be in the same place at the same time? Maybe I’m misunderstanding this whole parallel thing. I think I’m just going to wait until you can explain it to me.”

Tapping away at the open pages, I struggled to think up anything else to tell about myself. A sudden growl from my stomach saved me from having to think about any more details to share.

I dared to bring the notebook down with me to the kitchen table. I kept taking glances at the pages while I made something to eat. Ohanzee hadn’t written anything back, so I couldn’t help but read what I had written before. As I ate, the words also ate at me.

In my books, the characters always described themselves as pretty or handsome or strong or delicate (but strong in other ways) or smart or brave. If I were a character in a book, people would have stopped reading out of pity upon reading about such a main character told in such a way. I smushed the notebook flat against the kitchen counter and studied the spine, deciding whether or not to tear the page out. Would the words and the paper still be there for Ohanzee? Would he notice the signs of something being written and erased? Would I even be able to write something bold enough to flatter myself?

Before I could make up my mind, fresh words began to appear below mine.

I didn’t expect to wake up to such exposition. You sound like a lovely person.

I bit my lip. I felt my face get hot. Realizing that I had left the pencil up in my room, I dashed up to retrieve it. I ended up back downstairs with my breath heavier than it should have been. Skipping years of P.E. will do that. I intended to write something in return, but I guess Ohanzee had taken my absence as an excuse to continue writing.

Today is a free day, so I won’t have to leave for classes. But saying that, I anticipate my hallmates will be suspicious if I sit all day seeming to do homework and journaling. I am… not yet ready for this… predicament to reach others.

My writing hand was at the ready as the last of his words appeared on the page. The word ‘predicament’ passed my lips silently several times.

“I’m sorry if my… curiosity is a problem. I can say that I have kept this a secret the best I can. Well, the only person around who might notice something weird is my mom.”

Your curiosity is normal. This situation is not an ordinary occurrence for either of our worlds. You are not responsible for anything that happens to me or as a result of this crossing of lines.

I sighed and toyed with the pencil between my fingers. My eyes crossed Ohanzee’s words over and over. “Are you thinking you want this… predicament… to reach someone else? You seem to understand it, unlike me. Is there someone in your world that you would take care of this sort of thing?”

I don’t know, he wrote slowly. And there is no threat to you if someone here discovers me and these exchanges. Regardless, the very least I can do is sate your curiosity. And I’d like to compare notes with you. Figuratively. To confirm a few details.

“Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

Keep your eyes on the page to the right.

In the blink of an eye, the following page began to take on lightly scribed lines traveling up and down the edges of the paper. The seemingly patternless scribble faded into nothing at the top and bottom. As the drawing continued, however, I began to see the familiar shapes that I had seen in countless textbooks and posters in my school’s classrooms.

I placed my pencil on the paper just below the trailing scribbles of the crude map. “That’s North America. Most of it. The continent. Our… land. Where I live.”

I am glad I was able to make it legible for you. I drew it out from memory. The land is without doubt a constant in our… in likely all parallel worlds. Now, if you could, please mark a point in the vicinity of your location.

I grasped the pencil hard and studied the map the best I could. Without borders or any proper landmarks, it was hard to tell where North Dakota was located, but I knew for sure it was somewhere in the middle. In my hesitation, Ohanzee jotted down another comment.

To the best of your ability.

I pressed my pencil down into the paper somewhere in the center of the drawing, carefully scraping the lead around to make a decent, legible mark.

I thought so, He responded without hesitation. Rather, I knew so. We are in the same place at the same time, just in different worlds. You mentioned the word Dakota in one of your writings before. There are people not far from here who use that word to identify themselves. That is something consistent with our two words, perhaps with some variation. Now, do you notice anything about this location? Geographically? I will save you having to write out several guesses. Our location is at the center of this mass of land. And land has power. It may have been this power that brought us together.

I smiled at the thought of Ohanzee being possibly somewhere within reach, even if that was somewhere unreachable except by words. I began to write out something to fill the void of writing.

“Is that power your magic that you mentioned before? Your non-magic?”

People around the world seem to call it by various names. We call it Elohi here. It is an understanding of the power of earth and the planet and nature and all living things. The way the sun and moon appear on a cycle, how the waters of the sea rise and fall, the way things live and grow and die and return to the earth. Countless things.

You asked if I lived in an… apartment, if there was such a thing in my world. I’m afraid that is something unique to your world. I live in a great academy here, built long ago upon this place of power for the study of Elohi. It exists as the center of our nation.

It is by some force within Elohi that has caused this crossing of worlds. Yours and mine. And this is not the first time such crossings, intersections have occurred, it seems. There are studies of this phenomenon. That means signs, evidence of it has been explored before. Worlds crossing. Affecting each other. Imagine… a branch falling from a tree unexpectedly. Coincidence, or the result of a storm in another connected world? Indeterminable. But us? There is a strong connection present between us, these pages, and the ink upon them at the epicenter.

Which is why I am afraid to expose this… situation to others, especially the elders. As a student, it should seem obvious to turn this over to someone more knowledgeable, to study it and deconstruct it. But that may mean that I lose you. That we lose each other.

As quickly as those last couple of sentences were written down, they were scribbled and crossed out with rough, dark lines.

I’m sorry, I feel like I could be overwhelming you. I don’t know if I’ve answered a single one of your questions.

I glanced over the remains of the crossed-out words. I fiddled with the tip of my pencil before writing out a response. “I think I get it. Elohi and stuff. Even if it may be strange compared to the stuff in my world. I am glad at least that it could let us come together.”

For this little bit of time, at least, He responded with hasty, slightly sloppy writing. I mean, it is almost the end of mealtime here. If I don’t head down now, I may miss it and go hungry. Forgive me.

I smirked and glanced across the counter at my plate from breakfast, still decorated with crumbs. Don’t let me stop you, I jotted down, following it with a simple smiling face. For a few moments longer, I stared at the remainder of the blank space on the page, just in case Ohanzee wrote more.