Day 16: He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw...

He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw himself sitting on the couch drinking a beer. The door swung from momentum, and thunked against the foyer wall. The him on the couch took a swig and placed the beer on a coaster on the coffee table. He sighed and said, "This is something we've been needing to talk about for a while now." The him who opened the door half dropped his grocery bags. He walked in and sat on the vintage arm chair. The him on the couch looked like a child about to confess to stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Rubbing his hands together, he hesitantly began with, "I don't know how to tell you this but you have been in a coma for 5 years. This is all a dream." The him in the arm chair began to pale.

"I jest, I jest." He offered. "This is a dream, but you aren't in a coma. It just the regular kind. Plenty of people have out of body experiences (ish) in their sleep; they see themselves with their greatest desires, or they see themselves in danger. I don't know how normal it is to dream about grocery shopping, but at least I am normal."

The him on the chair relaxed. He opened his mouth to say something like, "Oh man, you had me on that one!" But soon realized he didn't have a mouth.

"Curious right? Why don't you have a mouth? This is your dream. Somewhere in there you have all the answers. Maybe you're just meant to listen through all this. Yep, there've been other times. And you don't seem to remember me, but I definitely remember you; my mute twin. I get to live in this dank house a few times a month, and I get to interact with you. I think this is the first time you have realized you don't have a mouth. The rules state I'm not allowed to tell you anything you don't come to on your own first.  Don't try to move your jaw. Last time you got pissed and tried to rip it open. I don't think it's worth it. You're just along for the ride. Let's talk about your wife. We haven't talked about her yet. Yeah, you don't really remember conversations from before."

The him on the chair glanced down at his hand and saw a wedding band. He didn't remember being married. He definitely wasn't married.

"Yes. You are. Her name is Debra."

The name made his ears ring. Like when you have been in the dark forever, and you are exposed to direct sunlight. The sound of your eyes adjusting and your skin contracting, like your whole being is clinching down on itself; like the only thing to do is ball up on the ground and wait for your body to catch up; like the opposite of brain freeze. 

When the pain stopped, the room came back into focus slowly. He had tears in his eyes: not emotional tears, but survival tears: the tears that come when you are concentrating with your eyes squinched shut. He looked to the him on the couch. He was lighting a cigarette, and offered one to him. Asshole. What was he going to smoke it out of? His ears?

"You could try your nose. Might hurt though. I don't know. So, Debra, breathe deep buddy. You'll be fine. Debra is your wife. She's the one who decorated this monstrosity. Mother of your children? You're business partner? Your financial guru? Anyway, she was here. She said she'd be back later. Judging by  your little show just now I don't know that it's a good idea for you to be her when she gets back."

Hyperventalating through your nose is difficult. His lungs wanted to exert themselves, but his nostrils regulated too well. He didn't know he was married, but the name made him so violently upset that it paralyzed him (at least his dream body).  

Part I.