I Can’t Do It Alone

The first time I saw her, it was a Monday. I’d stopped by the grocery store for a bag of chips and some chocolate for dinner and I was walking home, dragging my feet while the crisp autumn breeze burned my cheeks. The cloth bag was almost empty, but it pulled uncomfortably on my shoulder. Everyone seemed to be in the best mood, smiling at each other, gushing about the weather. Nobody else was walking alone.

Scowling, I passed an especially loud group laughing together over drinks and pizza.

So you have friends and you’re happy. No need to advertise it.

I’d have a nice night tonight. I had chips, I had chocolate, and I’d watch something good on TV. Maybe go on a walk before bed. I’d read somewhere that exercise made people happy. Plus it would help me fall asleep instead of looking for the loop in my noise machine and wondering what it would feel like to have someone beside me.

The breeze whipped my hair into my face. It smelled of woodsmoke, a scent I knew I should love, but it only made me feel empty. Autumn was the season of death. Trees lost their leaves, plants dried out and turned brown, and everyone partnered up, holding mittened hands and sipping hot drinks as if they wanted to rub my loneliness in my face. It was the worst season.

Not that winter or spring were any better.

I trudged on, one foot in front of the other, passing sneakers and heels and boots.

I don’t know what made me look up. I never look up when I’m outside, but for some reason, I did, and I saw her.

She wore a bright red scarf around her neck and stood smiling at a friend. It had to be a friend, she was smiling so big.

I stopped and stared that first time, my mouth open, watching as she threw her head back and laughed.

That night, I tried it in front of the bathroom mirror. I opened my mouth wide, arched my neck back, and made a “ha ha” sound. I didn’t look like her when I did it.

Which was weird, since I looked exactly like her.

The chips and chocolate sat unopened on the counter. I wasn’t hungry, and I couldn’t sleep. In my bed, in the silence of my empty apartment, my muscles twitched as if they wanted to get up and run back to that street. When I closed my eyes, I saw her behind my eyelids. Her face.

My face.

I went back after work the next day. The neighborhood was one of those cute ones that attracts young families, full of outdoor seating and expensive infant clothing stores. I leaned against the wall of a bicycle shop and waited. It was breezy again, not quite cold but getting there. A few dry leaves danced against my jeans. This was where I’d seen her yesterday—just there, outside that coffee shop, right around now. She’d come back.

I waited thirty minutes before she appeared. This time she was pushing a stroller—a stroller!—and wearing a black and white checkered coat, tight at the waist. She looked fit. She probably spent half her day at the gym and the other half eating carefully portioned vegetables. Something fancier than vegetables. Chia-whatever.

She smiled at everyone, chatted with a stranger who stopped to peer into the stroller, then she walked toward me. Fast, I turned my back, keeping my eyes down and letting my hair fall forward. When I looked up, she was gone.

The next day, I only had to wait ten minutes before she appeared. She pushed the stroller into a cafe and I followed, careful to keep two other people between us.

The place stank of burned coffee, too-sweet pastry, and fancy-people perfume. It clogged my nostrils, but I barely minded. She talked with the person in front of her in line, laughing and nodding her head. Then she twisted around, looking directly at me. I bent down, pretending to tie the laces of my sneakers. They were old, dirty compared to the smooth leather boots she wore. They probably cost four hundred dollars, maybe more. 

So she had money.

She probably didn’t have to work. I could imagine her sleeping late, reading a book all day, then bringing her happy little baby out for a coffee and a stroll and a chat with her hundreds of friends. 

She ordered an oat milk cappuccino and pushed the stroller back outside, calling out a thank you to the barista. I slipped out of line and found a chair beside the door where I could see her. She bent down, smiling into the stroller.

She looked so happy, nothing missing from her flawless life. She didn’t sit at home alone every night, crunching chips and watching TV. She probably had someone who adored her, gave her foot rubs and called her ‘sweetheart.’

Why didn’t I have any of that?

Her drink was called out and she hurried right past me to grab it. I could have reached out and touched the thick wool of her coat. 

Tension tingled up my back as she started walking away down the sidewalk. In a moment, she’d be gone.

Without thinking, I walked after her, staying a half block behind. She walked in long strides, her hips swinging, setting her feet down as if she owned the sidewalk.

I tried it, forcing my shoulders back and my chin up. It felt weird, but she was doing it, so I did it too.

Five minutes later, she stopped before a purple Victorian. It was the kind of house people took pictures of, slowing to admire. Not me; I’d never cared about how fancy a house was, but now that I looked at it, this one was pretty spectacular. It had points and swirls in different shades, a tiny round window at the top of one peak.

She set her coffee cup on the bottom step, lifted the child out of the stroller in one arm, and grabbed the stroller handles with her other. Halfway up the steps, she lost her grip on the stroller. I rushed forward and caught the other side of it.

“Thank you so much! You’re a life saver,” she said, grinning at me.

“No problem.” I kept my eyes down, my hair falling forward. My voice sounded rough. When was the last time I’d spoken out loud to someone?

“Seriously, thank you.” We set the stroller down at the top of the steps and she focused on unlocking the door with an ornate key. Odd she hadn’t updated the locks. They looked ancient.

She opened the door and turned, meeting my eyes. They were the same brown as mine, with my dark ring around the iris. She had the same freckles across her nose, the same mole on her cheek. A perfect copy.

I was staring,

Quickly, I looked away, dreading her next comment, but she didn’t seem to mind my examination. Did she not realize we looked exactly alike?

“I have a weird favor to ask.” She angled her head to one side. “We don’t know each other, but would you come in and watch the baby while I run to the bathroom? I had too much coffee. I’ll be quick.”

“Okay.” My response surprised me. I should go home to my silent apartment, to the empty comfort of my shows and my cold bed, but I couldn’t resist the straining, desperate urge to see how this version of me lived. She was charming. She had a lovely home, a child, a comfortable life. And she seemed to like me.

“Thank you so much.” She led us inside and closed the door behind us. “Be right back.”

I waited beside a dark wood shelf piled with shoes. So many shoes, fifty pairs, maybe twice that. Some of them were sleek leather like the boots she had on, but most were ratty old sneakers like the pair I was wearing.

I guessed we had something in common after all.

Taking a deep breath, I lifted my head and looked around. The place smelled old, like dust and emptiness. Was this what all these mansions smelled like? It had high ceilings and the walls were patterned in some kind of raised wood. I’d never seen anything like it.

“I’m back. Thanks again. I hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable.” She laughed, that head-back, throat-to-the-sky laugh I’d tried so hard to reproduce.

I looked down at my feet. “It’s no problem. I guess I better go.”

“No, please don’t. Can I offer you a drink, or a tour? Or could we just chat for a minute, if you’re not in a rush? I’m Penelope, by the way.” She put out a hand.

I stared at the familiar freckles on her forearm. I had the same freckles, the same wrinkles at the base of my thumb. As she held it there, I almost felt the walls lean in as if watching, holding their breath.

We clasped hands. Her palm was warm and dry. It sent shivers arrowing up my arm. “I’m sure you’re busy,” I hedged. ”I don’t want to intrude.”

I wanted to stay.

“I’m not. It’s just me and the baby here, alone all day. I’d love to talk to another adult for a few more minutes.” She smiled so earnestly, gazing into my eyes. We were the same height, of course.

“I guess I could stay for a few minutes.” I returned her smile, tentative behind my hair.

“Oh good. Tell me everything, I want to get to know you. What do you like to do?” She tugged her boots off and set them by the door.

I mirrored the action and tucked my sneakers beside the others. “I, uh, read a lot. I watch shows. Go on walks.”

“I read a lot too!” She described a book she recently finished and loved. “I’ll lend it to you, then we could talk about it! I never have anyone to talk about books with. Come on, I’ll show you the house and we can grab it.” She tucked her arm through mine. “This place is three hundred years old, can you believe it? I’ve barely changed anything, other than the kitchen and bathrooms of course.” She gave me a glowing smile. Her teeth were white and straight, almost sharp.

What about the baby? She’d needed me to watch it—her? him?—a moment ago, but now she strolled away from the stroller without a thought.

“Seriously, it was so good. I can’t wait to see what you think about it.” Her excitement washed over me, drowning any doubts. She wanted to get to know me, to talk about books together.

She wanted to be my friend.

I let her pull me forward. It got darker the deeper we went into the house. Did these old places not have lights? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t open my mouth.

Why couldn’t I open my mouth?

I put a hand to my lips, my cheeks. They felt normal. I was just nervous. I hadn’t been in someone else’s house in a long, long time.

“Just in here.” In the dark hallway beneath the staircase, she opened a door I could barely see. “Go on in.”

My legs obeyed as if they belonged to her. It was too dark to see anything, but the room felt cavernous, as if the ceiling were miles away. My heart started thudding in my chest, so loud she must be able to hear it.

“Don’t worry,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Safe from what, I wanted to ask, but my mouth didn’t move. A rushing sound filled my ears. I couldn’t tell if the room was getting darker or if my vision was pinholing. I felt blind.

“Here, sit down.” Her voice gentle, she eased me down onto something soft. The seat cradled me and I melted into it. I’d never been so comfortable.

A prick on the back of my neck. I twitched, but her hand held me steady.

“Shh. Be still.” She patted my head. “That’s my good girl.”

I leaned into her palm. When was the last time someone had touched me? I couldn’t remember. Even my parents hadn’t been gentle like this. I wanted to purr. Or sleep.

Wait—what was I doing? I shouldn’t be in here.

Coolness flowed into me from the spot on my neck, slowing my heart, easing the tense muscles in my cheeks and neck.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” She let out a deep breath. “I’m so glad you found me. I was getting tired.”

I’m tired too.

But I wasn’t. Not the same way I’d been for as long as I could remember. My head felt clear, my eyes didn’t want to droop. The awkward itch of never quite fitting in, never having the right thing to say at the right time: all of that was gone, leaving a wide prairie of peace in its wake.

Coolness spread into my arms and legs, filling me with a calm I’d never experienced before. My mouth still didn’t work but it didn’t worry me. Relaxed, I let my arms flop. Whatever this place was, whoever she was, I loved it. I didn’t know or care how she got my face. For the first time, I belonged.

The room was less dark now, or my eyes were growing accustomed to it. Shapes filled the edges of the space, low to the ground like me. Couldn’t tell what they were, but they didn’t bother me.

She sat cross-legged on the floor beside me, holding a drinking tube. She put it to her lips and the oddest sensation radiated out from my neck. A pulling that ached in the nicest way.

I nestled lower, letting my head loll to one side. She’d ask me to leave soon. I didn’t want to.

She took another deep drink and it arched through me, bright and sharp.

I closed my eyes.

“That’s better,” she said, patting my head. “I couldn’t have lasted another month without you. I was starting to get worried. You don’t usually take that long.”

What? I wanted to ask, but I made no sound. I wanted her to hold me, but I couldn’t lift my arms. They felt so heavy.

“You’re safe now,” she said. “And if you need anything, I’ll take care of it.”

My heart hiccuped.

Safe. Taken care of.

I never thought those words would apply to me.

A smile spread across my face, loose and easy. It felt like her smile, the one I’d tried to mimic in front of the mirror last night, except this time it was all mine.

“But you won’t. You never do.”

She stood up and went out the door, leaving it open. It was barely brighter out there, but it cast enough light to make out the shapes around me. They sprawled across the floor, piled in mounds against the walls.

Bodies. Their eyes white slits, their mouths half-open.

And they all had my face.