Dear Diary, Today Was Out-of-the-World

Dear Diary, 

It was burning. 

The temperature had to be at least 100 degrees. 

It was so hot that it muddled my mind, coating my thoughts in molasses. 

Why in the world did my mother buy me this shirt? The cotton texture doesn’t make the heat any better. In fact, it made it worse. 

Grumbling, I turn around a corner. My mind was filled with bitter thoughts, complaints. So busy being angry that I don’t notice the crack. 

My right foot catches the corner and I tumble forward. The books in the backpack seem to push me forward, the momentum making me forget to put my arms out to break the fall.

Crack.

Blurriness. My head. Pounding.

All fade into black soon enough.

“Get up! You miscreant!” 

The screech brings me out of my daze. I look up to a furious mother. She continues yelling and screaming at no one in particular. Once my eyes blink into focus, I realize that she’s screaming at ME. 

What?

Not to mention that instead of the raven haired mother that I’m used to, this one has brown hair. 

Has hitting my head made me wonky? I’m colorblind now? Seeing brown instead of black?

All my confusion ebbs away when I see the person leaning on the counter. Brown haired, identical to the woman yelling at me. He looks at me and says, “Good job getting in trouble, sister.”

Oh.

I must somehow be in this place. This is my family. I look up at the crimson face of the woman. She has quieted down, obviously waiting for my response, my response for something I’ve never done.

I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know why. I don’t know anything. 

I say timidly, formally, “Sorry. May I go upstairs and retire to my room?” 

My mother snorts, her nose flaring. “Sure, sure. Just don’t bother me.”

After going upstairs, I see a room labeled with a “Caleb” and a “Callie.”

I assume the “Callie” room is mine. My name.

I go inside, and shut the door. I suck in a breath as I look around the room. It’s bare. Completely bare. Just an air mattress, some clothes strewn on the floor, and a backpack. A hot pink backpack that makes my eyes water. The glitter and sparkles coating backpack was a bit extra, I had to admit. I peek inside. There are a few textbooks, pencils, pens, but not much. I heave a sigh. I locate a clock. The time reads: 9:32 PM, Monday, September 6th. Tuesday, huh. I must have school tomorrow. I jump onto the bed, without changing my clothes. It’s a strain to keep my eyes open. 

I’ll take a nap. To recharge my drained energy.

“Wake up!” A voice blares from the hallway, waking me up from a fitful sleep.

I groan, stuffing my face in the mattress. 

“School!” The voice insists. 

I slowly get up from the uncomfortable mattress. Just then, I realized, unfortunately, that I was wearing soiled clothes.

I picked up a few from the floor, since there was no closet. I leaned down to sniff the clothing.

I gagged on the stench for a good three minutes.

After the rough morning, adorned in a smelly shirt, I pull up to the school.

My first thought was: “This is wrong.”

I hadn’t realized that I said it out loud until a student gave me a glare. 

It didn’t make it any less true, though.

The concrete is cracked, obviously from the years of overuse. The school itself is another story. To be honest, I would probably prefer looking at the concrete. The school is dilapidated, with its color chipped off. Bricks are missing in places. The door is so old that the hinges barely keep its grasp. This small school is a far cry from the school I’m used to. 

Worst of all, the smell. I thought my clothes smelled horrible. The stench of the school, of the sweat, of the dirt and grime, it overpowers my nose. I can feel myself gagging. I wonder how the schoolkids can deal with it. I get my answer a few seconds later.

They don’t.

I look at their faces, strained with stress and anxiety. They cover their noses in an attempt to snuff out the smell, not that it’ll work, though. They just want a small glimmer of hope. An escape. 

It’s enough. Take me back. How do I leave? Take me-

Trip.

My right foot catches the corner and I tumble forward. The books in the backpack seem to push me forward, the momentum making me forget to put my arms out to break the fall. 

Ouch. My head hurts. As my memories come flooding back, I feel a chill in the air, despite the temperature. 

Listen.

That dream. I had a different life, a horrible one. I suddenly feel a wave of gratitude towards my families and teachers. It's terrible how this dream suddenly gave me eyesight.

Once I get home, I’m giving my family a hug. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know why. But I know one thing. I have to be grateful for what I have. 

Goodbye, now. I have embraces to give. Dirt to dust off my shoes. Paths to walk.