The sunlight hits my face and doesn't let me continue with my dream.
Standing up, I remember I'm in a X room in Caroline's house. I'd do anything to brush my teeth right now.
I open the door to see people's bodies laying down on the floor, sleeping. It smells like vomit and the house is a mess. After I go downstairs, everything I described before triples.
Dodging bodies, I go getting closer to the exit, when I see Oliver trying to wake up a boy to leave.
"Come on, up. Let's go."
"Do you need help?"
He jumps to the sound of my voice.
"No, it's okay. I can."
I shrug and get out.
How do I come back? It's a nice day, I could walk.
I open 'google maps' on my phone and I put my house's adress. I realize the instrument shop which has to bring me the guitar it's on the way, so I decide to step by.
I walk by a couple of blocks. It's a nice neighbourhood. The strong sun makes me warm and I feel okay.
The only problem is that I am wearing a shirt, which makes me sweat a lot. Can women be shirtless in this reality?
My hair is messy. I must look like shit.
I pass through a park. There's kids playing, grandparents feeding birds and people reunited.
I would like to take a break from all this and lay on the sun for a bit. That's what I do.
I am a little while on the park, I read a few chapters of a book in my phone and then I stand up. How did Luke come back? I haven't seen him at the party. I should've had payed attention.
After going through shops and admiring the city, I stop to look for my guitar.
Music shops are like paradise to me.
The guy in the shop smiles at me and I tell him what was my order. He gives me the guitar and I see that it's beautiful. I love it.
We talk a bit and I get away. His name is Bónevan.
When I get home, there's no one there. My father told me he was going to be at a meeting at work. He works for a magazine.
I get upstairs and have a shower. Then, I grab the guitar and start to play. I missed doing it.
If teardrops could be bottled
There'd be swimming pools filled by models
Told a tight dress
Is what makes you a whore
Does this song exist in this reality?
I don't wanna be you, anymore.
Could Billie Eilish's version of this reality still be and write as the same?
Did artists with inverted roles still write the same songs?
Me and this reality's version of me are very different. The other Amelie didn't even sing.
Some experiences can change you completely as a human being. I think there could be someone identical to me. But just one day of difference, could make us totally different persons.
Imagine a whole life with a different role. A song's lyrics usually is a reflection of experiences that happened to someone in a certain moment.
That's why I think this song probably does not exist in here. Such a pity, because it's beautiful.
However, I also think about other things, like technology. How is it that the artifacts I've got are identical to the ones in my reality?
What? The inventors of the refrigerator, the mobile and the lamp are just like the ones in my reality?
Or is it simply that other people had the exact same ideas?
Maybe this can be explained with the theory of the parallel dimensions. They are the same but with tiny differences.
What am I talking about? I didn't even read that theory.
I don't know. I choose not to torture myself with that anymore.
I feel like someone opens the door. It's my father, I didn't hear him arrive.
"I see you already have the guitar. It looks very nice."
"It is."
He looks at me expectant.
"And? You said you knew how to play." He says testing me.
I hide one smile and start to play a song from the same artist.
Call me friend but keep me closer.
(Call me back)
And I'll call you when the party's over.
Quiet when I'm coming home, and I'm on my own.
I could lie and say I like it like that, like it like that.
Once the song is over, I glace at my father, that looks between moved and confused.
"How? When?"
I smile.
"How is it possible?"
"I am not the Amelie you know, father."
Tears fall through his face, he denies with his head, without believing me, and goes away. I follow him.
He is walking from side to another in his room. I lean on the door.
"This is worse than I though. You adapted yourself to a character in such way that you developed special skills. I've been told that can happen, but it's a very peculiar case." He says grabbing his head.
I roll my eyes.
"Why can't you just believe me, dad?"
He stares at me.
"Believe what exactly? That my daughter is gone and was replaced for an Amelie from another dimension?"
"It sounds ridiculous if you say it like that."
He stays still and puts a severe face on.
"You're gonna get treated."
"Okay" I say smiling. I really don't care much anymore. Why do this society exclude those who act or think differently?
If I were crazy, why would it be so bad? Like something to be fixed.
Okay, I'm talking like if I wasn't saying I come from another dimention.
I wish to go back where I'm normal again.
I am in my room hammocking myself in a paraguayan hammock and reading a book, when my father comes in. He sits in my bed.
"I'm sorry about the way I treated you. I was nervous and I took it out on you with you. It's not your fault."
"It's okay."
"I am worried. You're starting your first session in a few days. Are you alright?"
"Yes."
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I spend the sunday with my family. I play chess with Luke and we watch some movies. Movies help me understand how this reality works. On dressing, jobs, characters' attitudes, etc. It always calls my attention.
I already finished the dress. My brother congratulates me when he sees it. He asks me to make clothes for him too.
It looks like this:
I am very satisfied with the result.
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On monday, I wear that to school. I know that it is ostentatious and everybody will think I'm ridiculous. But I don't care, nothing seems so relevant in here anymore. I am not going to allow someone telling me how to dress.
When I get out of my room, I find Luke again in the hall. He holds his laugh.
"You're not going to school like that, right?"
"I will."
He raises his hands like if he detached himself from the matter, and continues with his way.
I go downstairs where my dad is at. He looks at me in disbelief.
"Where did you get that from?"
"I did it myself."
"If you go to school like this, you're going to break that reputation you cared so much about, and the other kids will probably make fun of you."
"I am aware of that."
After my dad resigned himself to let me do what I wanted, everybody looks at me in the bus.
And I think that is going to describe this monday. Looks. And rumours.
I get down the bus and I feel like every step I take is being watched.
I hear whispers and I shrink.
I have a long day ahead.
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