Another Day (Every Day 2)

But it’s not me writing the letter. I remember the pen in my hand. The paper underneath. But I can’t remember deciding what to say.

I don’t remember thinking. But I also don’t remember someone else thinking for me.

I pick up the letter again.

I would have never chosen to do this. I hope you know that. I had no idea it would happen until I woke up and opened your eyes.

I have tried to respect your day as much as I know how. I could have stayed in bed, stayed at home—but that would have driven me crazy, to be alone with you like that. I had to go out into the day like it was any other day.

I hope I have not changed anything for you. I hope that I did not alter your life in any way. If I did, please know it was not my intention. I have done the best I can.

I have tried to leave your memories alone. I have tried not to learn anything you would not want me to know.

I hope this doesn’t scare you. The last thing I want is to scare you.

I must say to you again: This was not my choice. If it had been my choice, it would be unforgivable.

What do you remember? I am about to tell you the course of your day. This is th

e last chance for you to have memories uninformed by this account.

When I woke up, I was in shock. In all of my years, I’ve never woken up in the body of someone I care so much about. I wanted to respect your privacy as much as possible, so you are wearing yesterday’s underwear, and in moments when anything I had not seen already was exposed, I kept my eyes closed.

I met your parents over breakfast, then drove to school. Since I had been there before, it was not hard to navigate. I don’t think anyone knew something was wrong. I went to class and kept my head down. I tried to take good notes for you. If you want details about classes, you can find them in your notebooks.

I tried to avoid Justin. I knew you would have wanted me to avoid him. This was effective until lunch, when he suggested we go for pizza. I couldn’t find a way out of it. Nothing more than conversation happened. He is annoyed with Stephanie and Steven for fighting.

I did not see him again until after school. He wanted to do something but I told him I had to pick up your mother from a doctor’s appointment. Just in case he mentions it.

(I realize it is strange that I keep saying “I” here—by “I,” I of course mean “you.” You have to understand: As I did these things, it didn’t feel like you were doing them. It felt to me like I was doing them. I wonder if you will feel the same.)

Because we had already been to an ocean and a forest together, I felt it would be best to head to a mountain. I also wanted us to be alone…and we were very alone as we climbed. (If you want to know where we were, the search should still be on your phone. I haven’t erased anything.) It felt good to be solitary, to feel an exertion that was purely physical. I wanted you to remember that, and to remember me there with you. I don’t know if this is possible. But—and I know this sounds strange—I felt like I was feeling it for both of us.

Not wanting to get you in trouble, I made it back in time for a very cordial dinner with your parents. Then I retreated to your room, attempted as much of your homework as possible, and decided to write you this note.

I have no way to know how you will react to this, nor would I presume to say there is a right or wrong way to react. Even if I haven’t caused any damage, I know this breach may still be irreparable. I will understand if you never want to see or speak or write to me again. But I will also hope desperately that you will want me to remain in your life. I leave that up to you.

I know it is neither my fault nor my choice, but still I am sorry. I know it must be as hard to read this as it has been to write it.

Yours,

A

My mother knocks on the door, making sure I’m awake. Do I remember telling Justin I was taking her to the doctor? Yes, I do. I remember saying that, and when I think harder about it, I even remember telling him it was an appointment for a sleep doctor. He joked to me about stealing some of her pills.

How can I know this, if I wasn’t there?

I can only know this because A left it for me. It doesn’t matter which of us was in control of my body, as long as the memory was made and stored away.

I want to be angry. I want to be freaked out. I want to be able to laugh at this, to find it ridiculous. These would all be rational responses. But instead I feel…sad. Sad that A had to go through this. Sad that there was no way it could be avoided. Sad that it complicates things even more. I know with all my heart that A isn’t lying to me—my body and my life were safe when he was in control of them. I know A wouldn’t have done anything to hurt me.

I also realize—in a way I couldn’t have realized before—how easy it would have been for A to destroy everything. A could have made me do anything. Break up with Justin. Take naked photos of myself and email them to A’s account. Run away.

But nothing like that happened. I know nothing like that happened.

Still, it can’t all go back to normal. No, this thing has happened to me. I can’t just shrug it off like all the other people whose bodies A inhabits. They don’t know how they missed a day. But I know. I can’t help knowing.

I imagine A waiting to see if I will ever be in touch again, if this is enough to make me walk away.