Naomi

2/All that Glitters

The next time I opened my eyes I was lying on a raised platform stacked with cushions and one giant stuffed cat. I kicked that bastard onto the floor and sat up slowly. Pushed a thick rug off my legs and studied my bare feet. The torn toenail had scabbed over, proof that I'd been out for a stretch. The rest of me, thigh to toe, was covered in a weird pattern of shimmering bruises, like paint spatter.

Glitter, my brain supplied.

I checked my clothes. Bright yellow polka dots on my skirt, the hem of my white shirt.

"Great," I muttered, staring at my hands. Palms streaked with damp gold, leaving additional prints everywhere I touched.

Grabbing the giant cat off the floor, I wiped the sticky residue on its face and ears. Coated its whiskers and jerked on its tail, once, for good measure. Normally I loved cats, but not this one. He--it--was pissing me off, because it was part of this weird room and this even stranger journey that showed no sign of ending.

"You better send me back home again," I told it. "Or I'm going to pull your stuffing out and steal every one of your nine lives."

"Quit bullying me," it hissed.

Startled, I let it go. The cat rolled bonelessly to the floor where it hitched onto its side, glaring at me. It looked like a refugee from a cereal box, all coated with that yellow glitter. I lost that staring contest, let me tell you, and tried to make peace by tossing it a pillow.

Then I dumped the rest of the bedding and stood. My muscles were tight, shoulders pinned to my ears, legs shaking, feet cold. Raising my arms over my head, I bent at the waist. 

Walking my hands forward, I eased into down dog and then, knees popping, into a cat stretch. The stuffed version was not impressed. It yawned, yellow eyes slitting with boredom.

"I suppose you can do better," I grunted, pretending I wasn't talking to a life-sized toy.

"I suppose I can," it agreed, ignoring my challenge.

Breathing heavily, I rose. Paced the room, kicking through colored gravel that coated the floor and poked my bare feet. Exactly 15 steps in any direction. Sixteen, if I wedged my foot against the spot where wall kissed floor.

I retreated to the platform. Sat down on the edge and hugged myself. Hard.

The overhead light was dim, a kind of watery blue. I inhaled once, twice. The air tasted soft, slightly salty. Beach breath, I thought, thinking about a recent trip to Florida.

I put my hand up to the wall. Only it wasn't a wall, at least not the kind of vertical up and down plaster I expected. The kind you either paint or paper, the kind you put an angry fist through, or your boy-fiend does, when he's mad at his favorite football team.

This wall was made of glass, and it was curved. High and round, like a fishbowl.

Glancing skyward, I flinched. People were watching me--at least I think that's what they were--clinging halfway up the curved sides or peering down at me from the round opening on top.

They looked like starfish, with their spiny hands and legs glued to the sloped surface. Faces plastered against clear glass, flat noses, mouths pressed into gasping O's.

Fear always made me giggle. This time I snorted and rippled until that nasty cat on the floor growled. My stomach rumbled in response. Yeah, I'd left home before breakfast.

"Why don't you do some reverse fishing and catch dinner?" I wasn't hungry enough to eat star-humans, I wanted to hear that idiot cat speak again. Maybe it would tip me off on how to get back home.

"I prefer raw tuna paired with single malt Scotch. You can bring it the same way your brought yourself. Through the mirror."

"What mirror?" I cranked my neck. No mirror here. "You mean the one at home? In my bedroom?"

"Your fashion sense is terrible."

I tugged at my shirt. It needed ironing, sure, but so did everything in my closet.

"The glitter isn't my fault! It just came out of nowhere."

It cocked its head. "Nowhere?"

"Well. The light fixture. Sprinkled down on me like salt. It was gross. Like you, only nastier."

I coughed, part cigarette scum, part glitter. I didn't bother covering my mouth, just let the phlegm fly. The It-cat batted it away, whiskers dipping with disgust. It raised a front paw, spread its toes, and started counting.

"One. You come here, uninvited. Two. You're covered in time slime. Three. You're on my spot."

It meant the platform. I bounced up and down on the thin foam pad. "You move your feet, you lose your seat."

"You threw me."

"I'll smash you against the wall if you're not careful." Harsh, but hardly harmful. The It-cat was little more than a pound of orange fabric.

I touched the burn on my cheek. "What, you think I came here on purpose?"

"There is purpose in all we undertake, otherwise we'd still be habitating underwater and hatching from eggs."

Yep. The place was definitely a fishbowl. At least it was dry, no chance of drowning.

"I'd say it's been a nice visit but that would be a lie. One thing we agree on, it's time for me to go."

I started looking for my phone, kicking at the mound of blankets, sending chips of gravel pinging off the glass.

"I have to text my boss. Looks like I'm missing work this morning, right?" 

It-cat blinked at me. "And Camon. That's my boy-fiend, I have to tell him I'll be late for class. Chemistry 101," I added, as if It-cat was listening. Judging by the bored look on its face, it wasn't. "And my mom." I still lived at home, she still cooked dinner. If I didn't park myself in the kitchen chair by 6 P.M. she freaked.

I tapped my fingers on the glass. What the heck was I thinking? Late was one thing, but judging by the sloped sides of my would-be prison, I was somewhere else entirely.

"Where am I?" I demanded, in a faint voice that lacked the usual I smoke half-a-pack-a-day rasp.

"Might as well ask what are you?" It-cat replied, dropping a leg and stretching. It nibbled at a clump of glitter glued to its foot. "My answer is...nothing much."

Flopping onto my back, I drummed my heels on the glass wall. It set up an eerie vibration, a queasy roll in my stomach. I didn't like how it felt, but I loved how it made the wall-clingers slide off the curved sides and drop out of sight.

I stared at It-cat, wondering how I could create the same effect. If it disappeared, maybe I would, too.

Home again, wearing my polyester sack of a waitress uniform, serving cold coffee to losers who tipped in nickels and dimes. Pain in the ass, those cheapskates. If they used quarters I could at least do my laundry.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, not willing to poison myself with toxic glitter. Creaked onto my knees, cupped hands around my eyes. Tried to peek past the few creepy crawlies still clinging to the glass walls.

Suddenly homesick, I longed to hear my boy-fiend complain about the playoffs, my mother urging me to become a NASA engineer. It was the one thing we agreed upon, except my grades sucked.