Today was my day off.
Well, actually, I work from home on Wednesdays, but I had completed most of my designs on the weekend, so I only had to spend a bit of time on the upcoming project plan. It wouldn’t have taken more than a couple of hours to do anyway. Except, I didn’t manage to do anything at all, because of the kid that sat at the foot of my bed when I woke up.
I have to say, I am deeply embarrassed at the numerous curses that unfurled out of my mouth when I first spotted it. I mean, screaming, “get out, you (see you next Tuesday)!” At a child that couldn’t have been older than six years old was not the most appropriate thing to do. But to be fair, a random child sitting on your bed in the morning would elicit a strong reaction from just about anyone. Maybe not a series of swears, but certainly fright at a minimum.
I fumbled around for my glasses, and after putting them on, I was able to take a good look at them — her. She was small, so my assumption that she was around six seemed correct. She was tanned, with long, brown hair and a fringe covering her forehead. It was a similar colour to mine. Chubby cheeks, and a school uniform on. My old primary school uniform. That was really weird. She was visibly shaken from my words.
“Why are you swearing?” She exclaimed, shocked at my outburst. I blinked.
“Who are you?”
“What do you mean? I’m you.” She looked at me, confused. I coughed, choking up at her words.
“What do you mean? What is this? Is this a prank?” I quickly hopped out of bed, and immediately covered myself. In my haste, I’d forgotten that I only sleep in my knickers, so I screeched for her to turn around. She did, in embarrassment, before she turned back around, defiantly.
“Why should I? I’m you — ew, why are you so chunky?” She stated in horror. I quickly put on my dressing gown.
“I’m not.” I said through gritted teeth. I composed myself again. “Seriously though, who are you? Where are your parents?”
“Our parents.” She corrected, hopping off the bed. She looked at my alarm clock. “It’s 11 o’clock, why are you still sleeping?”
“Because it’s my day off!” I scoffed. I couldn’t believe I was having a conversation with this girl - this child. Why was I entertaining her? I watched in annoyance as she traipsed round my small apartment, picking things up and not putting them back in their place. “Can you sit still for one minute, and tell me where your parents are? If not, I’ll call the police.” I stated, sternly. She sat down on my sofa compliantly.
“Why would you call the police? They already told you I was coming.” She scoffed, sticking her nose up in the air.
“Who’s they?”
“The people that sent me here, obviously. You should’ve had a phone call from them.”
For a moment, I actually considered she was telling the truth. I never pick up calls from numbers I don’t recognise. But even so, the whole situation was so ridiculous that there was no feasible way there was any truth to her words.
“Plus, you can’t call the police.” She said, looking in disgust at the cigarette packet I had left on the coffee table. I grabbed them sheepishly and put them in my pocket. “I can’t believe you smoke.”
“Why can’t I call the police?” I guffawed, in awe of her confidence.
“Because, silly, time has stopped. If you were outside you would’ve noticed.” She pointed to the window, and, to my horror, she was correct. Everyone outside was stood, perfectly still, as if they were frozen. A man walking his dog, with both of them meticulously balancing mid-stride. A woman about to take a bite out of her sandwich. A cyclist stopped in the middle of the road.
“I see.” I laughed, scratching my head. “I must still be dreaming.”
“You’re not.” She said in annoyance, clearly frustrated at my refusal to take her seriously. “I can’t believe future me is such a let down. Is that alcohol?”
I had forgotten to clear up after friends had visited a few days ago. I was going to do it today. I swear!
“Yes, it is. I’m an adult.”
“I promised Mummy I would never drink alcohol. Or smoke.” She folded her arms, shaking her head.
“Oh really?” I taunted, then changed my tone. She was still a child, after all. “Life changes a lot when you grow older. You’re only, what, like six?”
“I’m eight!” She huffed. “And I know. That’s why I’m here.” She said, kicking her small legs up. Eight made sense, she was far too eloquent to be six.
“Well, what do you want to know?” I asked, finally settling down in my armchair. This perked her up, and before she could begin, I interjected with another question. “Wait, before that, I need to check if you are, um, actually… me. What was the name of our first favourite stuffed toy?”
Without a beat, she answered. “Blue bear.”
I was a little bit shocked, but it was also not the most imaginative of names, so I asked her another. “What’s our…” I struggled to think of something that my eight year-old self did or liked. “What’s our least favourite food?”
“Kiwi.”
Ok, 2 for 2. I needed to think of something no one bar myself would be able to know the answer to.
“What are we most afraid of?”
She paused for a second, before hesitating to answer. In a small, weak voice, she responded. “Uncle Harry.”
My heart sank. She was correct. I felt like a villain, making a small child have to speak about such a horrible thing. Something that I, as an adult, have at least been able to work through, somewhat. I stood up, and sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Well, I suppose they were my shoulders, at some point, but it felt too strange to call her myself as well. I passed her a tissue to aid her sniffles.
“I’m sorry. Are you hungry?” I asked, in an attempt to soothe her. Instantly her eyes lit up, and she nodded fervently. “Okay, what would you like?”
“Pancakes!”
So I did just that. I rustled up some pancakes, and provided her with some lemon and sugar to put on top. I didn’t have Nutella, which I knew was what she really wanted, but she still ate them happily.
“So, why is it you’re here again?” I asked, looking up at my clock. It still said 11am, even though it had definitely been over an hour since she’d been here. Through mouthfuls of food, she started to explain.
“I’m here to see my future, and how it turns out. So I have a lot of questions.” She swallowed. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
I choked on my coffee, but I should’ve expected it. What else would a young girl want to know than if she’d met her prince-charming.
“Um, no. I did have one once, but that was the only time.”
“What do you mean? When? Why?” She quizzed, and I tried to think of a way to phrase my response in a way that wouldn’t have made her head explode. Though, if I recalled correctly, I don’t think younger me was bigoted in any way.
“Well, first of all, it was when I was fifteen. A boy called Joe, who was in my class - um, our class? Your future class? I don’t know how to word this… I’ll just say my class so its easier.” She nodded. “It didn’t last long. We only kissed once, and then decided we weren’t compatible. Then I never dated any boys again.”
“Did he break your heart?” She exclaimed, and I almost burst out laughing.
“No, no, nothing like that. I did date lots of people afterwards, just not boys.” I saw the cogs turning in her head.
“You’re a lesbian?” She asked, shocked, her fork dropping on her plate. I panicked for a moment. Was this the wrong thing to say? She continued. “That’s weird, because I’m not a lesbian.”
Well, a better response than what I was expecting from her shocked expression. I knew not to explain any further, so I just shrugged. “No, you’re not. I am though.”
“Hm. That’s strange. Even though you’re me.” She stated. “Anyway, are you a pop star?”
That time I did laugh out loud. It was so unbelievably endearing to hear the childish expectations that younger me had for myself. Albeit, slightly melancholic, but obviously through growing up, I departed from such ideals. “Not at all. Do you think I look like a pop star?”
“Not really. Pop stars are much skinnier.” She said, bluntly. Ouch, once again. “So what job will I have?”
Wow. It doesn’t get any less bizarre to hear her talking about my life like its her’s as well, even though it technically will be. “I’m a graphic designer for a tech company.”
(Sorry, not going to reveal where I work.)
“Oh! So we draw? I like drawing!” She squeaked excitedly. “Do we make art then?”
“Um, not really. We use tools on the computer to create designs for backgrounds and logos that the tech company needs.” She looked at me in confusion. “We don’t draw dogs.”
“Oh.” She was clearly dejected by the whole ordeal. “I only have one more question.” She stated, sadly.
“What is it?” For some reason, I felt unsettled by her demeanour.
“Are we happy?”
It was like a punch to the gut. Such an intense question from such a small being. From me. Younger me. For a moment I felt my eyes well up a bit. What was I supposed to say? I mean, if I’m being honest, I’m not. I feel drained, and burnt out. I feel like I’ve missed out on lots of opportunities; I haven’t lived life the way I wanted to. I smoke and drink more often than I should. I don’t have any romantic partners. My dating life is in shambles. I barely have a relationship with my - our parents. Do I lie to her and tell her everything will be alright? That this life is actually a lot better than it looks? That despite being better, Uncle Harry never leaves us, no matter what therapy or support we receive. That the shadow never goes away?
“No. I’m not.” I stated. Its best to be honest. She could tell I was.
“Thank you. That’s all I need to know.” She smiled, forlornly. “I’ll be going now.”
“What? Why?” I asked. Part of me wanted her to stay; I wanted to know more about her - the part of myself I had forgotten for so long.
“I have everything I need to know. Thank you for answering my questions.”
“Wait! Can I ask you something?”
She turned back to me, and then pondered for a moment. “Okay.”
“What was all this? Why are you here - really?”
She looked at me in confusion. “I already told you, to see what my future is?”
“I know that, but… why? Why do you need to know?” I burst out, desperate to get to the bottom of what she meant. “I… I don’t understand.”
Deep down I did though.
“So I can change it. So I don’t become you anymore.” She stated nonchalantly, her eyes expressing a distance that I hadn’t noticed prior.
“But - but what will happen to me?”
“Well, you’ll disappear, obviously. But that’s fine, isn’t it? You already said you were unhappy, and I don’t want to become you.”
My heart was sinking further and further into the abyss of my stomach. “I know I said that, but… I don’t want to disappear! I can change, I can become better!”
She looked at me with slight pity; a sympathetic nod that appreciated my desperation, but never quite understood nor cared for it. I suppose that makes sense, because she doesn’t truly know me. I am a distant warning - a life that she hopes never to return to. To her, I am a mere adult with her likeness, name, and same childhood. Everything I had experienced after I was eight is something she knows nor cares anything for. She smiled one last time.
“You won’t disappear right away. Just once I become who I want to be.”
Then she disappeared completely. I hadn’t even blinked, and she was gone. If it weren’t for the plate and cutlery that once held her pancakes, I would’ve considered that it had all been a dream. I looked up at the clock. 11:01am. Rushing back to the living room window, I saw the people begin the move; the man and his dog walked, the cyclist cycled, and the woman on the bench swallowed a large chunk of her sandwich. In the corner of my eye, I saw it - a scrunched up ball of tissue that ‘younger me’ blew her nose into. At that point, there was no doubt in my mind that this was all very, very real, and the persistent dread that racked my body was only further confirmation of such.
So that’s that. I babysat my younger self, and now I’m filled with the existential dread that, at some point, I will cease to exist; erased from time completely - a mistake. Yet, as I type this, there is a small part of me that feels… almost happy. Not for myself, but for her. The me that I neglected. Maybe she will have a better life than the one I never managed to live properly. I suppose I shouldn’t have let the cynicism of adult life overwhelm me.