Part 2 (cont.)

It took a while before the dreams became an item of serious study and speculation. Many immediately blamed the Kinrae, launching into long speculations that travels between their world and ours had somehow turned the "fabric" of our universe into “Swiss cheese”. But no amount of study had found any alteration in the nature or physics of the world. Others hoped it was a sign of some human transcendence. Still others wrote about their “living dreams” online. Some books were even published about alternate lives and how to train your mind to retain the most details.

I had three “worlds” I seemed to cycle through. Allison recognized four different ones. Clayton and Malcolm each claimed three as well. Allison’s dream last week was in what she called “girly” world. Only a few men around. Everyone in the house was female, Allison included. It was actually the only one of Allison’s series of dreams in which he was a girl. The few men Allison ran into looked more like he did here than usual. The other dreams were closer to our world. One of them Allison called “Evil Malcolm World” because the only difference he’d discovered so far was that Malcolm had a goatee in it (and the trees around campus were a little taller). The other two had some political differences in the world but events around us were largely the same to the point that Allison would get déjà vu about a phone call at the same time of day.

For me, neither of my other two dream worlds had me significantly-altered. In one, my class load was focused on economics. It provided the perk of nearly taking an extra major while I slept but with plenty of added confusion. In the other, my uncle visited a lot more often and I’d heard my parents mentioned more than once. I only dreamed that world on rare occasions. I’d gotten used to them. Some weeks I had one of those dreams every day. Other times, I would go for several weeks without a single one.

So far as the rest of the world, like with the Kinrae, it seemed to have become one of those things people were used to. Just ask someone, “Any special dreams lately?”

Allison’s dreams let me imagine what the other me his mind experienced was like. He always told me we were very similar in personality. We liked the same things and took many of the same classes. We used the same turns of phrase and had the same body language. Like twins separated across untouchable distances. I asked all about this other me, except for one thing. I never asked for her name.

The answer I gave Allison was that I liked the touch of mystery. The full answer was I hoped I might chance upon her name without being told it. Like some perception or connection with that other world which would prove to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was more than just a weird dream. Granted, plenty of researchers had shown there was something to it, but this was what I needed.

I stared at Allison and listened as she...he told about the newest dream. A normal day.

“Clem had plans for a trip to the beach after the first week of classes were over. Sharon wanted to join in as well. You didn’t seem to want to go. There was something on your mind but, when I asked, you said it was nothing. But I could tell. So, I invited you to a meal out so we could talk. Conrad had work but we met up later for frisky time.” Allison snickered. I always confused Clem and Sharon but I reminded myself they were the alternates of Malcolm and Clayton respectively. And Conrad was girl Allison’s boyfriend, whom this Allison was still hoping he might run into eventually.

I listened to little details, like the features of other me’s face even though I knew them vividly by now. I visualized the lime dress she wore with long sleeves, stockings, and big, leather boots. I tried to look into her eyes.

It wasn’t that I envied her, although her family life seemed much more together than mine. But I wouldn’t mind a day as her, even if it was a dream where I’d always been her. I had no idea if Allison’s recount of his dream was accurate or not but he always gave enough negative details to balance the good ones. Like the dark rings around other me’s eyes due to several nights of insomnia. I’d slept well so far this week (without any dreams I could recall).

A lot of details were lavished by Allison on the composition and texture of the meals they ordered. There was even one entrée of note which he’d not found anywhere online, which left him with the question of whether it would be fair to steal the idea of something which only existed in another universe. He wouldn’t be the first. Plenty of patents had been filed of late for things which had been first seen in a special dream.

Teasing at the last of the stir fry bits on his plate, Allison told me, “The other you said she really wanted to see a living anime girl. Some sort of thought just striking her. It kept her up trying to figure out all the details. The me there found it odd. No Kinrae in that world, so it was an odd idea. It even took her a while to understand what you meant. I remember really wanting to help her. But all I could do was buy her a bit of her favorite flavor of cake, red velvet.”

I didn’t like that kind of cake. Carrot cake for me. But I nodded slowly and stared at my empty plate. Pushing his plate aside, Allison offered, “But the meal finished with a smile because there was this guy who came over…”

Allison then recounted other me getting hit on by what seemed like a decent guy and eventually giving her number with some pleasant smiles. They were snippets I couldn’t quite imagine as real and yet they felt real enough. He spent a good while describing the guy, the lean stubble on his chin, the close-cropped brown hair, the full lips. Like the rest of the guys, he had plenty of feminine features, like the shape of his jaw and curve of his shoulders. He also sat, as Allison described, “with his legs crossed tightly enough to crush his balls."

I had a random desire for a full glass of wine or maybe something harder. Technically, alcohol was forbidden in university-sanctioned housing (we could all legally-drink otherwise) but it was a rule often ignored, especially by Malcolm, who had a dresser drawer with countless bottles lining the bottom under his sweaters. Allison sometimes borrowed a little for cooking. If ever we were caught, we all resolved “for cooking purposes” would be the explanation.

The dream winded down without a definitive ending. Other me was happy but still only considering a date. Some discussion of class stuff followed which was then interrupted by Allison’s alarm clock in the morning. I would have to wait for next time, if other Allison happened to ask the right questions.

I helped Allison clean up. As I dried my hands, he put a hand on my shoulder and said decisively, “I know your anime girl experience will go well. And then you’ll have your own cute stories you’ll need to spill to me.” He winked and chuckled. I resisted a blush and just nodded back.

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It wasn’t long after that Malcolm finally made his way through the front door with his over-sized pack on his shoulders. He chuckled and cast a wave towards the kitchen before dropping it and stretching. Not long after that, we could hear him strumming idly at his guitar and wandering towards his room.

I made my way towards my room as well, as Allison went back to his curled-up spot on the couch to watch some drama with a title I could never remember. My room had a couch of its own, an old one from my uncle’s rec room. It had once been white before a mottling of stains had first changed it to an off-white and now to more of a brownish-gray. Both ends of it sunk in and required flailing and crawling to get out of once you got in but it was still better than nothing. My bed was the same mattress I’d been using for years with a rudimentary, functional frame Clayton had cut and sanded for me during the first week.

I had my storage for the extra stuff from my uncle’s house and a decent organization of clothes. Then there was my past-new-but-not-quite-old-yet computer. And, not to forget, the anime stuff.

Not enough room for an impressive collection but I had an area devoted to a range of VHS tapes with works long out-of-print, DVDs from when I started, and newer media for what I was collecting now. Figures of all materials from vinyl to pewter (with a few beanie ones as well) guarded the top row. And the posters.

Probably my biggest indulgence. A few wall scrolls but mostly paper and laminates. There were enough around I’d lost count. Many were from shows with action poses but I had some which were originals. A few I knew were live photos of Kinrae shopped onto digital backgrounds. A thriving industry of modeling, which a particular few Kinrae were a part of. It was suspected some were imitations depending on whether their hands appeared doctored or hidden.

I plopped down on my bed and stared up at the posters on the ceiling. A blond with a big black ribbon in the back of her hair and wide, brown eyes wearing a school outfit, long black stockings, and an enigmatic smile. A redhead with glossy hair tied ornately with a naginata on her shoulder, a sword at her hip, and clad in a green kimono. A long, blue-haired one with a low-cut bodice and a golden rose on her shoulder. A girl with short, black hair and vividly-blue eyes wearing far less than appropriate to her warrior appearance, with tiny pants, tall boots, bracers, and a leather brassiere. A glossy-eyed woman with spiral curls in her green hair, long bangs over her face, a dark suit against a gray background, and a beckoning hand. And there were many more. I’d been collecting for some time.

The shiver returned when I told myself that, in the weeks to come, I would stand before the mirror and see a visage much like the ones looking down on me from above. I loved the possibility. I felt a sudden warmth on my cheeks. I shifted in bed.

I’d wondered about it before but I wondered again. What might an actual Kinrae think if she happened to stand in my room and see all I had? Would it be creepy? I hoped not. Malcolm laughed when I put the question to him once. He said he thought it would be like when his girlfriend would visit his room with all his pinup posters. It was normal, he claimed. Although, he admitted he would take down the hottest girls in the room and put up some prints of her when she came to visit.

I sat up and walked over to the small mirror I had over the dresser. For now, still my own face with that scruffy fringe of hair that framed my cheeks. My hair was that same tarnished blond, dirty and rusted like some light-colored metal. It flopped all over, piling on top of itself in feathered bands over my ears like I’d just woken up. My eyes were dabbed in gray rings around their gray center (despite no lack of sleep). Dense, dark brows. I was never mistaken for a random actor or a singer in a band. Marks, which were the scarred reminders of healed acne, pocked what faint traces were left of my childhood freckles.

Good things could be said about my nose, which even Allison envied from time to time. My lips also took after his with a subtle but crimson fullness. Turning from the mirror, I gazed at my computer and considered jotting something down. Perhaps a short poem about how the image in the mirror would change when I put the imitation device on. But it all seemed unfathomable. And I hadn’t been inspired to write since I lived with my uncle. Instead, I started up some random browser game with slightly Kinrae-inspired designs and a mystery plot.

I eventually dipped into my reading for classes. I took a break in the living room to play cards with Allison as Malcolm sat in one corner tuning his guitar. Malcolm peered over and asked, “Is she kicking your butt again?”

Naturally, he meant Allison, who gave a confident smile. Since the first day he moved in, Malcolm always referred to Allison with female pronouns. I figured at first it was because the name threw him. Then I learned that the two of them had met before college. Malcolm just did it because he wanted to and Allison didn’t mind. Clayton would sometimes slip into the feminine pronoun about Allison when he was particularly groggy. Allison would correct him. But not Malcolm.

Sometimes, Malcolm would even try to see how far he could push it. He’d make up things (particularly when other people were over) about how Allison liked to toss her bras all over, was working as a stripper, or was pregnant. He relished this around those who didn’t know Allison and then would watch when he showed up to smirk at Malcolm and introduce ‘herself’ to the visitor as they fidgeted about what to say or think. Personally, I figured they planned it together.

Apparently, I missed the biggest reaction from a friend of Clayton’s who entirely bought into Allison as a girl. I wasn’t present for all the events and I only got a playfully-vague version out of Allison which contradicted Malcolm’s even-wilder version. I liked to think the truth was crazier. Or, at least, I hoped it was.

After cards, I considered calling Lissa. Instead, I watched a few anime DVDs and picked through the last of my class reading before bedtime. Clayton finished up in the garage well before then and stared intently at some old horror film I didn't know. Allison sprawled out and seemed to be half-napping while watching. I passed on the film and headed to bed.

Picking out a dark-shaded poster on the ceiling, I imagined what that would be like as I drifted off to sleep. It wouldn’t be a special dream this time but it would be long, deep rest, which was really all I could ask for with an early class in the morning.