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Part 1

When given an impossible situation, a mind will seek a rational answer. Occam’s razor says that the simplest answer is the most probable, yet the simple answer is that I am merely insane, which is an unacceptable answer to the impossible situation I have come across. While my situation is rather incredible, hard to believe and even I have difficulty understanding it, I will do my best to explain it to you. I will do my utmost to convince you, as I have myself, that it cannot simply be my sanity that has set this conundrum into my lap. I just have to have faith that you will trust the words that I present to you as accurate, which I can merely promise they are.

The book was written at a time before me, so I can only begin at the time when I came across it. I don’t precisely remember where I received the book from, likely my parents or a kind aunt. Nor can I recollect when I first read its pages, or for the longest time, the story it told.

I do recall its place on my bookshelf. It stood proudly between my Goosebumps collection and my Indian in the Cupboard books. Wedged there it remained until I moved out on my own, when I was eighteen.

I clearly remember packing it up and reminiscing about the story in the book. A certain fondness for the characters, their motivations, and my vague thoughts about the entire story were rekindled as I scanned the back cover and then placed it in the cardboard box that was for the things I was keeping. Most of the other books on that shelf were placed in a box that I would later deliver to the used bookstore, sorry Mr. Stine.

My car packed with boxes, I headed to my new home, an apartment about an hour’s drive away from my parents’ house. When I got there, I realized, to my horror, why apartments on the third floor of a building with no elevators are less expensive than their neighbors on the bottom floors. It was a simple stroke of luck, you could say, that while I was awkwardly progressing down the hallway to my new home my, soon to be, neighbors door opened.

She was a petite blonde, wearing worn out jeans and a t-shirt that held her small breasts tightly. Her appearance surprised me, not only was I not expecting anyone to open any doors as I was walking by, I didn’t expect them to be quite so eye drawing either.

I, like any other young man in my situation would have done, stumbled, dropping my box and falling partially on it. My eyes averted from her to my painful and awkward situation, me and my box spilled across the hallway.

“Oh my gosh, are you ok?” I heard her voice speak for the first time.

Laying there, evaluating how my body felt, I answered, “I’m fine.” I got to my knees and felt my face. It was tender at the place it had hit the box, below my right eye, near the cheek bone. I saw all my belongings strewn about, thankful that it was a simple box of knickknacks; nothing I was worried about lying on a strange floor, nothing terribly personal or glass. I sighed at the mess.

“I’m so sorry,” She said, though she hadn’t done anything to apologize for. “You must be the new neighbor?” Crouching down she started helping me collect my things.

It was then that I got a better look at her. She wore no makeup to highlight her face, her lips were thin and real, her eyes were hazel. She wore her hair short, with a curl occupying only its tips. As I caught my glances of her small, fit, frame picking up my odds and ends I introduced myself, “Yeah, I’m Miles, moving into 14 C.”

“Hi Miles, I’m Karen.” She said as she set a pile of things back into my box. “Sorry about scaring you like that.”

I tried my best to act stoic, to pretend like the entire event was a well-planned act of some sort, but as I tenderly touched the spot below my eye she must have seen the uncomfortable moment I was in.

“Oh. I’ll get you some ice for that. It’s probably going to turn into a nasty shiner.” Karen said to me as she stepped further into the down the hall to pick up more things.

I took my hand from my eye; spoke some foolish joke, attempting to get a smile from my new neighbor, when she picked up the book that I had packed from my shelf. She paused, holding it in her hand.

“I’ve read this!” She said excitedly, as if it were one of a very select group of which she could say that about. “I remember I was ten years old, I got it brand new from the bookstore and started reading it that night.”

“Yeah, it was one of my favorite books as a kid. I just couldn’t let it go when I moved.” I confessed, feeling foolish for having a child’s book, but happy that it gave us a common ground to confer about.

“I remember dreaming about Ira, in between the nights I was reading it, I dreamt that it was me he saved and that we ran off into the forest. He trapped and hunted animals while I did laundry.” Karen smiled, turning red in the face, as if she was expressing a very personal memory of hers.

I was slightly confused. While my memories of the story were nearly a decade old and Ira was a main character, it was far, far, from the way the story played out. “What?” I asked.

“I know it was stupid,” She shrugged her shoulders, still crouching down on the ground. “But I was just so into the book that I dreamt that I was Wilma. That instead of him saving her, it was me and we went off into the forest and lived, you know, happily ever after.” She looked for something else to pick up, averting her gaze, and her embarrassment, from me.

Again, Wilma was a heroin of the story, but not much like the damsel that was being hinted at, “Maybe they made a sequel, or a different version, because it was Ira who was saved by Wilma.” I tried to correct her as she placed the book onto the top of my now full box.

She looked at me in disbelief, shook her head, shaking the color from her face, “Now you’re just being silly. If there’s one book I’ve read and remember it’s that one. It was most of my summer when my parents thought a vacation to Wyoming was a good idea. I must have read it a dozen times, when my parents enjoyed being in the middle of nowhere.”

We both stood back up. Fully erect I was half a head taller than she.
It was at that moment the door she had come from was filled by another body. “Oh, this is our new neighbor.” She said as she turned to the man who stood there looking at the two of us. “Miles, this is my boyfriend, James.”

I stood there, dumbly holding my box, as he seemed to evaluate me. He was a strapping man, probably played sports or worked construction, maybe both. He also wore faded jeans and a tight white shirt, showing a burly body beneath it. My heart was disappointed that my neighbor had relations with someone so different from, so much more better than, myself.

While I stood taller than Karen, James stood equally taller that I. His face was topped by a neat crew cut, while it was planted on a sharp chin. He looked clean and strong, with a tight waist that tapered up to a firm chest and shoulders, picturesque of a man who would be in a magazine, selling cologne, razors, or any other men’s bettorizing product.

“Hey.” He said with little care for me. “What happened to your eye? Karen sock you up?” He smiled at her. She pushed him in the shoulder barely budging him.

“I only do that to you.” She said playfully. “I scared him and he dropped his box and fell on it. Can you get him some ice in a towel?” she asked.

James measured me again, smirk on his face. Then turned and went back into the apartment.

“I feel bad, I’m so sorry.” Karen confessed.

It’s alright. It’s my fault really.” I said, trying to take the blame.

“Well, I still feel bad.” She paused for a second, “How much more do you have left to bring up?”

“All of it, this is my first box.” I admitted.

“Well me and James will help you,” Karen smiled. “It’s the least we can do for a new neighbor.”

“Um,” I stumbled looking for words, not sure if I wanted my initial thought of pursuing a relationship with Karen rubbed in my face by James tossing my personal things around.

He returned to the door, a zip locked baggy of ice in his hand. He looked for a way to give it to me, puzzled, and then set it on top of the box I was carrying. “There you go bud.”

“Thanks.” I muttered.

“Babe, were gonna help Miles bring his things up.” She turned to tell him.

His face soured, looking like a puppy dog that was about to get punished, he apparently hated the idea of walking boxes up three flights of stairs as much as I hated doing it. Likely he had helped Karen move in herself. His chest expanded with a deep breath.

Before he could say anything I expressed my thanks for their offer of help and said that I would appreciate it tremendously. If nothing else, I looked forward to punishing James for having called dibs on my newfound neighbor.

I finished the walk to my door and set the box down. I retrieved the keys from my pocket and fumbled them into the lock. I could feel both Karen’s and James’ eyes upon me, judging me in their own ways. James with disdain for having to help a competitor to himself, while Karen simply saw me as being inept at opening my own front door.

Once I had successfully undone the lock I opened the entrance into the room I had seen once before. It looked exactly the same as it had the previous time I had seen it. With the door open I picked up the box and brought it into the empty living room.

“Geeze, it seems so big when it’s empty.” Karen exclaimed.

“And clean.” James said with a smart aleck tone.

There was a pause, and without turning around I could feel an angry stare crossing the distance from Karen to James, much more effective and meaning full than her earlier shove.

I enjoyed letting the stare last, but after a moment I set down the box in the far corner of the room, “I guess this is as good as anywhere to set stuff.” I instructed.

James was grinning as he turned and walked out of the room. Karen followed, scowling at his back. I took up the rear, wondering if I could use this to my advantage in the future somehow.

Walking down the stairs Karen told me about the prior neighbor, an older lady that had lived there, Miss Perkins. She had wanted to get a cat or a small dog, but the landlord strictly forbid pets.

James chimed in, supporting the landlord’s decision, saying that cat pee was an impossible smell to remove and that dogs were also messy and a nightmare to have in a rented home. It sounded as if he spoke from experience.

At the bottom of the stairs we exited the building, where I saw my beat up ’94 Toyota hatchback waiting. In its ugly teal shell, with the back still popped open, boxes waited to be transported. James scoffed and covered his mouth as if he had sneezed, my confidence dipped a little more, but Karen had no reaction to the vehicle

I handed the top box to Karen, a light box of towels and clothes, the box below to James, of more books, and took a third box for myself, a box of electronic equipment that I cared tremendously about. We quietly walked back up the stairs, not wanting to waste our breath on conversation, but instead saving the oxygen for our lungs that craved it as we walked upwards.

This same scene occurred once again, Karen carrying up my other box of clothes, James a box of dishes my parents had gifted to me as a moving away present, and me taking my box of bedside things.

Our third trip to my car was our final one, James carried the TV that was cooped up in my backseat, while Karen and I grabbed the bedside table/drawers, leaving a stack of blankets that I would be able to retrieve later, after I unpacked my other things.

“That’s it? Where’s your bed, your dresser, TV stand?” Karen asked, confused when I told her that was all I had to bring up.

I explained that I didn’t have my own dresser or TV stand, and that I was planning on upgrading my bed upon moving out. I didn’t mention that the bed I left behind was a bunk bed that my parents had received as a hand me down while I was still a toddler and they were still thinking about having a second child.

James was quick to leave, making an excuse about having to use the bathroom, while Karen continued to question my moving plans.

“Where are you gonna sleep?” she asked.

“In the bedroom, maybe the living room, wherever. I think I can rough it for a couple days while I find a bed and couch.”

“What?” she said surprised, “You don’t have a couch either?”

I smiled, guilty of being unprepared.

I heard a buzzing noise coming from her pocket. She reached down and pulled out a cellphone, pressing buttons. Her look of surprise and amazement about my lack of furniture turned into a slight frown. “Well, I gotta go. James is upset that he’s missing the basketball game that I promised we would go watch at Hooters.”

I was about to tell her thanks for all the help when I was completely surprised as she stepped towards me and embraced me with a hug; which I returned it with a soft return squeeze from my arms. I hoped my astonishment at the act wasn’t noticeable by her.

The embrace broke and she stepped backwards towards the door. Smiling she said, “Well, good luck with the couch and bed. If you need anything you know where to find me.”

I felt red with embarrassment from the unexpected hug, as I sheepishly stuttered thanks, then bye as she turned to corner and left my sight.

I stared at the doorway for a long moment before I moved. I don’t know if I was hoping that she would return or was fearful that James would round the corner after having read my thoughts, maybe I was just gathering my thought. Finally though I shut the door and went about the business of unpacking my things.

I used my bedside table as a stand for my television, and connected my DVD player to it, playing a movie for background sound as I shuffled boxes into their respective rooms. I unpacked my dishes into the kitchen cupboards. Then moving into my bedroom I realized that I had nowhere to put my clothes, I hadn’t brought any hangers to place them in the closet. I moved on and stacked my towels on top of the toilet seat.

I went back downstairs, after I had given James and Karen ample time to have made their getaway, and retrieved my blankets and pillows, laying them in the living room in front of the television.

I wanted to lie down and relax, watch a movie, but I realized that I had no food; few shower supplies, and no other disposable items, such as paper towels. So I marched back down the stairs and got in my car.

I didn’t know the area too well, but I had passed a supermarket each time I had come to my new apartment, so I headed to it. I will spare you the details of the shopping trip, as they are completely lack luster.

When I returned to my new home, I struggled back up the stairs, carrying all my bags on one trip. I stocked my fridge with sodas, my freezer with various dinners, my bathroom with toilet paper and my closet with a set of hangers.

After that, when I returned to the living room with a box of Oreo cookies and a glass of milk, I realized that I still had one box left to unpack. It was that same box that had given me the red swollen spot under my eye.

I pulled it next to the nest I had made on the ground in front of the television and opened it with one hand while I dipped an Oreo into milk. On top was the book that had caught Karen’s imagination. The book that she had told me Ira saved Wilma in. I took it from the top and began to flip through the pages.

In all honesty I had only read the book once as a child, if Karen had read it over and over as she had claimed then her memories of it were likely much clearer than mine were of it. It was in response to that, along with the hormones of mine that were looking for ways to increase the commonalities between me and my neighbor of the fairer sex, which caused me to begin reading it all over again.

I spent the rest of the evening with my Oreo’s, milk and book, reminiscing with the memories of old.

Chapter after chapter, I was amazed with the familiarity I held for the story. I was absolutely correct; Ira was saved by Wilma, not the other way around. I honestly couldn’t see how it could have been constructed any other way.

It was with this inspiration that I opened up my laptop computer and connected to the internet. Once online I surfed over to Amazon.com and place an order for a used copy of the book, with the purpose of gifting it to Karen. I ordered it with a two day rush, in hopes of earning her goodwill as soon as possible.

After that, I returned to the book and its familiar story. I fell into an uncomfortable sleep on the blankets in the living room, book still in hand.

* * * * *

When I awoke the next day my body felt like it had been beaten with a stick. My muscles were sore from repeatedly carrying effects up the stairs, all the places that it touched the ground ached from the unforgiving floor, and my joints were angry at the contortions I placed myself in through the night trying and find comfort. My body woke readily and early.

I got up, groaning at the burning sensation that the action lit in my legs, and got into the shower. The hot water reminded me of the bruise under my eye and my hand went to the tender spot on my face, where I found it had swollen over the night.

I used the shower to try and was the pain from my limbs, but was unsuccessful. I got out and dried myself with one of my towels. I brushed my teeth and looked at the, now purpling, bruise on my face.

I dressed in slightly wrinkled clothes and left the apartment. Everything in the building was peaceful as I made my way down to my car and left for school. Once there I received the stares that one would expect to come with a bruised face. Some people pointed and expressed an interest to see how the ‘other guy’ looked, I merely smiled sheepishly.

Taking my seat in my first class, David, my friend, turned and gaped at me. “Dude, what the hell happened to you?”

“I tripped and fell.” I confessed.

He smiled, “If its domestic abuse you can confide in me.” He began to giggle, thinking he was witty.

I smiled back at the joke, “No, when I was moving yesterday, my neighbor surprised me and I stumbled, landing on my box.”

“Huh, so the box definitely won that fight.” He raised a fist, “Next time I’ll be there to keep you safe from attacking boxes.”

“Sure you will,” I grinned, “next time I move I’m sure you’ll be as easy to find as you were this time.”

“Hey!” David said defensively, “Jenny said she was going to be at the comic bookstore. How often do you find a girl at the comic bookstore?”

“So how’d it go.” I asked him.

He looked away guiltily. “She didn’t show up.”

I shook my head, determined to reprimand my friend for not being there for me, when I was interrupted by the teacher clearing his throat in front of the classroom. His lecture left little time for screwing around, only granting moments for angry glares that David did his best to avoid.

The class ran long, as we all took notes for what would be on the exam in the next class period, tomorrow. The teacher had announced long ago that he would separate the chaff from the wheat, divorce the adults from the children, and make successful lawyers out of whoever was able to survive his class.

During our short lunch break, between our inhaling of food and gulping of energy drinks, I chided David for being a poor friend and he did his best to change the subject.

Once again I will not bore the reader with the intricacies of our conversation about law and school, instead I will make it clear that once the day was over I had loaded myself up with things to read, things to study and things to know by the next morning.

I ended up leaving school late in the afternoon, physically tired from the restless sleep, and mentally numb from the facts I had tried to shove into my mind. The miracle of caffeine kept my numbed mind buzzing though, a buzz that remained with me as I returned home.

As I approached the front door, James stomped out and glared at me before he got into his truck and slammed the door. I walked in and began climbing the stairs as I heard him speed off.

Then I head the slamming of a door up above me, likely on my own floor, and stomping footsteps to the stairwell. I steadied myself for whatever it could be, and was quickly passed by a red eyed Karen.

I began to open my mouth, in an attempt to use whatever the situation was to weasel my way closer to my neighbor’s heart. But as my lips parted she simply rushed past me down the stairs, where I heard the door open violently.

Shrugging my shoulders I realized that not having a woman as part of my life maybe a blessing. To be honest I hadn’t had many relations with women prior to this point. The last of such relations was approximately a year prior, a short lasting affair, which had begun and culminated in one evening at a high school party. It took me a week of phone calls and note passing to realize that I was a drunken mistake that she was simply trying to forget.

Prior to that I had held onto a childish relationship with a girl named Becky, little more than a neighboring girl that I had shared my first kiss with, confided memories and feelings too, but who promptly moved out of state before we could do any of the experimenting that famously gets young kids into trouble with pregnancy and forced into marriages that end with bitter disappointment and regret.

As I opened the door to my apartment, I recalled the words that our teacher had opened our law course with. Words about how his life was only achieved because of personal sacrifice, he was single and able to allocate all of his free moments into mastering the law, he recommended that if we wanted to become as successful as he we should retire any relations that we were currently having and hold off from starting any new ones, because they would take time away from our rising to the top, like cream.

In that moment, remembering my teacher, I wished I had opened my mouth and said something to Karen. The last thing I wanted to become like was my bitter old teacher, who apparently had had his heart chilled by his devotion.

I looked at my meager dwelling, still as vacant of furniture as it had been the day before, and set my pack onto the ground near where I had caught up on the book the day prior. I went to the kitchen and retrieved a soda, placed a frozen dinner into the microwave, then returned to my pack on the ground.

I unloaded a small pile of books, opening three of them to priory marked pages, then found my note book. Pen in hand I began the grim task of writing definitions, their page number and their respected books, then rewriting each definition in a way that I would be able to remember it onto a flashcard.

I retrieved my dinner from the microwave and continued for the better part of the evening with my studies.

Finally, once my eyes and fingers were weary, my mind unable to study any longer, I piled all my resources back into the pack that was nearby, preparing it for the next morning. I tried to recite the thoughts that I had to have prepared for the next day, for the exam, but my mind revolted as my eyes caught sight of the book that still lay nearby.

In a moment of weakness, I picked up the book and lay back onto the makeshift bed of mine, reading another familiar chapter from it. Wilma continued pulling Ira’s bacon from the fire, providing him an excuse to extricate himself from a situation that would have lead him down a path of certain failure and destitute. Instead, as I fell asleep, Wilma guided Ira to logic and me to dreams.

In that uncomfortable place on the floor I dreamt of Karen. I dreamt that I gave her the book that I had ordered and she invited me into her apartment. In a long and involved fantasy, she was appreciative of the present, offered me a drink and drunkenly told me that she had broken up with her boyfriend because she had wanted to be with me. The ensuing memories were a mixture of my drunken night at the aforementioned party, supplemented with Karen’s face and my thoughts of her body.

I was pulled from my exotic dreams by the pains of the floor grinding into my hips and elbows. I awoke with an uncomfortable sensation of moisture in my pants and embarrassment in my face. I quickly found my way to the bathroom and showered my impure thoughts from my mind and their repercussions from my body.

As I got dressed for school, my thoughts went back to the task of the day, passing the exam.

I held a pair of sheathed pop tarts in hand as I grabbed my backpack and headed to my vehicle. I ate while I drove, arriving early to give me and David time to quickly review the notes that we had taken and prepare further for the test.

Once again I will shorten my recollections by not describing our studying. However it should be noted that my eye was once again referenced and mocked, followed by more chiding from me about how poor of a friend David had been.

The class began sharply on time; the teacher even locked the door so that any late arrivals would forfeit the exam and in turn the class. Our test was handed out and we were given the entire class period to work on it. The first page opened with relatively simple questions that were posed just to be sure that those tested had done the reading, quickly though it took a tough turn.

I worried about my answers, but did my best to remember the terms from the book and the meaning of the teacher’s lectures, copying both to the paper. On a multiple answer section, the answers were so similar as to be differentiated simply by one word or just the order of the words; I once again did my best to comprehend the meaning and picked the answer that held the best intentions. Students desperately scribbled final answers when the teacher demanded that pencils were to be set aside and we were to sit motionless while he gathered the papers from us.

I looked to the side and saw David, sweat breaking on his brow, look nervously as his papers then at me. After class he confided in me that he was sure that he had failed, I admitted that I had no idea how I had done either, and we quickly ate our lunches before returning to our classes and our studies.

At the end of the day I went home again. While I drove I remembered that my package was supposed to have arrived, and was excited by thoughts of anything that didn’t have to do with school.

I walked into the apartment building and saw the row of mailboxes that I had passed each day prior. I fidgeted with my key chain, looking for the small mail key that I had placed alongside my room key, opened my little box and happily found a brown package stuffed into it.

As I pulled it out, I realized that it had been stuffed in and curled, a curl that might have a lasting effect on the book and its binding. Frustrated I vowed to have words with the mailman, this was an unacceptable way to treat a piece of mail I was acquiring and hoping to gift to a nice young lady.

While I climbed the stairs to my room I continued my mental practice of rebuking our mail service provider, quite content.

As I passed Karen’s door, I saw that it was snugly closed, giving me no indication of her status. I began to wonder about how she and James had resolved their difficulties and when would be a good time to ask about them.

Once I had entered my room though I let my thoughts of Karen fade. I began to perform the same ritual I had the day prior, frozen dinner, pile of study books, paper, flashcards and pencils.

As I opened the first book, I realized that I should take a moment and evaluate how my gift for Karen had turned out.

I began to try and tear the brown paper that covered the book, but found that it was reinforced by plastic, immune to tearing.

About the same time, my dinner was calling me with microwave beeps. I brought the package with me to the kitchen, opened the microwave (to cool the dinner for a moment) then used a knife to open the top of the package.

I helped the book as it was birthed from the brown paper bundle, happy that it was the proper book, yet disappointed that it now had a bit of a curve in it. I picked up my dinner and brought both items with me back into the living room.

There I decided that it would be good for me to not worry about my studies while I ate, so instead I opened her book, to the place where I had left off my rereading of my book.

As I began the chapter I felt lost. Yes Ira and Wilma were there, but the story was different. I flipped to the next chapter and read a little, still not recognizing the story. Then I flipped back a few chapters and tried again.

Each time I changed locations in the book I found it to be, mostly, unfamiliar. It still dealt with the same characters as my version of the book had, but the events that they were encountering seemed to be somehow different

I was flabbergasted, deciding that I had simply studied too much recently, but was determined to set this situation straight in my mind.

* * * * *