The aroma of coffee wafting through the window woke her. She smiled. Suddenly, she sat up. She had no idea where she was.
"She had no idea who she was." This was written on a sheet of lined paper, torn haphazardly from some spiral bound notebook and laying on the pillow next to her. At the bottom was a kissy mouth like someone had put lipstick on and then pressed their mouth to the page.
And she didn't. She knew she liked coffee. She also knew what coffee was, and how to read, clearly. Good. She got up, put on clothes that fit her, and left the bedroom.
A hallway. This bedroom door wasn't just a bedroom door. The bedroom was the whole apartment. She had been sleeping in a studio. She walked down the hallway, found a door to the outside, pushed it open and found herself on a sidewalk.
It was a hill. Pretty steep. She could see the tops of palm trees...
She turned and looked at the building she had just exited. 2132 was the number on the side of it. Off in the distance she could see "Grand Ave." on a sign and "21st Street"
"Feel free to change"
She glanced down impulsively, as if she expected there to be a watch on her left wrist. There was no watch, and she had no memory of wearing a watch, but she must have, and a part of her knew that was why she'd glanced down. More importantly, though, there on her wrist was written that message.
She couldn't change, she didn't think, since she didn't know who she was to begin with. Or... her clothes? Had she written this? It was impossible to tell if this was the same handwriting as the note. It could have been, but it looked different enough to not have been. After all, this was written on skin, not paper.
She looked down at her clothes. They seemed fine.
She turn left, down the hill and walked to 21st Street. Just a stop sign, no crosswalk. There was a more major street at the end of the next block. 20th, presumably, with a stoplight and crosswalk, the works. It looked like it was morning. Coffee. That's what she had been wanting, but now that she was outside, she had even less a notion of where to get it.
Then a lady holding 4 to-go cups of Starbucks walked up to her, handed her one, and hurried away before she could be stopped. She stood, dumbfounded, holding the cup.
"Reflect upon the lives"
Was written on the cup... ok. Now this wasn't a case of some personal accident. Oh... or was it still? The sentence went on
"of the farmers who grew your Free Trade cup of coffee"
Just some marketing thing, meant to make people feel like Starbucks was an ethical choice. She took a sip. It was too sweet. Many pumps of syrup in it.
Pumps of syrup. That was very specific, and these feelings about Starbucks. They didn't come from nowhere. At the very least, she had opinions. That was nice. That was like being someone instead of no one.
Now to figure out who/what/why she was in this particular predicament. She had a clue, this lady who gave her coffee. She turned around a full 180 degrees, and began up the hill instead.
This lady had been young. She stopped for a moment. She wasn't sure how young she was, herself. She looked at her hands. No particular clues. No deep vein thrombosis. A little pain. Just in her lower back, but young, old, lots of people have pain.