A Place Between Two Skies

“How can you become the most efficient version of yourself?”

Ellen had been staring intently at these words for the last thirteen minutes. The question was posed, in purple block letters, by a sticker plastered onto the bus ceiling. Someone must have made a considerable effort to put it there. Next to the question was a cartoon woman, faded by sunlight. She rested her chin upon her fist, eyes tilted upward, as if the answer floated just above her head.

The bus was empty except for one other woman sitting across the aisle, a few rows back. She followed Ellen’s gaze up to the sticker. Personally, she found the message rather trite. Wasn’t simply existing enough? The woman was a few decades older than Ellen, in her fifties, but she had the kind of face that made it hard to decipher her age, or what she might be thinking, a veritable blank slate. She dressed sensibly, in neutral tones, and her brownish grayish hair blended seamlessly into her brownish grayish coat. Frankly, she was extremely easy to overlook, which was probably why Ellen didn’t notice that, when she finally tore her eyes away from the sticker, yanking the wire signaling the driver to stop only a moment before it was too late, the woman quietly got up from her seat and got off the bus, too.

To her detriment, Ellen was never particularly observant, but today she was uniquely oblivious to her surroundings. In fairness, there were still about four hours left of daylight, that golden summer evening kind, and the street she was on was known to be generally safe. At the moment, it was deserted, and devoid of all sound, even the inevitable backdrop of ambient noise, the chirping of birds and the low purr of engine motors. Ellen didn’t live in this neighborhood, but it was familiar enough that she could safely dissociate without losing her way or coming into harm. She didn’t do this intentionally, she just didn’t stop herself from slipping into this state she often found herself in, something like a waking dream. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant - a little unnerving, maybe.

The woman trailed Ellen for a few more blocks, at a distance. She was prepared to do the things one typically does when trying to avoid being spotted (holding a large newspaper in front of her face, ducking into a bodega, that sort of thing) but found it wasn’t necessary, since Ellen hardly seemed to see what was right in front of her. If she did, she would have noted that the only other moving object in the vicinity was a black cat, who ran past both of them, leapt into the air and, as if sucked into some invisible portal, disappeared. Ellen turned the corner. The woman followed.

They arrived at a park, or rather, a scraggly patch of grass in the middle of the concrete landscape. With all the water shortages, this was the most that any city could hope for. The only real green pastures left were hidden away at the government-owned crop facilities, protected by electric fences and incessantly patrolling armed guards. At least, that’s what everyone was saying - there was an information shortage, too.

Ellen sat down in the middle of the grass. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, only to shove it back in with a look of disgust. She stretched out her legs, leaned back on her elbows and looked up, this time at the sky. The thought struck her that the clouds looked different, somehow, but when she tried to recall what they usually looked like, she couldn’t conjure up an image. She often found herself in this kind of quandary, unsure of what she was remembering, but unable to shake the lingering feeling that something was not quite right.

The woman was watching from across the street, mustering up the courage to approach her. This nervousness struck her as a bit absurd. After all, she’d been preparing for this for some time, her whole life, really. And yet, she had always been a little afraid of what would happen when the moment finally arrived. She reached into her coat and ran her fingers down the spine of the small black notebook she’d been carrying for so long. Its contents were precious in more ways than one. Though it was no longer of any use to her, not in her possession anyways, she realized she was reluctant to part with it. It had grown to be a part of her, like an extra limb. But none of that mattered, so she swallowed her fear and walked steadily across the street, towards Ellen.

Ellen felt the woman coming before she saw her. She had never felt something so strongly before. It caught her by surprise, this sudden knowing. Her eyes shifted down from the sky and onto the figure before her. Did she know this woman? She felt the answer was both yes and no.

They stared at each other wordlessly. Ellen moved to stand, but the woman lowered herself to the ground beside her. Under any other circumstances, all of this would have been very strange, and possibly frightening. Yet, without understanding why, Ellen was absolutely sure that it was supposed to be happening.

The woman took the black notebook out from inside her coat and set it down between them. Ellen turned to face her, half expecting her to say something, half knowing she wouldn’t. The woman nodded and, as silently as she had come, she left. Ellen turned the journal over in her hands a few times. She felt, deeply, that once she opened it, everything would change. So she allowed herself to be in liminal space for a moment longer.

The older Ellen walked back the way they had come, rounding the corner across from the park. She stopped once she was out of sight, standing in the pulsing stillness, feeling herself enfolded in the energy of the threshold. Then, she took a step forward.

Younger Ellen was still sitting on the grass, looking up at the sky again. The clouds that were not clouds had parted to reveal a white fluorescent sun. To her right, a pile of green paper which, according to the journal, amounted to $20,000. The journal explained that she would need this where she was going, that this was how things were obtained there. It would be plenty to get started with relative comfort and ease.

To her left, the journal, open to the first page. The instructions were simple. Take the money, leave this place, this place you were always meant to leave. There is a new home waiting. Just walk through the doorway.

* * * * *

Older Ellen sat in her favorite chair, the rocking chair on her porch, mindlessly stroking the cat curled up in her lap. She had been sure to write, in the journal, to feed the cat in her impending absence (no matter how many unlucky mice he brought home) and she knew this request would be heeded. She had always liked cats.

The stars twinkled above her, dancing in swirls of color and light around the glittering crescent moon. She looked up at the night sky for one last time, and smiled.