This choice: You explore your new apartment. • Go Back...Chapter #6You explore your new apartment. by: Wassel   For what felt like a solid thirty minutes (but was probably more like five) you just stood there in the hallway. Despite having wanted this, and feeling like deep down it was indeed for the best, you had no idea what to do. These familiar surroundings no longer seeming quite so welcoming as they once had. Or at least you no longer felt quite so welcome in them. The imposter syndrome that you'd been experiencing since leaving the hospital having yet to go away. Being somewhat exacerbated by the fact that you were actually here. In the very same apartment that your grandmother had spent so much of her time. A fresh start and a new home for her after your grandfather had died. His picture, along with your own and the rest of your family's taking pride of place on the nearby wall. Those and various other 'grandma' style pictures, ornaments and the like. The combination of which brought back even more memories flooding back. Near enough breaking into tears as you wondered whether or not you'd made a huge mistake. That being stuck here on your own was only going to make things worse.
No. No it... It was the right thing to do, you assured yourself. Or at least tried your best to do. Come on, Tim. Stop being a wimp! Just pull yourself together and get on with it. This is what you wanted, remember. A chance to get to grips with all this craziness on your own.
Which you weren't about to do by turning into a dribbling mess in the hallway. Shaking off this heavy, sad and regretful feeling and marching your way into the living room. Fully aware that if your grandmother were here, she'd tell you the exact same thing. She'd want you to make the most of this second chance you'd been given, instead of completely giving up. Having had a very positive, go-getting attitude. Even in her old age.
Of course this was easier said than done. And, as you wandered around your new place of residence, these memories and reminders of what you'd lost (and what you wished you hadn't gained) continually popped up. That familiar couch where you and your brother would sit and try to explain what was going on in the colorful comic book movies that you liked to watch. Which, given her age and the premise being so far out of her frame of reference, your grandmother was frequently left baffled by. Forever telling you that "I'm glad you guys enjoyed it, but I'd take Clint Eastwood or Robert Redford over all these silly costumed heroes any day." Which became especially ironic when Robert Redford actually showed up in The Winter Soldier. One of the few that she actually ended up sitting through the entire thing.
Then there was her vast collection of books that took up almost an entire wall. Your Grandmother being an avid reader and would always be carrying one around. Bringing to mind that Christmas that your mom had bought her an iPad so that she could download novels instead. Hoping to alleviate some of the space in her apartment. The result of which was her attempting to use it once and then throwing it in the trash in frustration. Your grandmother and modern technology not meshing well at all. Which meant that more often than not, it was left to you to show her how the various gadgets that she was gifted actually worked. Being entirely unable to do anything with computers, phones, or even the TV by herself.
Wandering next into the nearby kitchen, where she prepared her delicious home cooked meals. And every visit was usually accompanied by some super tasty, insanely sugary treat. Your grandmother supplying you and your siblings with as many cakes and cakes as you could eat. Not that there was much chance of that happening now. Not when it came to your skills in the kitchen. Barely being able to make a piece of toast.
The bathroom, which was the next step on your journey, being filled with all kinds of old lady type lotions, ointments and creams. Not daring to even look in the medicine cabinet for fear of what you might find. Imagining that, given her age, she had to have a shit ton of drugs inside. Your mom having in fact left you a list of instructions of what you were and weren't supposed to take. Yet another thing that didn't sit well with you at all.
Which was why you hurried on towards bedrooms. First then spare and then her own. The former being where you and your siblings had spent many a night when you were younger. Mostly when your parents were throwing a get-together at your house and wanted you all out of the way. This obviously happening less and less as you got older and you and David (who were usually lumped together) grew tired of sharing a bed. While her bedroom, who's doorway you were now standing in, had always been a little more off-limits and therefore mysterious. Presumably because she didn't want you messing it up. Being, again like your mother, a very neat and orderly woman. Liking to have everything in its place. And her surroundings certainly reflected that.
I suppose if there is one positive though, you mused as you examined the large queen size bed, the en suite bathroom, and the plentiful closet space, Her room is way bigger than mine. And if this was where you were to be sleeping, you could do a heck of a lot worse.
You didn't want to get ahead of yourself though. The room being bigger than your former bedroom sure, but the thought of sleeping in your dead grandmother's bed, while in her body, did feel super weird. Causing a shiver to make its way down your spine.
Hence why you returned to the living room and to your own belongings that your father had placed down on the floor. Needing something familiar that was yours to help momentarily distract. Spending the next twenty minutes pulling everything out. Your Xbox. Your computer. Your phone. A few of your favorite comic books. As well as an old Star Wars model or two. All things that you hoped might make you feel a little more at home.
Discovering, as you looked at your phone, that you had accumulated even more messages from Randall. Four more since the last time you'd turned it on. Your best friend being nothing if not persistent, and clearly unable to take a hint. Which was why you immediately turned it off again. Still not being ready to face him.
Instead you hooked your Xbox up to your grandmother’s rather old and outdated TV, and distracted yourself playing video games for a while. Collecting headshots and blowing up bad guys being the only time when you actually felt like yourself. It being only when you moved a certain way and bumped your arm against the soft, buoyant flesh that now made up your chest that the illusion was shattered. Or were interrupted by a familiar feeling growing within your bladder. Going to the bathroom being just as much of an ordeal now as it had been prior. Keeping your eyes firmly closed and your mind anywhere else while you did it. Feeling super gross for like the next half hour after.
Maybe I should take up drinking or something, you at one point thought, while rifling through the fridge. Noticing that your grandmother had a few of bottles of wine on standby. Presumably for when her various gal-pals came over. Not having had much experience with alcohol, other than a few sips of beer, but you were certainly old enough to do so now. By a full 48 years. And after girls and their bodies, alcohol was the next best thing that a teenage boy could get their hands on. You and Randall having made numerous plans over the year as to how exactly you were going to get some. Not that any of these actually came to fruition. Being much too worried that you'd end up getting caught.
There was no need to worry about that happening now of course. Wondering, as you admired one of the bottles, if being drunk might actually make this experience a little easier to handle. At least until the fear crept in that, What if it makes it worse? Much preferring to have all of your faculties during your very first night alone in your new body. Just to be safe.
So instead of doing that, you made yourself a sandwich, played a few more rounds of COD and then decided to call it a night. Hoping you might feel better about things in the morning.
Though, rather than go to sleep in your grandmother's bed (which still felt much too disrespectful), you slept in the spare room instead. Where it unsurprisingly took you quite a while to drift off. Having quite the troubled sleep.
* * * *
If getting to sleep had proven difficult then waking up the next morning was even worse. Being momentarily confused about where you were. Which, added to the physical dissociation you still experienced, threw you for a loop. Needing a good few minutes to remind yourself both who and where you were. Which seemed par for the course these days.
Still, as with every other morning, you did eventually manage to drag yourself out of bed. Having slept with your clothes on, so not to have to face your naked form (which you'd done so every night). Though, due to how funky you were starting to smell, you realized that you could probably do with a shower. A prospect that you'd also been putting off and were admittedly dreading truth be told. The thought of having to touch and soap up the various parts of your body being too icky for words.
You were aware of course that not showering was only gonna make things worse in the long run. Needing to bite the bullet at some point. Figuring that now that you were on your own and didn't have to worry about anybody else's presence, it was probably best to get it over with. Which was what you then decided to do. In and out like a black ops commando, was your thinking. Imagining that you were gonna have to keep your eyes closed while doing this as well.
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