Me, Too

I swung my legs back and forth impatiently as I sat in the almost offensively white

waiting room. The walls were white, the chairs were white, the little table in the middle

of the room was white, and it all looked as if it hadn’t been touched by another human

in…well, ever. I shivered slightly at the thought of the word “human.” Prior to the last 24

hours, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to my brain’s choosing of that word; now,

it seemed purposeful and ominous.

As my mind wandered slightly, one of my ankles hit the foot of my chair sharply and my

leg-swinging came to an abrupt (and painful) end.  I looked around the room for

something else with which to occupy myself. There was nothing, though. Nothing. The

room had no windows, no pictures or paintings on the walls, no magazines on the little

table, nothing. Why even have a little table then, I thought bitterly, if you’re not going to

put something useful or entertaining on it. They must have people wait in here at least

occasionally, if not often. Why else would they have the room? Unless the room was

intended to drive me crazy with boredom, so that when I did speak to someone, I spilled

out every truth and detail I had in me. Maybe they designed this room to be agonizingly

dull.

I honestly didn’t even know who “they” were. I had no idea of the purpose or the name of

the building in which I was currently sitting, cranky due to lack of sleep, confusion, and

now a sore ankle.  I knew it was a government building—that was one thing I was sure

of. After my “attack” (I still wasn’t sure what to call it; every word sounded so stupid and

meaningless and did nothing to describe the actual situation), when I called the police and

told them what had happened (as best as I could, anyway), they hurried over and hauled

me off to this building. I overheard one of them whisper, not too quietly, that this was a

case for the feds. Despite everything, I had almost chuckled when he said that. It just

sounded like such a cliché and really kind of dumb. Like one of those old-timey cop

shows where a man hoisted up his belt and spoke out of the corner of his mouth: "Well,

Chief, this looks like a case for the feds."

Once inside the apparently federal building, I had been grabbed forcefully (though not

maliciously) by a tall woman with glasses and a skinny face. I remember thinking that

she looked like Miss Honey from the Matilda movie I had watched often as a child.

Small frame, tiny features, kind face. She didn’t say anything to me, but she was the one

who led me to this room. She guided me to a chair, smiled slightly and sadly, then left.

That had been about a half an hour ago. At least, I thought so. I couldn’t be too sure—I

didn’t have my phone on me and any sort of clock in the room obviously didn’t exist.

I was fairly certain I was there because of the nature of what had happened to me.

                I punched myself in the face. 

Wait, why was I punching myself in the face? 

I almost laughed out loud because the very notion of me even thinking that to

myself just proved how crazy I had clearly gone. 

Trolls don't exist. Demons don't exist. 

I can't think of what to name it. Is it a demon or a troll? A demon sounds

religious, a troll sounds comical. This thing was neither.

 And it existed. Oh, it existed. And it just made me punch myself in the fucking face.

I sat upright with a jolt. Was that in my head? Did I think that or did I hear someone say

that? Without realizing it, I had gripped the arms of the chair so hard my fingers had

turned white. I felt like I had just emerged from being underwater; it was hard to get air

into my lungs, my nose and my eyes stung, and I couldn’t seem to regain my composure.

I focused on my breathing—something my childhood therapist had always told me to do

when I was having a panic attack. I breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth,

in through my nose, out through my mouth. Slowly, I felt my heartbeat decrease and my

vision cleared.

Was I really going crazy? Did the thing that attack me cause me to lose my grip on

reality? What was it that had hurt me? It was not a human. That was the only fact I had

taken away from the entire ordeal so far. That thing was not a human. I guess it could be

called an alien. It was certainly alien to anything I had gotten myself acclimated to. My

safe, troll-less, demon-less, alien-less world. I sighed. That had to be why I was in this

room, instead of a hospital or a police station. Those places dealt with humans only.

I looked around the empty room again. Was I expecting something to change? Someone

to pop out of thin air, like a wizard or Cinderella’s fairy Godmother, and let me know

everything was ok? Or that everything would be ok as long as I followed three easy steps.

Take the pill, go to the ball, be home by midnight. Then voila, my life would be back to

normal. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.

I had a fifth grade teacher who always said that—easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy. I had

thought it was hilarious at the time and a perfect way to describe the math problems she

would write on the blackboard with chalk, in excellent handwriting. Did they still use

blackboards and chalk in school? God, it felt like light-years since I had been in grade

school and I didn’t have any children of my own. They had to still use blackboards and

chalk. They just had to.

Are you trying to distract yourself, Kate?

I bolted upright once again, heartrate increased, eyes wide, the little hairs on my arm

standing at attention. That was definitely a real voice. That wasn’t in my thoughts. That

was a voice outside of myself. It was not in my head. It couldn’t have been. I wasn’t

going crazy. Was I going crazy? I shook my head slightly; crazy people don’t know that

they’re going crazy…right? Right? Wasn’t that how that worked?

Before I could answer any of my own questions, the door (finally) opened. In walked a

woman--a small woman of probably only a little more than five feet, with a sweet face and intelligent eyes. Wasn’t it funny how eyes could look smart? How someone could

look as if they knew things, all sorts of things, without ever speaking a word? That’s kind

of what this woman looked like. She smiled at me. It was the type of smile that invited

her entire face to join along with her mouth. I couldn’t help but relax a bit and smile

back. I could already tell she was good at her job. Whatever her job was.

“Hey there,” she said kind of softly as she extended her right arm to shake my hand. I

caught only the slightest glimpse of what looked like old scars underneath the fold of her

sweater, near her wrist. “I’m Noah, nice to meet you.” Her handshake was firm, while her

voice remained light and quiet.

“I’m Kate.” Those were the first words I had spoken out loud in hours and I was alarmed

by how feeble and scared I sounded.

“Kate. Hi. Why don’t you come with me?” She smiled again, and tilted her head towards

the door, indicating I should get up and follow her through it.

When I stood, my legs felt shaky and numb. It was as if I had been holding a slab of

cement on my lap, instead of just my folded hands. We went out the door and to the left. 

The hallway was almost exactly like the room I had sat in—white, bright, and empty. I

watched Noah’s short brown hair bounce gently on her shoulders as she walked ahead of

me. I had the sudden, inexplicable urge to start sobbing. I didn’t.

We turned another corner and in front of us was a hallway with many doors, lining the

right side; the left side was just that same blank, white wall. We made it to the fifth door

when Noah stopped. She reached into her back pocket, pulled out a key, and silently

unlocked the round, silver doorknob. As soon as she pulled the door open, I smelled it. It

was the strangest thing, that smell. It was a gentle scent that somehow filled me with

nostalgia, sadness, and tranquility all at the same time. I thought briefly about asking her

whether she used a certain air freshener, but changed my mind. I figured I should

probably keep the dumb questions to a minimum. 

The room we entered couldn’t have been more different than the one I had been in

before. This room was small and flooded with warm light. The walls were covered with

paintings and pictures of sunsets and flowers. There were two chairs, one with a large

desk beside it and one positioned next to a small circular table that looked something like

a nightstand. On the desk there were papers everywhere, a computer, and what looked

like a thousand post-it notes. On the little table there was only one box of tissues. 

It seemed almost too obvious that the chair next to the tissues was meant for me, and

Noah was to sit in the chair by the desk, but she surprised me by saying, after she had

shut the door, “Sit wherever you’d like, Kate.” I hesitated, wondering if that was some

sort of test, before I dismissed that thought as ridiculous and sat in the chair by the

tissues. I figured they might come in handy, plus I wouldn’t know what to do next to a

desk cluttered with items that did not belong to me.

She walked slowly over to the chair opposite me and sat down. She smiled again. Her

smile was so lovely—soothing and beautiful. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“So,” she took a breath, “First and foremost do you have any questions?”

Did I have any questions? Of course I had questions; I had ALL of the questions. What

happened to me, where was I, what was going on, and what the hell was this building? I

opened my mouth to speak.

“Isn’t Noah a boy’s name?”  I blurted out, immediately hating myself. I could have asked

anything else, literally anything else would have been better than that, maybe a “where

are we?” or “who are you, exactly?” I could have asked anything else. 

Noah surprised me by bursting into what could only be described as chortles. I released

some of the breath I was holding in out of sheer mortification.

“It is a boy’s name, yes, but my mom didn’t care, I suppose. I’m not really too sure why I

was given this name, honestly, I was adopted when I was three. I’ve gotten very used to a

great deal of confusion when it comes to it, though, maybe I should have had it changed

at some point years ago.” She shrugged, but continued to smile.

“I really don’t know why I asked that. I like the name, it’s pretty.” I resigned myself to

staring at the floor as I quietly spoke.

Noah hooked her ankles around the front two legs of her chair, and scooted herself

forward a couple feet so she was closer to me. I looked up. 

No longer smiling, her face appeared concerned as her eyes locked with mine. 

“It was wearing heavy jeans.” 

This statement came out of me with force behind it, as if there was something in the back

of my brain that shoved it aggressively to my mouth and through my lips. It didn’t even

feel as though I had said it, but instead that it had said me. That didn’t make any sense,

but that’s just what it was.

Noah didn’t seem even the least bit surprised at this outburst. She nodded slightly and sat

silently as she waited for me to say more.

It was wearing heavy jeans. 

Its alien tentacles ripped my soul from my body, through the orifice it chose without my

human consent.

This is why we hate extraterrestrials, why we can't have a peaceful coexistence, a happy

ending. 

War of the worlds happened on my couch and at the end, it stood up, victorious, and

slithered down my fire escape to return to its planet, satisfied and unharmed. 

I picked up my body parts and tried to reattach them.

But I no longer had my soul to use as glue. 

And I remember it was wearing heavy jeans.

It had happened again. Did I say that out loud? Was that my voice? Were those my

memories? I was, once more, finding it hard to breathe and I couldn’t hear anything over

the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

Noah was staring at me, silently and carefully. She didn’t seem alarmed by my behavior,

nor did she make any action to console me, for which I was grateful. I was beyond

consolation at this point. She nodded slightly, and looked at a point somewhere over my

right shoulder. I guess I had said that out loud. 

What must have been a few minutes went by, though to me it felt like hours. I could hear

the silence in the room, ringing in between my ears, pulsating around my mind. Or was

that my heartbeat? I couldn’t tell. I sighed softly.

“Did it say anything to you?” Noah finally asked quietly.

I shook my head. Truthfully, I couldn’t remember if it had said anything or not, but I

didn’t particularly feel like summoning the energy to recollect, and did it matter

anyways? Unless it had uttered a secret of the universe while it was sewing my mouth

shut, did it matter what it had said? I didn’t think so.

Noah seemed to feel the same way because she moved on from that question with barely

a pause.

“How are you feeling right now?”

I opened my mouth to say “I feel okay,” then immediately shut it. Why would I tell her I

felt okay when I clearly didn’t? I felt the exact opposite of okay and she had to have

known that. So, what did I feel then? Tired? Well, that was a given. Violated? Obviously.

But what else? There was something else I felt, underneath the layers of trauma and

shock and pain. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was another feeling there. A

nostalgic one—it was something familiar.

“I don’t know.” I answered uselessly, as I lowered my eyes to my lap. My legs looked

different, somehow. They were definitely my legs, clothed in my favorite pair of jeans,

the ones that were loose enough around my belly so I didn’t develop that dreaded “muffin

top.” They were sitting still, with my feet crossed around one another. But they looked

different. I moved my eyes to my arms, down to my hands. It all looked different. My

fingers were as short and chubby as they always were, but they had changed somehow.

My arms were still pale, but they were different, too. I was beginning to see that my body

was no longer my own.

“When do I get my body back?” The question came out automatically, without a second

thought. I was starting to get used to my mouth saying things I wasn’t aware my brain

was thinking.

I lifted my eyes to her. “When do I get my body back?” My voice broke on

the last word and then it happened. I finally let myself cry. I leaned my head back so I

was staring at the ceiling and let the tears run down into my ears, filling them, then

sliding down my neck and into my hair on my shoulders.

“WhendoIgetmybodybackwhendoIgetmybodybackwhendoIgetmybodyback?” I was

sobbing now, choking out the question over and over, my head still bent back. I no longer

doubted that I seemed completely crazy, but I didn’t care. Something was taken from me,

something was stolen from inside of me and replaced with cold, unrecognizable matter.

Worse than that, though, worse than the feeling of something being replaced within me,

was the feeling that most of me was left empty. Parts of me were taken and replaced with

nothing. The nothingness—the nothingness was the worst part.

I sat there and just cried and cried, my head tilted back, my voice becoming hoarse. Noah

sat there silently, making no moves to touch me, to say anything to me, or to get me to

stop. I couldn’t help but feel waves of gratitude mixed in with my sheer agony. 

When there was nothing left to give, no more tears or sounds to come out of me, I finally

lowered my head. I felt dizzy and exhausted. This was some shit, man, I could be home

watching sitcom reruns right now. I could be falling into a trance filled with syndicated

laugh tracks and worn out jokes, nothing on my mind except whether or not I wanted to

order pizza again. Instead, I was here. I was in this stupid fucking room with this stupid

fucking woman because of some stupid fucking monster.

I immediately felt guilty for that thought. Noah wasn’t stupid. Everything else maybe

was, but she certainly wasn’t. I took a deep breath and forced my eyes to meet hers. 

She didn’t seem phased by my record-breaking tantrum. She looked at me motionlessly.

What a remarkable woman. I didn’t even know her, but I knew that she was who I needed

to be with. In that very moment, at that very time, after everything that had happened, she

was who I needed to be with. 

Noah exhaled softly and seemed to be taking her time with what she was about to say

next. 

“Kate, you have your body back,” she paused and looked at that spot above my right

shoulder again. I didn’t bother turning to see what she was looking at—I knew there

wasn’t anything there; I knew that was just where her eyes went when she was thinking,

the same way my eyes often drift to people’s feet on the train while my mind wanders

through my own thoughts. 

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, my mouth did that thing

again. “This isn’t my body, Noah, tell me what’s going on, I know you’re lying to me,

stop! Stop lying to me. FUCK.”  I was almost screaming now, and I had no idea why.

Noah didn’t deserve to be screamed at; this wasn’t her fault. Was it her fault? How would

I know, I didn’t even know what was going on, or where I was, or what happened, and

she wasn’t telling me. All of a sudden, I felt so furious I could have flipped her desk over

right then, papers, computer, post-it notes and all. 

“I’m sorry, Kate.” Noah said softly after what felt like a lifetime of suffocating silence. “I’m not lying to you, I promise I’m not. You still have your body, it has just been changed.” She paused slightly, seemingly waiting for me to interrupt with questions. I didn’t.

“You were attacked by something we don’t understand, something we haven’t

been able to solve. ‘We’ being my colleagues and myself, and everyone who works in

this building. We work day in and day out to try to comprehend what these animals are

and what makes them do the things they do. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to get

any substantive answer, and for that I truly am sorry.” She sounded sorry, she really did.

So I guess it was an alien that had come to me that night. An alien or a monster or any of

the things that I had been thinking before. It was then I realized just how badly I had been

hoping I was wrong, God, how I was hoping I was wrong! I had been half-expecting her

to explain to me that I had some sort of out-of-body intense hyper-realistic nightmare and

all I would need to do is take some medicine and it would be cleared out of my mind

within a day or two. The infection would be gone. Take the pill, go to the ball, be home

by midnight, right?

Your body isn’t your own because it’s been poisoned

It’s bloody and diseased and shedding blood cells by the minute

She might say that you’re the same as before

You’re not

You can feel it spreading, I know you can

It started below your waistband, but now it’s in your stomach

Moving up to your lungs

(I can’t fucking breathe)

Seeping into your arteries

(My heart is going to fucking explode)

Traveling up your neck

(Its hands are on my fucking throat)

To your mouth

(I can’t fucking speak, I can’t scream for help)

Into your eyes

(I can’t fucking see, how do I know what’s hurting me?)

All the way into your brain

(These thoughts are not my fucking own)

It will kill you

(I want to fucking die)

“I’m sorry, Kate, I didn’t hear what you said.” I looked up to see Noah leaning forward

slightly, her brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

“I said I wanted to die.” It came out as barely a whisper. It was just starting to hit me how

tired I was. How goddamn tired I was. At the same time, the thought of laying down in

my bed, in my dark room, alone, caused me the type of terror that I could feel. You know

the type...or maybe you don’t. It bubbles and burns in the pit of your stomach, then

slowly keeps rising until it’s at the back of your throat and suddenly you don’t know if

you’re going to vomit, scream, or pass out. That type of terror.

“I know you do,” She stated bluntly, slightly surprising me (nothing could shock me

anymore.) I had half-expected to react to what I said with horror, or worry, or even some

sternness. “I don’t blame you,” she continued, “I would feel pretty similarly if I were in

your shoes. But that’s why you’re here. I’m going to help you, Kate.” She smiled with

half her mouth, the type of smile that tests the emotional waters of the other person

before committing itself to a full grin. I smiled back.

“Ok, look,” She jumped up with a start and went over to her desk. She pulled out the top

drawer and began rummaging through what looked like hundreds of papers. After she

found what she was looking for, she nudged the drawer shut with her hip and made her

way back over to the chair across from mine.

“I think these will be helpful.” She handed me the pile of papers.

I flipped through them, my eyes scanning over the words and accompanying

photographs, becoming more and more horrified.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Noah slowly lowered herself into her seat, “It’s scary. I

agree. But I want you to see for yourself that you aren’t alone. All of those people are real

people and most of them are doing better today than they ever have. So…there’s hope.”

She offered an apologetic smile with her last words, as if she knew herself how distant a

concept hope seemed to me.

On each page there was a story, or maybe a report would be a better term for it, or an

account, even. Each one was written in first person, and each report had a picture of the

writer attached to it. I flipped through the pages until my eyes landed on the face of a girl.

She was young, younger than I was, and she wasn’t smiling in her picture, but she looked

like she was happy. The first line of her “story” simply stated, “I didn’t know aliens

existed until one attacked me in the middle of the night.” I continued reading to discover

that what had happened to me had happened to this young girl.

I turned page after page, reading only the first few lines of each little personal chapter, my eyes widening to the reality of the situation. This type of thing happened a lot…like, a whole lot, and mostly to

females. How did I not know of this? How did anyone not know about this? Why was

this such a secret? I didn’t ask the question out loud because my mind automatically

answered it for me: It’s a secret because no one would believe it. Hell, I don’t know if I

would have believed. But, still, with this much evidence…why wasn’t more being done?

As if she read my mind, Noah spoke softly, “I know it seems bleak. And horrible,

frankly. And I won’t lie to you, Kate, it is both of those things. But you must know that

there are teams of us working every single day to figure out a way to put an end to this, or

at the very least make getting justice somewhat possible. We just need to first believe in,

accept, and try to understand these monsters. And that is what may take a while. But

listen…LISTEN.” I almost fell out of my seat; the swift change in volume and tone of her

voice startled me to the core.

Noah was breathing heavily and staring to her right, seemingly trying to compose herself

and find her words. I felt a surge of empathy towards her that was so strong, my eyes

immediately welled up and my nose started to sting. This really did mean a lot to her. She

really did care.

“Listen,” she finally said quietly, “You are not alone. You have this whole community of

people around you. You were able to get a peek into that with those papers I showed you,

but it’s even bigger than that. It’s a movement, Kate. We are rallying together and we are

marching towards something huge. I promise you. You are going to feel really bad for as

long as it takes you. We will all be here, right by your side, every step of the way. And

you’ll come out of this with a strength I don’t even think I fully comprehend.” She kept

her hands clenched in fists of passion as she spoke; she was intriguing and, oddly enough,

uplifting. I felt my first flutter of hope.

“How about we call it a day?” She lowered her head so her eyes could hold my own. I

was so tired.

“That sounds good.” I said, sighing deeply and closing my eyes. I didn’t know what I felt

anymore.

“Alright, come with me, I’ll show you what we are going to do next, you got this, girl.”

She gave me a playful punch on the shoulder, making it impossible for me not to smile.

“Oh, and Kate?” Noah closed the door behind us as we walked out into the hallway. She

looked at me pointedly before we made our way down the long, white tunnel. She

paused, then just said simply, “Me too.”