Not in a trans-dimensional time warp sort of way.
She happened upon me. She sat at a table nearby and struck up a conversation. I'm not delusional. I have witnesses.
Oh, we weren't exactly the same. She'd had a harder life than me, mostly through her own choices.
But, there she sat: older than her age, wearing a comfortable but not fashionable dress with long, graying hair in a ponytail. The four year anniversary of her parent's death approaches and she carries a diagnosis of chronic debilitating anxiety disorder.
She'd taken psychology classes once and knew how to imprint names. She lives in a basement apartment with no windows and hasn't ventured out of it in weeks. She wishes she could have a pet but her landlord won't allow them. In short, she couldn't stop talking.
Will this be me? Will that be my life? I wake up some nights in a cold sweat thinking about it.
It could happen. I could become comfortable but not fashionable basement-hermit girl. The brothers might try to pull me out of it, but, frankly, they're boys. They'd lose interest and let me sulk. They have lives, after all. I'm the one who doesn't.
You're thinking my friends wouldn't let that happen. Honey, should I choose, I would have no friends. The turtle is as fully capable of driving people away as attracting them. It's not hard.
The biggest difference between my future self and me? I know Jesus.
He's the difference in my life. He's the reason even if I became basement-hermit girl, I wouldn't be alone. But I could never be that girl.
Mom would come back and kill me if I tried.