I pulled into the parking lot a full 45 minutes early and sat in my car. I needed to get my mind around the idea that I was actually going to work. Never had I been this nervous reporting to a job, but never have I done so in a body, which was not mine.

Craig Morton, my former self, was an advertising executive at the tender age of twenty-five - a well established wunderkind with a reputation throughout the industry - when he... I... died. Lucy Maya, who was one year older, also had great potential, but was getting her first break overseeing a diminutive auto manufacturer's account for a fairly large firm.

When I met Lucy through work a few months ago, I recognized her potential immediately, recommending her for this position. I was quite certain it was a small enough, yet an important account for her to establish herself well. However, as Craig, I was someone who had figured out how to run accounts this large during my first college internship in my freshman year. With my background, this account was going to be a fairly simple affair I could manage it with my eyes closed.

Pulling down the mirror, I checked my make up for the tenth time. Janet, the teen neighbor girl, was as good as her word. Janet was knocking on my door at the crack of dawn to help me apply it. A few days ago I had told her a mental block caused by the coma, the same one that erased almost all of my memories prevented me from being able to apply it myself. She was more than happy to oblige, especially since I offered her a good deal of money for a relatively minor task.

Nevertheless, a great deal of money or not, I was glad to have her around this morning chatting away brightly, bringing a good feeling into the apartment. Talking to her and laughing let me ease into the role of Lucy Maya that I was to play all day at work. She also prevented me from "making the absolute fatal mistake" of wearing the navy blue hose with the charcoal grey suit. "Off white, black or skin tone," she explained her face letting me know the gravity of my mistake. Janet was much more than just a luxury to me.

The morning was as it was for most jobs. I ran through the human resources gauntlet of filling out forms, shaking hands as well as being introduced to scores of people. Being ushered through the maze of cubicles, I could feel people's eyes upon me, trying not to stare, but staring nevertheless. I could attribute much of this, of course, to the fact that I was the new guy... new girl... and a bit of this to the fact that I was an attractive woman.

Mixed into this factor were that many here knew about my memory condition, wanting to see who the mysterious "coma woman" was. I should have expected these types of looks. Knowing this didn't take away my intense selfconsciousness. I knew it was insane, however I felt as though I was moving and acting strangely, as if many could somehow could see through my "disguise."

It was a good two hours before I was finally taken to where I was to work. I had a small office. I had a window that overlooked onto the parking lot housing my car. I could also look upon my secretary from my door. The walls were completely bare; being painted a neutral color situated somewhere between white and tan. The desk was clear, clean and polished, probably the last time I would see it that way for the rest of my time here.

For the second time today, I became entranced as I looked down across the protrusions on my chest to my hosiery covered legs. It was never possible for me to be unaware of my transformation, but when I moved about the house in jeans, tennis shoes and a sweatshirt, it didn't leap out at me as much. The low heels and pantyhose, which felt unnatural, however, were a constant, gripping, reminder that I was someone else. None of that could even touch the strangeness and odd feeling of having breasts, no less breasts harnessed in a shoulder-digging bra.

It was then, through the corner of my eye, that I saw a figure standing in the doorway. "Desk too low?" he asked, interpreting my leg gaze incorrectly.

"No, not at all. Just checking everything out." I answered.

He moved behind my chair, placing one hand on the back. He smelled strongly of a musky cologne, more suited for the clubs than the work place. He had jet-black hair, which he had obviously spent a great deal of time moussing this morning to ironically look like he did nothing with it. He wore a blue shiny suit, far too dressy for the LA Ad. World and a black turtle neck. He was now standing inappropriately close to me and unquestionably checking me out.

I made a half turn in my chair, so his hand was forced off of it. He interpreted the maneuver correctly, moving back several steps to give me my personal space. His face was arrogantly bemused, a look that he obviously wore often. He extended his hand. "I'm Kirk Baron. You work for me. I run this branch of the agency, and ultimately oversee most accounts. Welcome aboard."

I stood up and shook his hand. He let it linger for a moment, but never took his eyes off of mine. After a moment, he said in the low voice of an intimate, "You don't remember me at all, do you? To hear about it is one thing... but to see it... Wow."

I narrowed my eyes. I knew many men like Kirk, many, many of them. They were all over this business. Most were very good at what they did. They used a skill and the leeway given to the successful to mask an entire host of bad business practices. These practices were borne from a lack of morals and vanity. Craig Morton hated these kinds of guys with a passion.

However, having smelled Kirk's cologne in far too close proximity a moment ago while he openly stared down my blouse, I could tell I was going to hate these type of guys a lot more as Lucy Maya.

I spoke curtly, "I was in an accident Kirk. Many details of my memory are, well, plainly missing. However, I did retain a great deal of my knowledge on how this business works. Particularly, how to get a un-fancied small Korean car into the driveway of many more Americans."

"Well that sounds great," Kirk was now speaking loudly enough for someone to hear outside my office if they chose to listen, "It's good to have you on board Lucy. I look forward to working with you, I've heard great things. You may not remember, but you had a top of the line interview."

He leaned in toward my ear so that his voice was barely audible, "You better be really good at your job Ms. Maya. I've got news for you. You slept your way into this position... my casting couch so to speak, maybe not just mine... and I figure if you turned out not to be the wizard they say you are, you were going to sleep your way to keeping your job.

We had... an arrangement of sorts. Now that you so very conveniently have a clean slate so to speak. You don't remember who you've even met no less any arrangements, you better be even more than you're billed to be."

he looked me in my eyes, actually sneering. This was an expression I had not seen outside of the movies, "or you better consider remembering that deal we had worked out in a hurry."

He than added speaking for those who could hear, "I'll introduce you to the rest of the staff... again... during a meeting at 3:00. Just let me know if there is anything else I can do."

He spun on his heels in a military like about-face, walking out of the room. I sat down at my desk, pretending to organize objects, shaken up thinking about what he had said. It was strange to feel this vulnerable, having such sexually predatory energy directed toward me, freaked me out more than a little.

However even more than that, there were questions about Lucy on my mind. Was it possible that straight arrow Lucy Maya had slept her way into this position?

Her nightstand drawers did indicate an active sex life, but there is nothing wrong with that. Then again, she had given herself breast implants because she cared about her appearance. Also, on the surface, there's nothing wrong with that. Every thing I knew of her said this situation with Kirk was not possible, that this was his sharp mind using my condition to manipulate me or keep me off balance... perhaps to prevent me from out-shining him.

Might that be plausible? I had only known Lucy a little over half a year. So what did I really know about her? I more than any one should realize, any and yet all is possible in this universe.

The three o'clock meeting went well. Kirk Baron introduced me to the team of ten people, all of whom I had met before apparently, and moved on to another matter in the office. Watching his glowing introduction, I made note that Kirk's ability to perform professionally and warmly a few hours after threatening insinuations meant he was quite comfortable in his duplicitous role.

He even appeared to give me the silent vote of approval in front of the staff by his not having to stand over me as I first addressed my team. He was a snake, but a snake too smart to tip his hand. He was dangerous and is, a dangerous man. When it was my turn to speak, I went beyond the small talk of introductions. I laid out the direction and details on how I wanted to move forward. Whenever anyone is brought in from the outside, instead of the company hiring internally, there are going to be people who resist and resent the change. It was important for me to establish immediately that there was no one sitting in this room, or anywhere else in this company, who was going to handle this better than I. After I was finished speaking I answered questions. I think I went a long way toward that goal.

I picked up the cell phone with one hand, steering my car with the other. "How did the first day on the job go?" It was my brother.

"Well, Alex," I responded while weaving in and out of commuter freeway traffic catching peering faces in my peripheral vision. I quickly noticed far more people checked you out when you're a woman behind the wheel, "it's going to be a piece of cake in some respects. The account is small and easy. The people I'm working with on it are capable and not too pissed off that they hired from the outside. I do however have a fucked up sexual harassment issue going on that I'm not even sure is sexual harassment."

Alex laughed, but it came more from surprise, coming to terms once again with my new reality, than from humor. "Didn't consider that possibility at all actually. Nevertheless, Lucy is an attractive woman, so you are an attractive woman. The only guys you've seen since 'coming back' are the bus driver and I. We aren't exactly the greatest of gauges. However, you could run into a lot of that stuff, truthfully. How are you dealing?"

"Shitty. Skipping over the whole part on how weird it is to be in this position to begin with, it could be more than just the simple harassment. There's a possibility I slept my way into this job. I don't think so, but with none of Lucy's memories I can't be sure." I recounted my conversation with Kirk in the office to Alex. He let out a low whistle, then listened wordlessly until I had finished.

"Craig," he still called me, although I explained I needed to learn to respond to the new name. He didn't care, it was his way of getting his mind around who was inside Lucy's shell, "I don't know what to tell you at all. Even if this Kirk guy from work is an ass to a huge degree, that would be a bold move if it weren't true or if you had even a partial bit of your memory. That's a lawsuit waiting to happen. 'He said/she said', or not, what judge or jury in the land isn't going to side with the woman who just pulled out of a coma?"

"I know, I thought about that. Kirk just strikes me as a very smart manipulator. I knew a guy just like him at my last job. He could just be trying to use this to get some sort of upper hand - keep me off balance," I replied, "the established players keeping potential stars in this business down is par for the course."

The phone was silent for a moment as Alex thought about it. He had nothing more to say on the subject, so he changed it, "Listen. I've got my son coming up this weekend along with a ton of work to catch up on, so I'll be out the loop for awhile. I want you to call me regularly and let me know everything that's going on with you, work, and all of the mystic stuff."

"Okay, that's a promise. Bye."

Arriving home, I stepped out of the elevator to find Janet, the sixteen year old neighbor girl, sitting on the floor. Her back was against the door, bouncing her rubber ball against the wall in her expert inmate like fashion.

Her face brightened when she saw me, "Hi Lucy. I'm locked out again. Invite me in?" she asked.

"Forget your keys again? Twice in three days? Hmmmm. You never seem to forget your rubber ball, I see."

I walked over to Janet, kneeling down so we were eye to eye, "Before I lost my memory, how long did it take me to figure out that you actually have your keys in your backpack and that you're really waiting for me to get home for some reason?"

Janet smiled the sly smile of the apprehended, "About four, five times. Maybe more. I guess with out all those memories bogging you down, it makes your mind move quicker." I smiled at her comment, which from someone else in another circumstance may be considered sarcastically insensitive.

"Well then, let's drop the subterfuge so I can invite you in properly. You can then explain why it is you wait for me so often." I pulled out my keys and indicated for Janet to grab my brief case and follow me in.

I walked in the door, immediately stepping out of my low heels and sat down to rub my feet, "I don't know how I walked around in these all day."

Janet looked at me with amusement as a smile crept across her face, "Well it's either because you forgot what you're doing, and are walking in them wrong now. On the other hand, that being off your feet for a couple of weeks put your muscles out of practice. You wear heels much, much higher than this for much longer periods of time, trust me."

"Do I? Of course I've seen them in my closet, but I can't imagine that I sport them for long periods of time."

"Oh, absolutely," Janet confirmed seeing the opening for truthfulness, "You asked me in the hallway why I like to visit so often. It's because of stuff like that. You're so extremely cool. You are completely smart and professional; you were constantly getting after me to stay on top of my subjects in school so that I could have all of life's choices in front of me. At the same time, you wear these killer clothes during the weekend and totally have fun."

She blushed at having to explain herself so nakedly, but continued as she moved across from me at the dining room table, "My mom is great, but she's old fashioned. Spent most of her life raising me, then got a job at a day care center when Dad split.

It's not that there's anything wrong with that, but her ideas are just so old school. You aren't old school," she enlightened me, "For example, you told me once that it was completely okay to be good looking, dressing sexy as a teen and to use what I had. As long as I held onto my virginity, that is.

You said that sexuality is power, and the longer I held out, the more desirable I became. Even if a few of the guys would dump me over it down the road. You said that whatever you're doing, there is nothing wrong with using looks to get in the door, but you better be twice as good as all of the rest of the people once you get in, otherwise you're not cool, but a bimbo."

I thought about work today and uncomfortably considered if this was the PG-13 version of Lucy's lecture on "sleeping your way to the top".

Janet went on, "Like I said, you encouraged me to work hard at school, using fun as a reward for doing well. You've even taken me shopping to help pick out some killer styles, sexy and 'age appropriate' as you called it.. you know, without being slutty.

One of the times you and my mom had a talk, you convinced her to let me buy my first pair of platform heels." Janet was beaming now, "I had low heels before, but you showed me how to walk around in the high ones. So you can imagine how funny it is for me to hear you say those two inch heels are killing you."

"Well maybe you'll have to return the favor, because this shoe thing isn't working out so well for me... any more"

So, I was the cool aunt or bigger sister to Janet - a role model of the professional, yet hip, woman. I apparently was confident enough in my role, and in my guidance with this young woman, to actually nudge her mother to loosen the reigns.

I got up and went into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine to think this through. Having the mind of a man, the concept of being cozy with a sixteen-year-old girl who was not my own daughter or niece, was uncomfortable. It was not because I was aroused or distracted by her newly blossomed sexuality - although I couldn't help but notice it - I was never that kind of guy to consider such inappropriate matters to begin with.

Body or not, she was, after all, barely through with being a child. What was making it even harder was this level of female to female intimacy, which I was uncertain, how to deal with. She stood closer to me than she would if I were still Craig, touching me fairly frequently - all of these were not uncommon for women, but very out of place for my male psyche. The guy in me demanded I keep people, especially teen girls, at arm's length.

As I poured my glass of wine, I also made a mental note that I would have to get to know her mother very soon. I needed to understand just how much of a mentor I was to this young woman. I would also have to see if the mother accepted this in a willing or adversarial fashion.

Looking back at Janet sitting at the table, I could clearly see she was ready to resume this relationship as the rules once were. That was clearly impossible. I could no more teach her how to be a well-adjusted woman than I could teach her to fly around the room. Hell, it was she who had to visit me this morning to put my make up on. An idea shoved itself to the surface of my thoughts. I may not be able to teach Janet how Lucy operates in the world any longer, but I may be able to retrieve some of the knowledge that Lucy had given to her. Perhaps it will give me some more insight. At the very least it may help make this existence easier for me.

"Well, then Janet. If I taught you how to walk around in a pair of high heels, maybe you can return the favor. I'll find out if you actually listened to me in the first place. Go ahead, look into my closet and pull out a pair. The master or mistress is ready to learn from the apprentice."

It turned out, that Janet was absolutely correct. Although she didn't understand my situation to put it in those terms, it was because I chose to move about in heels like a man pretending to be a woman. That was why I couldn't walk comfortably in my shoes before. I was taught some very simple techniques. Like being taught, instead of trying to stand on my toes for hours, how to balance my weight using the support of the heel itself and showing me how to roll my weight on the heel to the toes when I walked on stilettos. I mastered this process in a very short amount of time.

Now I was standing here comfortably in a pair of a ridiculously high five-inch platform wedges. I was able to access the years of "muscle memory" Lucy had developed. Her tendons and muscles had long adjusted strapping her feet into such footwear, I just had to relax and use what was already there.

There were other, slightly less discreet matters that Janet confided to me. With a bit of awkwardness, she pointed out that if I was going to wear a bra which "cookie pads" on the sides, I needed to pull my breasts up as I placed them in the cups. It gave the cleavage that the bra was designed for, and it kept the breasts from looking slightly "bumpy" underneath smooth shirts. It was lucky matter she informed me that, I chose to wear a loose blouse today.

"When do you think I'll be ready for a bra... with a little padding?"

Janet asked bluntly after explaining how I needed to adjust my bra. I inadvertently looked at her chest, and felt myself blushing with uncomfortable shame. I was not, nor did I want to be, in discussions with a teenager about her breast size.

"I don't think that's really needed, Janet. You're still young, you should be happy with your... um... size."

She tilted her head sideways, resembling a dog hearing an unknown sound. She waited a moment, debating something internally, then spoke.

"Lucy... when I first met you, you were flatter than I was when I was ten. You've had your boobs done, you know,"

Detecting my chagrin she noted, "It's okay, we've talked about it before."

In fact I did know I had implants. It was something that I had determined when I first explored my body in the hospital. But I was not mentally equipped to understand the complexity of the motives behind breast implants. I surely was not equipped to explain to a young girl why she should not be concerned about such matters, when I, as Lucy Maya, clearly was.

"What did I have to say about my boob job?" I asked with clear interest.

"Well, you showed them to me almost right after you got them," she said.

At the same time my mind screamed 'Oh dear god!'

"You let me touch them. They're different than the real things. A little harder, they don't hang like real boobs. When you got them you explained that men are nuts over tits. You said that if a pair of boobs could stop a man long enough to hear what was coming out of your mouth, then they have served their purpose."

Lucy Maya's philosophy was feminism through overt sexuality. This was a concept so foreign to me that I could barely get my mind around it.

Janet continued, "You also said in a few weeks - and that was a few weeks ago - that you'd help me pick out a padded bra. Along with those silicone pads too. You said since I was young enough, I could pad my bra a little bit over a long period of time. If I didn't grow on my own, people wouldn't notice. You even told me about how to work it so the other girls couldn't figure it out in phys ed. My mom wasn't hip on it at first, but you got her to agree."

I had to sit down. This was just a bit too much. Janet sat watching me expectantly. I am... Lucy was... the kind of person who talked girl's mothers into buying padded bras for their teen children? How did I get away with that, I wondered? I had a hard time believing Lucy, with her straight-laced image, could do this. Was this normal conversation between girls and women? It couldn't be. This needed to be straightened out right away.

"Janet, I'm going to need to talk to your mother."

"Great, She'll love that!" Janet exuded confidently, "She'll be home in about 45 minutes."

Janet's mother, Betty, sent Janet to the movies, which gave me a sense of relief. I wasn't ready to discuss any of this around her daughter. I looked around their apartment, it was larger than mine. I assumed in this up-scale part of town it was the alimony money from the father, and not the day-care paycheck, that allowed them to live here.

Janet's mother was an attractive woman in a non-put upon way. She wore very little make up, if any. She was wearing a comfortable pair of slacks and penny loafers with no socks. Her hair was pulled back into a straight, simple, pony tail. Her daughter, although prettier, definitely got the lion's share of her looks from this woman.

"Thanks for seeing me Betty. I got the card you sent me in the hospital. I apologize that I haven't gotten around to responding to it... to any one's cards actually. It's just that I've gotten so many... and it's very difficult when you can't remember who any one is."

I crossed my legs in a swoosh of nylon realizing that I never changed out of the high platforms I had been wearing with Janet's lesson. Now that I wasn't trying so hard I realized I was able to move around in these super high creations with no effort. With the conservative work suit I was wearing, it must have been a strange combination to Betty's eyes. I felt the need to comment. "I know these look silly, but I um, was trying on some old shoes..."

Betty held up her hand, "Look, I know you love your heels. There really is no need to apologize about the card. I can only imagine how tough it has to be without your memory. I understand completely. It's been hard on all of us."

All of us? Know I love my heels?

Betty's body language was reserved, with a certain resigned sadness. There was something going on here that I couldn't put my finger on.

"I know this is going to be strange," I said, "but your daughter seems to have a certain fondness toward me, which is nice, because she seems to be a wonderful girl. She has been telling me things about how we... " I made a back and forth gesture between Betty and myself, "interact... which has raised some questions in my mind. I would love to reestablish my old relations, but without knowing what they were, it's easy for someone to pull the wool over my eyes."

I wanted to illustrate the point I made with the story of Kirk Baron, my harasser at work, but not knowing her, I stopped short, "not that I'm saying your daughter is trying to do that."

I went on, "Your daughter tells me I do things like help her pick out clothes and have even given advice as to... her underwear and er... her body type..." I let the sentence hang.

"The breasts thing?"

Betty filled in bluntly; "Even though she seems to be developing, Janet is fearful she is going to get the McPherson curse. Women on our side of the family just don't seem to fill out our bras."

I interrupted, "So I thought it was best that she fill out her bra anyway she could," I was amazed, yet uncomfortable to the point of anxiety, but I continued to drive on, "and you agreed?" I stopped to think about what I had said.

"Why is it, Ms. McPherson that I hold so much sway in such decisions about your daughter. I don't mean to be -"

It was her turn to interrupt me. Her eyes were now closed and her face was doleful. She was preparing to say something extremely difficult.

"I trust your judgment, because I trust you. Up until this coma business, I was quite sure you would never hurt us." She opened her eyes; they were moist with dampness.

She began to explain herself in another way, "I just wanted a child. When I couldn't pretend any more, my husband left me. You welcomed me... You were kind and gentile to me... Janet doesn't know..."

The realization was akin to having my head set on fire. My heartbeat increased. My adrenaline coursed through my body. I was certain that I was fire engine red. My mind flashed to the memory of the strap on dildo I found during my first day of exploration of Lucy's apartment.

"We're... your..." I gathered my wits about me trying to absorb the shock, and started again, "You're gay, and always have been. We're... lovers, aren't we?"

I held my breath as I went out on a limb. But I was certain I was right.

"We have," she said, wiping her eyes, "an understanding," this was the second time today I had heard sex used with that term.

"I understand that you aren't a lesbian, we were never going to be partners. You were very good about making your other lovers, the men, maybe other women... invisible.

We definitely had something good going, so I trusted you with helping with Janet. You know so much more about..." her explanation trailed off.

I understood. She was a woman, like many gays or straights, which ignored the aspects of her femininity and sexuality throughout her life. Now she found herself on unsteady ground with a teen girl who reveled in it.

I didn't know what to do, but it was a woman beginning to cry, so I stood up and put my arm around her.

I then spoke directly from the heart to a perfect stranger, "I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if things can be like they were. In fact I'm sure they can't ever be, as I don't even know who I am any more. I will not leave you in a lurch, neither you nor Janet." For a reason I still don't know, I kissed her gently on the forehead then leaving her apartment.

I sat in my underwear, playing solitaire at the kitchen table. My mind whirled crazily with the mindless routine of the game allowing me to focus. Lucy, by extension, I, was a woman who told teens their heels weren't high enough, breasts weren't big enough, while I slept with their lesbian mothers.

Not because I was gay mind you, but for some other reason. I don't have the answers to those questions yet. Was it to get something from or on them? Possibly extortion of others? It was indeed possible. I was hearing plenty of evidence that I used sexuality as a blunt instrument quite possibly even to the point of sleeping my way into jobs.

I was telling girls who had not had a chance to even give their puberty a good run that they needed plenty of cleavage with large breasts survive. Possibly to conquer the mountain of sexuality.

This was not the Lucy I knew. Was it? She never came on to me when I was Craig. Looking back on the matter, I am starting to suspect that she did work my strings to get that job.

She suddenly blew into Craig Morton's life unannounced. It was right around the time she thought she was ready to take the lead on an account. Perhaps the only reason she didn't sleep with me is that she was a savvy enough user to read my moral compass. I was beginning to recall a lot of cleavage and long legs being conveniently always in view. In fact, so much so, I was considering trying to be more than a friend to her. Shit, was I used as well? Was she that good?

I flipped the cards over mechanically lining them up by suit and alternating color. I was missing some obvious moves, not caring as I ran this entire day through my mind.

I thought about work, about Kirk Baron. I don't know how I was going to face Kirk tomorrow, knowing that he could indeed be right. I was lucky I had no memory to fall back on. I'm not at all sure if I could handle all of this coming into my mind. What other surprises were going to sneak up on me? Plenty, undoubtedly... maybe twenty-six of Lucy's years worth of memories.

I looked at my watch it was getting late. I decided to lay out some clothes and get ready for bed. Janet would be knocking on my door fairly early for my make-up, and I had a lot of work ahead of me tomorrow.

I sighed as I again thought to myself. I never expected anything in this world be easy (far from it). After my first complete day playing the role of Lucy, once again I staring down the barrel of another tough day, I wondered what else I had in store.

I felt myself slip into the world of sleep.

The car wreck was gone, although the tree the car had smashed into remained. The impossibly large living room, which once housed the wreck, too was altered. It was populated by the African, South American masks and art work that was so much a part of Lucy's apartment.

I noticed it appeared to be much cooler than before. The grass was not a vibrant green, but a browning yellow (the color of toast). The leaves on the tree were also changing, alternating the colors red and orange with only a smattering of green. It was very much autumn here, although there was no briskness to the air, the dreamscape, like always, was devoid of temperature.

Lucy sat across from me as before. Her legs were crossed, her eyes were even more wearier than before. She did not look much different than I did when I saw myself as Lucy in the mirror every day. She had definitely aged in ways that were not readily apparent to the naked eye. Her eyes contained something, which looked like aged amusement.

She reached out to me with both hands. We joined together forming a circle of arms. I felt as though I should be angry with her, although here on the dreamscape, I could not remember exactly why. I couldn't eliminate the feeling of being vaguely disappointed and cheated.

She was Able to feel it herself. She answered the question I didn't even know I had.

"Let go of your anger. You can not steal someone else's life, accidental or not, then judge it by your standards. I am not the usurper, you are. You are judging the whole, by a very small piece. Be careful of jumping to conclusions."

As she spoke, I began to remember why I was angry.

Before I could explore this further, she changed subjects.

"The situation you are in is as dangerous, perhaps more dangerous, than you even understand -"

I cut her off trying to rush the answer.

"Which situation? The bus driver? My boss? The mom? Not the kid is it?"

I should not have said anything allowing her to finish. She gave me no answer; my alarm clock rang pulling me back into the waking world of Lucy Maya.

[to be continued]