What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  She looked at the hazy iridescent water and saw hope. She could see potential pleasure awaiting her within the amber clouds swirling in the glass, and her fear, now replaced with a vision of her future, a bright and luminous future, full of radiant love and warmth.

  She took a small sip and let the cool liquid slide down her throat. Not too bad, she thought, not disgusting or bitter. She took bigger sips until she finished. As she set the glass down onto her nightstand, a chalky, gritty residue coated her tongue. She smiled as she wiped her lips. This is it—my future is saved. I am about to create a new future filled with love.

  Ellen pushed the empty glass toward the edge of the nightstand and sat on the bed. The room grew dim and shadowy and her head started to pulsate, a slow, throbbing pain. She felt hot as her heart raced. A wave of nausea swept over her, starting at her head and swiftly blanketing her entire body until she could no longer sit upright. She fell back. Her mind wandered to Samantha Miller. To be like Samantha. To have what Samantha has. To be young and beautiful like her. For Samantha to experience her pain, see the depths of her pain, despair, and loneliness.

  Visions of Jonathan telling Ellen he loved her seeped into her mind, so real, so comforting, as it was before, when they were happy. I will have happiness and love again, just like Samantha. Just like when I was young and Jonathan adored me.

  As she lay back, the room grew dark and shadows moved across the walls and furniture. The floor began tilting until it appeared to slide sideways. Her heart beat faster. Her body shook with violent tremors, and as the room spun, anger rose within her. Ellen reached for the phone that lay beside her, but her arms were numb. She wanted to call 911 but couldn’t move.

  The shaking continued and she knew this wasn’t right. In her chest, in her heart, a sharp stabbing pain surged, seizing her, until finally, after endless minutes, it was numbed by a cool flooding sensation.

  Something was wrong. She wanted to stop, but it was too late.

  Am I dying? Her body was now lifeless and immobile. She tried to concentrate but couldn’t. She tried to pray, but her mind was nothing but hazy, isolated fragments. She slipped gently into unconsciousness.

  She dreamed of Jonathan. She dreamed of love. She dreamed of happiness. Ellen slipped between consciousness and unconsciousness. She was somewhere between the dark and the light, between good and evil. Strange images appeared—colors, shapes, lights blending into a kaleidoscope of memories and images that raced fast-forward through her ever-expanding mind.

  She felt detached from her body. Floating upward, effortlessly, toward a sense of pleasure. Her body, now filled with this intense joy expanded until a light started to fill her, a warm bathing light. She wanted to stay in this light forever, bask eternally in its glory.

  Then suddenly, a cold darkness covered her, extinguishing the light.

  PART II

  CHAPTER 14

  The night was turbulent as Ellen struggled between fits of sleep and panic. She dreamed of Jonathan touching her instead of Samantha, of Jonathan loving her again, and saying all the romantic things he used to, tender words filled with love. She dreamed of him looking at her as he did when she was young—young and beautiful. Ellen also dreamed of Samantha in pain, of Samantha suffering as Ellen had. She dreamed of Samantha enduring the misery of neglect, the loss of his love, the empty, frightening feeling of being alone and invisible.

  Ellen awoke and knew something was wrong—she couldn’t move. In the darkness, she could see the glow of an alarm clock, a clock different from her own, displaying 4:45 a.m. She tried to see further into the darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed an unfamiliar light cast into the room from a window she didn’t recognize, creating deeper shadows. Wherever she was, this was definitely not her room. But where was she? What happened last night?

  She glanced around and tried to identify forms revealed from the dim light and the glow the clock. What happened? She could make out large shapes and shadows, but nothing recognizable. Am I in a hospital? Her body ached as she tried to move—her arms felt heavy and incapable of any movement, as if bolted to the bed. Was it pain? She wasn’t sure, but her muscles were weary, unable to respond.

  Am I paralyzed? The horror of her failed attempt to save her marriage and get Jonathan to stay replayed in her mind, causing agony. And now what? What if I am paralyzed, what then? She strained in an effort to move. Pain. Yes, she did feel pain. But every inch of her body was sore and tight, like when overworked muscles punished you for horrendous abuse.

  What have I done?

  The reality of her stupidity in attempting something so risky appeared, scolding her in its painful manifestation. Why did I think I could fix anything? Why did I even try?

  These thoughts replayed in her head as Ellen struggled in the darkness to remember.

  Where am I? Fear rose, filling her with panic as she tried to remember. She had come home from the lawyer’s office. She recalled her rage at Roger and at Jonathan on discovering the divorce was real, that she had lost and that her life, her life as Mrs. Jonathan Horvath II was over.

  And as she waited for Jonathan to return, as she realized her failure, as she saw the grim future filled with despair, she had decided to take the powder. She remembered taking it beside the bed, putting the glass on her nightstand and falling back.

  Ellen looked toward the nightstand. No glass. Had someone removed it? But she wasn’t in her bed or her room. She could hear the muffle of voices outside this room. Perhaps this is a hospital … or a hotel. She squinted again in the darkness, trying to raise her arm to reach for her glasses. Her arm lay dormant. Oh God, I am paralyzed. What have I done?

  The last thing she remembered was that she was in a violent rage, so angry with Samantha Miller that she had wished very bad things to happen to her. Memories of nausea and pain flashed intermittently with her memories of rage, and as they did, a deep heavy feeling fell upon her and she found her concentration slowly slipping away. The deadweight of sleep pressed on her body, and she stopped trying to move and relaxed, allowing sleep to overtake her.

  As she drifted back to sleep, she prayed for forgiveness and fell gently into a deep slumber.

  ***

  Ring! The loud ring from a phone broke the silence and pulled Ellen out of a deep sleep.

  She reached for the phone in the darkness and tried to answer it. Its sharp ring was too loud for her half-awake ears. Her hand groped around blindly, unable to find the phone, no longer on the nightstand.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” a familiar voice spoke in the darkness.

  Ellen’s head pounded. She couldn’t think straight. What happened? Had she been dreaming? Fuzzy thinking and clouded images filled her brain. What is it? Her head. Oh, how her head hurt! Gradually her body responded, in a slow-motion effort. What had happened?

  In the fog, Jonathan spoke again. “Angel, listen. I can’t come over tonight or for a few days. It’s Ellen … something’s happened … she’s in the hospital …”

  Who’s Ellen? She didn’t know any Ellen.

  Ellen finally found the receiver and cut in on his message. “It’s me you’re talking to …” Her voice was hoarse and groggy. She coughed, trying to clear it.

  “Now sweetie, don’t start. She’s in the hospital … it’s pretty serious,” he paused. “She’s in a coma.”

  “What? What are talking about? Who?” Her voice was still rough.

  “Ellen, my wife—”

  “But I’m—”

  “Now, please, understand. I love you, but I have to be there for her. She’s in critical condition.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “I know. It’s very frustrating.”

  “It’s impossible—”

  “Listen, I have to go—call you in a few days. I miss you.” Jonathan spoke with a surprisingly tender voice.

  “I … I miss you too,” Ellen replied, the weight of the phone heavy in her hand.

  I miss you! How good it felt to be missed.
It had been years since Ellen heard those words. Ellen dropped the phone on the bed.

  She rolled over, pulling the sheet up to her neck, trying to fall asleep. Something pushed hard against her chest. Her whole body ached and she was too tired to move, but this pressure … this painful pressure. Ellen rolled on her back and rubbed her chest. She felt firm, round breasts. Plump breasts. Breasts that felt more like solid, filled balloons than her floppy, deflated pair.

  “Oh my!” she cried out, unable to believe the sensation was real. She rubbed her stomach. It was smooth and flat. What had happened? Her hands searched for her thighs … silky and firm. Ellen pulled back the covers and sat up. She touched her breasts again in disbelief. Large firm breasts rebounded beneath her fingers.

  This can’t be. It just can’t be. I am dreaming. I will wake …

  She struggled to stand and reached out in search of a wall. Then, moving carefully, she stumbled in the darkness toward the bathroom, but it wasn’t there. As she searched in the dim light, her whole bedroom appeared turned around: the windows were wrong, the doorway, the size. All of it was wrong. She found a doorway and fumbled to find the light switch as she tried to remember what had happened. She remembered the powders, sitting on her dresser.

  But had she taken them?

  Could this be real? Or was she dreaming?

  As she turned on the switch, she shielded her eyes from the intensity of the sudden brightness and through her squinting eyes, saw the skin on her hands. Soft and smooth. Young flesh, unblemished and light. No age spots or ropey veins … no swollen knuckles. Her arms, her legs, all covered with smooth young skin. Young and beautiful skin. Not her body at all. It was a firm, toned and smooth body. Ellen traced her hand over this smooth flesh. Firm arms and taut thighs. It seemed so unbelievable, so perfect, and so flawless. She touched her chest again and looked down at the round firm cleavage pushing out of the tank top. It was a miracle.

  It made me young! The powder worked! It made me desirable and sexy, just as I had wished! She rubbed her new skin in joyous appreciation. It felt sensuous. She felt sexy and vibrant. Her head still hurt and her body still hurt, but what a beautiful body. She turned to look in the mirror, eager to see her face. A younger face as well?

  To her horror, she saw her face—

  It was impossible.

  It was a dream. A dream?

  No, a nightmare. Wake up!

  “Wake up,” she repeated to herself aloud. She moved closer to the mirror, touching her face. “Oh God, what have I done?” she finally cried out in horror. She stared in disbelief for a moment, and then everything blurred to a haze. She saw sparkles and flashes fading slowly, falling, until disappearing. As she fell forward, Ellen smashed the bottles on the vanity, collapsing on the floor from the shock and horror of what she saw in the mirror.

  She had recognized the face, as she stared into the reflection.

  It was not her face, but instead the face of the woman she hated most in the world—the face of Samantha Miller.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Sam, you shouldn’t be up. Come on,” a voice spoke through the darkness.

  “Who is it?” Ellen asked, as she tried to open her eyes to see where the voice came from.

  “It’s me,” the female voice said, moving closer.

  Ellen first noticed the high heels, then the fishnet stockings, followed by the micro-short skirt—a hooker or a druggy? The young woman moved near. “I don’t know you. Get away from me,” Ellen said and held her hand out to block this strange woman from coming closer. “Go. Please go.” The cool hardness of grit and tiles pressed against her hand and body. She looked around and realized she was lying on a bathroom floor. “Where am I?” Ellen asked, as she tried to raise herself with her hands. “What did I do? And who are you?”

  “I’m Sienna, you silly girl.”

  “Oh no … I don’t know what happened. I took something … I don’t remember.”

  The skinny brunette carefully stepped around the broken glass. “It’s okay, here,” she said and helped Ellen to her feet. “Watch out for the glass. Come. Sit on the bed for a minute. I think the fever is messing with you.” She reached to touch Ellen’s forehead. “Sam, let me get your temperature—”

  “No!” Ellen pushed her hand away. “You don’t understand. I’m Ellen. Something happened. I am not Samantha Miller,” she cried out. “I just look like her.”

  “Okay. Okay,” the woman said, raising her hands in surrender. “Whatever you say.” The young woman smiled at Ellen. “Sit down and we can figure it out.”

  Ellen stepped away from the mirror and faced the bedroom.

  “Watch out for the glass!” the young woman called out, steering Ellen away from it.

  “I’m so dizzy,” Ellen said, walking slowly toward the dresser and bracing herself on its edge. “Who are you again?”

  “Sienna,” she answered. “Your roommate.”

  “My roommate? Then this must be Samantha’s place—”

  “Yes, this is your luxury palace, Sam,” said the woman named Sienna, as she twirled in a circle, with arms spread open, crushing bits of glass beneath her shoes. “All yours, every little bit of it—for now, anyway.” She put her arm around Ellen’s shoulder. “Here, now, come to bed. And be careful, Sam.” Sienna supported Ellen as she led her around the glass to the bed.

  “It’s Ellen. My name is Ellen.”

  “Yes, Ellen, come here.” Sienna patted the bed sheet as she pulled back the duvet.

  Ellen sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m young again. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “No, E-l-l-e-n, of course not.” Sienna laughed and shook a thermometer. “Here.”

  “The room is spinning,” Ellen said as Sienna put a thermometer in her mouth. Ellen sat holding the cool thermometer under her tongue. The room filled with shots of light, rising and falling like the flashlights of a search party, and a nauseous wave tumbled over her, upsetting her balance and causing her to double over.

  Sienna pulled the thermometer out of Ellen’s mouth and studied it. “Wow, this is some fever you have—a hundred-and-four!” Sienna propped up the pillows. “Back to bed, princess.”

  Ellen fell backward against the pillows. It felt good to stop moving as she lay back and stared at the ceiling. “I see stars. What’s happening? What’s happening to me?”

  “Those are painted stars on the ceiling, remember? We did them together, to both our rooms. Glow-in-the-dark paint? It was your idea.”

  Ellen rolled over on her side and her shoulder was suddenly cold and wet. She touched the sheets. “These sheets are wet!” she screamed. “I can’t sleep in wet sheets—”

  “Okay, okay, calm down,” Sienna said. “I’ll get a blanket, okay princess?”

  Against the damp sheets, Ellen’s skin was sticky and warm. Her ears burned and her face stung as if sunburned. As she lay waiting, the cool dampness of the sheets was now refreshing against her hot skin. The smooth, buttery skin. Taunt and firm. Her hands rubbed her body, reawakening the pleasure of feeling firm flesh beneath her fingers.

  This was a dream. It certainly seemed like a dream.

  She would wake up and it would be over.

  She would sleep now, a deep cleansing sleep and tomorrow—she would be Ellen again.

  She had to be, for she couldn’t be Samantha Miller.

  Impossible.

  But she hoped that tomorrow, when everything went back to normal, she would still be young, a young Ellen, toned and firm. And why not? The image of her young self drifted across her sleepy mind, lulling her to sleep.

  ***

  Ellen sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her reflection in the mirror. After the strange events the night before, she thought she would wake up and discover everything was all a dream; instead, looking at the face staring back at her—she was unquestionably awake and still someone physically impossible to actually be.

  Still Samantha Miller. What happened?

  She
was upset with Jonathan, the news of the divorce, the money and the wedding. She remembered how desperate she felt, that she would fix everything with the powder. She had taken something, whatever it was, and this was the result.

  Was there a way to undo this? Was this temporary?

  And Samantha. What happened to her? Yes, Ellen wanted to punish Samantha. But this?

  She played the recording on the answering machine.

  “Hi sweetheart … Angel, listen, I can’t come over tonight or for a few days. It’s Ellen … something’s happened … she’s in the hospital …”

  Ellen replayed the message. If she was now Samantha, could it be possible that Samantha was now her? Or did Samantha disappear as she had so vehemently wished?

  She tried to think back to what had happened that night. She remembered taking the drink. Then she remembered feeling dizzy and lying down. She had chills; her skin damp and clammy. She had cursed Sam. She wanted her to suffer, wanted her to feel Ellen’s pain. She wanted to have Jonathan love her again. She remembered her body shaking uncontrollably, so bad she got scared and said a prayer. It seemed to last an eternity, until she experienced a calm, comforting wave of light. She finally fell asleep—a turbulent strange sleep, with hazy fragments of dreams. Then she awoke in this body, in this small grubby apartment. She woke up as Samantha.

  But where was Samantha? What had she done to Samantha? Whatever Ellen may have wanted, this was certainly not part of that plan. Patty might know what happened, or be able to find out. Ellen picked up the phone and dialed her number.

  “Hello,” Patty answered, her voice sounding sullen.

  “Patty, it’s Ellen.”

  “Ellen, Ellen who?”

  “Ellen Horvath of course,” Ellen said with a laugh. “You won’t believe—”

  “Is this a sick joke?”

  “No, Patty it’s me, it’s Ellen, I—”

  “I don’t find this funny, whoever you are. I just came from the hospital, where my friend Ellen Horvath is lying in a coma, so I can assure you—whoever you say you are—you certainly aren’t her.” Patty’s voice rose, “Don’t call me again!”