Jackie had died—not in the literal sense. She was very much in the land of the living. On a day she couldn’t remember, maybe Monday, Jackie woke up 15 minutes before 6:45 a.m. as she had always done, stumbling through her dark room as her body hurried to catch up with her brain. Into the dark bathroom she went, turning on the light blinding herself for a few minutes. She plopped herself onto the toilet to pee. She rubbed her eyes, remembering nothing but tatters of lost dreams. She shook her head as she flushed the toilet, refusing to glance at the mirror because she knew her face would be swollen with sleep.

It took her a few minutes to do her routine, which included washing her hands, teeth and face. She then scrambled back into her room for appropriate clothes to get ready for work, tossing them on without a care in the world. Then, leaving the house at 7:20 a.m., it took her 30 minutes to get to work. This came naturally to her; she drove through the 394 expressway without awareness, her mind taking her on the usual route. And, for a moment when she got to her exit, she thought about passing it. As she turned onto her exit, the momentary thought had caused a crack of sadness within her…

As she arrived at the library (she was the first one as usual) she looked down at her watch: 8:00 a.m. on the dot. Andy would be pulling up right about now, and she glanced up to see the silver Honda right on time. As she got out of her car she thought, not many people knew as much as she knew. She knew everyone who worked today, and she even knew their schedules. She knew that after she walked in with Andy, Rose would show up followed by Laurie and Robb. Jackie also knew the little things like, after eating within the hour, Robb would go to the bathroom around 2 p.m. and be in there for a solid half hour; or the director would close her door at 3 p.m. like she always did; she knew her manager would take off early like she always did; and she knew her coworker would text all day leaving all the patrons to her. She knew everything about these people, even knew when they were sad, or tired and annoyed. She could tell if a patron had a complaint or an issue. Jackie knew what to expect from everyone. And then it would be 4:30 p.m., and she would leave work and drive 30 minutes home without detouring.

When it was Tuesday, maybe Wednesday, Jackie stared at her phone: it was 15 minutes before 6:45 a.m., and the only thing that could be heard was the silent snores of her mom asleep in the bed next door and the 6:30 a.m. train. She snuggled deep into her covers, blinking a few times before tossing her cover away. She didn’t feel her way through the dark. She just went as she did every day, knowing what was ahead of her. She washed, dressed and then left, driving blind and oblivious to the world beyond. When she looked around, she didn’t know where she was. She’d simply moved without thought. Her exit came up and a car beside her sped up, driving on the road she’d never taken. And, there was a thought that whispered to her to miss her exit. She wondered what was on the rest of the 394…

Then she was at work, as usual, and time was passing. Like clockwork her manager Rose left early; Robb stepped into the back for a bathroom break; and patron by patron came to her as Laurie twiddled her thumbs and texted. At three o’clock, the click of the door to the director’s office closed, and then it was 4:30 p.m., and Jackie was driving 30 minutes to get home.

Thursday or Friday came and went. It was 6:44 a.m. when Jackie gazed at the strip of light that came from the dense brown curtain. The sound of hollow wind chimes alerted her, so she clicked a button on her phone silencing her alarm as she stared at the strip of light. She threw the covers off with a sigh. She could see the path, taking 13 steps to get to the bathroom and five steps to get to the toilet. From there, she flicked on the light and sat on the toilet, turning her head to the unopened window where sunlight was coming through. Another sigh escaped her as she grabbed the tissue to wipe, flushing. She placed her hands under the faucet, washed her hands, teeth and face as usual. But, then she looked up. Instead of seeing a swollen face full of sleep, she saw a wide-eyed hungry look. Not for food, but for what was beyond the 394. Jackie knew in that moment she’d pass her exit; it was easy to do the same thing every day but harder to take a chance.