Something borrowed
I felt it slide – too sugary sweet, like wedding cake frosting – down my throat and grimaced.
I waited. Listening, being in the moment, waiting. And realized I could hear small sounds, slow breathing. I could smell the dank, murky scent of someone’s nervousness, the scent I often wore just before an interview, in fact, that no deodorant ever quite masked.
My eyes flew open.
The sky was… the sky. It was hard to tell, was it blue or blue-green or red? It looked … right, suddenly. The quad seemed intimately familiar by scent and sound. In front of me stood… me.
And I said, “I told you, it won’t hurt you.”
I sat down abruptly, my legs wobbly, eyes wide, mouth agape. ...something borrowed, something blue...
“You borrowed my body?”
The fox, in my body, canted my head to the right, which looked very out of character, from the outside anyway. “And you have borrowed mine. And we shall see what we shall see.”
Stunned, I could do little more than snap my mouth shut and follow his lead.