It was only a dream...

I spent much of the day today feeling as if I was living apart from the world around me. On the train this morning, I spent an hour finishing a great book, which I closed with a smile as we pulled into the station. Stepping out onto the platform downtown, it seemed as if the entire city was moving just a little faster than I was.

It wasn't a bad feeling, mind you - it was more like a pleasant, yet unnatural calm had descended in a cloud around me for the day. As I made my way down the sidewalk through a swirling sea of fallen leaves, I wrapped myself in the quietness of my thoughts. Knowing it may be the last warm morning of the season, I lifted my face to the sky and inhaled the crisp scent of fall.

As I stood on the corner, waiting to cross the street to reach the office, I was startled out of the sense of solitude by a voice beside me. "Hey, Christine. How's it going?"

I looked up, and was suddenly disoriented. There was K standing there in front of me. Only it wasn't. It was Brian from Treasury Management, who looks uncannily like him. It took me a few seconds to realize I hadn't replied, and I said, "Has anyone ever told you that you have a twin that used to work for us? I think you're a body snatcher."

Brian laughed, and told me not to reveal his secret. I smiled, disconcerted, and hurried into the building, where I found an empty office and closed the door. It was a day for solitude and focus, not for chatting.

The morning passed quickly - I only opened the door for a few short restroom breaks, and managed to hold on to the inexplicable serenity until lunchtime. I packed my things, decided that I'd work from home for the afternoon, and slipped out to have a bite to eat with P before catching the train. Even in the bustling Thai restaurant, I felt very still. I said little, and P commented that I seemed a bit off. I explained, thinking of just how strange it all sounded as I spoke. Neither up nor down, but simply quiet, I smiled and hugged him. Sometimes that's the most appropriate way to convey things that don't translate well into words.

On the way home, I watched the world fly by through the window of the train. A twenty-something girl across the aisle was flirting with the married man next to her. A woman and her young daughter, fresh from the American Girl store, spoke quietly of dresses and tea parties. The conductor punched my ticket without a word, and I rested my forehead against the cool glass while the man beside me slept. As I drove home from the station, it occurred to me that I'd hardly spoken all day. It was a pleasant change from the hectic pace I've been keeping for the last few months.

Shortly after I arrived home, the spell was broken. My friend Angela called with news on her husband's leukemia. It has spread into his lymph nodes, spleen, and liver. On Monday, they are starting yet another round of chemo to try to hold the disease back long enough to do a stem cell transplant.

Suddenly, everything became very real again.

I really wish it hadn't.