“I’m so sorry… “ Rachel explained breathlessly.  “You wouldn’t believe it.”

“You’re fine.”  Sheila held the door.

Mark came in behind his wife carrying a bottle of wine.  “We stumbled into a little domestic drama.”

“Witnesses, not participants,” Rachel clarified.  She nodded at Mike, Sheila’s husband, in the hall.

“And not really a domestic drama,” said Mark, “Outdoors.  A sidewalk performance we had to watch for ten minutes.”

“Oh,” said Sheila.  “Well come on in.  John and Jan are here.”

Mike shook Mark’s hand.  “So what’s the drama?” he asked.

Mark handed the wine bottle to Mike.  Then, addressing the entire living room, Jan and John already on the couch with drinks in hand, started his story.  “We were driving up Main from the freeway.  At fifth street we stopped at the light.”

“Oh,” said Sheila, sighing.  “A fifth street story.”

“What is this?” asked Jan.

“Mark is telling the story of why they’re late,” explained Mike.

“You’re perfectly on time,” Sheila soothed.

“Well first, if we hadn’t forgotten the wine and we had to go back for it we might have avoided the whole thing,” said Rachel.

Mark went on.  “Stopped at the light at fifth and Main, this man and woman step into the sidewalk in front of us…”

“The crosswalk,” Rachel corrected.

“The crosswalk, obviously in the midst of an ongoing scene.” 

“In medias res,” John supplied.

“She is screaming at him,” added Rachel.  “’I’m not playing! I’m not playing.’  And he’s pleading, ‘Baby, come on.’”

Mark continued.  “And then she says, ‘I know you fucking Wanda.  I know you be fucking Wanda.”

“Oh my God,” said Jan, softly.

“Let me guess…,” said Mike.

“Honey, don’t,” chided Sheila.

Mark’s enthusiasm grew.  “At that point she pulls out the stuff she’s carrying.  She was pulling a shopping cart behind her…”

“Not like a big grocery store cart,” Rachel explained.  “One of those little wire ones on two wheels that you pull. “ 

“I know what you mean,” said Sheila, “for errands.”

“We have one, too, actually,” said Rachel, remembering.

“So her’s is stuffed full with plastic bags and clothes and what not.  So she starts pulling stuff out and throwing it at the guy.  Then she kicks the whole cart…”

“Super angry,” Rachel interrupted.

“But everything’s too light to launch very far, so she kicks the whole cart over.  Stuff spills everywhere.  Still yelling.”

“Oh my God,” said Jan again.

Mark went on.  “Of course, the light is green now, but they’re still in the sidewalk so nobody can move.  Cars are backing up behind us.”

“Everybody’s honking,” added Rachel.

“Oh,” said Sheila.  “I think we heard the honking.  Just before you arrived.”

“…just down the street.”

“And then,” Mark went on, excitedly.  “Get this.  The clothes she was throwing weren’t doing any damage, so now she picks up the whole cart.  She’s holding it over her head.  The guy is telling her to calm down.”

“She screams…, ‘Asshole!  Asshole!’”  Rachel looked at Sheila, apologizing, her voice louder than she had expected.

“He’s calling her ‘Baby’ pleading but also yelling.  And trying to get her out of the sidewalk, but also not wanting to get too close.”

“Crosswalk,” said Rachel.  “She was like insane.  She was so angry.”

“So now she throws the metal cart.  It misses him, but it does hit the front of the car next to us.  So those two guys…”

“Oh my God!” said Jan, for the third time.

“Big guys,” Rachel said.

“Jeez,” said Mike.

“… jump out of the car and they start yelling.  But I guess they didn’t want to fight the girl, so… fortunately.  But, the guy, I mean the first guy, is obviously intimidated so he yells at the girl, ‘Bitch,’ he yells.  ‘You crazy,’ and he runs off.”

“Wow.”

“I know.  She stares down the guys getting out of their car and screams at them.  What does she scream, honey?  This was funny.”

“I didn’t think it was funny.  She yells.  ‘This is my life.’  Just like that.  ‘This is my life.’”

“Can’t argue with that,” observed Mike.

“Which actually cracks the guys up.  So they say, ‘Get outta the road, bitch’.  But then…”

“Oh my God.  There’s more?”

Rachel finishes the story.  “Then.  And mind you I’m already pretty scared by this point.  Then, she turns to look at me, this girl.  Mind you, I’m just sitting in the car.  She looks right at me, super fierce, like really scary, and she says, ‘You no better than me.  You know you ain’t nothing.’”

“Wow.”

“Why me?  It was like some random judgment from the universe.  ‘You know you ain’t nothing,’ she says.”

 “Then she kicks at the clothes in the street, kicks the metal cart, leaves everything in the crosswalk, and huffs off in the opposite direction like super proud of herself.”

“She frightened me.”

“Sure,” said Sheila.  “The whole thing sounds scary.”

“But she looked right at me.”

“Wow,” said Jan.

“Sorry,” said Sheila.  “I expect you need a drink.”

“Dinner and a show!” exclaimed John.

Mike laughed.  “Give her a Tony!”

“Well, that’s not the kind of show I want to go with my dinner,” said Shiela, trying to regain focus.  “This neighborhood embarrasses me.”

Rachel dropped her bag on a chair.  They got settled on the couch.  A glass of wine for Rachel.  Scotch for Mark.  Sheila and Mike had lived downtown for ten years.  John was a friend from work.  He’d been seeing Jan for a few years.  Sheila was the cook.

***

“It’s an Afghani chicken thing I saw on this guy’s youtube channel.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“These are yellow lentils.  And that’s a sweet potato salad I got from a recipe in the Times and wanted to try.”

“Oh, I think I saw that, with rosemary.”  Jan transferred a scoop to her plate.

“Anybody need another drink, water?” Mike asked.

“So, John.  Tell us about the new job.”

“A new job?” asked Mark.

“Same company.  But I’ve moved from the technical side to sales.”

“Is that a promotion?”

“Well it’s more money,” he laughed.  “So, yes.  And if you ever want to get into a senior position you have to go through sales.  They never recruit senior management from the tech side.”

“Because from sales you actually bring in revenue,” guessed Mike.

“Right.  So this might lead to something, if I do it right.”

“You’ll be running the place in a few years,” said Sheila.

“Yeah, but sales…” Rachel’s tone expressed her displeasure.

“Well it’s not like I’m cold calling people.”

“But there is traveling,” added Jan, “So we’re going to have to figure that out.”

“Yeah.  It’s mostly companies that we already work with.  I develop a relationship, find out how their business is evolving, and then I help them design the tech package that matches their need.”

“OK.”

“Then I go back to the tech team and I tell them how to customize the product.”

“Which you’re good at,” Mike understood, “because you used to do the tech yourself.”

“Right.”

“Great.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” said John.  “It feels like a new start.  Which I kind of needed.  I was getting bored.  Very different.  A new office, on a new floor…  Tell them what you said, Jan, when you came for lunch.”

“Everybody dresses better.”

“Right.  I have to buy a suit!”  He laughed.

“Oooh.  Let me go with you,” Shelia gushed.  “Mike never lets me buy him new clothes.”

“Beware enterprises that require new clothes,” said Mike.

“Ahh!” Rachel screamed.  Red wine slopped into her plate and spilled into her lap.  “I’m so sorry.”

Sheila leaped up.  Mark righted Rachel’s wine glass.  Rachel stood up quickly, a red stain blossomed on the skirt of her dress.  Mike ran for towels.

“John, honey, it’s getting into your place mat.”

“I’m such a klutz.”

“No, darling.  You’re fine.”  Sheila mopped the table.  Mike removed the ruined meal and the placemat.

“Rachel, let me soak that dress right away.  You can wear one of mine.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Not a problem.  It’s cotton, right?  I’ll just throw it in the machine.  It’ll be dry by the time you leave.  Give me that placemat, too.”

“And this napkin,” said Mark.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Stop it.  Just a spill.  It could happen to anyone.  You guys finish up.  We’ll be back in a minute and have dessert.”

***

They left the dessert plates on the table and came back to the couch, Rachel feeling awkward in Sheila’s dress, but looking perfectly fine.

“Here’s a question…”  Mark smiled, pleased with himself, his hand around a small glass of port.  “What if you could be someone else for one day?”

“Oh, Mark, please…,” complained Rachel.  She sat across from him.

“I swear, Rachel,” said Mike.  “You look better in that dress than Sheila.  No offense,” he added, glancing toward his wife.

“No,” she agreed.  “You should keep it.  It’s too small for me now and it looks great on you.”

“What do you mean?” asked John to Mark, curious.

“Well,” Mark went on.  “When we were talking about privilege and income inequality at dinner and how lucky we all are to have the lives we have, I started to wonder what if you could be someone else for a day?  Just to try it out.”

“I’m perfectly happy just as I am,” said Sheila.

Mark sat forward.  “No doubt.  But you love novels, don’t you?  We go to theater and movies.  Isn’t that the pleasure of reading a novel?  Isn’t that why we watch television shows?  We want to know what it’s like to be rich, or a spy.”

“Or a lawyer.”

“Exactly.  Isn’t that the attraction?  Experiencing people who aren’t us, having lives different from us.  Wouldn’t the ultimate theater be to actual be another person?”

“But I don’t want to be a spy…” said Jan.

“You certainly don’t want to be a lawyer,” joked Mike.

Jan went on.  “I like stories of other people, but I don’t want to be…”  She grimaced, thinking about it.

“But just for one day.  I’m saying that on purpose.  Not forever.  Enough chance to really experience it, but not to have to give up your own life forever.”

“Why are you asking this?” Rachel cautioned, suspicious.

“I have no idea what it’s like to be poor, or a farmer, or a woman, even.  Think about it.  Wouldn’t it be fun to actually be someone really different from who you are?  Just to see?”

“Isn’t that even why we have dinner parties, right, or why we have friends?” asked John, agreeing.  “Because we need something more than just our own lives?”

“But it’s not possible,” said Rachel.  

“No, of course.” Mark conceded.  “But just for fun.  If it were.  Would you do it?”

“Can you imagine a service, like a travel agency?”  Sheila played along.  “Or like a spa?  You check in and change into a robe and then go down a hallway to a little room with a machine and take a vacation into someone else’s life.”

“A day trip,” Mike imagined.

“I certainly wouldn’t want to do it for longer than a day,” said Jan.  “Even an hour kind of gives me the chills.”

“Are we allowed to pick from a menu or is it just random?” asked Sheila, getting into it.  “Because I wouldn’t mind being really rich for a day, or really beautiful for a day, relaxing on a beach somewhere with a perfect body… my gorgeous swim suit…”

“You are beautiful, baby,” Mike assured her, rearranging his legs to lean forward and grab a handful of nuts from the coffee table.

“Maybe if it didn’t have to be a human life,” Sheila went on.  “Because I could see being some pampered dog for a day.  Or a cat.”

Rachel agreed with that.  “I might actually get a good day’s rest for once.”

“Human only,” Mark specified.  “Come on.  Would you do it?”

“But what would happen if something happened to that person, that day.  I mean while you were them.  What if they died?  Would you die, too, or could you come back?”

“My god, raped.  Or kidnapped.  My god, horrible things happen to people every day,” Jan worried.

Mike agreed.  “That’s the problem with all of these science fiction scenarios.  There’s always some catch that gets you into trouble.”

“No catch.  I mean you can set the rules however you like.  But take me seriously.  We have just this one life.  We’re always looking out of this one pair of eyes.  There are eight billion people on the planet.  All those lives we never get to experience.  It just feels so small to know only myself.  I mean really know.”

“I get it,” agreed Sheila, encouraging.

Mark went on.  “So what if you could experience a really different life?  Not the lives of your friends.  And not some remarkable life of a celebrity.  But just one of those eight billion anonymous people out there?”

Sheila was excited.  “Like when people travel and all they want to do is exactly what they would do at home.  And eat the same foods.”

“And look at the sites, but want nothing to do with the people,” added Mike.

“Yes,” said Mark, enthusiastically.  “But even if you do it well.  Even if you really strive to know other people.  Or another person.  I mean, deeply, intimately.  There’s always a distance.”

Mike nodded.  “That’s why we marry, right?  Because that’s as close as we can get to really knowing another person.”

“Yes.  But, there’s still that distance.  What if somehow we could have the experience of no distance.  Actually be someone other than ourselves?”  He took a breath.  “For a day.”

“I suppose it would be interesting,”  Mike admitted.  “But not a lawyer.”  He crunched an almond.  “OK. Sign me up.”

“My goodness.”  Jan trembled a little.  “Can you imagine?  What if you were a criminal?”

“Or a teenager again.”

“Or working in a call center.  Yikes.”

“Odds are you’d be Chinese,” reasoned Mike.  “I mean percentage-wise.”

“I think there’s actually more people in India now.”

“Or Nigerians, isn’t it?” asked Sheila.

John had been thoughtful.  “Wait a second, though” he said.  “It won’t work.”

“Well of course.  It’s just to think about.”

“No.  I mean, even to think about, there’s a problem in your scenario.”

“Of course there is,” sighed Rachel.  “It’s just silly.  Let’s talk about something else.”

John straightened his back.  “You missed something.”

“What?”  Mark encouraged.

“Let’s imagine I’m going to trade places with this Nigerian mother of three living in a hut and spending her day cooking and trying to keep the flies out of her kid’s eyes…”

“That was impressively specific,” teased Sheila.

“I’m just inventing an example.  Is it me, being her?  I mean, am I waking up inside her mind for the day?”

“Yes…  That’s the whole point.”

“But if it’s me waking up inside her, then I’m not being her.”

Mark considered.  “No.  You’d be her.”

“But if I’m her,” John reasoned, “Then I’m not me, and it’s not me having the experience.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jan.

“I’m saying.  If it’s me looking through her eyes, then I’m not really being her.  I’m having a very strange experience, but it’s me.  But if I’m her, which is what you mean, I think:   her thoughts and memories and feelings, and…” on a roll now, “ you know, her fears and loves and everything that really makes her, her, well then I’m not me any more, so it’s not me having the experience.”

“But that’s what I’m saying,” insisted Mike.  “What if you could actually be her, living her life for that one day?”

“But I can’t.  Don’t you see?”  John insisted.  “If she’s still there, doing all the things she knows how to do, and thinking her thoughts and so on, then I’m just observing, right, like reading a novel.  Right?  I’m not actually experiencing her experience.”

Mark thought.  “I guess that’s right.”

“Or, if I could completely be her, which is what you want to imagine, right?  I mean, if I could lose myself completely and just be in her life and have only her thoughts that one day, then at the end of the day, I’d have no recollection, because I was never actually there.  Right?  It can’t be her experience and my experience both.”

“I see,” Sheila agreed.

“I see,” Mark agreed, too, sadly.

“I could spend a day being her, but it wouldn’t be me.  Or I could spend a day being me, in her body, in Nigeria, but I wouldn’t be her.  I would still be me.”

“It would still be interesting, though.”  Sheila wanted to make the best of it.

“Sure,” said Mark.  “But only in the way that reading a novel is interesting.  I was trying to imagine something more… totalizing.”

“It’s impossible.”

“We can’t get out of ourselves,” said John.  “Might as well get used to it.”

“Well think of all the lives you’re spared,” said Mike.  “Just as well.  A little more port, Mark?  Anyone?” Mike stood.

“No, I’m good.”

“There’s more cake, too,” said Sheila.  “Please don’t leave it all for Mike and I.”

***

They took a different route home.

“Are you happy being you?” Rachel asked.  She was still wearing Sheila’s dress.  Her own dress washed and dried, folded in her lap.  Mark was driving.

“Sure.”  He paused.  “Are you?”

“Sure,” she answered.  She looked out the window.  

“Anyway, we’re stuck.”

She didn’t answer.  They passed a nightclub with a small cluster of people standing on the sidewalk.

***

Mark got into bed quickly.  Rachel undressed in the bathroom.  She looked at herself longly in the mirror, then pulled Sheila’s dress over her head and looked at herself again.  She considered adding the dress to the hamper with her and Mark’s clothes but then thought better of it and in her underwear walked with the dress out to the garage.

The hood of the car still radiated heat.

She lifted the lid of the washer, poured in a half a cup of detergent, and placed the dress inside.  She closed the lid and started the machine.  The water began to fill.

Her eye caught the black metal grocery cart folded up and leaning in the corner of the garage.  She picked it up, unfolded it, feeling the weight.

She lifted it, held it over her head, arms extended, trying to feel angry.

“Asshole,” she said, under her breath, worried that if she shouted Mark might hear her.  “Asshole,” she said again, louder.

She wanted to throw it.  Longed to throw it hard against the front of the car, imagining the scratches it would make, or the dent.  The broken head light.

But she couldn’t.

She lowered the cart back down and set it upright on the floor.