Moonlit Waters

The chirping of birds and the warm feeling of sunlight on my face wake me up.

Everything is peaceful and I can still feel the afterimage of a beautiful dream.

It takes me maybe three seconds to become aware of the gravel beneath me and the fact that I am very much not in my bed at home. The massive dose of adrenaline is more than sufficient in waking me up the rest of the way.

But my hair isn’t long. My balance isn’t off, I don’t have breasts and there’s something more than just legs in my swimming trunks.

I’m back to my old self, I realise and relief makes me airheaded for a moment.

I’m still wearing my friend’s T-shirt, but there’s gotta be some other way of explaining that, right?

I look around. I’m still at the lake, sitting where Alex left me hours ago.

I remember he went home soon after I told him that false name. I’d wanted to just wait until I had dried fully and until I could be really sure nobody would be awake at home. And then… I must’ve fallen asleep. Not all that surprising, considering what I’d gone through.

Or had I?

I look down, inspect my arms and legs, searching for any kind of sign that this had once been a woman’s body. But there are none. My heart sinks. Same old ugly me.

What if it all was just a dream?

There’s no way I could have dreams that vivid, right?

But on the other hand… There’s also no way my body could change like that.

So… I must have gone out last night and… I can’t remember anything but the dream, but that doesn’t mean much, does it?

Suddenly hasty, I get up and scramble over to the bush where I hid my things. Quick as I can, I change back and hurry home. All just a dream. And if not, there’s only one way to find out.

Nobody calls for me when I open the front door and sneak in. The clock above the shoe rack shows nine o’clock. They must still be asleep, they did stay awake rather long after all.

It’s only Wednesday but virtually nobody is working today. Because everybody wanted to watch the comet.

Suppressing a yawn, I make my way into the kitchen and turn on the coffee machine.

I could of course just go upstairs and lie down again. Nobody would notice. But I’m awake now so I might as well wake myself up properly and get online.

There’s not much else I do these days. If the real world doesn’t suit you, just go and live in a virtual one, right? Right.

Alex isn’t online yet when I turn my PC on, so I just start right into a match. The less time I have to think about that dream the better.

But I’m not playing well. My reflexes are somewhat off and my calls not as precise and quick as they were just the day before.

So once the enemies have mercifully ended the game, I don’t start into another and instead go onto the internet.

But what should I google?

In the end I settle on “weird dreams caused by comet” and press enter. There are tons of results, but none describe what I experienced. Many talk about apocalyptic nightmares, claiming they’re visions of the future. I’ve seen enough of that esoteric shit throughout the last half year to be able to tell pretty quickly. Scared people have weird thoughts.

Am I scared?

Probably not, right? I mean, what’s there to be scared of? Just a weird dream, nothing more.
Nevertheless, I spend another hour scrolling through the articles and blog posts, until I get a discord message.

GragasIsBae: U up and not ingame? Someone died?

I roll my eyes. It’s Alex. His name is a reference to the champion Gragas from League of Legends – the game we play mostly. I told him on more than just one occasion, that it’s a stupid name, but he doesn’t care. It’s his humour.

I don’t have online nicknames.

Timothy: No, just got wrecked and wanted to take a break.

GragasIsBae: Break’s over now. Time to get into the grind, ma boy. Come voice chat.

I’m already wearing my headphones, so it only takes a few clicks and I hear my friend’s voice in my ears.

“Morning bro,” he says, drawing out the o for several seconds. He uses the word jokingly, of course, but it still makes me cringe. It’s just not the way people talk around here.

“Hi,” I reply with a lot less motivation. It’s kind of how we are. He’s the loud one with enough energy for the both of us. He makes the calls, mostly, and I follow. And I don’t mind, it’s really relaxing honestly, to have somebody that doesn’t expect me to give in equal amounts of input to a conversation.

It used to be different, when we were younger. But times change.

“You sound tired,” he states and I can hear him lean back in his chair. “Stayed up late last night?”

I feel my cheeks flush. I’ve never been a good liar.

“No,” I say still and just hope the hesitation isn’t as audible on the other side. “Just didn’t sleep well.” As if my body finally wanted to help me out a bit, I yawn. This time I don’t try to suppress it.
Then I have an idea. “And you? Did you watch the comet last night?”

There’s a short pause. “Well… from my backyard. But the view was shitty.”

Relief and elatedness spread through me. If he wasn’t at the lake yesterday, I must have dreamt it. Which in turn makes that voice and my changing body, the panic – all just a part of the dream.

Then I turn to peek a glance at the fabric in my laundry basket. How? But if he wasn’t there last night and I don’t remember, it would be weird to ask him about it, right?

“We should go watch it together sometime these days,” he says then, but stays unspecific on when exactly.

But I don’t care.

I still have the game open so it only takes a single click to get back to the main screen, where Alex is already waiting for me.

The two of us have played on the bottom lane since virtually forever. He plays ADC, the dps role, and I play tanks and support him. There was a time when he wanted to role swap to jungle, but I couldn’t adapt to midlane and playing tank on your own sucks, so he came back. And that’s how we play. We’re pretty good by now and currently on the ranked grind, trying to reach the next elo while we still have summer holiday.

All others go on vacation or spend day and night drinking. And we play online games and that’s okay. Okay, Alex does have a social life besides our online existence, but even for him, the game is a major part of his life.

We don’t have to wait long for the match. As per usual, both of us get our main roles, the ban phase goes by and Alex hovers a champion well familiar.

“How about some Xayah Rakan action?” he asks and I can hear the grin on his face.
The two champions were released together, they’re canonically a couple and their kits complement one another perfectly.

“Engage,” is the short reply and both of us lock in.

Playing with Alex and playing on my own is the difference of day and night. Yes, I’m still not on the peak of my ability, but with him it doesn’t matter so much. He plays well. So well even, that I barely have to protect him and can instead focus on disrupting the enemy team.

We absolutely stomp our lane and win a teamfight and before I know I’ve forgotten about the night before and I’m smiling and even make a few calls myself.

We win easily and queue up again and before I know it, noon has passed and Pearl knocks on my door, coming in to watch me play. She does that sometimes. Not regularly but often enough that I used to be scared she might want to play herself. But she doesn’t. Even after a year of watching every now and then she only understands the basic concepts and seems to be content to just sit on my bed and watch in silence. She’s only seven, after all.

Recently it’s been making me a little uncomfortable to have her watch me, honestly, but at the same time I don’t want to make her sad and I don’t feel like having a potential fight with my parents.

No, Pearl never told on me, about anything. She doesn’t even imitate me when I swear. But she’s only a kid and there can always be a first time, right?

Even so I can’t bring myself to throw her out.

She does have her own friends, mind you. Two girls named Lisa and Clara, but both of them are on vacation right now and will be for another few days, as far as I know.

Alex likes Pearl, a lot more than I do, probably. He has an old Wii at his house and sometimes he invites us over so that we can all play Mario Kart together.

He still makes the offer from time to time, but I didn’t take him up on it recently. It’s just too real to sit next to him for real. I feel… exposed almost. It’s different to be on a call with him, where he can only hear me.

In the end I ignore her presence, mostly. When Alex realises that she’s in the room with me, he tells me to say hello from him, but that’s about all the interaction we have.

Eventually, Mum calls Pearl and me down for dinner and I send Pearl ahead to have another quick word with Alex.

“You wanna do some more games after dinner?” I ask into the muffled silence of my headphones.
He takes his time replying. “No, sorry, man, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Again he’s oddly unspecific. It’s so not Alex-like, he really tends to tell me everything going on in his life. But I don’t call him out on it. I don’t want to risk a fight with my one friend and I don’t even care all that much.

So I say my goodbyes and go downstairs to eat. I don’t talk during dinner, but my parents are used to that by now and when we’re done I volunteer to tidy up the kitchen while the other three go out into the garden. It’s the best way of avoiding Pearl.

But her eyes look at me knowingly and the hug she gives me, saying, “Goodnight Timmy,” is made awkward by the guilty pulling sensation in my chest.

I do the dishes with my headphones in, listening to music to shut out Pearl’s excited squeals from outside. She and my parents are probably playing one of her cardgames. One of the many games I don’t know the rules of.

Afterwards, I go upstairs and into my room, avoiding the mirror, and get out my swimming trunks. A claustrophobic sensation is starting to settle in my chest and shoulders. There’s nothing to keep me busy in here, nothing to keep my thoughts from wandering.

Alex is busy. For the first time in ages he doesn’t have time for me and I try my best not to read into that. But it’s hard.

I turn the volume of the music up until I can feel the base vibrating in my eardrums. I’ve already turned for the door when, following an instinct more than a specific thought, I take Alex’s t-shirt out of the laundry basket and head back downstairs to put on my shoes.

When finally the front door closes behind me, I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. It’s not perfect, yet still it feels like the warm but light air of this evening in summer takes a huge load off my shoulders.