Eyes cracked, like windows on a cold morning. Her hair lay in a neat fold at her side, and her hands gently dust her forehead. A small click tempo’s the four walls, making the concept of time something to hear and not see. Tipping her head above the sheets she recognized her childhood bedroom. She sat in dejavu, this was the house that was demoed- the scene of this structure was voted to be torn down years ago.

Her ponderous thoughts has enough charge to jolt her upright, “I hate these vents,” she shares outloud. She runs over to the far corner, patting a inconspicuous wall. Her petting subsided as she became aware it wasn’t there. Gently letting out a cough in hopes it wouldn’t return, she grabbed at her night stand with no inhaler in sight. A stifled sigh, she glanced up and saw the walls were no longer a disgusting pastel yellow. In the centerscenter of it all was a photo of people, all grabbing and holding each other, smiling. Mom, dad, my brother, and me. I knew it was them but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a photo of my brother at that age, in this photo Tyler was a clear adult- facial hair that was full and not patchy. To see his beautiful smile lines- she couldn’t understand. Tyler died as a young teen. Turning her back, facing the other side of the room was a closet. The doors were put back on, and behind the m were multiple clothes. Drawers of denim pants that weren’t cut off hand me downs, and more than just two pairs. Gripping her pjs she opened the door of her bedroom and her mother was right there, “Hi honey, good morning! What’s wrong, Hannah?”

Hannah slumped her head, dripping with the gravity of her tears, “wheres my inhaler?”

Her mothers eyes scrunched, trying to audit her daughters expression, “what inhaler? Are you sick and not telling me?”

“Mom, you know I’ve had asthma since I was ten. Where’s the emergency inhaler you always keep?”

“I think I’d know if you had asthma! Is this another one of your things to claim I didn’t pay attention to you as a kid?” Her mother cried. “No, mom, you know I got asthma from cigarette smoke in the house,” Hannah pleads, “in my house?!” Her mother says aghast.

“Not in your house, from the neighbors we share a wall with it would come up through the vent in my room! We could even smell the gas when they started their cars in the garage!”

Her mom stood back, not understanding. “We don’t share a wall…” concern taking over. Hannah glances back at the photo, “how old was Tyler when he died?” Pointing a finger as if it could escape. “What are you insane, he’s not dead he’s coming home to visit for the holidays, same as you! He’ll be here any minute,” her mothers face burning under fire.

Hannah stumbled to the windows, “holidays?”

“Yeah, he’s on his way from a work trip and I don’t appreciate you talking about him in such a way while he’s in the air, on a plane right now! You do not jinx health in this house!”

Hannah’s emotions were pooling, swirling into one another becoming a blend. Tyler died of an overdose, he’s not on some business trip. Her mind flurried as she looked around, holes from doors being thrown open were missing, the bed has a frame that wasn’t from a old hospital. Carpet wasn’t peeling up, it was actually wood; her breath wasn’t clouding from cold or smoke as it was clearly a winter day. Double pane windows that had actual insulation.

This wasn’t a condo that bread drug users, in fact, it was a house. “Mom I’m sorry, I had a bad dream,” Hannah sniffled, embracing that shes now in a good one. She recognized the room enough, just enough to recognize all the missing things she had grown up with in a past life, it was everything she needed to lose, to gain.