“You, girl, what’s your name? Why you sleepin’ on my lawn?” A gruff voice stirred me to life as the world came to me through squinted eyes and my vision was flooded with rays of light filtered by a thick canopy of tree branches far overhead. My skull pounded from a trauma I couldn’t recall and my hand dug into dirt as I coughed and sputtered to life. “What’s your name little girl? You’d best be about answerin’ me!”

I raised a hand to my forehead and groaned, trying to remember, something, anything. My name was Michael. Michael Lewis, I’d just graduated North High School in Springfield Ohio, I was on my way to see Megan, my girlfriend. What happened? I was driving and now I was…what was going on?

“My name is Michael,” I said as I cringed and raised to a sitting position. “And this isn’t a lawn this is…this is the woods.”

“Michael? That’s a funny name for a girl ain’t it?” The man was aged, wrinkles and bags under his eyes painted a picture of experience and a tattered flannel shirt spoke of poverty. In his right hand he clutched a simple double-barreled shotgun, but it wasn’t pointed in my direction; he more held it as a walking stick. “That backpack next you says Makayla, you sure you’re not confused?”

I slowly moved my eyes to the left and rested them on a worn pink backpack that did indeed say Makayla, but why would he think it was my name? I was a guy, right? Just as the thought went through my mind, I saw my hand in front of me, a small, dainty hand with chipped but painted pink nails. What was going on? I instinctually began to look at my body; I was wearing jeans, so there was that, at least, but my white shirt was more of a low cut, like a girl’s. I was wearing a green flannel shirt, open, buttons on the left side, and most importantly, I could see ratty blonde hair protruding downward, resting against my chest. I touched it, ran my fingers along it. It was real, it was mine. This was impossible.

“Well if you’re done fondling yourself, Makayla, what say you get off the ground and come back to my house. We’ll get you some help,” The old man said as he scratched his gray mustache and then offered me a hand up. I took it. I wasn’t in any position to refuse help. My legs wobbled a bit as I rose, and to my utter shock, I didn’t even reach his eye level. Who was I? How old was I? I was Michael, right? I was just…I was just driving my car a few minutes ago. Megan, I wanted Megan. I was… “Don’t be leaving your backpack behind!”

The man was already well on his way. I scrambled, grabbing my backpack…no…THE backpack and slinging it over my shoulder. I stumbled after him calling for him to wait up. He didn’t listen. We tore through the tree line for about five minutes before coming to a clearing and crossing through a slightly more manicured lawn. A yellow house sat front and center next to a ramshackle shelter with a tin roof, large enough to house a lawn mower and an assortment of other items including a work bench. The yard wasn’t well taken care of, I dodged a motor and a tire as I followed him across, toward the side door of the house.

Through the door, the house smelled of age, we drywall, the odor of sweat and dirt, and a hint of natural gas from some heater off somewhere in the house. The area we entered was a small mud room, a set of stairs going up, a set going down to a basement I’d guess.

“I’d appreciate you takin’ your shoes off,” The man said. “Don’t know what all you stepped in out there, but don’t want you bringin’ it into the house, if it’s all the same to you.”

Using one foot to hold the other, I slipped out of the shoes and winced in pain at they slid from my feet and thudded softly against the vinyl tiled floor. My feet must have been broken out in blisters or…something. Why were they blistered? Had I been walking a lot?

“The name’s Zeke,” The old man said as he made his way up the brief set of stairs and into a kitchen. “This here is Shelby, she’s a boarder, just started staying with me last month or so, Shelby, this here’s Makayla. Found ‘er out in the woods sleepin’ with the animals.”

I looked to the kitchen table where the girl, Shelby was sat. She was gorgeous. Long, raven black hair, pale white skin, light freckles dotting her cheeks. She looked up at me almost indifferently.

“Doesn’t she have parents?” Shelby asked, tilting her head at me? “Looks like she can’t be much more than twelve, that one.”

I resented that, I was seriously eighteen years old. What the hell was going on here? No matter what it was, I had to get out of here. I had to get home. Where was home? Where was I right now? I lived in Ohio but how was I supposed to get there from here? Could I just go out the door and make a run for it? I probably wouldn’t survive long in the woods.

“Well girl?” Zeke asked, staring directly at me as he leaned his shotgun against the stove. “You got parents?”

“Hey don’t put that there!” Shelby said, raising her voice. “I’m about to cook dinner, I don’t need no gun layin’ around all willy nilly. You want me to blow my head off while I’m stirring the soup?”

“Shelby you’re all drama,” Zeke muttered as he moved the shotgun to the corner of the kitchen. “If you blow your head off stirrin’ soup I don’t know what to tell ya.”

“Do you…maybe have a phone I can use?” I asked. “Maybe I could call…my parents.”

I was really going to call Megan.

“So you do got parents then?” Shelby smirked. “They know you’re off takin’ naps in the woods?”

“I…don’t think so,” I shrugged.

“Maybe you ought get washed up first,” Zeke suggested. “You look like you’ve been through it.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. I wanted to see what I looked like anyway. Zeke pointed toward a hallway over to the left, behind the kitchen table. I set the backpack down and shuffled over, around the table very aware that both of them had eyes on me. I ignored it and rushed down the hallway, stumbling into a bathroom and flipping the light on. I heard the incandescent bulbs buzz, one of them burning out the moment it illuminated. I breathed heavily as I rested both palms against a shitty particle board vanity and stared into the sink. I needed to look up into the mirror. I needed to see what I looked like, who I was. Surely I was Michael. I was going to look up, and that sandy haired boy was going to be looking back at me. That’s what was going to happen.

I took a deep breath and tightened my grip on the counter, feeling the veneer dip a bit beneath my fingertips. Slowly and carefully I raised my head until it was level with the mirror and stared. Behind the glass a girl stared back at me. She was young, 12 or thirteen if I had to guess. Her blonde hair was matted, hanging past her shoulders, and her lips were chapped, split. She’d been through it, just ask Zeke said, but been through what? I reached a small, tender hand to my face and ran it along my cheek. I was real alright, whoever I was. No, I was Michael, I wasn’t Makalya. I was Michael. Michael. Michael. Come on, I had to keep saying it to myself. I was Michael. God dammit what was going on? I reached toward the sink and turned a cheap plastic handle, causing water to spurt forth from the faucet. It splattered against the basin. It smelled like rotten eggs. Cringing, I cupped my hands and filled them with the putrid, but clear water and splashed it against my face. I recoiled at the smell but it felt so good. I rubbed my eyes and tried to smooth my hair out a bit. Maybe I should take a shower; was that even allowed? I looked back toward the shower, I really wanted to wash up, I felt like…ugh…I don’t know what I felt like. Even more importantly, who the hell was I? Did anyone have an answer? Almost on cue I heard something, the sound of a phone ringing, a cell phone? It was coming from my pocket. Confused, I reached toward my pants pocket, sliding my fingers in and wrapping them around the device. I pulled it from my pocket and looked at the blue screen. It was an unknown number. Whose phone was this? Who was calling me? I looked around the bathroom, almost as if I was trying to find some kind of clue.

“Oh my god, Michael,” I growled at myself. “Just answer the damn phone.”

An uneasy feeling intruded the depths of my stomach as I slid the ‘answer’ button to the right and held the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I said timidly. I had no idea what to expect. There was silence. A really long, eerie silence. The speaker crackled, I could hear breathing at the other end. “Hello?”

“Did you make it?” A raspy voice asked me.

“What? Did I make what? Who is this?” I hissed. There was no answer. I asked again, still no answer. Finally I took the phone away from my ear and looked at the screen, it was dead. What the hell? I held the power button and waited. The screen flashed to life for a brief second, showing a dead battery icon, and then nothing. Black again. I needed a phone charger. Maybe Zeke had one. I flipped the phone over, it was a ZTE Android phone, kind of a cheap model but I guess it would get the job done – whatever the job WAS.

“Okay,” I said. “Off to find a charger.”