Rachel floated through the air. Alone. No scenery.
"Where am I?" she called out to nobody and nothing. She kept floating and after awhile stopped worrying. She decided to just enjoy the peace. Rachel began to sing. Nobody here to hear her, so she could shed her shyness.
She sang “Don’t Cry for me Argentina” and then “Defying Gravity.” She tried singing some of the songs from Spamalot and Avenue Q, but she really didn’t know enough of their lyrics.
Then she saw a big blue balloon floating above her. She grabbed it. And that's when she saw David walking below. Something about seeing him made her lose her ability to float through mid-air. She fell down. Quickly, she got herself back up in a standing position and brushed herself off.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "Thanks."
"Have you seen, Daphne?"
Oh, why did he have to ask about her? Rachel felt intense jealousy. Maybe it was because she knew such bickering between two people often later led to romance. She had seen enough soap operas and read enough romance novels to know that. Playful enemies one day, the wedding--just a few chapters down the line. And what would become of Rachel? Bridesmaid probably. Or probably not. Rachel would become the villain who tries to stop the wedding
"Rachel? You okay."
"Oh yeah," she said. "No, I haven't seen her."
She shook her head.
"Well, good. Who needs the two of them? It would be nice to have a night of peace."
Oh, thank you!
"I wonder why Daphne is so rude." David shook his head. "It's crazy."
Crazy. This whole thing was crazy.
"Do you hate me," David asked. I know that's a weird question. I just feel like sometimes you hate me."
What kind of message was she giving this guy? Could he not tell she was madly in love with him? Not that she made it obvious, but did he really think she hated him? "I like you," she said. "I do."
"Good." David smiled. "That's a relief."
Rachel had this urge to ask if he liked her, but decided that would sound too cheesy.
"Daphne hates me." Oh, why did he keep having to bring her up?
Rachel decided to say something deep and psychological; something that might pass as intelligence. "I think we all have hostility toward each other because we all think the others are not real."
David sighed. He sat down. "I'm real," he insisted. "I don't know what you are. Maybe you're real too. Maybe you're my imagination. But I know for sure I'm real."
Rachel didn't know how to respond. She told herself not to get trapped up in the delusion again.
"Or maybe I'm not real." David said, defeated. They both laughed. "Maybe I'm just a figment of your imagination."
He suddenly took her hand. And held it. The miracle was not this, but that Rachel didn't lose her nerve. She didn't freak out. It was like holding the hand of a friend. She felt comfortable, not overexhilierated. The was no sense that she might crap her pants.
"You know," he said. "I wish you were real. I wish I really could win my brother back."
He leaned over and gently kissed her on the cheek.
Sense of calm gone. Danger of crapping pants: very likely.
But before such a thing could happen, David disappeared.
Rachel was alone. She thought she'd wake up, but instead floated up and continued her journey through nothingness.