“Uh-huh,” I heave. Then I realize I have to pee and slam the door closed in their face. I flop onto the toilet again. Is magic real or am I having a very vivid dream?

I wash my hands and am suddenly struck with another thought. I pull up my sweatshirt and top to inspect the appendix-removal scar I have below my hip bone. When I look down at myself I see it. I see my stomach, my boobs. In the mirror … are not my boobs. And no scar. In the mirror is a ripped eight-pack. I drop my clothes back down. That’s a teenage ballerina’s stomach.

FUCK FLIPPITY JIBBITY FUCK.

I stumble out of the bathroom past the waiting passenger.

I don’t even know what to do with myself right now. Am I wearing a Siri mirage?

My rowmates kindly get out again to let me slip in. I fall into the seat like a lifeless doll. There’s a 50 percent chance I’m losing my mind.

36. Angst and LAX

SIRI

September 3, Thursday Early Evening

California

I cut the entire bathroom line when I get off the plane and inhale breath after startled hysterical breath when I still see Jamie in the mirror.

I still look like Jamie.

I mean … I am Jamie when I look in the mirror and apparently to anyone who sees me?! I’m wearing a Jamie glamour. It looks like I’m literally in Jamie’s body. Jamie with terrible hair and a blue nose ring.

I spend a few minutes awkwardly interrogating other bathroom-goers about my hair color and facial piercings. They all see Jamie.

What am I supposed to do with this? This isn’t part of the plan!

I splash cold water on my face and pinch my arms in five different places. The only result is pain and a light dusting of gold glitter on my hands again. Like it was hiding in my pores. Does this have to do with the … glitter?

Outside the bathroom I tap my foot impatiently against the tile as Jamie’s Chocolate takes its sweet time booting up. Why does she use this?! When it finally lands on the home screen, I frantically punch in my own phone number and press the green send button.

It goes straight to voicemail. She must still be on the plane.

“Jamie! Nine-one-one help, please call me as soon as you land!” I hang up and shove it back into the boob pocket of Jamie’s overalls.

I walk in circles for ten minutes before doing the only thing I can think to do: join the stream of people headed toward baggage claim.