She was at a party and wearing a blue dress with gold buttons down the bodice, a thick white-lace collar, and small white gloves. There were people dancing close, the lights were low and meant to mimic candlelight, everyone was sweating. The sweat was thick on the nape of her neck, tangling up the kitchen of her vast mane of hair. She turned and there was a man watching her, mouth a little open.

There was a feeling as if someone were sitting on Ayanna’s stomach, holding her supine. Dry mouth, locked in place above the rug, the top of her head too hot. She did not want to have a vision, to be swept away into someone else’s life. Ayanna tried to say, “Stephen, shake me, wake me up, help,” but nothing that could be understood came out.

A couple behind her was kissing deeply, each trying to take all the breath from the other’s lungs. People were dancing. Everyone smelled like beer and sweat. Any person who somehow still smelled of shampoo or nice perfume became the most attractive person in the room.

He said, “Why did you shake my hand last time? I’ve spent a week trying to figure out what that meant.”

Her brain was fuzzy, but she could recall the rain, the lights, telling him about a book she only half remembered. It was about a couple who drank too much limoncello and argued in the Colosseum. She remembered, too, that she was also lying in a dorm room wearing a big sweatshirt and was too stoned to get up and get a glass of water.

He said, “Just let me kiss you once.”

She realized she was married, and that was why they were so miserable.

“Do you remember now, Liana?” he asked.

“My name is Ayanna,” she said. “I am a twenty-year-old college student in Michigan. I am looking for my sister. I don’t think I ever want to get married.”

“I’m waiting for you still,” he said. “If we’re reborn together, we have a better chance of finally being together.”

At the party, he put his hands on her face. They were somehow cold despite the heat of the room.

In her dorm room, she gasped loud, as if stepping into a pool, having been assured it was heated but finding it was as cold as the night air around it. Ayanna fell to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Stephen asked. “Jane? Can you hear me? Ayanna’s really scaring me.”

“What was my name?”

“Your name is Liana Nelson.” The mouth saying it was soaked in gin. She could not imagine, despite all this, ever wanting to be in love with this person.

In the real world, someone had slapped her face. Not hard, but enough to startle. Both spirits were gone.