Perhaps in a Life Elsewhere

#Describes a character with oligodactyly/ polydactyly. Less or more than 5 digits (fingers in this case) While not a disability, might be sensitive for some.

Perhaps in a Life Elsewhere

Kamsi stared at the book, willing it to change into what she needed. Her left hand itched, but she ignored it. She inhaled the crisp, sweet smell of new books—like sitting by her mother’s feet, fingers moving deftly, coaxing hair into braids.

Cynthia shuffled closer, her tight curls whispering against the side of Kamsi’s face. “Don’t tell me you want that one.”

She scowled, shoving it back on the shelf. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You already know. That’s why you put it back.”

The endless possibilities of the bookshelves had become dread. Pulling out a few books, Kamsi glanced at them briefly, unimpressed. People moved past them in murmurs, their footsteps softened by carpet and paper.

She reached for another book when movement at the far end of the aisle caught her eye. A man stood there, shifting from foot to foot as he spoke to a woman beside him. She was tall and extraordinarily beautiful.

Kamsi smiled, recognizing the movement. Next, he would tilt his head and scratch the tip of his right ear—

Wait!

Why was she thinking that?

“Kamsi!”

“Yes,” she turned to Cynthia.

“Where did your mind go?”

“I…” Her gaze flicked back. The man wore a well-tailored grey suit that looked made for him.

“You lack passion,” the beautiful woman said.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied.

“When we started dating, your ex hinted at this problem. And… I should have listened.”

The word dating tightened around Kamsi’s ribs.

“You’re always at work,” he said to the woman. “How can I feel passion if you’re not there?”

Kamsi smiled. It was like him to deflect.

Two fingers snapped in front of her face. The sound jolted her back. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs as she blinked. Cynthia came into focus.

“Who is he?” Cynthia narrowed her eyes.

Kamsi glanced again. The couple were gone. The aisle, disconcertingly bare. A dull ache gripped her chest. The itch in her left hand sharpened, no longer ignorable. She scratched.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know him,” Cynthia said. “You were staring at him like—”

“Like what?” Kamsi asked, turning to her, legs unsteady.

“I don’t know. Like you were… happy? Sad? Both?”

“I thought he was someone I knew. But he wasn’t.”

“Did it take that long to figure it out?”

Kamsi recognized the look in Cynthia’s eyes at once. “Please, don’t start.”

“You’re twenty-nine. You avoid long-term relationships and never give a reason.”

Kamsi met her gaze briefly, then turned. She walked down the narrow passage between the shelves. “There have been reasons.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Cynthia hurried after her. “Dating in college was unnecessary. Law school was too busy. Work was—”

“Okay, okay.” She turned down the next section, scratching her left hand again. “What’s your point?”

“Well, maybe you should get his number and—"

“Cynthia, that was his girlfriend!”

Pace quickening, she turned down another aisle. The stacks pressed in close. Her skirt brushed the spines of books as she squeezed past. Her feet didn’t make a single sound against the softness of the carpet.

“Likely not for long,” Cynthia whispered. “Didn’t you hear them?”

Kamsi’s shoulders stiffened. “You are despicable.”

“Am I?”

“Uh-huh.”

Cynthia stepped into her path. “So why are you looking for him right now?”

She stopped short, swaying on her feet. She pulled her gaze back. “I’m not.”

“Then why are you walking around like someone possessed, and—” Cynthia broke off, grabbing Kamsi’s hand. “Stop scratching—oh my God!”

“What?” Kamsi’s eyes dropped to her hand. Blood dotted her skin where she’d scratched too hard. She winced.

“Didn’t you feel this?”

She shrugged, looking away. It still itched. Insistently now.

Has this ever happened before?

“We need a bandage,” Cynthia said.

Kamsi nodded, scanning the area between the shelves. Would he want soup if the beautiful woman broke up with him?

She shook her head. Stop. Focus. Remember the book. Remember your bleeding hand!

“Kamsi,” Cynthia studied her hand. “Isn’t this the spot where you once had an extra finger?”

“Yes.”

“Was it fully formed?”

“I don’t remember. It was removed when I was a baby.”

“Has it—"

“Hello.”

The voice was smooth and deep.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

They both looked up.

The man in the grey suit stood before them, smiling. “I overheard you talking about a bandage. I have one here.”

Kamsi stared at him, her throat tightening.

No.

No.

This was wrong.

Up close, he wasn’t how he was supposed to look. Where were his dimples? The slightly too-large nose? His—

“Oh, no, don’t be—” Cynthia cut in quickly, taking the adhesive bandage. “Thank you. My friend’s been lost in her head the entire day.”

“It happens to the best of us.” His voice slid under Kamsi’s skin, warm and almost familiar. It pulled her back from the edge.

“Are you alone?” Cynthia asked peering behind him. “Where did your—"

“We were arguing,” he said lightly, shifting his weight. “I think that was the end of it.”

Cynthia’s eyes burned into the side of Kamsi’s face. She refused to look back. Cynthia cleaned the cut and pressed the bandage into place.

“My name is Kamsi,” she said at last.

Both of them looked at her. Cynthia rolled her eyes. The man frowned slightly.

“Thank you,” she added.

“I’m Mike,” he said, still with that slight furrow between his brows.

His name slid around but didn’t settle. Kamsi’s expression mirrored his for a moment before she smoothed her forehead.

Mike was a perfectly acceptable name for a man.

He stepped closer, near enough that the scent of cinnamon and citrus reached her. A sense of safety—of being seen—invaded her mind abruptly. She drew in a breath, caught herself, and let it out slowly.

Now they stood there, facing each other. The longer she looked at his face, the more certain she became.

He tilted his head and scratched the tip of his right ear.

She blinked.

“Kamsi,” he said, “have we… have we met before?”

“No,” she replied, her stomach clenching. “I’ve never seen your face before.”

His gaze dropped.

“Okay.” He scratched his ear again, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. “I thought… It felt.” He blew out a long breath. “I’ll get out of your way.”

He backed up and walked out of sight.

Kamsi stood still, the sound of his shoes fading into the stacks. The quiet closed in around her. She leaned against the shelf and exhaled shakily.

“Tut tut.”

“Cynthia,” she said without opening her eyes. “What is it?”

“Are you really going to let him walk away?”

“He broke up with his girlfriend today. Or maybe he didn’t.”

“So?”

Kamsi shook her head, turning back to the stacks of books. She skimmed spine after spine, barely seeing any.

Cynthia leaned closer, lowering her voice as though the shelves might overhear. “Did you notice something?”

Kamsi didn’t answer. Her attention drifted to the end of the aisle where Mike had vanished.

“Kamsi!”

She turned.

Cynthia hesitated. “On his left hand… it looked like he was born with only four fingers.”

The words reached her as though through water.

Her vision blurred.

Her left hand itched again.

The End