You cannot imagine a face you have not seen.

​

          One hundred and two days ago I turned seventeen. The only reason I know that number exactly is because I have been having one dream consecutively, and every night a little more is added to the dream. Well, I can’t really call them regular dreams because that isn’t what they are exactly. I mean they started out as dreams, but now they have turned into something closer to a nightmare. Gray eyes, sunflower fields, fire — that’s how I have simplified it. What makes them even stranger is that I am never truly part of the dream, I am standing off to the side somewhere, watching as things went from good to bad. I can never help. Every time I wake up I am more confused than ever and have taken to calling them a “head trip” rather than a dream or nightmare.

          I always see the same people too, a man and a woman. The man is tall with brown eyes and the woman has brown hair and gray eyes, exactly like me. After one of the later head trips, I asked my AP Psych teacher if it was possible to have dreams about people you’ve never met, and she said no because you can’t imagine a new face. You can reconstruct an old one but a brand new one would be impossible. Like a color. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that you have seen that face before. Ever since that day, I think about the people in my home and wonder who they are. I question them and their hazel eyes. I feel like the outcast of my own “family.”

 

          “Miya,” my mother calls whilst I am once again scanning my reflection in the mirror. Trying — and failing — to match features to a family photo on my phone's lock screen. I give up and follow the shadow of my mother’s voice downstairs.

          “Yes, Mom?” I ask as I step into the living room.

          She’s dressed neatly in a brown that compliments her eyes and struggling to tie the fancy fabric strings on her heels. My mother is short and loves any height she can get, sometimes she can even look my father in the eye. I am tall, another difference.

          “Your father and I are going out, Wes is in charge and Will is going to spend the weekend at his friend's house.”

          “Okay. Can I ask you something before you go?”

          “Yes, anything” Her voice is almost monotone as if she is answering on autopilot.

          “Am I adopted?”

          I don’t know where the question comes from, and it isn’t the first time I am asking. The hesitation in her eyes was new, but brief. 

          “No, of course not,” she says, and shakes the room's obvious tension off, “stop asking that.” This is the most emotion she has given about one of my questions in a while. 

          I am not given a chance to answer as my father honks the car horn and my mother masterfully hurries outside. The rest of my evening is spent in leisure. Summer forces us to kick on the noisy AC that has been humming me to sleep ever since I can remember. I throw on a pair of sleep shorts and a random Guns N’ Roses t-shirt that I stole from Wes — or maybe Will. 

          The dark ceiling of my room is interesting tonight, I try to count whatever spots I can see with the assistance of the moonlight. I think about everything: I think about Will and Wes, about my parents — William and Wendy Johnson. They both work for the government, my mother in the white house and my father doing who knows what. Their jobs are secretive but they are also the most interesting thing about them. I think about myself, my eyes, my name. Even my M separates me from them. My mother tells me it was my grandmother's name but I have no clue as to which one or how far down the line. I think about how every part of my life feels like a lie, how I feel like I don’t fit within these blurring days. I feel sorrow. I shed a tear. I fall asleep.

Ø☾Ø

          “Nyah,” calls the voice of a man I am unable to see.

          But I see the woman, she is gorgeous and looks at me with eyes full of love and curiosity. I love her eyes, they are a much prettier gray than my own. Her hair is a deep brown and as the rays of sunlight in the field hit her it becomes a beautiful bronze. The richness of her skin seems almost too precious to be looking at. Everything around me is so vivid and beautiful. 

          The sky is teal and the few clouds dotting look like short, thick pieces of worn-down yarn. For the first time, I notice that the flowers in the field aren’t the sunflowers that I thought, but they are just as tall with petals like a peony and stems like bamboo stalks. They are gorgeous. 

          “Over here,” the woman — Nyah — replies, not taking her eyes away from me. Her voice is like a melody. 

          The man comes into view and for some reason, he is also very clear, as if I am truly seeing him for the first time in this very moment. I notice how he’s dressed in a rich purple jacket adorned with regal golden accents and black dress pants. There is also a gold circlet on his head, and a smile as bright as the sun on his face; his hazel eyes are lit up with happiness.

I turn back to Nyah and her casual attire is now a dress matching his suit. We’re inside what looks like a dressing room, but it’s as large as my living room at home. It is neat with white walls and richly colored clothing adorning racks and mannequins.

          “Miyalo,” Nyah calls, and I feel my head turn to focus on her. She holds two small dresses, one blue and one green, “Which one?”
    “Blue,” I tell her in a voice that is not my own. Nyah nods and I am distracted again.

          I turn my head to say something else but she is not there, nothing is there. Everything around me is black and I panic and squeeze my eyes shut.

          I just want to be back in bed. I open them again.

          Fire, that is all I see, flames so hot they are becoming white in places, I don’t know where to look but I see a doorway and race towards it as screams scatter all through the air and flames lick and prod at my moving form. I hear Nyah as she screams two names — Miyalo, Odour, Miyalo, Odour, Miyalo, Miyalo, Miyalo — and as I run I come to understand that I will not be able to reach her before the flames.

          I drop to my knees and I sink into icy water, drowning now in its inky black waves, I can feel the water in my lungs and weighing me down. This is it, finally the end. I know how the trip ends now. I see a hand. William’s hand. My father’s hand. I reach towards it — 

Ø☾Ø

          I gasp awake at the crack of dawn. My eyes are bulging out of my head and there is a stabbing pain in the front of my skull. This is the first time I can remember so much, this is the first time I hear names, the speech usually blurs and I can only see moving lips. 

          Miyalo. What a beautiful name.

          I remove my phone from its charger and see that it is just past 9 AM and decide it is time to start my day. I have an appointment with my therapist, Doctor Annabelle Ellis, every Saturday at 11 AM, but before I do that I grab my sketchbook from its place underneath my pillow and a pencil from the bedside table. I turn to a blank page and mindlessly sketch new scenes from the head trip. 

          When I first told my parents about the head-trips they seemed terrified and recommended I go to one of their special government therapist friends instead of a regular shrink. No matter, it’s not like it would have been different if I didn’t tell them. The look in their eyes behind their parental gazes always seemed almost fearful of something but I could never understand what. I still don’t. Today is my seventh session with Dr. Annabelle — "Call me Anna” —Ellis. I am unsure why I believe it will be any different from the others.

          The ride to her office is a smooth and quiet one with my father. He has been routinely dropping me off right on time and then my mother takes me home one hour later during her lunch break. I stare at my father as he drives, I study his features, he looks like Will — well Will looks like him I guess — with a jawline just shy of strong, chestnut skin, and the hands of a working man and not the office man he is. The hazel eyes he shares with his sons look tired behind his thick lashes and the gray hairs sprawled throughout his short, black curls always remind me of something from a black-and-white movie. Out of all of my family, I have become the closest with my father, mostly because of these recent trips to therapy. His current silence is concerning me and I feel the need to break the silence.

          “Is everything all right? You’re quiet today,” I ask, and he turns to look at me when the red light brings him to a halt.

          “Yeah, just tired. Work has been,” he heaves a sigh, “work has been a lot lately.” He gives me a tired smile, turns back to the newly turned light, and takes off.

          The silence comes back, and I’m afraid to break it again. For some reason, it feels as though I am walking on ice in the fog today. I just want one normal day, why can it not be normal? Why can I not be normal?

          My father pulls into the parking lot of the government building, it’s beige and the July sun does nothing but put all of its flaws on display. The car comes to a stop near the front door and I reach for the handle.

          “Miya,” My father says, and I turn to look at him.

          “Yeah?”

          “Have a good session, I love you,” he tells me and I only nod, hesitant.

          “Love you too,” I say before getting out.

          He never tells me he loves me, but he always implies it with his overly-expressive eyes. The elevator ride to Dr. Anna’s top-floor office feels long today and the regular tune isn’t playing and I can’t tell if I’m relieved or not, I never liked the song but I had become accustomed to it. I shrug it off and step through the office door. The receptionist, James, greets me with a smile. 

          “Dr. Ellis’ 10 o’clock should be out soon,” he says.

          “Thanks,” I say and sit in one of the chairs in the small waiting room. 

          A man walks out before I can sit down on one of the standard waiting room chairs outside of her office and he seems frazzled. Dr. Anna hastily follows him out and feebly attempts to bring him back with a few choice words. Nothing can stop his haste, and her shoulders drop but quickly pick back up as James clears his throat and her attention turns to me.

          “Good morning, Miya,” she says with her usual patient-oriented smile. “Please come in.”

 

          She has one of those long therapy couches and I relax in it, Dr. Anna has accidentally become my new closest friend. She knows my mind better than I do and is skilled at interpreting my head trips. Even as I tell her they feel more like memories than anything else, she digs for a deeper meaning. After this one, though, I’m not sure if I’m looking too forward to the session.

          “So how have you been? Anymore of your head trips?” She asks.

          “Yeah,” I say, “But this one was different.”

          “What do you mean?” She clicks her pen, ready to take notes in her leather-bound notebook.

          “I heard a name and it was such a pretty name, I don’t usually hear much of anything.”

          “Aside from the screams?”

          I nod.

          “What was the name?” She asked, scribbling something down.

          “Miyalo, and the woman—her name is Nyah.“

          “Nyah?” Dr. Anna repeated and took down another note.

          “Yeah, she was yelling it when the fire was, um—“

          “Surrounding you?”
   

           I nod and she scribbles more notes into her notebook. This is the most I have ever seen her write. I’m beginning to tell her more details about the drowning and how I just know that it was my father’s hand reaching out for me. It was him, it had to be. Then everything begins to move in slow motion.

          The lights in the office go out and a single red emergency light flashes on and off repeatedly. Alarms sound all throughout the building. I think it's a fire alarm, but as I move to get up Dr. Anna stands and gestures for me to stay seated. A loud bang shakes the building and forces loose pieces of tile to the carpeted floor. 

          “Dr. Anna, what’s going on?” I question, fear is stabbing at my heart and pounding at my head. 

          Instead of answering she presses a button on her watch and speaks into it, “Echo, X-Ray, Tango, India. Repeat. Echo, X-Ray, Tango, India. UC Lady Cerebral with Subject Alpha Mike. Do you read?” She says and my head is spinning, trying to grasp what just happened and decipher the code she was spewing. 

          When we were growing up my parents made it their mission to make sure we understood any and all government codes in case something “went wrong” as they put it. They wanted us to be ready for anything.

          EXTI, Extraterrestrial Infiltration. UC, Undercover. Subject Alpha Mike. Was that me?  

          She grabs my hand and we rush through her darkened office and into the waiting room, James is gone and no one has responded to her. Another bang shakes the building to its core.

          “Listen to me Miya, you have to do exactly as I say right now, okay?” She tells me urgently, looking deep into my eyes for the hesitation that is certainly residing there.

          “Okay,” I tell her but my voice is weak and unconvincing.

          “If I say jump, what do you do?” She says grabbing a pistol from James’ desk drawer.

          “Jump?” 

          “Exactly, William and Wendy taught you well,” she says and I  can’t remember a time when she had called my parents by their first name. 

          As I look to her I realize the Dr. Anna I know is gone in that moment. She is UC Lady Cerebral. A government agent. A stranger who has my trust.

          “UCLC, what is your current location?” A disembodied voice — finally — replies from the watch. It’s a comfort to know we aren’t alone in this. 

          “Top floor of building twenty-two, heading to the roof. Ready for extract in t-minus three minutes,” she opens a panel in the wall and takes out two bulletproof vests. My phone is vibrating like crazy in my pocket as she straps me in almost too tightly. 

          “Don’t answer that,” she snaps. I have a feeling that this will be the longest three minutes of my life.

          The two of us are secure and Dr. Anna takes the lead as we head into the hallway lit only with an eerie emergency red. Alarms like this would usually make my ears ring but the adrenaline rushing through me is canceling out so much of the sound. Dr. Anna is moving too slow for my liking towards the staircase with her gun at the ready. I wonder where everyone else on the floor is.

          Another bang, closer this time. 

          “Miyalo,” I hear someone call out. It’s the voice from my head-trip, hearing it during the day is hauntingly beautiful. I freeze and circle in my spot on the stairs. 

          “Move Miya,” Dr. Anna hisses. I focus on the task at hand and thank whoever might be listening for my parents teaching me how to stay calm in high-stress situations. We finally make it to the roof and it's not light at all. I see the sky but there is something blocking it. It has been domed off by a deep blue partially opaque shield. 

          When my parents first told me about therapy and where it was, I looked this building up half a dozen times on Google Earth and I have been here a dozen more since. There was never a dome over it. 

          I finally rip my gaze away from it and look at the only other thing on the roof, it looks like a plane, but not exactly. More like a ship, something from a movie, something unreal. It’s huge and sleek silver with glowing purple engines and an open hatch. Ten people jog out, fully uniformed in what could be specialized military gear, glowing weapons in hand, and aim at us. Dr. Anna doesn’t back down. 

          “Identify yourself!? What do you want!?” She screams at them, clearly ready to fire. I look up, two military choppers are attempting to breach the dome. It doesn’t work and I realize that you can’t hear anything outside of this dome. The alarm faintly coming through the open roof door is the only tethering sound of the real world.

          “My daughter,” says a voice from behind the soldiers. Nyah. She speaks in another language and they stand down but flank her as she walks towards us. Dr. Anna lets out the smallest of gasps as my breathing quickens and I can feel my hysteria and confusion becoming one. I’ve never had an anxiety attack before but now certainly doesn’t feel like the best time for my first one to be triggered. 

          She is just as beautiful as in my head trips but aged only slightly. Her brown hair is tied up in an elegant updo with a circlet resting neatly on her head. She is dressed in the same rich purple but this time it isn’t a dress, it’s similar to the suits that the soldiers wear except with a golden cape hanging from her shoulders. I stare at the golden crest on her chest for too long and my head begins to hurt. 

          “Nyah?” I ask, from my place behind the doctor. Dr. Anna steps further in front of me as Nyah gets closer. I feel myself drawn to this woman and move around her.

          “Miya, stay behind me,” Dr. Anna insists with the voice of a commander. I can’t. 

          As Dr. Anna moves to grab my arm, Nyah has visible disgust on her face as she flicks her wrist and my therapist goes flying back towards the domes’ wall. 

          Nyah steps in front of me, she is taller than me. I look up at her. She holds my face in her hands. Hands that just made a woman hit a wall without touching her. Hands I should be afraid of. Hands that bring me nothing but comfort.

          “Miyalo,” she says softly, looking deep into my identical gray eyes. “Let us go home.

          “Where is home?” I ask her, I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, “Who am I?”

          “My precious Miyalo,” she says and kisses my forehead.

          In an instant, everything comes rushing back to me. My eyes close and I feel as if I have lost all control of my own body as I disappear into a long-forgotten place in my mind. 

Ø☾Ø

          I see Nyah, clear as day with the man from my dreams and I find myself wishing I knew his name — maybe it’s Odour.  I see myself, in a floor-length mirror dressed in a ball gown — I can’t be older than five. Nyah is behind me and she places a small golden circlet on my head, she picks me up and I laugh as she spins me around. Her own gown flowing beautifully.

          The man walks in, dressed as neatly as always with a beaming smile.

          “There are my two favorite girls,” he says as she walks over and takes me from Nyah’s arms, into his own.

          “Hello, my love,” Nyah says and they exchange a quick peck, I feel myself grimace. 

          “Ew,” I exclaim, and they both let out a soft laugh.

          “Are you ready, Miyalo?” He asks, and I nod.

          “It’s my corn-a-cation day,” I say, excitement in every word.

          “Your coronation day, sweetheart,” Nyah says, “when you get the gemstones for your circlet and you are acknowledged for next in line to the throne.”

          “Princess!” I exclaim.

          “Yes, you’re a Princess,” he says.

          “Odour,” Nyah begins, “Be sure the council knows that your brother will no longer be in line for the title. He is too reckless.”

          “We’re meeting about it tomorrow afternoon,” Odour sighs. “I just hope he takes it well.”

Ø

          I look out onto a ballroom overflowing with people dressed in their very best clothes. I can feel my nerves getting the better of me as I nearly drop the small scepter. I take a deep breath. An older man who looks shockingly Similar to Odour steps forward with my circlet in his hand. This time, however, it is adorned with beautiful purple gemstones.

          “Introducing,” He begins in a booming voice, looking to the crowd “Miyalo Zoya Eesuola, the First. Princess of Zain. Next in line for the throne.” He looks to me, affectionately, “My granddaughter,” he says, quieter. 

          With a smile on his face, he places the circlet on my head and the crowd erupts into cheers. I can feel a smile blooming on my own face as he hugs me.

          I feel like me.

Ø☾Ø

          It takes me a few seconds before I am able to see again; I blink quickly to clear my vision. Nyah is still there in front of me on the rooftop, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

          “Mom?” I ask and tears well up in her eyes as she nods and pulls me in for a hug. I cling to her, feeling my own eyes fill with tears before letting them stream down my face.

          “I have been searching for you for so long, my Princess,” she tells me, “I would have been here sooner but it has been too dangerous on Zain. I could not risk them hurting you too.”

          “Who’s them?” I ask, finally pulling away to look at her. 

          “Rebels, after your Uncle was stripped of his title he started plotting against us. The fire, the drowning, all the bad things you see, it was him Miyalo,” she tells me. “It is finally safe enough, but Zain needs you to lead it.”

          “I can’t, I’ve been here. I don’t know —“ 

          “Shh, all will be well,” she rests her hand on my cheek again, I lean into it, “Just come home.”

          “Okay,” I say, and she takes my hand and begins to walk toward the ship. Everything hits me at once.

          “Wait,” I start and stop walking, “What about my family, they’re going to be worried.”

          “Have no fear, Wendy and William Johnson have served their purpose. They raised you to be strong and independent, just as I asked,” she told me.

          “As you asked?” I say it like a question that’s for myself more than anyone. 

          I think about my life with the only parents and siblings I had ever known. The only house. The only town. It would all be gone if I followed her, but something in me was telling me I had to. Going with her would answer all the questions I have ever had about myself. 

          I look at Nyah, her gaze was expectant and patient, I look at Dr. Anna, who was finally regaining consciousness. Dr. Anna holds my gaze for a second before she gives me the faintest of nods. I nod back and realize that this is the woman who knows my mind, my wants, my fears.

          She knows I need to do this.

          As I turn back to face Nyah, I can feel my hesitation turn into determination. I am ready to face this head-on. I squeeze her hand and we continue to walk towards the ship together. 

          It’s time for me to go home.

☾

THE END