by Gina Sestak
My body drove the car with practiced ease, stopping at red lights and watching out for pedestrians.
My mind eavesdropped in a medieval dungeon.
"You are a monster." The prisoner spoke through broken teeth.
The torturer laughed. "You know nothing, yet . . ."
The light turned green. I took my foot off the brake and drove another block, flicking the turn signal on as I approached the corner.
The torturer picked up a grim-looking device, all spikes and iron.
The prisoner cringed.
I coasted to a stop at the sign, looked both ways, checked for on-coming traffic, then made the left.
Do you ever find yourself doing that, interacting with the real world while making up a story in your head? It's not something I recommend, particularly while driving, but sometimes I can't help myself. The story's coming through so strong, it won't allow itself to be ignored.
At times like that, I feel as if I'm straddling two worlds.
One world other people share, a world of structure and of light that can be seen and touched.
The other world is mine alone, a private place within.
That's where the stories hide.
Don't think I'm totally insane. I know which world is which. Outward reality and inner imagination coexist; they don't collide. But sometimes, sometimes, the stories come so clear that it's a battle not to tune out everyday reality to listen in.
How about you? Do you ever find yourself between two worlds?