Last Resort

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A surreal sensation washes over me, a feeling both numbing and disconcerting. I close my eyes and have the odd sense that I am no longer Phillip Crane, thirty-seven, self-effacing adjunct professor for the science department of a fourth tier university. Nor am I sitting behind the wheel of a parked car on a shadow-filled street in a sleepy residential neighborhood. No, I am someone else, living somewhere else and Phillip Crane is a character invented by my overactive imagination. I pick up my cell phone and call my wife.

“Hello,” she sounds out of breath.

“Hey, Gwen. Just calling to say hi. Did I interrupt you?”

“No, no.”

“What’re you doing?”

Pause. “Uh, nothing, watching TV.”

“Anything good?”

“No, not really. Just flipping channels. I’m surprised to hear from you. I thought your conference would be going all night.”

I listen closely for background noise. There is none. My tone is nonchalant. “We took a break to rest our brains so I figured I’d check in.”

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