Repossessed by A. M. Jenkins

to turnoff the desk lamp, immersing the room in darkness. It made me feel better, as if anybody trying to find me now would be as blind as I was.
    My human eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and shapes began to form as the dark became shades of black and gray. The house was quiet. The bedroom window appeared to be glowing behind the blinds, a lovely muted silvery cast.
    I stepped over Shaun’s scattered CDs to his window and pulled the cord to raise the blinds. As I did so, a flurry of dust rose into my face.
    Immediately I had a tickling in my nose, an odd sensation that the nose was drawing me into action whether I willed it or not. A feeling of inevitability…
    â€œAhhh- choo !”
    A sneeze. I’d sneezed! It was as compelling and as irresistible as ejaculation—of course, not nearly as much fun, but it was physical . It was something I’d gotten to experience before the Creator sent His Unfallen henchmen for me.
    I was happy to feel the tickling again, the dawning need. Another sneeze was coming down the pipeline.
    This time I wanted to see if it really was unavoidable. I opened my eyes wide and wrinkled up my nose, fighting it….
    â€œAhh- choo !”
    Marvelous!
    I waited, but nothing else happened, and as nothing had come out of my nose that required attention, I went ahead and opened Shaun’s window. A screen stood between me and the outside, but I could smell and feel the night air.
    I dragged Shaun’s amplifier over and sat on it, propping my elbows on the windowsill. I immediately saw that the silvery glow came from the moon. It was all reflected light, the hot golden light of day turned cool and ethereal in its windings through space.
    Funny how there could be such a difference between air and… air . Inside, I could smell specific odors, like Shaun’s sweat stains, or Peanut’s litterbox, or the greasy smell of the French fries we’d had for dinner. But this night air from outside had a thousand subtle smells to it, most of which I didn’t have enough experience to identify. I thought one was the scent of fresh grass. Another might be damp soil.
    The rest? I’d probably never know. I’d have to go back before I found out.
    Shaun’s lungs heaved in and out with my breath. A slight breeze from outside teased the tiny hairs on Shaun’s arms—but I was the one who felt them. I felt. I saw. I heard. I tasted.
    I got to experience something besides secondhand misery.
    And I loved it.
    I sighed, and rested my chin on my elbows. This body was already getting that heavy-eyed, foggy-brained feeling that meant it needed sleep.
    Sleep. What a waste. And this time, it was likely that I wouldn’t awaken in this world.
    The moon, with its pale gray, seemed to blur and dim.
    I thought: Am I crying ?
    I darted my eyes from side to side, trying to see tears. The blurriness was definitely there, but when I lifted my fingers to my cheeks, they were dry.
    I squeezed my eyes shut and felt the rims and lashes; sure enough, there were a few drops of moisture! I did cry a little , I thought with satisfaction.
    I tried to cry some more, but to no avail. Finally, I stood and shut the window. And as I pulled the shade down, I admitted what I already knew: No matter what happened, this holiday was worth it. It was worth anything to be able to cry real tears, to smell Lane’s scent, to feel a cherry tomato burst on my tongue—even having my fingertips slashed added spice and depth, because it led me to feel things, and to think things, that I might not have, otherwise.
    And if, after I was done, it turned out that I had attracted the notice of the Creator, that would indeed be a fitting end to a lovely vacation.
    I headed down the darkened hall to the bathroom, feeling an odd mixture of joy and sadness. There were so many things I still longed to do. Small things, like hot baths and soft carpets and sex.
    I just wanted to stay, that’s all—just