Lily had always expected that she was a little bit insane. Like most children—she’d had imaginary friends. When she was young she had “The Boy” and “The Girl” who she talked to all the time. She never knew what they looked like, but she could hear them clear as day in her head, and she’d have full conversations with them.
When she was about six years old, she realized that her parents didn’t like hearing about the boy and the girl. She was too young at the time to understand why her parents didn’t like what was quickly starting to look like auditory hallucinations in their young daughter, but she was old enough to know that she didn’t like to make her parents unhappy. So, one night she told the boy and girl that she wasn’t going to able to talk to them anymore—and then proceeded to ignore them for a while.
Eventually, her parents forgot about the boy and the girl that their daughter had been a friend of. Lily didn’t mention them, and didn’t dwell too long on anything they had to say. In fact, she spent a majority of her time ignoring them completely.
But every now and then, she’d let her guard down, and she’d listen to them talk to each other. They were funny. They had an interesting relationship that often amused her. It was an excellent way to kill time on a long bus ride. Sometimes, they talked about her—but they never spoke to her, not since that faithful day when she was six years old.
That was—until she had that dream.
“It’s her—it has to be her-“He’d said. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something important.
But she had to shake it off. She was an adult now. She had a job—responsibilities—places to go, people to see. So she stuck the boy and girl, well–man and woman now she supposed, into the back of her mind and got ready for her day.
Disregarding the voices in her head, Lily considered herself to be someone relatively normal. She was twenty five years old, and she didn’t have a clue what she wanted to do with her life. She had a degree in English because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but no actual plans as to what to use the degree for. She decided to complete the stereotype and went on to work as a barista at a locally owned coffee shop.
But as for what she really wanted to do with her life, what she wanted to “be,” she hadn’t gotten that far yet. “I’ll figure it out before I die.” She grinned whenever someone asked her, “I’m destined for something big—I can feel it in my bones.”
That was strike two that made her pretty sure she was a bit crazy. Delusions of grandeur to go with the voice in her head that told her she was special. What was strike three going to be?