Everything Burns

Oh no. Not wearing sunscreen. Hard to open eyes. Not going to try. Nice breeze. Maybe I'll just sit here for a while.

Sitting. What am I doing sitting on the sidewalk? The traffic is so loud. Where am I?

Against a building, for starters. I concentrate all my will into opening my eyes. A couple yards away, there is a pole with a button for crossing the car-clogged street. A well-dressed man barely misses stepping on the toes of my Converses. He doesn't look at me. Neither does the next.

Oh god, where am I? Why am I sleeping on some city sidewalk?

I try to remember. What is the last thing I remember? Home...party...wine. Friends. That's it. This is a practical joke, because my friends are all insane. They've got to be around here somewhere...but where is here? Home is Georgia. This is definitely not Georgia. This looks like a New York burrough. Not that I would know what New York looked like, except on a movie screen.

I have to stand.

Slowly, I get to my feet. Groggy. The ground spins. I look around for my purse but don't see it. The motion makes me queasy. I'm in my favorite jeans and shoes at least. And my new yellow tank top with the guitar imagery. In the sun, with no sunscreen. Great.

At least whole thoughts are forming now. I put my hands in my pockets, but they are empty. No money, keys - nothing. I look around again, this time for a sign of someone I know. Nothing. I'm alone.

My heart begins to pound harder. Something is very wrong with this.

I look for a clue to tell me where I am, but see absolutely nothing about this corner that would distinguish this city from any other metropolis. I decide to stop someone - the young Asian-looking guy in the suit will do.

"Excuse me," I say. "Excuse me..." He doesn't even look at me. "Can you tell me what city this is?" I ask, a hint of desperation in my voice. "Where am I?"

He looks at me for a moment, then continues walking.

Great. Now I'm the Crazy Lady on the Corner. Maybe if I get away from this spot.

I move to the crosswalk and hit the button, shoving my fingers into my tight pockets and walking. The sun sits hot on my shoulders. I'm going to burn.

I look up just in time to see the face of Gary Oldman. "Hey!" I say without thinking. "Mr. Oldman!"

He is dressed in a suit, his hair trimmed short, wearing glasses and a moustache. His face is kind, the expression slightly confused. "I'm sorry," he said. "I think you have me confused with someone else."

"But..."

As I stand foolishly in the street, he excuses himself and continues walking. I turn to watch him. "Wait!" I say, and run to catch up. "What is your name then?"

"Gordon," he said. "Jim Gordon. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm expected back in my office in ten minutes."

"Sure," I say absently.

Jim Gordon. Why is that name familiar?

Batman.

Can't be.

Again, I take off after the man, feeling as though my heart is trying to climb up my throat. "Is it Lieutenant Gordon?"

"Commissioner," he said, now eyeing me warily.

Commissioner Gordon. Oh god. I keep my distance as I bounce along beside him. "Commissioner Gordon, what city is this?"

He stopped and regarded me seriously. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I just...can't get anyone to tell me where I am."

"You're in Gotham," he said, as if that fact were good and solid and comforting. "Is there anyone I can call for you? Has something happened?"

"No, I don't..." I don't know what to tell him. I'm in shock, and not thinking clearly. I don't know a lot at the moment, but I know I am not supposed to be in Gotham City. That's because Gotham City is not a place I can go. Because it's fiction. This has to be a dream, caused by too little sleep and too much wine. That's it. That's the truth I will cling to for now.

"Here," he says, and reaches into his jacket. "Take my card. Call me if you need anything."

I take the card and nod as he walks away apologetically. All at once, the one familiar face in the city disappears, and I'm left standing on the street corner with nothing but a business card.

I look at it. "Police Commissioner James Gordon, Gotham City Police Department." I put it in my pocket. It's comforting to have something in my pocket. It wouldn't occur to me until much later that I should have insisted on accompanying him back to the station. And by then it would be too late.