A slightly rough start, made good

Greg raised his eyebrows, and nodded to me. "Joan."

"That's right," I responded with a smile and a feminine voice. I held out a slim finger. "Do you remember that name from before I switched back?"

"Definitely from before," Greg relied. He frowned. "Actually I feel as though I remember it from when we met at University. I don't remember anything being... any different tonight, though I know that they must be, because that's basically been the point of you inviting me here."

"What can you remember?" I asked Greg. I sat down, and automatically crossed my legs, as if by muscle memory. "About what's different?"

Greg's forehead creased deeply. "When I think about what we were talking about a couple of minutes ago, everything gets very hazy. I remember that there's something very important going on with that stone of yours..."

Greg inhaled very slowly through his nostrils, sand out again. He held up one hand to ask for my patience.

"You're... not normally a woman?" He asked. "It's just on the edge of what I can remember. It seems totally wrong at the moment, but it just barely makes sense in context. Like you having to remind me of your name, before."

"I wonder if everyone else would feel the same way," I pondered.

"I'm not sure I'd even begin to consider it, if you weren't making a point of drawing my attention to you switching," Greg said. "The idea that your big revelation for tonight is that you're a woman, feels like someone confiding in me that they're heterosexual. That isn't the sort of thing that comes as a big revelation. But because you're drawing my attention to the switching, and because I notice the sorts of things I'm not remembering, I feel as though I can just about hold on to the idea that... you're normally male."

I shifted uncomfortably. I had no difficulties remembering that I was normally male, but I was discovering that it was unnerving to think about while female.

I considered what Greg was saying. "Maybe I should try visiting some of my neighbors. To see how smoothly it goes."

Greg shook his head. "I don't remember exactly why you thought it was a bad idea... but that fact alone makes me feel like it's a bad idea. Maybe try it with some people you know, but don't have to interact with much in case things go pear-shaped."

"Good idea," I conceded. "I guess that just leaves waiting for the pizza."

Greg nodded. "All right. Now if you don't mind me saying, Joan, I'm finding all of this very hard to think about clearly. Could we talk about something else?"

"Actually," I say with a smile, "one of the changes I made was with you in mind. What do you say to sharing a joint, for old times' sake?"

Greg's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? You and I smoke cannabis basically every time we meet."

I turned to look at him. "Really? Every time?"

"That's right," Greg replied. Then he smiled. "So, you're telling me that, normally, cannabis is hard to get?"

"It's illegal, actually," I said. "It's not that hard to get if you know the right person, and it's likely to be decriminalised in a few years. It's already legal in some of the States and in Canada. I thought it would be nice to get some really good stuff without the hassle."

Greg nodded. "You said it's in my honour. So... normally, I smoke cannabis even though it's illegal," he said, pondering.

"Yeah," I said. "It's a solid piece of counter-culture. It's pretty common for University students to smoke a bit. You and I certainly did. You still do," I added.

Greg smiled. "That tracks, I guess. -- One thing I've always appreciated about you, Joan, is that you still smoke cannabis with me. Apart from my sister and her wife, not many women do, since university."

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose: a motion he used to do at University, when he was a bit less laid back. "At least, that's the way I remember things. I'm not sure I like the idea that it's all fake somehow."

"Sorry about that, Greg," I said, gently.

I felt sorry for him. Greg was no slouch -- he was top of his class in philosophy back in the day, and routinely embarrassed conservative law students in formal debates before he decided that formal debates (and academia as a whole) were misguided. But I was coming to realise that, in effect, I'd ambushed this "switch-verse" version of Greg with the fact that most of what he remembered wasn't real.

Greg was smart enough to be able to grasp this on a level most people couldn't. Hopefully, he was also wise enough to manage not to worry much about that fact.

"It will be okay," Greg said. "Let's just try to do something that doesn't have big epistemological issues. I'd love to have a smoke with you," he nodded.

When I wished for a world with plentiful legal cannabis, I didn't think to specify where I'd keep mine. But I knew how I thought. I checked with the matches, and found a packet of pre-wrapped ones, along with an elegant decorative lighter.

"Do you want a joint to yourself?" I asked in a slightly sing-song voice.

"Oh-ho, no thanks. You always buy that strong herbal Dutch stuff. If you don't mind sharing, that would work for me."

"Sounds good," I said. A waft of cannabis and rosemary met me as I drew a joint from the package. "Mmmm, I have a feeling that this is going to pair well with pizza."

I handed the joint to Greg to light. He nods, lights the joint, and nurses it to a good burn. He draws from it gently, and coughs. "You always buy the more interesting stuff, things I don't normally touch," he remarked as he handed the joint to me. "Belgian beer and Dutch grass. Not many women go for those things."

I took a long drag. I don't smoke much any more, but somehow I manage to do it very smoothly, through some sort of muscle memory. I hold the joint between two fingers. My head was filled with the scent of rosemary.

Greg seemed pensive. "Fuck, I can't get away from it," he cursed.

"From what?" I asked, languidly.

"If none of this is real," he said, "and it will go away in a matter of hours, then this is basically the day I die."

"Shit, Greg, that's a bit heavy," I replied.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he said. "I don't remember the so-called 'real' world at all. If I believe that this world is not real, then... Unless you wish for exactly this same world again, my life will disappear."

Fuck, Greg. Bad line of thinking just when you're having a smoke. I looked around for an ash-tray, found one nearby, and rested the joint on the edge.

As I set the joint down, I realised. "Wait a minute. You remembered the switch-world when it ended the first time, didn't you?"

Greg perked up. "I... I think I did, yeah. It's a bit vague but I'm sure I did." He paused. "And actually, I remember it more clearly now than I did... 'in between'."

"Okay, then," I said, quickly trying to think it through. "So... maybe this world is a bit less stable than the so-called 'normal' world. Unless I wish for exactly the same thing every time, lots of details will change. Lots of them. But you know how to notice the switches, you know to try to remember, and you'll carry some of yourself from each switch to the next. That's something. I'd say it's much more like living than dying."

Greg inhaled deeply through his nostrils. "I'll buy that. I suppose we'll have to see, but... it makes sense. Enough sense that I think I can stop thinking about it for now." He looked at me, a bit worried. "I could use something very silly to distract me, if you have any suggestions."

It turned out that Greg had never seen TikTok, which wasn't surprising given that he used an old Nokia out of principle. I sat beside him, smoothing out my dress to make sure it didn't creep up my legs.