You flip out (man's perspective)

"This is crazy!" you think to yourself. "How is this possible? What the hell is going on?!"

You close your eyes, but nothing happens. The room is still there. You see the ugly beige linoleum tile, your bare feet on the dingy bathmat. You touch your eyes to make sure that your lids are closed. They are, but your eyelids have become invisible as well. You can feel your fingers touching your lids, but your fingers are as invisible as everything else.

"This is insane!"

You look in the mirror again. Nothing. You close your eyes. You can still see the bathroom reflected in the mirror. You can see the ugly wallpaper on the wall behind you, peeling at the seam. Again you open your eyes. Nothing. You close them. Nothing. You must be going mad!

You rush out of the bathroom, letting the towel slip from your waist. "How is this happening? What should I do?" A million questions race through your thoughts, running into one another in one long stream of confusion.

You pick up the phone. 911.

You hear the dial tone. Someone picks up almost immediately. "911 emergency. How can I help?" the voice asks calmly, routinely.

"I'm invisible," you say, practically shouting into the receiver. "I need help. Please send me help!"

There is a short pause. "Please calm down, sir," the voice says smoothly. "I need you to repeat what you just said. I'm not sure I understand what the problem is. Can you do that for me, sir?"

"Y-yes," you say, but now you're beginning to think that maybe you shouldn't have called.

"Now, sir. What's the problem?"

Swallowing hard, you decide to carry on. "I've...I've turned invisible," you say flatly, realizing how crazy you must sound. You look at your reflection in the window, but there isn't one. As crazy as this must sound to the operator, it is definitely real.

There is another long pause. "What is your name, sir?"

"John. John Silverman."

"Is there anyone else there with you, John?"

"No. I'm alone." Suddenly, you remember the girl. "Wait--," you look around your apartment, but there is no one else there. You must be confusing things. That wasn't tonight; it must have been another night.

"Yes. I'm listening, John. What is it?"

"N-nothing," you say hastily. "I'm just getting confused. There's no one else here. I'm just stressed out."

"Of course, John. Am I right in understanding that the reason why you've called is because you've become invisible?" the voice asks, the slightest hint of impatience in the undertone.

"Yes. Yes. I know it sounds crazy...I think I must be sick."

"Are you in need of medical assistance?"

"I-I don't know," you mutter. You feel fine physically, but your brain feels like it is about to explode. "Yes...no. I'm not sure."

"I'm going to send a paramedic, John."

"Ok."

"Do you require any other kind of assistance, John? Is there someone I should call for you?"

He means: should I call your shrink for you?

You shake your head. "No, just some medical assistance," you say. "I think I must just be sick. Maybe I'm hallucinating."

"Help is on the way, John. I just need to know where you are so that I can send someone to help you."

"314 Samuelson Drive, apartment 23."

"Thank you, sir. Someone will be arriving shortly to assist you. Would you like me to stay on the line with you, John?"

"No. No, that won't be necessary," you say. There's something ominous about his tone. Paranoia. Maybe you are insane.

"Hang tight, John. Someone will be there soon."

"Ok. Thanks," you say. You hang up the receiver.

You turn and look out the window again. You see clearly the reflection of the rectangle of light shining through your bathroom door. You should be blocking it. At the very least, your body should be casting a shadow, but there is nothing.

You sit down with a sigh. Was it a mistake to call 911? They're probably going to lock you away. But you know you're not crazy. You've never had any episodes in your life, or anything at all that would indicate insanity. You just really can't see yourself. It must be some kind of disease. Or maybe you're just hallucinating. Maybe you ate something bad and it's affecting your brain.

You realize that you should probably get dressed. If you're not really invisible, and you're just hallucinating, you don't want to be the crazy naked guy the paramedics tell their friends about over beer. You stand up, preparing to dress, when suddenly there is a loud knock at your door. Its way too soon for the paramedics to arrive. Who could it be? You look at the clock. It's only twenty-five after five. Twenty-five minutes! It's felt like hours!

The knock repeats.