She jumped up to see to it as if she had been waiting and listening for it. She felt as if she had just dosed off; as if the meal she was preparing was something very important to her, and she didn't want it to spoil. As she hurried from the living room into the kitchen she noticed that the wall above the sofa had been decorated with a long, horizontal canvas in an abstract jumble of green and black flowers.
Anne shifted the pot of boiling beans to the side of the coiled stove element and wound the setting back to simmer. The stove was white, not green, as she suddenly remembered the kitchens of friends she'd never before recalled having. They joked about her plain white stove. But it complimented the bold orange and yellow flower print on the wallpaper.
Hurrying across to the simple dark veneer cabinets, she opened one, instinctively knowing there would be plates inside, and took down two; white with yellow flowers around the rim. Wait, how had she moved so fast and freely? She glanced down at herself. She was wearing a floral house dress and a frilly white apron. Her feet were bare. She had no limp and the skin of her right leg was without blemish. She looked down at her legs, completely confused as she lifted the hem of her dress and marvelled at how perfect they were. She touched her hair. It was thicker and longer, and she sought her reflection in a mirrored cutlery cabinet to find another girl looking back at her.
It was no dream; no illusion. Anne's thoughts were entirely lucid: It was Sunday. She was on her way home from her friend's wedding. Her name was Anne Elizabeth Thompson. It was the year two thousand and thirteen.
But at the same time, it clearly wasn't. Another quick scan of the room revealed white laminate countertops, a double oven like her great aunt still swore by, and a pedestal light in a shade of yellow that hadn't been in style since her mother's day. There was a green rotary dial phone on the shelf of the cabinet. A big floral calendar on the kitchen wall displayed the year 1968.
Anne patted her cheeks, feeling them for the bone structure that was not her own. She was slightly taller and had fuller breasts. Her hands were someone else's; her fingers longer and thinner. There was a diamond ring and wedding band on her left ring finger that sent a flutter of tingles alight in her belly. She picked up a silver framed wedding photograph of the woman whose body she was currently residing in and an absolutely gorgeous man with grey eyes, dark hair and a perfect smile.