Below is the transcript for Season 1, Episode 125 of Freely Written, a podcast by author Susan Quilty:
Welcome to Freely Written where a simple prompt leads to a little unplanned fiction.
[Light piano music]
Hi, friends! I’m Susan Quilty and today’s prompt is Is That Me?
My friend Gretchen was recently telling me an absolutely charming story that included a run-in with a stranger behaving in such a familiar way that Gretchen found herself thinking, is that me? Is that what I sound like?
We had a good laugh about it and agreed that a good story prompt would be: is that me? Now, the challenge with a prompt that comes from a real-life story is in writing something that goes in a different direction.
Sitting down to write, I had no idea what that direction would be, but that’s how Freely Written works. I sit down with a prompt and write whatever comes to mind, with no planning and very little editing. Then I record the story and share it with you.
The stories in this podcast are quick creative writing exercises where I try to let go of perfection and be free to see where my mind wanders. It’s a lot of fun, and I hope you’ll be inspired to try free writing your own stories, too.
If you want to read my carefully planned and polished stories, you can learn more about my novels on my website, SusanQuilty.com, or look me up wherever you buy books. As an indie author, I greatly appreciate your support! Please check out my books and tell your friends.
And now, on to the story:
Is That Me?
Margo approaches the window with caution. She’s not sure that window is the correct word for what she is seeing, but window is in the name. At least in the English version. The Open Window. The phrase sounds completely innocuous. Pedestrian. How many times in her life has Margo talked about an open window and simply meant an open window?
Yet here she stands at the mouth of a narrow cave, peering at a shimmer of glass that beckons not 50 feet away. Her mentor, Dr. Adams, and Janus, the mystic who accompanied them, are waiting outside, standing quietly beside the cave’s armed guards.
Margo has been given 5 minutes with the Open Window. A rare gift earned through dedicated study and intense psychological testing. For the past four months, Margo’s home has been a cramped cabin in an isolated research center. A center that essentially does not exist outside of the highest levels of international security.
Though rumors occasionally pique interest, few scientists have confirmed knowledge of the Open Window’s existence. Only those who have been rigorously screened are invited to take part. Far fewer have had Margo’s experience of studying with both the research center and a religious sect known as Seers of the Infinite Way. A group created by those who discovered the Open Window and chose faith over scientific explanation.
All that Margo has learned, both scientific and spiritual, swirls in her head as she stands at the mouth of the cave. She steps forward, slowly narrowing her distance from the window. She wants to hurry, knowing that her time is limited, but something holds her back.
Despite her intense study—or perhaps because of it—Margo can feel the thinning of the ether around the window. Panes of glass hold the rift, though it is a delicate containment. One that could shatter unexpectedly, just as the window had appeared without warning nearly a decade ago.
There’s a strange light within the glass, enhanced by directed LEDs. Otherwise, there’s nothing to see but an iridescent shimmer. Light that shifts and glows. The window is nearly four feet wide and extends from the floor to the ceiling of the cave. Two thick panes of glass set 9 inches apart, with metal panels creating side walls between them.
Margo slows her breath and steps within a foot of the window. She knows that what she may see will not be linked to her geographical position. Instead, the link appears to be based on an energetic signature her fellow scientists have not yet identified.
Her mystic guides would call it her soul.
As Margo peers into the glass, she sees light and shadow separating into distinct shapes. Slowly a picture emerges. A moving picture. As if looking though a hazy, streaked window at an airport. Except instead of looking out at a plane-filled tarmac, Margo is watching a city street form before her eyes.
The details sharpen and Margo is reminded of the film she learned to develop decades earlier. Way back when she was an undergrad toying with photography alongside her physics curriculum.
People hurry along the city street, except for one woman waiting impatiently as she looks up and down the block.
Is that me?
Margo’s mind reels at the recognition of her own features on the face in the window. Her training has prepared her to see herself, but she now understands why the seers say: To look upon yourself from the outside is the end of fully knowing yourself.
The Margo in the window has long hair wrapped in a French twist. Her fingernails are painted a soft pink, and her suit is expertly fit to her curves. Curves that are curvier than the frame Margo has experienced in her life.
Is that me? Her brain echoes the question on a loop, unable to entirely process the image.
This Margo is clearly a professional of some kind. Though this glimpse is not enough to know if she is also a physicist and religious scholar. Margo scans the surroundings for details, noting that this Margo, French-twist-Margo, is holding a clipboard and has a briefcase slung over one shoulder.
As Margo watches, a young couple hurries close and French-twist-Margo waves warmly. She gestures them toward nearby steps and up to a door that is next to a sale sign.
I’m a Realtor?!
Margo flinches and the image fades. She silently berates herself, having been warned that the window is sensitive to emotion.
After several slow, steadying breaths, another image begins to take shape. Margo wills her heart to stay calm, knowing she only has a few minutes for this first visit. It’s a precaution for her own mental health. One that Margo didn’t fully understand until confronted with the enormous draw of this improbable view into alternate worlds.
This time, the window looks into the kitchen of a home with an open floor plan. Margo doesn’t see herself at first. The kitchen island is in the way, but as the view pans, somehow seeking out her otherworld twin, Margo sees this version of herself sitting on the floor in a sunroom attached to the kitchen.
Her breath catches and the image wobbles.
That’s me, Margo tells herself firmly, pleading with the image to stay.
This Margo is sitting on a colorful rug surrounded by stuffed animals. A little girl sits beside her, brushing a doll’s hair and saying words Margo cannot hear.
I’m a mom, Margo tells herself with care. She knew this was a possibility. A strong probability even. With infinite alternate worlds, she would surely have had children in some of them.
As the image starts to blur, Margo turns from Mom-Margo to the little girl beside her. She has dark hair and wears a white top with blue shorts. She looks to be about 4 years old, and Margo quickly scans through her own past to find candidates for the father. But there’s no way to know whether she and Mom-Margo shared any of the same dating history.
When Margo refocuses, the image has again faded and reformed. She now sees a nondescript classroom, one that could exist in countless universities.
Is that me? Margo smiles at professor-Margo giving a lecture with emphatic gestures. This is a Margo that feels more familiar, except for the streaks of blue highlighting her dark hair.
“It’s time,” Dr. Adams calls gently from the edge of the cave.
Margo doesn’t want to leave. She can feel the window holding her in place. But she knows she has to go. There will be other visits. As long as she follows protocol. If she proves she can handle the enormity of this project without losing herself in the process.
That night, after her debriefing and a celebratory dinner, Margo changes for bed, alone in her tiny cabin. She does not have her own bathroom, but there is a mirror above her desk.
Glancing at her reflection, Margo releases her shoulder-length hair from its haphazard ponytail and takes off her glasses. She steps closer to the mirror and lets her arms fall to her sides.
Is that me? Margo wonders while looking into eyes that have become a little less familiar in the course of one afternoon.
For a moment, Margo feels the invisible web connecting her to life, to infinite lives. She feels tiny and expansive, lost and found, humbled and inspired. She thinks of similarities she has with those other Margos, then considers the differences.
We are alike, she decides. I can relate, but only I am me.
She turns out the light and gets into bed, ready to start the next phase of her study.
The End
Thanks for listening. If you enjoyed that story, please share it with your friends. And if it inspired you to write a story of your own, go for it! See what happens when you let your words flow.
If you want to know more about my writing, including some extra thoughts about these Freely Written stories, check out the blog on my website: SusanQuilty.com. While you’re there, you can learn more about my novels and other projects. You can also connect with me on social media, primarily Facebook and Instagram. Links are in the show notes.
Until next time, try a little free writing of your own. Let go of any planning and see where your imagination takes you.
[Light piano music]
