Mamie was a character, a damn right card. She had wild curly hair and the largest mouth in the whole South. She’d play with all the kids in town, run races and make silly faces. She was energetic and lively. Most any woman like Mamie would stand out most anywhere but in the little town where she lived, she was completely without match.
After the Fall Festival, Mamie walked home via the moonlight singing to herself. She hadn’t married and lived alone. Mamie walked in the front door, turned on the lights in the hall and threw her over-sized hand bag down with a ker-plunk!
Mamie sauntered down the hallway to her bedroom where she’d get ready for bed and collapse into her queen sized mahogany.
She slept well and given her vivid imagination, dreamed quite voraciously, even for her. All throughout the night Mamie dreamed she was in the wildest places, but that wasn’t even the strange part. Not only did Mamie hunt and run and fight and love with tremendous rigor in the dream, Mamie’s internal dialogue had been changed to that of John Lithgow’s.
When Mamie woke up the next morning she squinted her eyes and rub her head full of wild hair. She laughed out loud to herself. One thing that we almost never realize is that our internal dialogue is constantly going and telling us what we see, what we think. Telling our brains in our thoughts and we automatically understand it.
But what if our internal dialogue was suddenly in someone else’s accent? What if it was in someone else’s voice? What if you were a lively woman and could hear John Lithgow in your mind every time you thought something.
She noticed that the sun was up. John Lithgow told her.
She noticed her internal dialogue was that of John Lithgow’s. John Lithgow told her.
Amazed and scared, she flew out of bed. She noticed she was hungry because John Lighgow’s voice told her so, inside her mind.
“Cereal will be just fine, Mamie.”