You are not phased by incisions, operations involving skin removal, additions, alterations, serious changes which make people into other people. And what you don’t condone you do anyway because you’re paid for it and being a wish granter means your sleep’s unbroken, has been since 2004.
Then Lexie left and it’s a long line of women until her and after, and eating lunch you catch glimpses of eyelids and fringes and you think, “I thought she was on the East Coast, but maybe she came back,” but she didn’t and eventually you catch the person’s jaw, ears, fingernails, know it’s not her. She is an accurate study in photographic memory, remembered alongside pages from textbooks and pornography and it’s untrue, the adage that says what you put in your brain stays there. Usually you forget faces quicker than character’s surnames, addresses of friends, phone numbers of relatives. Hers is the only and in dreams she’s herself, never in another body like some people, and she tells you you did wrong over and forgives you over and you take ibuprofen when you wake up, but only coffee cures headaches, and your teeth are ground down like filed nails and when you call she doesn’t pick up and when you add her as a friend your request disappears and there is no follow up and it’s the open-ended-ness of the situation that’s the absolute finish of it.