Chapter 1: The Impossible Morning

FRANK

The first Sunday in November, I woke a few hours after the official end of Daylight Saving Time (“fall back”). According to my body’s internal clock, it was nine in the morning, but my alarm clock showed “8:02.”

I always enjoyed weekend mornings. The sunlight angled into the corner of our bedroom, birdsong tickled my ears, and there was no awful weekday commute to anticipate. I closed my eyes, stretched, and sighed happily.

Suddenly my eyes flew open. How? Why? My knees! My hips! For years, I’ve been struggling with arthritis, and my mornings have been stiff and painful. Sometimes, very painful. But not today!

I moved experimentally—everything felt easy and comfortable! I looked over at the back of Peg’s head. Her hair looked different—did she color it again? The rich blonde color I remembered was back.

Carefully, I eased over to the edge, put my feet on the floor, and stood up painlessly. Immediately, though, I began to waver unsteadily in total shock. I managed two steps to put me in arm’s reach of my nightstand, hanging onto it for stability.

What the fuckin’ hell? Peg and I slept naked, and I could NOT believe what I was seeing. My gut, my big belly—it was gone! My skin, tighter and smoother. And my chest and pubic hair? All brown again, no gray! My eyesight? Sharp and clear. My joints felt brand new.

Another shock, there was my morning wood, in plain sight! My morning wood? I needed to pee, yes, but corresponding morning hard-ons hadn’t happened for a long time. Years.

I looked fearfully toward the bathroom door. Did I dare look in the mirror? But I needed to pee first.

I stepped into the little room, lifted both lids, and angled myself for the proper aim. Nothing happened. Great—more teenage frustration. I focused, and finally, the stream began. After what felt like a gallon, I flushed and washed my hands.

No more delays. I raised my eyes to the mirror—and froze. Looking back at me was Frank Capello—high school edition. My own reflection stared back with sharp brown eyes, smooth skin, fit body, and no trace of gray. I swayed, caught the sink, and steadied myself.

I didn’t think I’d lost my mind. But maybe I misplaced it. Perhaps my fairy godmother, Pinocchio’s Blue Fairy, or Aladdin’s Genie visited me during the night, granting a wish I hadn’t asked for.

Interrupting my ruminations, I heard a loud gasp from Peg, so I rushed out to find my wife standing by the bed, obviously upset.

“Peg! What is it?”

“My scar! It’s gone!”

“Your belly?”

“Frank, listen. Something’s changed. I can feel it. The scarring under the skin has also disappeared. I swear, it’s like everything the surgeon took out is back inside me! But I can’t tell you why I feel this way. And look at my boobs!”