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? Just yesterday, I grunted and groaned while trying to move or stand. I’d 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. Incredible, my normal grinding bone-on-bone feeling was missing! My joints felt brand new. 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!

Another shock, down there was my morning wood, in plain sight! My morning wood? I needed to pee, yes, but those 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. 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!”

Almost automatically, I said, “They’re gorgeous!”

“You always say that! Don’t be nice; look at them! They’re, they’re perky again! What the fuck has happened to me?” Peg looked at the new me and corrected herself. “To US?”