Chapter 2: A Changing World

Frank was always my favorite uncle. Humor in the Marshall family had been doled out unevenly. There were four brothers. My dad got his fair share, maybe a touch extra. Donald, who I’d never met, got a bit less than my dad, I’m told. It occurred to me that Donald was alive, so I had another chance to meet him. My Uncle Robert? As far as I can tell, he got none. He wasn’t a bad guy, not at all. I liked Uncle Robert. But he never, in my memory anyway, joked about anything.

That left Frank. Frank got Robert’s share plus his own. Frank was a jokester, a prankster, mischievous. I loved visiting Frank. Unfortunately, Frank also inherited the heart condition that felled my grandfather early and took Robert before he got to retirement age (a decade from now). Frank had died (as I remembered it) about three years from now. No, two, it had to be two; I knew where I was in the summer of 1983. Anyway, Frank died of a heart attack. He’d had full custody of Angie, I was never sure why. She went to live with her mother, which was a disaster. The last report I’d had of her was a full twenty-five years ago (or fifteen years from now, take your pick) and it was in connection with her being sent to prison for drug trafficking. She had apparently already been an addict at sixteen — something I had not picked up on when we went to Frank’s funeral. I was pretty clueless about drugs then and, if Angie was sullen and a bitch, well, her dad had just died. Who wouldn’t be? Anyway, from there, she’d trafficked drugs to pay for her habit, and that netted her a long prison sentence.

Now — in 1980 — Angie was my ... sister? What the actual fuck was going on with the universe? This universe I was in? However you wanted to put it, things were veering off in a direction I was not at all comfortable with. That’s saying a lot when you’ve died at fifty-five and found yourself fourteen again and are just barely handling that somewhat adequately.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I remember now. It’s ... I’d forgotten we were saying sister now.”

Mom smiled. “That’s fine, honey. It’s new. We just, um ... well. After the adoption, it’s the only way to proceed. And hopefully it’ll make things a bit less awkward for her at school next year. You know, not having to explain about Frank. And...” turning a bit redder — Mom, blushing? — “about Sharon.” Sharon being my Aunt. Angie’s mother.

“Right, I ... well, I don’t remember all of it, but enough. That makes sense. I hope she’ll like school. Well, I mean, I hope I like school, too.” Next year would be my — and Angie’s, apparently — first year of high school. New school, new people, hopefully new friends. That would be nice.

Mom nodded. “Me, too. It’s been such a terrible year for her. I hope she can recover. Losing her dad, and then ... the rest ... then moving here. It’s lucky that she’d skipped a grade so she can just start as a freshman along with you next year.” Skipping grades was interesting. I hadn’t skipped any, but Angie had, I guess. I hadn’t known that before, but we weren’t close, physically or emotionally or any way. Now she’d lost the extra year.

I kept noodling at my breakfast. The eggs were increasingly lousy as they cooled. The cereal was fine, of course. The juice? I’d had better, but it wasn’t terrible.

“How’s she doing, anyway? I mean, um ... I can’t remember clearly, really.”

Mom frowned. “She’s ... OK. I really think she is. You know, in some ways better than we’d hoped. But, it’ll still take time.”

Did that translate into things not going very well? That’s what I’d have expected. It would take a minor miracle for Angie to settle down this quickly. I was hoping it wouldn’t take a major miracle for her to settle down at all. Even in the presence of what seemed to be an actual miracle — my being here, like this — I didn’t want to have to count on more of them.

“OK. Well, I’ll do my part to help make her feel at home.”

“You’ve been great about it, so far. I know you can’t remember that, so, thanks, honey. I know it’s all new, having a sibling, and the ... sibling rivalry and all. You know I had two brothers, and your father had three, so, we can both say our lives wouldn’t have been as rich without them. But it was sudden and a big disruption.”

I smiled back. This was something I could do. I think fourteen-year-old me could have, but I’m not sure. But now? Definitely.

Also, that count of my uncles helped. Nothing seemed weird with the universe on that front. Thank god. I needed some consistency somewhere.

We fell back on talking about other things. An hour later, the doctor came in and give me a quick check. He seemed happy. He turned to Mom. “It looks like Steve is doing much better. We need to monitor him for at least a day. I don’t want to fool around with a concussion like this one. The EEG showed significantly altered brainwave patterns. Nothing to worry about too much, but I’d like to see some settling before we release him.”

Mom smiled. “Thank you, Doctor Simmons. That’s fine. Of course we want to be sure. Steve’s never given us anything to worry about medically before, so I suppose we’re just all on edge.”

“That’s natural. It’d surprise me if you weren’t on edge with an injury like this. I’ve seen plenty of concussions, and I expect a full recovery for Steve. We are outside the most dangerous time. However, keeping a close eye on things for a while is for the best.”

I piped up. “I don’t mind, Mom. It’s comfortable here, there’s a TV, I’ll be fine. If I’m going to be here a few days, I’d like a couple books, but aside from that, I’ll be fine, promise.”

Dr. Simmons looked a bit grateful. He’d barely seen me awake at all. He seemed to like that I was easygoing about this. I got this feeling that his ‘at least a day’ might have been optimistic. That was OK. I could use the time right about now.

Dr. Simmons left after a bit more poking and prodding. Mom and I talked for a bit more. Nurse Sandra returned after a while. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Marshall. I’m supposed to get Steve up and walking under supervision, that sort of thing. You’re welcome to wait here if you’d like.”

“Mom, I’ll be fine. I’m in good hands and I know you want to check on Dad and Angie.”

She hesitated. “Well ... I would like to change. I know you’ll bounce back, I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

She came over and gave me a big hug. “I love you. You be good for the doctors and nurses, you hear?”

“Awww, Mom!” I hugged her back, I think more than she expected, and shied away less. “I’ll be good and behave, I promise. I love you, too.”

Mom turned, then looked back. I think it surprised her that I’d say ‘I love you.’ She looked touched. “Thanks, honey. Oh ... I’ll bring some books, or your father will. Just in case it’s a few days.”

She left with a smile, and I turned my attention to Nurse Sandra. “Ready when you are, Ms. Sandra.”

“Do you need the restroom first, Steve?”

I blushed a bit. Did I? Definitely, now that she mentioned it!

“That would be a good idea.”

“I’ll help you up. If you need help, let me know. But I’m expecting you won’t.”

Me, too! I’d walked up a hill; I could use the bathroom on my own.

“Thank you, Ms. Sandra.”

She helped me up. My first couple steps were unsteady, but then things stabilized. She kept hold of me all the way to the bathroom.

“Now, use the grab bars and be careful. I’ll be right outside. If you need anything, call, or pull the cord. It’ll ring a bell.”

“Thanks.”

I went in, sat down, took care of things. Everything worked, thankfully. I got up, went to the sink, washed my hands. Looked in the mirror.

Yup. Light brown hair, hazel eyes. Same features. Same face, as long as you jump back four decades.

Confirmation — I was definitely me. However impossible that might be, it was true.

August 1, 1980

While out on my walk with Nurse Sandra, who turned out to be good at small talk, I spotted a calendar. Today was August 1, 1980. I was fourteen — my birthday was in April. I couldn’t remember Angie’s birthday, but I thought she was fourteen, too. According to my memories, this would be the year we went on vacation to Los Angeles. I wasn’t sure if that was still going to happen or not, but I was guessing it was ‘or not’, with the Angie situation. It didn’t seem like a good time to bring up vacation plans.

The hospital was ... pretty much ... a hospital. I’d generally been lucky enough to avoid them, but when I’d had to visit, they were mostly OK. This one? Definitely ‘mostly OK’. It could have been more cheerful and less industrial. The hospital my daughter had been in when she’d had surgery was much nicer. This one wasn’t dark and depressing, though. The other nurses seemed friendly enough, while the doctors seemed preoccupied and busy. Everything looked dated, of course, but ... well, I’d have to get used to it. Computers and cell phones and flat-screen TV’s and the many fancy medical gadgets were all well off in the future.

I couldn’t remember much in the way of major events remaining in 1980. The Iran hostage situation would still be ongoing. Of course, Reagan was going to be nominated — or had he just been? - and Carter after that, and of course Reagan was going to win. The Olympics were going to be in Moscow and many countries wouldn’t go. I wasn’t sure if that was settled yet, but that’s how it happened. If it didn’t, more differed than just my family.

After a pleasant walk, I tired quickly. This seemed unlike me — my fourteen-year-old body wasn’t in the best shape it could be, but it wasn’t old and tired and mistreated either, like it’d been at fifty-five. I guessed the injury must be to blame. Nurse Sandra apparently thought the same. “Time to get you back to your bed for some rest, Mister Marshall.”

I laughed. I’m not sure, but that might be the first time anyone had called me that, in this time anyway, even jokingly. In the 1970s, I might hear ‘Master Steve’ once in a while — there were bank statements which said that for the savings account my parents started for me — but Mister? It amused me, and my amusement apparently pleased Nurse Sandra.

And that, in turn, pleased me. Sandra was pretty. Really pretty. I could already feel my reaction to her changing from before. Before, she was just too young for my fifty-five-year-old thoughts; look, yes, but don’t even think of touching. Now? I was feeling the rush of hormones that almost defines fourteen-year-old boys. In my imagination, I could see her falling for my amazing charm, kissing me, and matters taking their course from there. It was silly, unrealistic, and what got fourteen-year-old boys going. I could feel it, and if Sandra had looked at me at the right angle at the right time, she’d have seen it.

Returning to the room, I put the TV on low, as much as anything to keep myself from sleeping. I really was tired, but I couldn’t just keep sleeping. I needed time to think. Trying to clear my mind from the Sandra distraction I started doing some deep breathing and, wonder of wonders, it worked. Mostly, anyway. A fifty-five-year-old’s self-control might at least fight a fourteen-year-old’s hormones to a draw. I could hope.

I couldn’t have imagined any of this before — unless, of course, I had done just that while unconscious — and I needed something resembling a plan, or I was going to say or do the wrong thing. Even then, I worried that things could get dicey. How many times had I said, ‘Hang on, let me Google that?’. Google was decades away. People didn’t have omnipresent little communication devices in their pockets. The list of things major and minor that I knew that no one else knew was long and varied and would be impossible to list. Songs I knew by heart wouldn’t be written for twenty or thirty years; start singing one, and it might be a problem. Phrases, words, events, all of them were waiting to trip me up.

Just as important, I had no idea who my friends were. I could remember some, of course — the most important ones — but I knew that I’d had a gang of friends, or acquaintances anyway, at this age. A couple dozen people (all guys) that I hung out with regularly. We played games, went to movies, did other things like that. I wasn’t ever the most social person, but I wasn’t a loner at all. I’d been — still was, I hoped - fairly good at making friends, and I didn’t take advantage of them, so I tended to keep them.