Chapter 5: You Can't Go Home Again

Dad was out of the room for about ten minutes. I used that time to pull myself together, and tried like hell to suppress the shock of learning I had a brother and sister in this reality. I'd just made a huge mistake; how huge, I was about to find out. Amnesia or no amnesia, I had to avoid questions which could potentially portray me as clueless. My only truly risk-free means of getting information was through silent observation. Any questions that I did ask needed to be worded carefully, and geared in such a way as to extract useful information. I needed to hunker down and sharpen up my approach, pronto.

And as for my heretofore unknown siblings? I'd have to fake it. I'd have to at least pretend that I knew them to some extent. And to say that would be tricky was a huge understatement.

I could feel my pulse quicken as Dad re-entered the room, with the doctor in tow. Here went nothing. It was Doc who first spoke to me, with his typical non-nonsense demeanor.

"Patrick, how well do you remember your brother and sister?"

"My mind is one big jumble right now, but I know that I have a sister, Eileen, and a brother, Seamus. I can picture them in my mind," I lied.

I turned to Dad, and said, "Sorry I freaked you out there. With everything that's happened, I guess my brain went to sleep for a little bit. Past events are still a blank to me, but I do remember Seamus and Eileen. I guess since I didn't have any events to tie them to, their names didn't ring a bell at first."

Dad nodded in reply, looking somewhat, but not entirely, relieved. The doctor then proceeded to ask me a few questions, but they were in regard to how I felt physically, and had nothing to do with my brother and sister. Finally, he finished up and left to continue his rounds. The adult in me noticed the doctor catching Dad's eye as he walked out, and also saw Dad nod almost imperceptibly in response. For some reason, this made me feel a little better. It appeared as though I'd escaped from that little snafu unscathed.

Dad moved up to the side of the bed so that he could talk to me. But as he did so, the sound of a woman's shoes clicking frantically on the tile floor outside the room grew louder and louder. When the footsteps made their way into my room, I received my second time-travel shock. Mom!

In her younger days, Mom had been a fairly attractive woman. Even so, this version of Mom was a decided improvement, appearance-wise. The differences were subtle, but they added up. Her figure was a little bit thinner, her hair a little bouncier, her skin a little more glowing. I wonder why, I thought to myself. As disconcerting as these changes were, I did a much better job of dealing with them than had been the case with Dad.

"Hi, Mom," I croaked. At least I'd gotten the words out.

Mom was always an emotional sort. She ran over to the bed and threw her arms around me. And as I listened to her teary rant about how I'd scared her to death, how I was causing her to age at twice the normal rate, and how I should never, ever put her through anything like this again, I became uncomfortably aware of something.

You see, this manifestation of Mom was two years younger than my chronological age. I wasn't yet sure if my hormones had taken on teenage characteristics. But like I said, Mom was very pretty. And what do you think happens when a 44-year old man is subjected to intensely emotional physical contact with an attractive 42-year old woman? That's right ... an erection began to form inside my briefs.

No! I willed it back down with every bit of energy I could summon, before Mom noticed. Clearly, I couldn't go there.

Eventually, Mom released her hold on me, and took her place standing beside Dad. We engaged in some small talk, with me still feigning total ignorance of all past events. Amazingly, I found that this charade was not terribly difficult to pull off.

As my parents stood there together, I noticed that Mom had slipped her hand inside Dad's. This struck me as unusual; I'd never known them to be particularly touchy-feely with each other. Something was different with them ... again, not any one thing I could put my finger on, but rather a collection of subtle things. It just served as another reminder that I'd been transferred to a reality where even the familiar was unfamiliar.

Soon, a nurse came in and told us that visiting hours were over. With a start, I looked at the clock on the wall; it was already eight-thirty. Outside the window, daylight was fading, even with the longest day of the year a mere couple of weeks away.

"We'll let you get some rest," Dad said. "We'll check on you tomorrow." Mom came over and gave me a hug and a kiss. As I watched them leave, I drew in a deep breath, relieved to have kept my secret under wraps thus far.

For the next sixteen hours or so, I was left alone, except for the interruption of a nurse or a technician checking in on me every couple of hours. Looking back, I realize how that period of solitude could not have come at a better time. It allowed me to think ... to refine my plan, to consider every eventuality I could think of. Alone in the darkness of a hospital room, I didn't sleep. Rather, my mind forged ahead, hitting on all cylinders, mulling over each possible scenario I could devise, creating solutions to every "what if" I could come up with. And as the sky grew brighter outside my window and dawn approached, I realized something.

I truly, completely, absolutely did not want to be in this reality. Screw this whole "if I could relive my teenage years" thing. I had never had those thoughts in the old timeline. I had been completely content with my middle-aged, independent, carefree, wealthy, materialistic, playboy existence. And it had all been taken away from me. I had no idea if it was possible to switch back to the other reality. But the initial transformation, as incomprehensible as it seemed, had definitely occurred. So why shouldn't the reverse process be feasible? I vowed to keep my eyes open, and to do anything I could to bring about a return trip.

I also tried to imagine exactly what had transpired to send me back in time, and the more I thought about it, the less I understood it. Obviously, something way beyond my comprehension was at work here, far outside the bounds of how I thought the universe operated. But I needed someone or something to blame for my predicament, and my suspicions centered on one target: Inez Trujillo. She had, after all, been the last person I'd spoken to before being sent back. It didn't take much persuasion to convince myself that she was some kind of a witch who'd cast an evil spell on me. Illogical, yes, but was it any more so than this time-travel stuff? Her personality had certainly been witch-like, and there was no question that she didn't like me. And so, with no other options readily apparent, I placed the blame squarely on Inez. I felt certain that she had done this to me. I promised myself that should I really be stranded in this time period, I'd eventually look up Inez and try to verify that she was responsible. And if she had been, payback would be a bitch.

It wasn't until around seven a.m., with the sun well up in the sky outside, that I finally drifted off to sleep.

I awoke to the sound of hushed voices emanating from a point not far from the foot of my bed. I opened my eyes, and then closed them again to shield them temporarily from the glare. It was obviously midday; I'd been out for several hours.

I was groggy, but my curiosity got the better of me, and I opened my eyes once again to look upon my visitors. There were three of them; one adult and two minors. I already knew the adult. She was Mom, and she was decked out in a gray blazer with a matching gray skirt and a white blouse. Very business-like; I'd rarely, if ever, seen her dressed like that before.

The second visitor was a teenage girl, and she appeared to be younger than myself. Although she was not ugly by any means, she was somewhat tall and gangly, and had long, plainly-styled brown hair. She stood there, regarding me uncomfortably with piercing blue eyes.

My third guest was a short, freckle-faced boy with mussed-up hair who appeared to be of middle-school age. The look on his face was nothing short of awe.

All I had to do was quickly scan their faces, and at once I noticed the unmistakable resemblance to my own facial features. I knew that I was looking at my younger sister, Eileen, and my younger brother, Seamus. So, I was the eldest of the clan. I reminded myself, No stupid questions. But a million things were going through my mind at that moment. What kind of big brother was I? Was I close to them? Did I tease them unmercifully? But I'd thought this through the previous night, and I'd decided that I'd just act naturally.

Mom was the first to speak. "Did you sleep okay?" she inquired, moving up to the side of the bed, patting my shoulder, and then smoothing the bed sheets with her hand. I recoiled slightly as she did so, in exactly the manner of a seventeen-year old male who doesn't want others to see him being "mothered".

"Fine, Mom," I said resignedly. Again, just like a real seventeen-year-old.

Seamus then cut in and offered up a question he'd apparently been dying to ask. "Pat, did you really get struck by lightning?"

"Yes," I replied. "Don't ask me any more though, because I really don't remember anything about it."

"Cool!" Seamus exclaimed. "Did it make you, like, glow?"

Eileen winced as she heard that remark. "Shut up, brat," she said, delivering a smack to Seamus' upper arm. It wasn't an unfriendly slap, but rather a typical gesture that an older sister makes to establish dominance over an uppity little brother.

"That'll do, both of you," Mom said firmly.

Seamus, undeterred, continued on. "I wish I got struck by lightning. Maybe it would give me super-powers. I could store up the electricity, and go around zapping people who bug me. Zap! Zap!" He pointed his index finger at his sister.

Eileen just shook her head in disgust. "You are such a brat!"

"Suppose it made your hair stick out from your head. What would Tom say when he saw you like that?" Seamus cracked, causing Eileen to turn bright red.

Mom broke in, "That's enough, Seamus." But I could see her trying to suppress a smile. And even in my condition, and not knowing the context of that remark, I broke out into a grin. I had to admit, the little runt had spunk. I wondered how old he really was. Eileen, too. An idea hit me.

"Mom," I spoke up, "did you have any trouble bringing Seamus in here?" I knew that the typical minimum age for hospital visitors was fourteen. In 2007, most hospital employees winked at that restriction, provided the child in question caused no trouble. But I remembered the rule being enforced to a somewhat greater extent back in the 1980's. And I felt pretty safe in assuming that Seamus was not yet fourteen.

"No trouble at all," Mom replied. "I cleared it with the nurse outside. As long as he behaves himself." She looked sharply at Seamus.

"The nurse just felt sorry for him," Eileen offered, a smile finally crossing her face. "If it was up to me, he'd have to wait three more years till he's old enough."

Chapter 6 »