Chapter 4: Dazed and Confused

I don't know how long I was out. It was like coming out of anesthesia; my consciousness returned before my awareness did. Eventually, as my surroundings came into focus, it became apparent that things had changed, a lot. I was now outdoors, and alone. It was sometime in the middle of the day. The air hung heavy, hot, and moist. As my senses returned, and the fog finally lifted away from my eyes, I realized that I was lying on bare ground, in the middle of a weed-strewn grassy field, next to a single tree. Or rather, half of a tree. It had been split right down the middle, with one segment flat on the ground nearby. The pungent smell of ozone, the presence of a few embers floating around in the air, and the threatening slate gray sky all pointed toward a very recent lightning strike.

"Huh?" I grunted as I sat up. Thinking I was either dreaming or hallucinating, I violently shook my head from side to side, in an attempt to snap myself out of it. No such luck. I felt a raindrop or two landing on my skin; I could hear others pattering on the ground nearby. Then, another blinding flash of lightning and a concurrent blast of thunder brought me to my feet. If that hadn't been enough to get me moving, the sudden escalation of the rainfall to torrent level certainly did the trick. As the wind kicked up, driving the rain into horizontal bands, and bolts of lightning continued to strike all around me, I made a beeline for a nearby wooded area. "Holy fuck!!" I yelled as I entered the woods. This afforded me some minimal protection against the rain, if not the lightning.

Drenched to the bone, I tried to shake off the deluge from the heavens, and beat my way through a series of large weeds, shrubs and small trees. I happened upon an abandoned shack constructed of rotted, mold-infested planks. It would have to do for now. Inside, I was able to get some protection from the elements. I took stock of my situation. It made no sense at all.

"What the FUCK?" I screamed. I slammed the palm of my hand into the side of my head, several times, in attempt to jar myself back into whatever reality I might find. It had to be better than this one. All I did was give myself a headache.

I had a sudden brainstorm. I reached into my pocket, hoping to find my cell phone. Maybe I could get in touch with Dave, or Shannon, or Paul, and enlist their help in some way. But the cell phone was not there. I knew for a fact it had been there seconds before the explosion. Dammit! What was going on here?

I was on complete mental and emotional overload at that point, so I found the driest corner of the shack and took a seat on what passed for a floor, my back against the creaky wall. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and tune out the madness. The storm passed in a matter of twenty minutes. As the rain, thunder and lightning petered out I found order returning to my thoughts. The presence of a thunderstorm was the one constant between before and after, but this did not make me feel any better. All I knew was, I'd flung that bottle against the wall, something went boom, and here I was. But what was "here"? Heaven? Hell? Neither, or both?

Clearly, I couldn't get any answers by staying where I was. The storm had been a real gully-washer; it had reduced the forest floor to a thick brown muck strewn with puddles of standing water. As I made my way through the mud, sinking three or four inches into it with each step, I realized what a number I must be doing on my shoes, a new pair of brown loafers I'd purchased recently. But a downward glance showed I was now wearing a plain, albeit muddy, pair of white sneakers. I also had on a soggy pair of jeans and an old Led Zeppelin T-shirt. This didn't faze me as much as you'd figure. I mean, with all the bizarre things to contemplate at present, the fact that I'd miraculously changed clothes registered relatively low on the "weird" scale. Given that I hadn't exercised regularly in some time, I expected that hiking across a wooded landscape the consistency of wallpaper paste would tire me quickly. But surprisingly enough, in spite of my frazzled mental state, I found that I seemed to have almost boundless stamina. I'd gone almost a mile, and felt as though I could easily go five more.

At long last, I stepped out into a clearing. In front of me was a cul-de-sac, and beyond that was one of your normal, run-of-the-mill middle class housing developments. I visually scanned up and down the street, trying to discern whether I knew where I was. No matter how long I looked, the surroundings seemed unfamiliar. Indeed, as I watched a car pull out of a driveway and head away from me, down the street, there was something that seemed just slightly odd.

A minute or two went by, as I began to walk up the street, and then I put my finger on the difference. It was the vehicles ... they were all of an older vintage than you'd expect to see in this kind of neighborhood, although most of them were in very good shape. Absent were the omnipresent minivans and SUV's, and in their place were the station wagons that were all the rage in the sixties and seventies.

By now, the storm was a distant memory. The sun appeared, and it grew quite warm and humid. Still not convinced I wasn't dreaming, I considered my next course of action. I'd found what seemed to be civilization, but no plausible explanation as to exactly what had happened. Nor did I know where I was. I was wearing soaked clothes, and I was caked in mud up to my knees. This appeared to be a quiet neighborhood, and there was no one in sight at present. Surely, anyone who laid eyes on me would wonder how I got in this condition. I considered just walking up to a house, knocking on the front door, and asking, "Could you tell me where I am?" But thankfully, my frame of mind was not so poor as to permit me to do something that foolhardy. I decided to avoid everyone until I had a better idea as to what the game was. I figured I'd use good old-fashioned deductive reasoning to gain as much information as I could.

As I continued through the development, I saw a few people outside, engaged in yard work and the like. I stayed as far away from them as possible. Soon, I heard the distinctive rushing sound of cars traveling at a high speed. That meant a main highway was nearby, so I headed in that direction. Maybe the road signs would tell me something.

Shortly, I found myself at the main entrance to the development, where the road dead-ended at a "T" intersection with the highway. A sign indicated that the road on which I'd been walking was Appleton Road. Another sign revealed the name of the development as Claremont Manor. I'd never heard of either, which only added to my confusion. And as I suspected, my appearance quickly drew attention from passersby.

An older man, in a car that must have dated back to the 1960's, rolled down his window and yelled at me, "Hey, son, you okay? You look like you fell in the river or something."

"I'm fine, thanks," I replied. Son? I thought to myself. That old bat needs new glasses.

Standing at the intersection, I looked in both directions down the highway. Traffic was somewhat heavy, and in keeping with the earlier pattern, the cars were all of the older variety. Very, very strange. And that wasn't the only thing that bothered me. I had a prevailing sense that things were out of kilter. There wasn't any one thing I could identify, but just a general feeling that my environment was different from what I was accustomed to. In what way, I wasn't sure.

To my left, in the distance, was a green overhead sign with an arrow pointing to the right. I could barely make out the words "Mall Traffic". A mall. Hallelujah! I knew every mall in New Jersey. Not only would it clue me in as to my location, malls have bathrooms. And I'd be able to clean myself up a little. Maybe even buy a new shirt and pants.

I set out in that direction. By now, I'd walked two miles, maybe more, and still wasn't terribly tired. I did, however, notice that my right shoulder was sore. There was also a slight pain in my right knee that was getting worse. By the time I approached the mall turn-off, I was limping somewhat.

The mall itself came into view, and at once it looked familiar. I struggled to place it. I'd seen it years ago ... during my younger days ... been in it a few times ... that's right! I definitely knew this mall. It was located about a thirty minute drive from my childhood home, and although it wasn't my preferred mall when I was younger, it was one I knew pretty well. I hadn't been in the immediate vicinity, though, for over twenty years. Now we're getting somewhere, I told myself.

And then I thought a little more. And I realized that, far from getting anywhere, the mystery had only deepened.

This mall was in South Jersey ... about eighty miles away from where I'd been before whatever ungodly event had wreaked havoc on my existence. In Jersey parlance, that's about twelve turnpike exits to the south.

Had I been teleported, or something like that? No, I said to myself. That's impossible. Perhaps someone had found me unconscious, driven me eighty miles away, and left me for dead in an open field? Naaaah. I was starting to question my own sanity. But I couldn't deny what my eyes were telling my brain. On my increasingly gimpy leg, I hobbled forward toward the mall, needing answers.

Inside, I found a directory kiosk and moved off toward the nearest rest room, as fast as I could. I felt all eyes on my mud-splattered, wet, and limping form. The mall, though clean, seemed outdated and ill-kept. That's a shame, I thought. It used to be one of the more modern malls around.

Finally, I found a men's room. I couldn't get inside fast enough, and blessedly, there was no one within. I went into a stall and shed my filthy pants and soaked shirt. I took a good long piss; I hadn't realized how full my bladder was. My hand reached up to touch my sore shoulder, and as soon as my fingers made contact, I felt a searing pain, as though I'd touched badly sunburned skin. I gingerly ran my fingers across the affected area; it was dry, rough, and warm, with the beginnings of a few blisters. I'd been burned somehow. I found similar scorched skin on my sore knee; even the act of slightly bending the joint was painful. I put two and two together, and realized what had happened; this part made sense. I'd been struck by lightning; the bolt had entered through my shoulder, and exited through my knee.

But something else had changed. I ran my fingers across the unaffected skin on my arms; it seemed much smoother and more resilient than I was accustomed to. I glanced down, and in an instant, my entire view of reality was once again turned upside down. My middle-aged beer gut was nowhere to be found; what I saw instead was the body of a skinny, much younger male. "No, it can't be," I shouted as I threw open the stall door. I ran out and gazed in the mirror. What I saw nearly made me drop to the floor in a dead faint.

Looking back at me was an image of myself, certainly, but one from long ago. A skinny, frazzle-haired, acne-plagued young man that was absolutely, unquestionably a teenage Patrick O'Malley. How? Had I gone back in time? The older cars, the outdated mall interior...

I needed further verification of what I was seeing. I sprang for the door, almost forgetting that I was wearing nothing but my boxers. Back in the stall, I threw on my clothes; I recognized that dirty clothes were better than no clothes.

Once I was dressed and out in the mall proper, I saw a bookstore ... Walden Books, a chain which had been bought out by 2007. I knew it would have the particular item I was looking for. I headed straight for the magazine and newspaper rack, and picked up a copy of the Philadelphia Inquirer. My eyes were immediately drawn to the date at the top of the front page.

Wednesday, June 11, 1980.

I could no longer deny it. I'd gone back over 27 years in time, and it was now five days past my seventeenth birthday. And my body had reverted, as well. But my mind, and my thoughts, appeared to have remained as they were in 2007, that of a 44-year old man. And I could recall everything in my "prior" life perfectly.

As I glanced incredulously over the first page of the paper, I saw a story about how recent presidential primary victories by Ronald Reagan and Jimmy Carter had wrapped up party nominations for both. I saw another article dealing with the Mt. St. Helens eruption a few weeks prior; persistent volcanic activity was still being observed. There was yet another article about the ongoing hostage crisis in Iran. I flipped over to the sports section. Beneath a headline reading, "Phillies beat Giants 4-3", there was a story about the Sixers, who'd lost to the Lakers in the NBA finals last month.

I then looked at the various magazines on the shelf. The news magazines – Time, Newsweek – all had photos of 1980 news on the cover. Same went for the sports magazines. And the glamor rags, rather than showing likenesses of Jessica Alba, Paris Hilton or Catherine Zeta-Jones on the cover, instead featured Cheryl Tiegs, Jaclyn Smith and Victoria Principal.

"Holy fucking shit!" I blurted out loud. Which pretty much summed it up.

"Young man," scolded a nearby older female cashier, glaring at my filthy form over her glasses, "watch your language, or I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Ummm ... sorry," I muttered sheepishly. I walked out of the store, anyway, of my own free will.

What was I to do now? I mean, I'd been hit by a lightning bolt, in some inexplicable manner. I'd gone back 27 years, and found myself in a body I'd outgrown 27 years ago, and in a time period in which I didn't belong. What to do?

Well, I did what many of us would do. I panicked.

I didn't want to think; I shut down that process. My nervous energy ran rampant, and took control over my being. I began rambling aimlessly through the corridors of the mall, talking to myself, ignoring the pain in my knee. My mind was blank, and my legs were on autopilot. From one end of the mall to the other I went, several times, until my overworked legs almost gave out.

Chapter 5 »