by Rick Boling
“Not true,” I said holding up a hand. “What I’m making you look like is a responsible, caring adult who felt she had an obligation to intervene and help remedy the situation if she could. Or, if it couldn’t be remedied, at least spare a young, emotionally vulnerable adolescent the shock and heartache of finding out too late.” When I saw her eyes go wide, I realized I had again stepped out of my teenage persona, and I began to wonder if I might be able to convince her of the truth. I’d talked to Aurélie about the advisability of confiding in someone, and when I remembered this, I heard her voice echo in my mind. I can understand that it would be comforting to have a confidant, she’d said, although telling anyone is likely to get you thrown in the loony bin. On the other hand, if you can make someone believe you, I really don’t see any reason not to.
Doris was still sitting there with a dumbfounded look on her face, so I decided to test the waters a little more deeply. “I know you think I was kidding about the reincarnation thing, and I don’t blame you for that. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me either.”
“Hey,” she said, interrupting me. “Watch your language.”
“Sorry,” I said, smiling. “Old habit. Where I come from—or maybe I should say, ‘when I come from,’—‘hell’ isn’t considered much of a swearword anymore. Society has—will—become far more tolerant of what you consider bad language by the end of the 20th century.”
“Oh, really?” she said with a sneer. “And just what else will be tolerated?”
I reached out and cupped her chin in my hand, as if I were an adult commanding the attention of a child. At first I thought she might pull away, but the insistent look in my eyes must have stopped her. “Many things, Doris,” I said. “There will be much greater sexual freedom, for one. It won’t be long now before they come out with a pill that prevents pregnancy, which will allow women more autonomy in managing their own sex lives. And there will be other dramatic changes as well. The doomsday shadow of the atomic bomb will eventually be lifted and the Soviet Union will dissolve, allowing democracy to spread across the planet. We will land astronauts on the moon and build a permanent, manned space station to orbit the earth. And one day, practically everyone in the developed countries will have an electronic device that links wirelessly to a worldwide network and provides instant access to an almost limitless source of information.”
Throughout my soliloquy her eyes remained riveted on my face, as if searching for any sign that might betray some hidden agenda I had for making all this up. Finally, she snapped out of it. “Right,” she said, though this time the sarcasm seemed to have faded. “So you’re a science fiction fan. And I know about the contraception pill. It’s in trials right now. Perhaps you read about that somewhere. I’m not sure why you’re going to so much trouble to convince me of this fantasy, but I don’t want to argue about it anymore. You set up a meeting with Carol, and I’ll go along with your little story if the question ever arises. Now I have to get back to work.”
I followed her to the office door, which she opened without my help. Once inside she donned her lab coat, then leaned back against the workbench. “You know,” she said, “I really am sorry about all this.”
I nodded. “It’s not your fault, so don’t beat yourself up over it. Dad’s pretty vulnerable right now: middle-aged, overweight, probably feeling unappreciated because his family takes him for granted. He’s not a bad person, though, as I’m sure you know from having worked with him for so long. He’s a little naïve when it comes to sex, but that’s certainly forgivable. As for Charlotte, she’s nothing but a shallow, good-looking gold digger with no conscience and the morals of a black widow spider. I don’t know if we can stop this thing before it goes too far, but I think we have to at least give it our best shot.”
I waited for a response, but all I got was a bewildered look, so I shrugged and headed for the lobby.
“Hold on a minute,” she said as I turned into the hall. I stopped halfway around the corner and leaned back in. When our eyes met, she remained silent, her expression seeming to vacillate between curiosity and skepticism. Finally, she let out a long sigh. “I’m not sure what to make of all this, Ricky. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do my best to help out in any way I can, but …”
“I know,” I said. “It’s just as weird for me as it is for you. We can talk again if you like, but right now I need to get out of here and convince Carol to call you before it’s too late.”
Twilight Time
I never found out exactly what Carol did, but shortly after Doris moved into her upstairs apartment, Dad hired a new receptionist, and the constant house calls that had often kept him away from home in the evenings slacked off considerably. I overheard some fragments of gossip at church about Charlotte having legal problems; something to do with a loan being called in and a fraud investigation. And a smattering of vague references appeared in the local society columns about her leaving town. But there was nothing that implicated Dad in any kind of scandal, nor was there any mention of Carol being involved in Charlotte’s sudden exodus.
After the dust settled, Doris surprised me by showing up at church one Sunday. She sat in our pew next to Mom, and by the time the service was over it was clear they had struck up a friendship. That afternoon Dad was holding his annual swim party and barbecue for new the interns at the hospital, so Mom asked Doris to join us. She showed up around 2:00 wearing a frilly red sundress, and when she walked out of the cabana in a tight-fitting bathing suit, the dozen or so young interns tracked her with their eyes until she dived in and disappeared under the water.
My first detailed look at Doris, unadorned by her nurse’s uniform, revealed a body unlike those from my era, where six-pack-abs and lean, athletic figures were considered sexy. No, this was a body from the ‘50s, hourglass shaped, with a narrow waist and beautifully proportioned hips and breasts. When she emerged from the water and shook out her short, blond hair, she seemed to unabashedly revel in the attention she received, laughing and splashing with the boys, who gathered around her in an embarrassing attempt to outdo one another with their antics. I, on the other hand, kept my distance, admiring from afar her fresh-faced, pinup-girl looks and the uninhibited bubbly personality I’d never before been privy to.
Later in the afternoon, when the barbecue was served, she sat down across from me at one of the picnic tables, and I noticed her scrutinizing my face whenever I spoke. I was careful not to slip back into the more mature speech patterns I’d used during our earlier meeting, though I did wink at her a couple of times when I caught her looking at me.
Around 6:30, while she was helping Mom and me clean up, she casually mentioned that, since her apartment was close, she had walked over. When Mom offered to drive her home, she declined, saying she enjoyed the walk, but that because it was turning dark, she might ask if I would accompany her. Doris’s apartment was less than a mile from our house, and with twilight approaching, the fact that she would ask me to walk her home didn’t seem out of the ordinary. So while she changed back into her sundress and said her goodbyes, I grabbed a flashlight and waited by the front door.
I could feel the tension rise between us like static electricity as we walked without talking for the first couple of blocks. And when we turned onto her street, she stopped and touched me on the arm, tilting her head toward a lot where a house was under construction. We made our way around the stacks of lumber and piles of brick until we reached the newly-poured front steps, then sat side-by-side in the fading twilight.
A sudden breeze kicked up around us, mingling the odors of sawed wood and fresh concrete with the scent of magnolias blooming on the low-hanging branches of a nearby tree. Augmented by a shimmer of moonlight, this mixture of aromas lent an odd ambience to the scene; not exactly romantic, but a little on the wistful side, as if we were a young couple anticipating completion of our first house.
“So, we’re going up there, are we?” she said, nodding at the half moon as it flickered among windblown cloud fragments. “
When?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” I said. “I’m not trying to dodge the question, it’s just that I never was much good at remembering the dates of historical events.”
“Uh, huh,” she said. “Seems pretty convenient.”
“It’s the truth, though. I can remember big stuff, like the moon landing, and birth control pills, and music—especially music. But I can’t pinpoint exactly when things happened. Or, in this dimension, when they will happen. I think the moon landing was—will be—sometime in the late-‘60s, and I do know the first person to set foot on the surface will be a guy by the name of Neil Armstrong.”
“Interesting. But that’s a little far off. What about something coming up soon, so I won’t have to wait a decade to see if you’re right?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Let me think.” I drew a blank, so I pointed the flashlight at the jumble of construction debris and swept it around in hopes of finding some inspiration. I was about to give up, when the beam fell on a yellow cement bag with a round logo on the front, and suddenly, something clicked. I walked over to get a better look, then returned and stood in front of Doris, smoothing the dirt at her feet with my shoe. I looked around for a stick, and when I found one, I handed her the flashlight and drew a circle in the dirt, adding two oval eyes and a broad, curved smile below. “Ever seen that before?” I asked.
She pointed the flashlight at my drawing, which, in the yellow glow, looked pretty close to the real thing. “What, a cartoon face?” she said. “I’ve seen hundreds of them.”
“No, what I mean is that face exactly. It will be yellow with black eyes and a black mouth. Simple. Kind of like this one.”
She stared for a moment, then shook her head. “I guess not. What is it?”
“It’s called a smiley face, and it’s going to be a sensation. There will be t-shirts and stickers and all kinds of other products with that face on them.”
“Come on, Ricky. Give me a break. That simple thing?” I didn’t answer, and after a while she shook her head. “Okay, so when is all this smiley face stuff supposed to come out?”
“Like I said, it’s hard for me to remember. But I think it was pretty early in the ‘60s, so maybe only three or four years from now.”
“Too long to wait,” she said. “Think of something else.”
I was looking at my handiwork, when the circle gave me another idea. “Ever heard of a hula hoop?” I asked. I remembered getting one for Christmas, and I thought it might have been this year because Pat and I had a blast playing around with it.
“Can’t say as I have,” she said. “What is it?”
“It’s this plastic hoop thing you put around your waist and spin. If you learn the right moves, like a hula dancer, you can spin it round and round without letting it fall. It’s going to be one of the most popular toys ever, even with adults. There will be contests—even national competitions—to see who can keep it going around the longest, and they’re going to sell millions of them.”
“Boy, you are a weird one. So when is this hula thing going to hit the market?”
“Hula hoop. And if I’m remembering correctly, sometime soon. Before Christmas maybe.”
“Okay, we’ll see about that.” She fell silent for a moment, then said, “You mentioned something about remembering music. What about a hit song I haven’t heard yet?”
I concentrated, trying to remember something that might be coming out soon. I’d recently bought the Platters’ latest album which featured the song Twilight Time, and suddenly I realized there was one hit they hadn’t released yet. Instead of saying the name, I decided to slip into my old cover-band persona and do my best Tony Williams impersonation.
They … asked me how I knew
My true love was true
Oh … Ohao
I of course replied
Something here inside
Cannot be denied
They … said someday you'll find
All who love are blind
Oh … Ohao
When your heart's on fire
You must realize
Smoke gets in your eyes
“That’s beautiful, Ricky. You sound just like the guy with The Platters.”
“Good guess,” I said. “I don’t know when Smoke Gets In Your Eyes is going to come out, but I’m pretty sure it won’t be long. It will be a monster hit for them, number one on the Billboard Top 100 for many weeks.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m not saying I believe any of this yet, but at least you’ve stuck your neck out, so we’ll soon see if you’re telling the truth. Now, I need to get home and feed my cats.”
We walked the rest of the way without speaking, and when we reached the stairway that led up to her apartment, she stopped and waited while three cats came bounding down the stairs and wrapped themselves around our legs. “These are my lovers,” she said, reaching down to scratch behind their ears. “Thomas, Richard, and Harold.”
“Aha,” I said. “I get it: Tom, Dick, and Harry.” The vague sexual reference in those names, coupled with the fact that she’d called them her lovers, stimulated some wayward thoughts, and I was glad the dark wouldn’t allow her to see what was happening behind my zipper.
“Well,” she said, “I’d better get some food into these guys before they go crazy and start drawing blood. It’s been, how shall I say, a fascinating evening. Thanks for walking me home.” She leaned over to peck me on the cheek, but before she made it, I turned and brushed her lips with mine. There was a moment of uneasy surprise during which she didn’t move, and when I pulled her toward me, she let me kiss her. It started out nervy and a little stiff, but then her lips softened, and soon we were kissing like desperate lovers.
“Jesus,” she whispered when we finally parted. “That was, uh … unexpected.”
“Sorry,” I said, nuzzling into her neck. “I’ve been, I guess you could say, deprived ever since I got back.” By then I knew she could feel the growing bulge in my pants. “I really am older, you know, so it’s not like you’re robbing the cradle or anything.”
“Uh, huh,” she said, pushing back and holding me by the shoulders. “Maybe. I guess we’ll find out shortly. Okay. I’ve got to get inside now. I’ll, uh, see you around.”
I watched as she trudged up the stairs, fighting against the tangle of cat bodies that threatened to trip her. She opened the screen door, then stopped and turned back, and in the dim light above the landing, I thought I caught a fleeting smile.”
Whoa, I thought, as the door closed behind her. What the hell am I doing?
Changing Direction
After I got back from walking Doris home and relieved myself in the shower—during which exercise I noted that I had matured considerably in the size department—I stood in front of the full-length door mirror and examined my body. The growth spurt I remembered was nearly complete, and the results of my daily weight-lifting sessions were evident in the hardened muscles of my arms and chest. I hadn’t been paying much attention to these changes, and when I took a good look at my face, I was surprised to see a pretty handsome fellow looking back. That Paul-Newman look was beginning to appear in my slightly dimpled chin and downturned eyes, and the many hours of swimming and sun had turned my skin a burnished bronze. Due, I assumed, to sun and chlorine exposure, my eyes had faded from their original hazel to a misty aquiline blue that appeared even lighter framed by my deep tan. Though there was still a whisper of adolescence in my youthful posture and smile, all-in-all it wasn’t a bad look, which was probably one reason why Doris had been momentarily confused enough to return my kiss.
Still wondering what had possessed me to be so aggressive, I dried off and changed into pajamas, then lay in bed and contemplated how confusing that scene must have been for her. Here was this sixteen-year-old kid who claimed to be a mature adult trapped in a teenage body, and who kissed like an experienced lover, talked like a grown man, and told incredible stories about the future. It was a wonder she hadn’t called
my folks and recommended they send me to a shrink. The encouraging thing was that, even though she had to be perplexed by what was happening, I could tell some part of her wanted to believe me. I could also tell that the chronological age difference had done nothing to override the sexual chemistry between us. What I didn’t know was how to handle it.
For one thing, there was Sarah to think about, although my prurient interest in her now seemed almost pedophilic, and whenever I was around her I had to keep reminding myself I was a teenager. Still, the illusion of having sex with a nineteen-year-old was hard to shake. That illusion, however, could very well remain a fantasy because she seemed determined not to give up her virginity until she married. And even though I cared for her, marriage was not something I was ready to consider any time in the foreseeable future—if ever. The prospect of deflowering her was intriguing, but one thing I didn’t want to do was damage our friendship and endanger our musical collaboration. So, other than a little playful teasing, I hadn’t argued the point.
At first, the idea of abstaining from sex was hard to accept. After all, in my other life, Pat and I were screwing like rabbits when I was only thirteen. Even stranger was the fact that my libido didn’t seem to be as uncontrollable as it had been the first time around. Granted, I’d come a little unglued over my encounter with Doris, but since I’d been back I had not experienced the same intense adolescent frustration that had once kept me lusting after every pretty girl I came in contact with. Sex in general had become a somewhat secondary pursuit, taking a backseat to music and working with Sam to develop new and better recording techniques.
I’d also been able to avoid alcohol, which seriously curtailed other activities, like raising hell and partying. Sam had never been much of a drinker, and Sarah wouldn’t touch the stuff. And because I spent almost all my time with them, I wasn’t influenced by the kids I’d hung around with in my first life. Nor was I skipping school.