by EJ Valson
The
Nostalgia
Effect
The Nostalgia Effect
EJ Valson
Copyright 2013
Published by EJ VALSON
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Author.
The following story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. No compensation was provided to the Author for any mention of an actual event, person, place or thing.
Acknowledgments:
I have been waiting all my life to write something that meant something to me, and will hopefully mean something to those who read it. I was truly inspired by love and the many blessings in my life when I wrote this book. I want to thank my parents, my "soul mate" and other friends and family for supporting, encouraging, inspiring and guiding me through this process. I couldn't have done it without you.
-Love E
Intro
"I'll get her," I mumble sleepily, when awakened by the faint sound of a toddler's cry. The dark gray of dawn is coaxing my eyes to open, but they stay stubbornly shut. Whatever I heard is gone, faded into the quiet morning. I assume my young daughter was just dreaming and has fallen back to sleep. I wrestle with the bed sheets, my eyes still closed, attempting to get a few more minutes of sleep. I'm so tired, but I have a lot to do today.
Surrendering to the inevitability of morning, and eyelids still shut, I slowly sit up and kick away the blankets while preparing for my feet to meet the cool hardwood floor. To my surprise, I instead feel something soft under my toes. Quickly, I pull up my feet, thinking I'm stepping on the cat. My puffy eyes open the tiniest bit while trying to focus?.no cat.
I blink a few times for my vision to adjust what's below my feet. No hardwood floor, just carpet. Why carpet? My eyes, now wide open, dart around the now very unfamiliar room. Where the hell am I? My head whips towards the other side of the bed. And who the hell is that?
CHAPTER 1
Panic wells up in me and my heart starts to race. I'm in the wrong bedroom?..the wrong house! Though the room feels somewhat familiar, it's not a place I've ever been. Dim early-morning light illuminates the space around me. Maybe I'm not seeing correctly. Maybe my eyesight is failing me.
There's a man sleeping with his back to me. His hair is dark, darker than my husband's. From what I can see, he is too tan and thin to be Michael, and his hair is cut differently. But even from behind, he looks slightly familiar. Do I know him? Did he bring me here? Did I get drunk and pass out somewhere? Was I drugged? Have I been kidnapped? I don't feel hungover, I don't feel hurt and I don't feel sick. What the hell is happening?!
The familiar stranger starts to stir. Oh, God. Jenni, run! Still asleep, the man rolls over, now facing his body in my direction. My jaw falls open and I stare back in shock. My heart thumps wildly in my chest. Instinctively I cover my mouth to stifle a scream, then draw in a breath so deep it almost suffocates me. It's my ex-husband Joe.
My body begins to tremble. Joe remains asleep, oblivious to the fact that he's inches away from a panicking woman whose world has just turned upside down. Why am I here? Why is he here? This has to be a mistake!
I try to quiet my shaky breath by slowly inhaling and exhaling. I cannot wake him. I wouldn't know what to say. My mind races, struggling to make sense of my circumstances. What happened last night? How did we meet up? I don't remember any of it! I haven't seen Joe in several years. He doesn't even live in the same state as I do! Is this his house? Where's Michael, and Olivia and Stella? Are they worried? Have they tried calling me? Where's my cell phone...it has to be here somewhere. I have to find my things and get out of here as soon as possible!
After slowly lifting the sheet from across my lap, I step onto the plush carpet. There's a familiar scent in the room. Lemongrass-my favorite. My eyes have now adjusted to the low light. The room decor is simple, but has a feminine touch.
His wife. Where's his wife? My heart starts to pound again. What if she comes home and finds me? Guilt and fear wash over me. I start my escape, quietly slipping out through the slightly open bedroom door, and step into a long hallway lined by four more doors.
I tiptoe slowly down the hallway, in fear of stepping too loudly or hitting a creak in the floor of what appears to be an older ranch-style home. To the left is a small bathroom, with only a shower, toilet and pedestal sink. It looks recently remodeled. I continue down the hall before gingerly approaching another door that's half open, displaying a room decorated in light green and soft pink. I'm almost completely passed it when I hear heavy breathing coming from inside the room. Curious, I step back and poke my head through the doorway. There's a small body tucked into the full-size bed. Its back is facing me and the blankets are pulled up high, shielding their face.
My eyes dart around the room before noticing a child-sized pair of pink tennis shoes near the bed. Oh God, oh God?.it's a little girl! How could I be in this house with him and some kid? What kind of man brings a woman home while there's a child here? And who is she? Joe doesn't have any daughters with his new wife!
Shaking it off, I pick up my pace and start to carefully move away from the door frame. Suddenly my sight is pulled back to something else in the room. I step backwards and peer in again. On top of the dresser is an item I've seen in my oldest daughter's room every day for the last eleven years of her life. How can that be?
I slowly make my way into the room, careful not to wake the child who still has most of her head underneath the covers. I creep towards the delicate silver figurine of two embracing cherubs, then gently pick it up for inspection. When my daughter Olivia was a year old, I bought her the same one at a specialty shop on the Oregon coast. All of the items were supposed to be handmade and one of a kind.
I carefully place the object in my left hand and rub my right index finger over the tiny silver wings. Light from the sun is now peeking through the window, allowing me to see the figurine very clearly. It's identical to the one I bought my daughter. It even holds the same correction mark where one wing was not molded properly and the artist tried to improvise.
"Mommy?"
I drop the small ornament and turn around quickly, when startled by the gentle voice in the room. Blood rushes from my head, my knees weaken. It's my daughter Olivia, but she's young again. Without warning, the room spins and goes dark. I feel the hard slam of the floor as it meets my body.
CHAPTER 2
"Jenni, Jenni!" I awaken to the sound of Joe's voice. I feel his arm around the back of my neck, sitting me up. The younger Olivia is crying.
"It's OK, Livi. Mommy is OK," Joe comforts her, with subtle worry in his voice.
My body feels so heavy in his arms. I don't want to get up. I'm afraid that if I do, I'll still be here and this reality doesn't make sense to me. Panic quickly overtakes me. My head is swirling and I can feel my pulse in my eyes. I can't comprehend where I am or why I'm here. Why is Olivia younger and why is she not scared of this situation? Why are they acting like this is normal?
"Jenni, do you want me to call 911?" Joe asks.
"Yes!" I say, instantly alert. "Call 911!" I grab at his arm and plead with him. "Please, I need help!"
Joe slightly pulls away at my sudden and forceful outburst. Little Olivia is still crying, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"M
ommy is scaring me," she chokes through her sobs. Joe reaches out and pulls her close to him.
"It's OK, Livi. Mommy just fainted. She'll be OK." Joe then turns to me, confused and slightly agitated. "Jenni, what's wrong with you?" he firmly whispers.
I look at my ex-husband, then at mysteriously young Olivia. She's clinging to Joe as he strokes the top of her head consolingly. Why are we all in this room together acting like a family? And why is Olivia four years old again? I just saw her yesterday?.she was twelve!
As I stare at them, and they back at me, it suddenly occurs to me that I must pull myself together before I get hauled off to the looney bin. If Joe does call 911, they're likely to think I'm crazy and take me away for a psych evaluation. Play along.
"I'm OK, baby. I'm OK," I manage to calmly say to Olivia.
I sit more upright and hold my arms out for her to embrace me. She slowly slides off Joe's lap, shuffles over and gently folds herself into my lap. Instantly, the scent and weight of her body are familiar to me. This is my baby, through and through. She's my Olivia, somehow both who she was before and who she is as I know her now, at age twelve. She is mine, I can feel it.
Joe watches me, concerned and unsure, as if I might snap again. "Are you sure you're OK?" He asks warily.
I nod, even though I know that I'm not. Nothing about this seems right. I have no idea where I am, but they seem to. They're acting like it's normal for us to be together, but I don't know why. My heart feels as if it has broken in two. Why am I here with them? Where is my real life? Where is Michael and our daughter Stella?
CHAPTER 3
I feel like an alien or a character from one of those movies where people switch places. When I'm confident Joe and Olivia are reassured and settled, I leave her room and go to the bathroom-mostly to get some space and see if I am who I think I am. Looking in the mirror, clearly I am me, but slightly younger. I lift up the unfamiliar nightgown I'm wearing, one I would never have chosen, and look at my stomach. The stretch marks from my pregnancy with Stella are non-existent. My stomach is flatter, my breasts rounder and more firm. I don't have the markings of having borne another child, like I had yesterday.
I turn around to check between my shoulder blades. "My tattoo," I whisper to myself.
It's gone. There's no longer a soft pink lily gracing my bare skin. For a brief moment I feel a slight ping of pleasure, enjoying my younger self's body, but then a deep pinch in my gut resists the good feelings and reminds me that I am lost. I'm not me anymore. It appears that I'm a form of my past self. But who is that?
I hear the sound of cartoons coming from the living room and cereal being poured into a bowl. The smell of coffee brewing teases my nose. This particular brand's scent is not what I'm accustomed to, as my husband...my real husband, Michael, only drinks a Swedish brand native to his hometown. Instantly I'm stabbed with a longing ache for him. Panics is starting inside me again, but I fight it back to avoid another scene.
I feel like a visitor in a place that is apparently my home, judging by the small touches of my obvious decor taste and family photos placed upon a brick mantel and the surrounding walls. I try not to appear out of sorts, but I can't help from gazing at images of captured moments that I have no memory of. Has this always been my life? Does my other family even exist or did I have a vivid lifelike dream that has me completely confused and disoriented? Am I losing my mind?
Joe doesn't say anything to me, as I pretend to straighten pictures on the wall while secretly inspecting them for any sign of photo editing. He instead focuses on concealing the mess he's creating in the kitchen with pancake batter and bacon.
I stare at pictures of our wedding day that I actually do remember, and photos of Olivia's birthdays, Christmases and family camping trips with friends who haven't talked to me in years in my other life. Some look more recent. Are we still friends?
Suddenly there's a knock at the door and it swings open. I jump, startled by the interruption.
"Hey, Kids! Morning!" My dad shouts out as he comes through the door. Without hesitation I run over and wrap my arms around him.
"Dad!" I exclaim with relief. He freezes, surprised by my overzealous welcome.
"Nice to see you too!" he chuckles. I hesitantly let go of him. I want my dad to see the fear in my eyes, to tell me this isn't real, and save me from whatever this is. Instead his expression only tells me that he's confused by my behavior. It's the same expression Joe wore earlier.
"Grandpa!" Olivia calls, as she runs and jumps into his embrace. I mentally thank her for distracting them from my odd demeanor.
"Hey, Jim. You hungry?" Joe asks my dad.
"Nah," he replies. "I just stopped by to drop off the weed whacker for you. It's on the porch. Mary's in the car waiting for me to take her to breakfast."
Mary? Who the hell is Mary? Where is Nancy, my stepmother?
"OK, no problem. Thanks for bringing that by," Joe says, as he refocuses on his task of making breakfast.
"Are you sure you can't stay, Dad?" I say, almost pleading. He hugs me again, and holds me tight at his side.
"You OK?" he asks, concern on his face. I'm almost on the verge of tears, but I pull it together, as it's obvious he is living in the same reality as Joe and Olivia.
"Yeah, I'm just tired and I feel like I haven't seen you much lately," I respond, covering my distress. My dad looks up at Joe with a puzzled expression.
My dad chuckles, then looks at me quizzically. "We just got back from spending a week together at the coast yesterday," he says.
I'm really blowing it here. "I know," I answer lightly, trying to cover gaffe. "It was just sort of chaotic. It would be nice to wind down and chat." I reply, attempting to reassure him.
He nods in agreement. "Well, we will have dinner at our place soon," he says, and with that he gives a wave to Joe, a kiss to Olivia and pats me on the shoulder before walking out the door. I surreptitiously peek out of the window to try to get a glance of this "Mary" lady. The sun's reflection on his old Cadillac's window makes it impossible to see her face. I only catch a glimpse of white-blonde hair as he quickly drives away.
I instantly miss my dad and feel desperately alone again, trapped in a place I'm supposed to know as my home, with my first daughter at the end of her toddlerhood, a husband I shouldn't be married to anymore and memories of a life that either doesn't exist or is going on without me.
CHAPTER 4
I'm grateful when Joe announces he's heading out to his parents' to help his dad work on his yard. In the old days, that meant he would be gone for hours. For a short while I'll be able to let my guard down and try to discover where I really am and why. Younger Olivia seems oblivious to her mother's odd behavior and continues about her day, playing with baby dolls and watching her favorite movie at that age. It's a miniscule gesture of familiarity that surprisingly comforts me.
Later, after realizing that Olivia still takes naps, I put her down to sleep. As she climbs willingly into her bed, I remember what an easy kid she was. My other daughter Stella is spunky, spirited and doesn't fear consequences as much as Olivia did?or should I say, does.
I brush the hair out of her big blue eyes. Little did I know when she was this age, that when she got older her eyes would be more green like Joe's. At this moment in time her face is still round and her complexion is clear and unscathed by makeup or blemishes. Her chubby hands hold my cheeks as I give her a kiss on the nose while tucking her in. I miss her at this age, and yet here she is?.again.
After tucking her in for a nap, I rush to get to work on sorting out my new circumstances. What day is it? What month is it? It could be summer, based on the outside temperature and ample sunshine. If the flowers are blooming, it probably is. But if it really is 2005, I'm not sure we have a computer or the internet for me to do research and orient myself. When Joe and I were married, we weren't very tech savvy, especially him, so I don't know what to expect.
While exploring the house, I see we appear to have a
big screen TV, VCR/DVD combo and what looks like a gaming console, but I'm not even sure if Joe has a cell phone. There is a cordless phone connected to a landline in the living room, but who would I call? I can't remember anyone's phone number by heart except Michael's. In my "real" life, everyone I normally call is programmed into my cell phone. PURSE!!! I have to have a purse!