“His eyes are moving. Could be a dream, but…”
“Tom! Tom! Can you hear me? Are you awake?”
Tom whined and hugged the giant body pillow close.
“He’s definitely awake.”
Tom felt a huge hand gently shaking him. “It’s time to wake up, buddy.”
Buddy?
Tom’s eyes flew open. Standing there were Dr. Pinkerton, his fiancée Alice, his son Matt, and his roommate Steve, all looking worried.
Tom mumbled, “‘m awake…”, then cleared his throat and said, louder than expected, “I’M AWAKE!”
The voice that came out was high pitched and kind of whiny. Tom’s hands flew to his throat. What was going on? Why was it smooth?
“We need to talk,” said Dr. Pinkerton. “While you were sitting in my office yesterday, you had a myocardial infarction - a heart attack. Your body, weakened by the cancer and the chemo, was shutting down.”
“So?” Why wasn’t his voice working?
“Because you were incapacitated, Alice and Matt made a split second decision to have you undergo the Mind Storage procedure immediately, before you died.”
Alice and Matt looked down at their feet. Dr. Pinkerton continued, “Unfortunately, there was only one candidate here at the time with enough of a match. A young man, Jacob Riley, who had hit his head in a skateboarding accident.”
“Okay,” said Tom dubiously.
“I know this isn’t what anyone had planned,” said the doctor, “but the operation was a complete success from a medical standpoint. You are healthy, completely cancer-free, and it looks like the mind transfer was 100 percent complete.”
Tom looked down at his body. “What the fuck?! Who is this kid?! How old am I?!”
Alice, blinking back tears, said, “Jacob just turned twelve. The accident happened about a month before his birthday.”
“I’M TWELVE YEARS OLD?!” Tom yelled. That explained the voice problem! He threw aside the covers and looked down at his tiny, young body. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“It was the only option, Tom,” said Steve. “It was that, or lose you forever. Thank God you were here at the lab when it happened, or there wouldn’t have been enough time.”
Tom looked frantically down at himself.
“Oh, my God. I was excited to be part of this but I didn’t expect to have to grow up ag—oh, Jesus. I am going to grow up again, right?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Pinkerton. “There’s nothing wrong with your physical body. So, just like any 12-year-old boy, you will grow up again, go through puberty, become a man.”
“Oh, my God. OH, my GOD. This can’t be real. I need a mirror. This has to be some horrible chemo dream.”
“There’s one in the bathroom, Dad,” said Matt. “Come on, let’s get you up so you can see what’s going on.”
Tom swung his legs over the side of the bed and hopped down—jumped down. The doctor, his fiancée, his roommate, and his son—his SON!—towered over him. Tom gulped and walked over to a mirror on the back of a door.
The reflection was a cute, but very small boy. Shaggy dirty blonde hair fell to his shoulders; a narrow nose. Tom let the oversized hospital gown fall. A narrow, skinny chest, thin arms and legs, and no sign of adult maturity anywhere.
Tom burst into tears. Matt came running over, leaned over, and embraced him, holding his head to his chest, whispering, “Dad, Dad, I’m just so glad you’re alive. What you look like doesn’t matter.” After Tom regained his composure, he whirled on the rest of the group.
“Why am I so short? Matt is 14, I’m supposedly 12, and yet I don’t even come up to his chest.”
“Jacob appears to be somewhat of a late bloomer,” said Dr. Pinkerton, “and his parents, who are outside, aren’t big people. You are 53 inches tall, or 4’5”, and you weigh 63 pounds.”
Tom looked up at his 5’7” fiancée, his 5’10” son, and his 6’3” roommate. “So… how tall am I going to get?”
“No one knows,” said the doctor. “Given Jacob’s parents and his young bone age, you might be as tall as 5’7”, but it’s likely you’ll be shorter.”
“FUCK!” yelled Tom in his soprano voice.
“Look, goddammit,” said Alice, “you’re alive. So instead of moping, be grateful. Give thanks to God. Because otherwise we’d be looking at you over there.” She indicated the other bed, where a figure lay there covered with a sheet, a tag tied to the exposed, grey toe.
Tom stared. Alice ran over to the bed before the doctor could stop her, and pulled back the sheet. Tom’s old body lay there, stiff and unmoving, his old eyes staring forever into space.
Tom burst into tears again. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know how I’m going to get used to this. An hour ago I was a 6’1”, athletic, masculine man who, other than the cancer, was on top of the world. Amazing fiancée, fantastic son, great friends. Well-paid job, owned a nice house and a good car. Now… I’m a shrimpy middle schooler with no grass on the infield who’s got to go through the mood swings, the zits, the uncertainty all over again.”
Alice replaced the sheet, came back over, and hugged Tom close. “And yet you still have us. We love you.” Tom noticed he came just to Allie’s breasts… and it did nothing for him. He shuddered.
“We have a lot of paperwork to do,” said the doctor, “because the rules are different with mind storage procedures like these. Since you seem physically okay, let’s go get started.”
Steve ruffled Tom’s shaggy head. “Let’s go, sport. Let’s go find you some cool clothes. Get you some swag.”
Matt snickered.
“I’ll kill you,” said Tom.
“Somehow, that threat sounds more effective with a deeper voice,” teased Steve.