A Bubble of Time

Chapter 6: This Is Not Happening

I looked at her, studying her, remembering when we used to be close—only that really wasn't true. I was older by four years and we were never very close. At some point I had stopped paying attention to her because she was so much younger, and after a while she stopped asking me to play with her.

Damn. I'd forgotten that.

I pulled the covers completely over my head. No! This is not happening! I needed to go back…

I stirred from a troubled sleep when I heard the voice of Lincoln Ware come to life inches from my ear. I lurched awake as he announced the time as 7:59 and played a "new" tune by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney, "Ebony and Ivory."

Jesus! I was still here. I tried not to hyperventilate or panic. If I panicked I would run around like an insane person—maybe even out the door until I could find 2016 again.

I pulled the covers down only enough to reveal my eyes. I watched as Nubia reached over to turn off the radio. She glared at me, and I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Nubia was in middle school because she was eleven or twelve while I was in high school.

Nubia pulled some clothing out of the drawer and the closet. She quickly dressed and then left the room. Immediately I jumped out of bed. Fleetingly I noticed that I didn't feel like I had gallon sized buckets tied around me. My back didn't even tweak in the least.

I hurried to the dresser and stared at myself in the mirror. I shook my head in denial but knew my eyes weren't lying—and I wasn't wearing glasses. I could see clearly, and the mirror reflected sixteen-year-old me.

I ran my hand through my hair. Eww, it was dry. My pressed curls were gone, and I was in dire need of a good hair conditioner. I scowled at the condition of my face. My skin was so oily! I remembered how the constant outbreak of pimples erupting over my skin had plagued my teen years. Even now there was a huge pimple on my cheek. and I shuddered.

I then glanced down. I was wearing a nightgown that used to be one of my favorites. I blinked and rubbed my eyes.

But…I'm not fat. Wait! I've always been fat. Only right now I was looking at a body that was curvy and cute sheathed in an old nightgown that hadn't survived my teen years.

"Whoa…" I said slowly. I cupped my hand beneath my boobs testing their weight. I was not wearing a bra, and they were not resting on the top of my belly as they usually did…

"What the…?" I put my hands on my hips and turned, examining my shapely figure. Why had I thought I was fat? This was not the body of a fat girl. In fact, if I had this body I—wait, this was my body--is my body.

I tore my eyes away from the mirror. I didn't want this version of myself. I wanted the old me with my aching back and my perfectly pressed curls. I looked around the room for some clue to my situation. I ignored my old knickknacks, books and baubles that I'd forgotten about decades before. I heard Nubia leave for school and then I sneaked out of my room.

If my memory was correct, then my mother would be at work and Kush would be eighteen. I did a quick calculation. He had graduated the year before and had moved out but had left his crap behind, and Mama wouldn't let me move into his room. He would come back—time and time again until finally Mama gave me his room, which put a stop to his revolving door behavior.

Still I checked his room. The bed was made, which meant that I was right. He wasn't currently living here. Next I checked my mother's room. It, too, was unoccupied.

I marveled at how small the house was. She and my dad had purchased it after Nubia was born. When my Dad died, she had struggled to keep it. Somehow it had seemed bigger when I used to live here.

I lingered in the doorway of my mother's bedroom, staring at the old cherry wood furniture that I used to think looked so expensive. I inhaled the aroma of Jergens hand lotion and Shalimar perfume. Mom had stopped wearing it years before, moving on to whatever we purchased her for Christmas and birthdays—certainly nothing as exotic as Shalimar. The nostalgia calmed my panic, and I left her room.

I used the bathroom and continued my exploration in the kitchen. Nubia had left her empty bowl and spoon in the kitchen sink, and I checked the cabinets. Oh my God! Frosted Flakes! I grabbed a bowl, spoon, and the milk, hesitating when I noted that it wasn't 2 percent.

"Mom, you really need to stop drinking this whole milk. No wonder I got fat." I sat and quickly ate, my eyes darting around as I tried to find a flaw that would allow me to latch onto—maybe a secret door or a shimmer of light where I could cross back over in time.

I'd gotten here somehow, and I was damn sure going to return, because the alternative was just too crazy. I couldn't re-live my teen years. It had traumatized me enough the first time.

After breakfast I found coffee and made half a pot, and while it brewed I went back to the bedroom I shared with Nubia and searched for something to wear.

I saw clothes that I vaguely remembered and was not surprised that I had forgotten. There was an ugly denim jump suit with pleats, an ugly polyester gaucho pants and vest set—I remember thinking that I was cool in that monstrosity. There were several blouses with puffed shoulders and frills. Jeez, no wonder I was a nerd.

And then I found a pair of jeans, and although they were high-waist "Mommy" jeans, I slipped them on with a well-worn tie-dyed T-shirt. I had some authentic Chuck Taylors, which put a slight smile on my face, and then I returned to the kitchen to drink my coffee and contemplate what had happened to me.