Regression (4 page)

“
How do you feel this
afternoon, Adya?”

Replacing the recent bittersweet
tears with a bright smile for his benefit, she cheerfully answered
him, “Just peachy. It would make my day even better if you told me
I could go home, though.”

Glancing over her charts,
especially the test results, he nodded to himself before returning
his attention to her eagerly waiting face. “Looks like I can do
that. I’ll speak with the techs about your most recent scan, but I
think you’ll be good to go tomorrow.”

Her smile broadened and her heart
began to pound, thinking of finally going home. “Thank you so much
for that great news, Doctor Redborne. And, thank you for your
excellent care. I know I haven’t been the easiest patient.” She
glanced down at her hands, flushing in embarrassment.

“
No worries, dear.
Just continue to get well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

On the day of her discharge, she
changed into street clothes while waiting for Matthew and Samantha
to arrive. Relieved to finally be free of the gaping hospital
gowns, she enjoyed the sensation of slipping on jeans and a t-shirt
over her bra and underwear. In the midst of stretching her arms,
she startled when her mother entered the room.

“
You look ready to
take on the world. I’m so pleased you’re feeling well, honey, we
were worried about you.”

The doctor and Matthew entered the
room together.

“−
it is of some
concern, but should level out with time.”

Matthew’s brows were furrowed in
worry. “But, she can still go home with us?”

Samantha gasped. “What’s going
on?” She reached for her husband’s hand, clasping it
tightly.

Doctor Redmond continued. “It’s
alright, Mrs. Jordan. Adya’s serotonin levels have fallen off from
their high last week, and are now lower than usual. If you find she
has less interest in her hobbies and seems emotionally flat, it
should be documented.” He addressed Adya. “Can you be sure to let
your parents know if you feel really sad, uninterested, short of
breath, or just generally down? There is a change in your blood
which might make you feel different, and we need to keep an eye on
you to see if you need supplementation.”

“
Do you think chances
of that are high?” Stress raised Samantha’s voice.

“
No, but just to be
safe we should test again in two weeks. Otherwise, she’s able to
head home.” The doctor patted Adya’s shoulder as they left the
room.

“
I feel fine. I
haven’t been allowed to do anything but sleep, eat, and read for
the past week. I can’t wait to get out and actually do
something.”

“
Now, Doctor Redborne
did say you should avoid strenuous exercise for the next little
while, you’re still healing from the accident. Any memory of it
yet?”

“
No, nothing, Mom… you
ask me every day. I don’t remember a thing.”

Samantha touched her arm, “I’m
supposed to let the doctor know if you show recovery of any
memories, dear.”

“
Sorry,
Mom.”

Matthew joined them from the
nurse’s station. Adya took her father’s hand, smiling
broadly.

“
Let’s get out of
here; I’m ready for a change of scenery.”

They walked to the elevator, where
a young family with a little boy was already waiting. They rode in
the car together and her fingers itched to run through the
toddler’s downy soft brown hair. The sting was sharpest in her
right hand underneath the birthmark and she absently began to rub
it. He smiled up at her, slipping his little hand inside hers.
Warmth flowed through her as she looked into eyes reminding her of
her youngest son.

The little boy’s mother reclaimed
his hand with an apology. “Sorry…come here Jonathon, don’t let go
of Mommy’s hand.”

Everyone disembarked on the main
floor and exited the hospital. The drive home was short but still
too long as her parents quizzed her about her memories.

“
You never told me
about your dreams, the ones the doctor mentioned you had while in
the coma,” Samantha prompted.

“
It’s quite funny,
really. I had six kids and was−”

Mathew’s face darkened as he
interrupted, grimacing. “Six kids, now that’s a bit much. I’m not
ready to be a grandpa yet, anyway. Who did you marry; do we know
him?” He smiled maliciously. “Should I get out the shot
gun?”

She giggled. “No, Dad, it wasn’t
anyone you know…at least not for real; it was a movie
star.”

He reached over to pull her closer
on the bench seat of the car. “We’re just happy you’re okay, and
you’re finally coming home. I don’t want to have to resort to
violence for another twenty years, though.”

“
Twenty years? I’ll be
ancient by then. Give it ten, okay?”

“
Deal.”

At the house, she took a moment to
gaze at the warmly weathered exterior. The trim work on the Ontario
farmhouse style brick structure was faded but still attractive.
Approaching the door with anticipation, her steps were
light.

The stone floor of the front foyer
cooled her toes as she took off her shoes. Cobwebs in the corners
sent a shiver up her spine as the huge daddy long-legs vibrated
away. Her father looked in the direction of the spider and
pantomimed a sweeping motion. She squealed.

“
Don’t you dare bring
that thing down on me, Dad. You know I can’t stand them.” Jumping
back, she glared at him while looking for her mother. “Mom, get the
broom. How could you let such a big one nest up there, right above
our shoes. Eww, imagine if he climbed into them? Ahhh.” She
screeched again as the creature slipped down on its web, heading
right for her hair. Matthew saved the day with a corn broom,
twisting the handle to collect all the webbing and the offending
monster before taking the broom outside and leaving it on the
porch.

“
Hey little sis, good
to see you home.” Evan nodded, his face tense. Annie ran straight
toward them waving a little lei.

“
Look what I made for
you, a welcome home lei.” Adya obligingly lowered her head to
accommodate the flowers, rewarded by the glowing smile on her
sister’s face. She glanced at Evan over Annie’s head, smiling
tentatively. He relaxed slightly, accepting the olive branch. She
wondered what she had done before the accident to cause the
tension. Fingering the blooms in the lei, she turned to Annie.
“It’s lovely, sweetie, thank you so much. Did you collect these
flowers from the garden?” Carnations, baby’s breath, mums and even
a couple of gladiolus flowers graced the wreath. A flashback to her
own children making leis from flowers grown in their garden
weakened her knees. She found the comfortable sofa in the living
room and sank into it. The familiarity of the family chatting,
dishes clattering in the kitchen as Samantha prepared lunch, and
even the smell of flowers mingling with the scent of egg salad and
lemon cleanser used on the coffee table restored her equilibrium.
She stood, collected her suitcase, and headed up to her
room.

After placing her suitcase on the
bed with a thump, she meandered around her bedroom. Her mother must
have tidied what normally exhibited typical teenaged disarray. A
slight smile tugged Adya’s lips as she peeked into the closet,
prepared for a tumbling attack, but the neatly arranged rows of
clothes brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She muttered,
“Thanks, Mom, sorry you had to worry.” There had always been
something better to do than pick up after herself. Samantha’s
concern must have driven her to organize the books, papers, and
cassettes. Waves of excitement filled her as she thought about all
of the things she could do differently because of what she knew
now. She was a different person than the child who kept her room in
such disorder.

A hand-carved dresser stood near
her closet, but she could picture it in the place of honour beside
the window in the master bedroom in her dream life. How could she
imagine the setting so clearly if it was a dream? She approached
the piece, shaking her head.

Matthew had crafted the dresser.
Many hours in his shop were spent building what would later become
family heirlooms, a labour of love performed for each of his
children as his gift to them at their births. She felt for the name
and date engraved on the back of the upper right drawer, finding
the etched wood exactly where she thought it would be. The same had
been done for each of her own children…in her dream. Adya touched
her image in the mirror.

“
Oh, Dad, if only you
knew. You loved the kids, all six of them. You made dressers for
each of them, just like this one.” She ran her hand through her
hair before looking down at her fingers, expecting to see a diamond
ring on her left hand. “Am I crazy? Are all of those memories just
my imagination? Is there really someone named Daniel Davies, the
man I will…did…might marry?”

She unpacked her bag, finding her
journal and leafing through her notes. “This can’t be full of
dreams. It’s all too real.” Her finger traced down the list of
names and numbers. “Let’s see…Lakeport University was where he
worked.” She crept to the phone at the end of the hallway, checking
to ensure no one was watching while she dialled long
distance.

“
Lakeport University,”
a female voice answered. Expecting to hear the automated voice
system, she hesitated a moment. The voice on the other end
prompted, “Hello?”

Adya muttered, “Sorry, wrong
number,” and hung up the phone. Her hands shook as she punched
another number.

“
Hello?”

“
Hello, is Jim
there?”

The familiar voice on the line
answered, “I’m sorry, he’s working right now. May I take a message
for you?”

“
Is this
Carole?”

“
Yes, it is… May I
help you?”

“
No, sorry for
bothering you, goodbye…I love you,” the last was whispered into the
phone as she hung up. Her mother-in-law had been very dear to her
before the woman’s death from cancer, and hearing the beloved voice
once again was almost her undoing. She placed the receiver into the
cradle and rested her head in her hands. It was all real. The life,
the family, the memories. Somehow she had left them behind and
returned to her fourteen-year-old self.

Quietly she crept back to her room
where she wrote again in her journal, this time recording the
events of the present. She had the proof she needed, at least for
herself, to believe her life experience really happened. Her
musings were interrupted by the cry from downstairs, “Lunch’s
ready.” Adya closed the journal with a snap, secreting it between
the mattress and box spring of her bed. She pulled out a book she
had ‘borrowed’ from her brother. No wonder he was angry with her.
It needed to be returned immediately with an apology. The first
step in her new life.

Later that evening she again sat
cross legged on her bed, ruminating and writing. Concepts like
closed timelike curves, worldlines, and parallel universes filled
the pages of her journal as she wondered which explanation fit her
situation. Only her consciousness travelled through time, not her
physical body, so the laws of physics had not necessarily been
violated…science had never been able to explain the existence of
discrete consciousnesses in any event. She wrote as she
pondered.

Inside this fourteen year old body
is the mind of a forty year old. The experiences of a forty year
old. How do I disguise something like that? I was a wife. A mother.
A university graduate. National President of Volunteering Canada.
Local member of parliament. Treasurer for Girl Guides of Canada.
Coach of little league – never call me a soccer mom, though. How
does this person keep quiet? How do I maintain the façade of
innocence?

Adya shut her journal with a sigh,
eyes burning with fatigue as she glanced at the clock. Four in the
morning. She really needed sleep. As her lids drooped shut, a true
sense of peace and comfort washed over her. A sense of purpose
filled her−there was something she was meant to do this second
journey through her life. She slept.

She walked alone on an
empty beach. To her left stretched an endless horizon of water,
still as glass. To her right, the landscape was featureless and
level. Walking on the boundary between two surfaces, her feet were
dry. She spied a small object in the distance which began to take
shape as she approached it. The mist coalesced into the dresser her
father had made for her. She advanced and looked in the mirror. Her
image reflected onto infinity within the confines of the wooden
frame.

Adya stared into her
own eyes, noting the face looking back at her was her mature self,
not her present teenaged visage. As she watched, the likeness began
to blur and disappear. Another copy replaced the fading one,
slightly different from her true reflection. She touched her
unblemished cheek where the mirror image showed a scar running from
lip to temple. That figure waned into nothingness and she shifted
to look at the next countenance. No older than her, it blurred from
sight as she tried to focus on features. The faces began to merge
faster and faster, a time-lapse of images until one final pair of
eyes met hers and mouthed the words, “It’s up to you.”