June 2, 1980 [2]

Something was wrong.

Martha couldn't feel her joints. Most notably, she couldn't feel her left knee – surgically replaced seven years before – which greeted her most mornings as if impaled on a spike while she slept. Martha could tell that it was still dark outside and it had been months since she'd not slept through the night. The doctors had adjusted her medication masterfully to keep her at peace until daybreak.

Was that it? Had they changed her regimen again without telling her? She thought back to dinner. Two red, one blue, one green – just like always. She thought back to breakfast. Again, she remembered the correct medication.

Something was strange about the memory, though. It was clear. She could remember the orderly's smile and his name – Frank. Frank had reminded her about the bridge game that afternoon. Obviously there would be a bridge game. It was Wednesday. However this hypothetical medication change had disrupted her sleep, it was working miracles for her memory.

Then she looked around the bedroom. Though it was dark, she could tell it wasn't the room in which she'd fallen asleep. Had they moved her? But the bedrooms in the assisted living facility were standard – cookie cutter – and this looked nothing like them. Something about this room... Have I been here before?

Within the room, there was a single light source. She found it on the opposite wall – a white circle with glowing, red wings branching out to its sides. She looked to her left. The bedside table did not appear to have a call panel or any such device to reach a nurse and the door was uncharacteristically ajar, leading to a darkened hallway. She looked to her right. An alternating pattern of waving ladybugs and smiling beetles dotted the wall and a collection of stuffed animals huddled in the corner.

She returned to the light source. It was a night light. Have I...

She rubbed her eyes as if that would fix the room, but the sight of her hands as they drew from her face only made things worse. Because they weren't her hands. Gone were the liver spots, bulging veins, and swollen knuckles. These hands' knuckles were barely discernible, hidden beneath a layer of fat and smooth, sunkissed but undamaged skin. These hands were a child's, waving slowly as if under her command.

The light source pulsed as the child's fingers passed in the fore. She dropped the hands and focused on the night light. It was a face. Its eyebrows arched unnaturally while its smile was both funny and frightening – a painted smile to show joy, but hide malice. A clown's smile... Bozo the Clown's smile...

How do I know that??

She began to call for help but was shocked by the sound, her voice hardly recognizable from the one she'd had when she'd gone to sleep. As if from deep inside her, a clumsy, painless yet intensely pitched warble escaped. A second escaped in response to the first and she covered her mouth with the child's silken palm.

A light turned on in the hall and someone appeared at the doorway. The backlit silhouette was enormous – seven feet tall, if an inch. The giant entered the room and began talking halfway through a yawn. "Ahhhwhat's wrong sweetie pie? You have a bad dream?" The man's voice was unmistakably her father's. He reached down with his giant hands and lifted her to his shoulder.

And then her senses coalesced into cathartic understanding – the subtle body odor... the tickle of his chest hair... his tired voice crooning James Taylor...

She was being held by her father.

She was a child.

She was... Again.

The implications were evident. The precedent was clear. She had reawakened as James had.

James!!

Her breath quickened as she inhaled ecstasy and exhaled panic, her thoughts firing in all directions.

"Shh, shhh. It's okay," her father soothed as he paced the room and patted her back. "It's okay, sweetie. Was it scary? It sounds like it was a scary dream. But you're okay, now. Daddy's got you."

She caught sight of her tiny eyes and button nose peeking over her father's shoulder in a mirror and reflexively buried her face in the nook of his collarbone to hide from the nightmare.

"Shh, shhh," he said and returned to his lullaby.

She was trapped in this body. But I can see James again! But he was in Illinois and she, California. But he's alive!

Then the room turned purple and Martha felt a sudden wave of nausea. The room turned black and she was gone.

Author's note:

So it's good news / bad news, you might say.  Either way, she's got a long road ahead of her...

A refresher for those who read "For Those Who Don't Believe in Love Songs" a long time ago: James told Martha he doesn't wake up as he's being born (which is good because ew), but rather in bits and pieces starting as a toddler. 

Where and when will Martha resurface next?  Your guess is as good as mine!  Actually, no.  I'm the author so... my guess is better. ;)