This choice: It's your mom's teenage years -- and you're in her body! • Go Back... Suddenly, a truck is flying at you, horn blaring! You let out a high-pitched shriek of terror!
"Shh!" someone next to you hisses. You realize you're not actually in the middle of the street, but in a movie theater, watching a stream of flying cars zooming across the screen. Of course, since you were in your room just a few seconds ago, it's still kind of disorienting.
"What's going on?" Your voice sounds strange.
"Shut up, Sarah! They're explaining it now!" says a voice... a voice you swear you recognize from somewhere.
Wait, Sarah?
You run your hands over your body. You're a girl, all right, and a pretty damn curvy one, at that. Up on the screen, Christopher Lloyd is explaining the Hill Valley traffic system, but you're not watching the movie anymore. You turn to the one who shushed you and meet glaring eyes under heavy eyebrows. The face they're staring out of is about twelve years old but...
Oh, my god. It's Uncle Rick. Uncle Rick when he was a kid. And he called me "Sarah"... does that mean...?
"Excuse me!" you say, getting up and pushing past the couple on the other side of you. "I... I gotta go!"
"Sarah, you just went ten minutes ago," the woman (Nana Juney!) murmurs. "I told you not to drink all that soda. You're going to miss the whole movie!"
"It's okay, I've seen it already!" you call over your shoulder. Several other people are shushing you now.
"What do you mean 'you've seen it'?" Rick says incredulously. "It's opening weekend."
You almost stumble out of the theater -- your pelvis is different now, and having your runner's legs replaced with these short ones isn't helping -- and down the hallway of the multiplex, passing coming-attractions posters advertising Dances with Wolves and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. You throw open the door of the bathroom and rush over to the mirror.
Looking back at you is a short girl in a baggy sweater and ripped jeans, her flaming red hair teased and sprayed into late-eighties perfection, and a terrified look on her face. You blink. You move your jaw back and forth and stick out your tongue. Uh-huh... it's really you, wearing your mother's face and body. She's young -- about sixteen, you guess. Maybe the spell brought you back to the point in time when the two of you were exactly the same age? She's short and curvy, but slimmer than the mother you remember. You lift your sweater up and eye her flat abdomen, the one that's destined to be padded out with a spare tire one day, the one that -- gulp -- is destined to have you inside it!
Head swimming, you start to leave, only to nearly run into an older man on the way in. His eyes open in surprise and he begins to stammer an apology and back out the door. For a moment you don't realize what's wrong, until you see him double-check the sign on the door, then looking back and you, then checking the sign again.
"Sorry," you choke, feeling a beet-red blush creeping over your face.
You walk out of the theater into the world of 1989. It appears to be late fall or winter, if the chill in the air is any indication. You're not sure where to go -- you're not even sure how long you're going to be here. What if it's permanent? What if you can't go back?
A half-read scrap of writing floats through your memory, something else on the page which you didn't finish reading. Some sort of warning about little changes in the past causing large changes in the present, nothing you didn't already know from all those sci-fi movies, but still worrisome. Especially because you have no idea about certain things like how Mom met Dad (although you're pretty certain that one's not due to happen for a few years).
You find some money stuffed in your pocketbook, along with your ID, a half-finished Subway Sub Club card, and... a condom. Yikes, Mom. You're definitely not going to be using that. But what will you be doing?   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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