"Yes," he replied. "You saw the video where you explained everything."

"No," I retorted. "That wasn't me. It was Dexie."

"Again," he reminded me, "It was you as Dexie. This isn't the first go-around for you."

---

 
When Your Tabula Is Not Rasa
 
Chapter 22
 

---

"Red hair is my life-long sorrow." — L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

---

 

When I woke, I was lying on a bed in a clean, quiet room. Even without opening my eyes I knew it was a hospital: It wasn't just the hospital gown, or the peculiar hospital-clean feel of the sheets and bed. There was a hospital quality to the silence in the background, as if someone had shushed the air conditioner.

To my great surprise, I felt fine. Good, even. Nothing like the banged-up, cut and bruised mess I expected to be. Since I wasn't wearing a seat belt, the crash must have tossed me around like a rag doll. Like a rag doll stuffed with chicken bones.

And yet, I didn't feel any bandages on my skin. The sheets and the gown lay smooth against my skin. I didn't feel any cuts or scrapes or bruises anywhere. Wow, was I lucky! I wiggled my fingers and toes experimentally. They still worked. My arms seemed heavy, and so were my legs. It's just because I'm sleepy, I thought.

Footsteps approached. I opened my eyes, blinking, and without waiting to see who it was, I asked, "How is my family? My wife and daughter? And Dexie, the girl who was driving?"

"They're fine," the man replied. "Everybody's fine; they all walked away without a scratch. YOU were the only one who got banged up. Would you care to guess why that is?"

"I wasn't wearing my seat belt," I admitted sheepishly.

"That's right, you weren't. You flew, do you remember that? Your body shot through the air."

"No," I said. "Where did I fly to? I think I must have gone to Never-Never-Land."

"Not quite," the man replied. "You went through the windshield and smack! into the tree. Do you remember the tree?"

"I remember the tree," I told him, "but I don't remember hitting it. Or going through the windshield." I moaned softly; a waking-up moan. "But I don't understand: why aren't I all banged up? You said I was banged up, but I can feel that I'm not. I feel fine. I feel good. Am I drugged or something? Have I been out a long time?" With that question, a vein of panic began to rise inside me: could I have been in coma? Long enough for my wounds to heal? Would that be months? Years?

My fears were allayed by the man's answer.

"No, you haven't been out very long. This is still today, the day of the accident. You were unconscious after the collision. You were unconscious when they carried you in. The crash took place a half an hour ago. The doctor fixed you up, and gave you something to calm you down," the man explained. "It's not meant to make you sleep. Or take away pain. It's going to wear off. Soon."

"Ah, so that's why I'm slurring my words. Slurrrring. It's like being drunk with a clear head. But I'm fine, right? I'm fine, as far as I can tell."

"Yes," he agreed. "The doctor gave you a clean bill of health, but what's important is how you feel."

"Umm," I murmured, closing my eyes again. "I'm still foggy from waking up, but that's all. Can I see my family? Can they come in?"

"Soon. Very soon. You can go see them as soon as you're able to get up a head of steam. Today, in a couple of hours."

I turned my head and looked the man up and down. "You're not a doctor," I said. "You don't have a white coat or a stethoscope."

"Very observant."

"You sound like you're from Texas. Am I right?"

"Yes, I'm Dan. I'm from West Texas."

"Are you a lawyer?"

"Guilty as charged!"

"Who do you represent? The insurance company?"

"No. I'm representing you, your family, and Dexie Lane. I was appointed by the insurance company, but you're my clients. I'm here to make sure you're okay. That's my only job. How much do you remember about what happened?"

"Everything up to the crash," I told him. I licked my lips. They were very dry. "Could you give me some water?" He lifted a cup toward my face and maneuvered the straw into my mouth. I pulled three sips of the cold, sweet water and swallowed gratefully.

"You remember the car hitting the tree," Dan prompted.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Do you remember why you hit the tree? How it all happened?" he asked.

I opened my eyes to look at his face. He looked like an intelligent, open-minded guy, but still...

"You wouldn't believe it."

"Try me."

Okay. I decided to tell him. If he didn't believe me, I'd say I was disoriented. "A flying saucer was chasing us."

He nodded and smiled. "Good," he said. "That's correct. Do you know where we are right now?"

"In a hospital?"

"Sort of." He waited, smiling, watching my face to see how long it would take for me to get it.

My jaw fell. "Are we on the saucer now?"

"Bingo!"
 

---

 

After the shock of learning that we were on an alien spaceship, I pretty much woke up. All the way. No need for coffee. I was awake.

You'd think that after you've been chased by a spaceship, crashed into a tree, and woke up without a scratch onboard the spaceship, you've pretty much exhausted your capacity for surprise.

But after all that, finding out that I was now younger, smaller, and FEMALE... that took the cake. I was beyond astonishment, well into disbelief. The what... the why... the what the hell?

Dan, the lawyer from Texas, and Alan, a lawyer from space, took turns explaining to me that the collision had damaged my body beyond repair, — even beyond the ability of alien technology. The only way to save me was to pop me into a spare dead body.

I say that they took turns explaining because I kept asking the same questions over and over.

Then, when I'd gotten a preliminary grasp of my new situation, they sprang yet another surprise on me: a video in which Dexie assured me that this was all my idea.

"Two weeks from now I decided to be reborn as an alien woman?" I asked. "Is that the idea?"

The men assured me that it was. I shook my head. Inconceivable was a mild word for it.

"And in this video, Dexie is supposed to be me?"

We went through that conversational loop three times. While watching the video for the third time, I had enough and asked them to stop.

"There's one thing I don't understand," I told them. "If that—" I pointed to Dexie "—is really me, there's something wrong. I mean, it never occurs to this girl that I would have troubling believing that she is me. If that really was me, that's the FIRST question I'd deal with. All I see is Dexie, assuring me that this—" I made a sweeping motion to indicate my new body "—is how I wanted and decided that everything should end up."

I gesticulated with inarticulate frustration. "Beyond that, this person's manner is so different from Dexie's, I can hardly believe it's her, either."

My outburst stumped the two of them. I stood up and excused myself. I needed a break, but I also needed the bathroom. I opened two wrong doors before I found the right one, and when I finally got inside, I turned the lock and tried the door to be sure it wouldn't open.

For a moment I leaned on the sink and studied my face in the mirror. It wasn't a bad face. In fact, I liked this face. It didn't look like anyone I knew, but it was a friendly, honest face, with a small symmetric smile. The eyes were a funny mix of colors that people end up calling hazel. The person who wore this face before me was clearly a good person, a person who worked hard and had good attitudes. She had a ready smile, an unwrinkled brow, small ears and a nice little nose. I was intrigued by the hair, which was red. Not red-gold like Dexie's, though: It was a darker red, almost brown.

I needed to use the toilet, and on a sudden impulse, I took off all my clothes. After relieving myself, I returned, naked, to the mirror and studied my new body. It was still hard to believe that this was me, but now that I could touch it, feel it, and look at it from many angles, I was convinced that it was my new earthly vehicle.

"Earthly", I thought, but not of this earth.

"I come in peace," I told my face in the mirror. "Take me to your leader." Then I laughed, and marveled to see my new female bits jiggle and shake. I weighed my breasts in my hands, and felt my butt cheeks. "Firm, yet soft," I concluded. "Soft, yet firm."

My new body was in good shape. She was just past thirty, which is a wonderful age, and had the lean, long look of a runner. She didn't have any wrinkles or scars, and her curves and proportions were good. I'd certainly traded up.

I must have stood there for a long time, turning and exploring and studying my new self, because Dan came to knock at the door, and after clearing his throat nervously, asked, "Are you all right in there?"
 

---

 

Later, that same day, the saucer landed in a field off Route 20 in Northern California. I walked down the ramp and found Dan standing next to a shiny new Dodge Challenger.

"Is this your car?" I asked as he opened the passenger door for me.

"No, ma'am," he replied. "This is a rental. I'm pretty far from home. I had to fly up here to meet you. And if you don't mind my saying, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"You just saw me," I objected. "Not five minutes ago."

Dan laughed. "For you, it happened five minutes ago. For me, it's been a very busy two busy weeks." He gently closed the passenger door and trotted around to the driver's side. As Dan started the car and drove back to Route 20, the spaceship quietly lifted off.

I shook my head. "This whole thing is crazy, in every detail."

"Time travel does take some getting used to," Dan agreed. "After I left you in the sickbay, I flew back home to Texas and returned to my normal, prosaic, very Earthly job. Two weeks later, I caught a flight to Sacramento, rented a car, and here I am!"

"Why didn't you just stay on the ship?" I asked. "And why did I have to go to the future?"

"I couldn't make that jump," Dan explained. "If I stayed on the ship, I'd be missing from Earth for two weeks. I can't just disappear like that. It would kill my business.

"As for you, you needed to stay on the ship so you could return to what ought to be your present. This isn't really the future for you. Remember, the body you're in is from someone who died in an accident somewhere in space. She died a few days ago, so you needed to come back here and now for continuity's sake.

"The real reason, though, is that the ship and everyone in it had to return to its own time — and that time is now. They couldn't very well leave you behind all by yourself."
 

---

 

Twenty minutes later we pulled up in front of my house, Fred Holderlin's house. Dan killed the engine and turned toward me. "Nervous?" he asked.

"Very," I said. "Look at me: I'm trembling. This is the spookiest thing I've ever done. It's like the Twilight Zone, except that it's real. Are you sure this was my idea?"

"Yes," he replied. "You saw the video where you explained everything."

"No," I retorted. "That wasn't me. It was Dexie."

"Again," he reminded me, "It was you as Dexie. This isn't the first go-around for you."

I grimaced in frustration and clenched my fists, which felt about half as large as they were supposed to be. I opened my eyes and looked down at my breasts. "So: I've gone from nearly dying, to being a girl, to really dying, to being a girl."

"In a word, yes," Dan answered. "But why not take it simply? Forget the whole business of deciding in the future and your being Dexie. Don't even consider that; don't give it a thought. The fact is, you would have died for good and forever in that crash if this body wasn't available. Your only hope of survival was to be transferred into Phoebe's body."

"Phoebe," I repeated. Such an unlikely name. "And Phoebe was an alien?"

"Yes," he told me for the umpteenth time. "An alien, but one who is just as human as you."

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself.

"Can I ask you something?" Dan said, blushing a little as he asked. "When you were Fred, did you have a thing for red hair?"

"No, why?"

"Well, because as Dexie, you were a redhead, and now you're a redhead... I had to wonder."

"What is there to wonder at? It's just coincidence. How could it be anything else?"

"I dunno," Dan said, and for some reason, he heaved a heavy sigh. Then, startled, he looked down at my hands.

I didn't realize I was doing it, but as I sat there, I was wringing my hands, hard.

"Hey, now!" Dan said in a gentle voice. "You're squeezing the life out of those poor little fingers!"

Startled, I stopped, and pressed my palms flat against my thighs to keep them still. My fingers actually hurt! "I didn't know I was doing it," I muttered. "Sorry!"

"Don't be sorry," Dan said. "You've been through some strange, unimaginable things." He paused. "You know, there's another thing I keep forgetting to ask you: Do you mind the fact that you're a woman now?"

"Um, no, I don't," I told him. "It seems... um... interesting. I'm sure it will hold some challenges, but I think it will be fun. At least, I hope so. Now, I'm really a new person. Being a woman is the most different thing from who I was before. And yet, it just seems normal, somehow... now that I'm... in here. In this body. So, my answer is no, I don't mind at all. I think I like it, in fact."

I thought for a moment. "If you'd asked me if I wanted to be a woman, back when I was Fred, I would have said no. I'm sure. But sitting here, being a woman, it's just like, okay, this is me now. It's like I was born this way. It's not bad. In fact, it's good. So, yeah, I like it."

"Okay, good," Dan replied. I had the feeling I hadn't given the answer he was looking for, and he seemed a little impatient. He scratched his head, then glanced at his watch. "Okay. Listen, now: I've got to go inside the house. I have to see your family, see Dexie. Make sure they're good. If you're not ready to come along, you can wait in the car. I promise, I'll be quick. All I have to do is make sure that everything is settled, so I can close this case. If you don't want to come in, and can't wait by yourself, I'll turn around and drive us back."

"No," I insisted. "I have to see them. There's no sense in putting it off."

"Good," he said, with obvious relief. "Just remember: you're Phoebe. You're an alien. You're here as an observer, to verify that they're okay. This is your first trip to Earth."

"Why are we saying that? That it's my first trip to Earth?"

"Because it's an easy excuse in case you do or say anything strange, or if you seem uneasy or awkward."

"Uneasy and awkward," I repeated. "That's my motto for the day." I took a breath and smiled at him. Okay, Dan. Let's do it."

As we approached the front door, I put my hand on his arm. He stopped. "Hey, Dan — what is the story about this name, Phoebe? Are there really alien women named Phoebe?"

"No, not really," he replied. "It's just the closest Earth equivalent."

"Okay," I said and let go of his arm. He reached out and rang the front doorbell.
 

---

 

"Please, call me Kristy," Kristy Anne was saying. "Kristy Anne is way too long. It makes me sound like a little girl."

I was struck by how young and beautiful Kristy had become. With the disappearance of her wrinkles and gray hair, and the complete restoration of the body tone she'd lost with age... to say nothing of the energy and confidence she now had... I was astonished. I wasn't quite sure, but her breasts seemed bigger. Not by much, but still...

It was like seeing the Kristy Anne I met so long ago. If I were still Fred Holderlin, and met her now for the first time, I would fall in love with her today.

She'd also lost the long-suffering aspect I'd grown accustomed to. And her face... I never realized how her expression always registered pain, as if a never-ending headache had its home in the back of her head. Not any more. Kristy was light and full of life. Clearly age had been a burden to her, and that burden had been lifted.

In the same way, Dexie's appearance and behavior were a complete contrast to the girl she used to be. She smiled! She held her head high (literally), and her posture was better. She gone from a gray, downward-looking, nonexistent shadow to a likeable and engaging young woman. Her manner was light, sunny, and open. And, she was talkative. Boy, was she talkative!

"Hey!" she exclaimed. "You've got red hair, like me! I didn't know people in space could have red hair. Maybe we're kindred spirits, like Anne of Green Gables! Do you know that book? Oh! Do you know about books?"

"Yes, we have books," I assured her, "and I do know that one."

"Wow!" Dexie exclaimed.

"Have you made your trip to Spokane yet?" I asked her.

"No," she replied. "I've stayed behind to help Mrs. Holderlin and Carla. Besides, my mother was sick and I couldn't get in touch with her. She only called me yesterday to tell me that she's better. I'm going to see her next week."

"Good," I said, nodding.

"Are you really from space?" Dexie asked me. When I assured her I was indeed an alien, she asked, "How old are you?"

"I'm, uh, 31," I replied. I wasn't quite sure. Dan threw in the phrase, "in Earth years," as if that somehow helped. I guess it covered my confusion.

Carla, unlike the other two, seemed unchanged: she was her usual calm, positive self. It wasn't hard to see the vein of sadness there, a kind of wound that she and Kristy wore... but on the whole they both looked good. Better than good. They were sorry about Fred's death, and deeply hurt, but they were hopeful for the future. They were going to make things work.

It felt weird and uncomfortable, to stand there and deceive them, pretending to be a stranger. At the same time, I felt like an intruder. I felt displaced. And I felt like a jerk and heel; a man who abandoned his family. Still, all the work and planning I'd done throughout my life obviously paid off: I hadn't left a mess. I provided for my family. They didn't need to worry. They were going to be fine. I felt proud and relieved.

... and of course, immensely sad.

"Where are you from?" Dexie asked me.

"Schenectady," I answered without thinking.

Kristy dropped the spoon she was holding. "My God!" she exclaimed. "My husband was from Schenectady!"

"What a coincidence!" Dexie cried. "Is there really a planet called Schenectady?"

Dan avoided my eye, but I managed to find my own cover: "No, not exactly," I replied. "It's just that the word Schenectady is the closest Earth equivalent to how we say it."

"And how do you say it?"

"Schenectady," I said, feeling rather stupid.

"It sounds the same to me," Dexie observed.
 

---

 

We didn't stay much longer after that gaffe. Dan made some excuses, handed out his business cards, and the two of us got back on the road, driving west. Twenty minutes later, Dan pulled into a field. The spaceship descended and opened its ramp.

"There's your ride," Dan said. "It's been nice knowing you."

"Yes, thanks for taking me out there," I said, feeling quite uncertain and vulnerable. "And thanks for... all the rest."

He shrugged amiably, then jumped out so he could open my door.

"Hey," he called to me softly. "In case it ever matters... I've been sober for two weeks now."

"Congratulations," I told him.

"Thanks," he said. "And thank you for the gift." He fixed his eyes on my face. "It inspires me..."

He waited for my reaction, and seeing none, he added, "...and puzzles me."

He waited a little longer, then gave up and ended with, "So thank you."

"Sure thing," I replied, although I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

He took a step back and seemed to fold up into himself. He gestured to the ramp and said, "You'd better go." He took another step backward and stood there with a... lost expression on his face. He seemed forlorn, like a child who'd been left behind. Like the one kid who didn't get any candy. I couldn't help but feel sad and sorry for him.

On impulse, I took two steps toward him, put my hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. I figured, I'm a girl now. Why not? He looks like he needs it.

He looked startled, then pleased, and then a grin broke across his face.

"I'm not worthy!" he joked, then ran off to jump into his car. He drove away, waving and honking, trailing a billow of red dust. I ran into the ship before the dusty cloud overtook me.
 

---

 

"How long have you been standing at that window?" a man asked me.

I shrugged. "A couple of minutes," I replied. "I'm waiting for the, uh—" and gestured to the door behind me.

"The view — or the absence of a view — isn't going to change," he said. "We're in deep space. It's going to be hours before there's anything to see."

"That's okay," I told him. "It's my first flight. I've never seen such total blackness before."

"Total blackness?" he repeated. "Total boredom! But... to each his own," he quipped, rolling his eyes a little. Then, thankfully, he left. The door behind me opened, and a woman, my therapist/counselor, gestured me inside.

"I must have to apologize," she told me, "I am yet to master your language. We must have to make do as your saying goes. Am I right?"

"Yes," I told her. "And don't worry. Your English is just fine."

With a look of alarm, she said, "I was given to understand that I was learning American. Is it not?"

"American, English, they're really the same," I told her.

She gave me a dubious look. "I regret to inform you: my firm belief is that our linguists are likely to have better information on that point than you. Is it correct to say than you?"

"Yes, that's perfectly okay," I said, tacitly conceding the point. Honestly, I didn't care.

"Okay!" she repeated. "Awesome! These phrase-words are very American, is it not?"

"Oh, yes," I agreed.

"Awesome," she said again, obviously pleased with herself. "Now, have you achieved familiarity with your court records, in particular the recording in which you explain to yourself the current situation into which you are...," she paused, lost in her overlong sentence. After some thought, she found the way out: "...the current situation into which you find yourself? Is that correct? To say, you find yourself?"

"Yes, it's correct. And yes, I have seen the records and my recording. Many times."

"Have you evolved a summary feeling and/or an intellectual—" she paused and looked up, searching for the word "—comprehension of the said material?"

"Yes," I said, hoping it was the answer she was looking for.

"On the level of details, is there anything you would care to raise as a topic of intimate discussion?"

"There is one thing. I'd like to know more about Phoebe, the woman who gave me this body."

"That is perfectly out of the question," she responded. "It's both illegal and immoral."

"Immoral?" I repeated.

"Yes, I believe that is a common American word."

"It is a common American word," I agreed, "but I don't think it's appropriate."

"My point exactly," she agreed.

"No. I mean, I should be able to know about her life. She gave her life for me."

"I am literally at a loss for words," the woman told me. "What engendered this feeling in you?"

"I've watched the video of me-as-Dexie, over and over, and one thing that she, or I, insist upon is that this life that I've been given, Phoebe's life, is not a tabula rasa—"

The therapist interrupted by crying, "Wait! Wait!" She whispered the words taboul eraser into her pad. "Hmm," she said, in a critical tone, "I do not believe that taboo espasser is a word at all."

"I mean blank slate," I offered, as an alternative.

She whispered that (correctly) into her pad, and frowning, read, "Hollow stone; ghee-oh-dee."

"What?" I exclaimed.
 

---

 

"Geode," Alan explained. "She was trying to say geode. It's an interesting accidental image."

"Why would she say that word?" I asked him.

"She was trying to understand," Alan replied. "In any case, she was correct: you don't have the right to know anything about Phoebe, aside from general information, on the level of public records. Her life, her apartment, her belongings, her bank account — don't come to you. It all goes to her estate. In this case, her family."

"I don't want any of that!" I told him, shocked that he would think so.

He handed me a folder containing a dozen or so printed sheets. "This is what you can know: her medical history, birthdate, planet and city of origin, and general facts about her life. You will be assigned new identity information, including a new name, which is something you might want to decide for yourself. You can't keep her name, and I assume you don't want to be called Fred or Dexie."

"I haven't thought about it," I told him. "I'll come up with something. But what about her family? Her friends? Was she married?"

"She was engaged to be married," Alan told me, "but you have to understand that all of that is over. You have no obligations toward Phoebe's family or friends. This isn't just a point of law; it's part of our cultural norms. If you did try to contact her family or her intended husband, it would be taken as a breach of propriety. They would be horrified."

"Don't you think that some of them, one of them, like a parent or grandparent, would want to see Phoebe at some point?"

"It may happen," Alan conceded, "but the expectation would be for you to refuse."

"Can I put myself down as being open to it?" I asked him.

"If you like," he replied. "I can draw up a declaration for you to sign. It's not without precedent."

"Good," I said. "It just something that me-as-Dexie particularly insisted on."

"Fine," he agreed.

"So, what happens to me now?" I asked.

"For the next two years, you'll be obliged to stay onboard here. It's the crew's mandate. You'll get some schooling in our language, culture, and history, as well as training in some of the simpler duties on the ship here.

"Since this ship is one of the few equipped for time travel, you may end up being part of a mission to the past, but those are few and far between.

"Ultimately, unless you elect some other viable opportunity, you'll be brought back to Phoebe's planet of origin, where you'll be given an allowance, public housing, and access to educational opportunities. It's a nice planet. A little colder than you're used to, but a very pleasant planet nonetheless."

"It's not called Schenectady, by any chance, is it?" I asked with a smile.

"No," he replied, smiling back. "Not even close."
 

---

 

Back on Earth, an attorney who was sometimes known as Dan, walked in a small, dark bar in West Texas. He looked around, and finding no familiar faces, sat down at the bar. He had a surprise waiting. The bartender was not the pot-bellied, reformed biker that Dan had come to expect. Instead, the barkeep was a tall, attractive woman in her late twenties with long legs, dangerous curves, and short red hair.

Dan groaned.

She turned at the sound and said, "Wait. Don't tell me: you have a 'thing' for redheads."

"Yes, I do," he confessed, "but I will do my level best to not inflict myself upon you. I'm still wounded by the last one... or two... that got away."

"How'd they get away?" she joked. "You forgot to tie 'em up?"

"No," Dan replied, affecting a self-effacing tone, "One simply vanished, and the other literally climbed aboard a ship and sailed away forever."

"Very poetic," the barkeep commented, as she assessed him with a quick glance. "What are you drinking?"

"A tall glass of tonic water, please."

"Tonic water? What's that?"

"Make me a gin and tonic," he explained, "but leave out the gin."

"You got it!" she chirped, and quickly filled his glass. Then she moved down the bar away from him, wiping and cleaning and straightening up. She shoved warm bottles of beer into a cabinet filled with ice, and ran a rack of dirty glasses through the little dishwasher.

Dan, alone at the other end, extracted a tiny pouch from his hip pocket. The pouch was made of a soft cloth that felt expensive in itself. Inside the pouch was a diamond ring. Dan opened the pouch enough to see the ring shining, as it seemed, by its own light.

Also in the pouch, folded up small, was a note, written by Fred-as-Dexie. She'd passed it to Alan, the alien attorney, before she and Dan climbed into the lifeboat, before the aliens went peeling back in time to rescue the real and original Dexie.

Alan, after talking to Dan about alcohol, propriety, conflict of interest and the rest, handed the ring and the note to Dan. "Dexie wanted you to have this," he said.

Dan, after reading the note and examining the ring, exclaimed, "Why?"

Alan shrugged. "She didn't say."

Dan read the note for the forty-third time. The note never changed: it never got any clearer or made any more sense. What it said was this: Give this ring to someone worthy. Or keep it yourself. It was punctuated with a smiley face.

"Redheads!" Dan sighed. "They'll be the death of me."

© 2014 by Kaleigh Way

 

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THE END
(unless you want to pretend that you've gone back in time,
and start reading again from the beginning)

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