66. Simple Twists of Fate, Part One

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"Honey, that's why you never sign anything on blind faith," my dad told me via hands-free Bluetooth.  "There's always some sort of string that ties your hands, where these tests are concerned."

"I know, Dad, I'm sorry," I sighed, and tried not to roll my eyes.  I loved my dad, but it seemed he really never ceased to be a lawyer; by blind faith, he was referring to all the waivers and release documents I had signed, which completely prevented him from going after Dr. C or Stuart or anyone else remotely involved in the T-Rod Incident (as it would come to be known).

Scott tapped me on the shoulder from the back seat once the phone call ended, and tried to stick his phone in my face.  "Hey, Chris, look at this!"

I shook my head, not even turning around to meet my brother's eyes.  "Show me later."

"But it's that new YTP from Al-"

"I won't find it funny right now, Scott," I said.  "Show me later when these meds have worn off- or the shock, or whatever the hell this is."

My mother shot me a look of surprise, and I corrected myself.  "I'm sorry- whatever the heck this is."

We were on our way back from the hospital.  Since my condition had remained stable all day, I was discharged that night as promised.  However, I was not permitted to drive myself home, as my reflexes and thought processes still hadn't completely recovered, so I rode the whole long way back with my mother and brother.  Dad was in a separate car; he had driven straight from work to come see me and follow us home. 

She sighed and nodded.  "Epilepsy.  How strange.  There's no history of epilepsy in our family."

"I don't think it's epilepsy, Mom.  I mean, doctors get it wrong sometimes.  They didn't even give me any seizure medications to keep taking."

"I hope not.  I mean, I hope it's not epilepsy."  She thought a moment.  "That intense of a virtual reality, though, for that long- it's amazing to me you recovered as quickly as you did.  No brain damage or anything.  You're like Wolverine."

Now my mother was half talking to me, and half to herself.  "Oh, Lord, I hate VR.  I hate all this technology, back then when I was growing up we didn't have all these screens, these backlights, screw with your head.  Julia, we were so worried about you, why didn't you at least let us know?  Call us or something?"

"I tried to, but my Magic M- uh, my phone's signal kind of died on me.  By the way, do you have it?"

"Have what?"

"My phone."

My mother frowned.  "You lost it?"

"I don't know.  Maybe C and K have it.  They took my ring, maybe they took my phone."

"What ring?"

"Or maybe there was no ring in the first place."

"Julia, what are you talking about?"

"I don't know," I sighed, rubbing my face wearily.  "I don't even know why I did it at all."

"You did it for grades, is what they told me."

"Mm-hm.  I forgot about these, uh- research studies we had to sign up for, worth a good portion of the grade.  Then Dr. K-"

"Who's Dr. K?" Scott interrupted.  "Was that the creepy one who talked like a pedo stoner?"

"Scott, come on," my mother groaned. 

But I nodded my head.  "Dr. Kurzweil.  He's not anymore, though.  I mean, he is not and was never a pedo, never, but he was a stoner once.  I think.  It would make sense if he did.  But anyway- he was the one who said I'd get full credit for those studies if I took part in the experiment- the test."

"You poor thing, you didn't have to go through all that.  I mean, of course it's important to keep your grades good, but- not to that extreme!"

I nodded slowly.  "I won't do it ever again, I promise.  I wouldn't have volunteered in the first place, if I had known it was VR."

"You sound so weird, Chris," Scott said bluntly.

I looked back.  "Do I?"

"Yeah, like you're- you're talking all British and stuff.  You said 'fust place,' and 'Vee-ah.'"

"Oh," I swallowed.  "Sorry." 

Tomorrow I would have to send in for a replacement phone; I had ordered my original LG off the online store, so I would probably have to wait before it came in and I could transfer my old number to the new SIM. 

It went awkwardly quiet for a minute or two.  My mother reached over and turned on the radio, switching it to my favorite classic rock station.  A certain song had just begun playing.  She smiled at me for affirmation, while the hair at the back of my neck stood up- and my hands shook.

Stomp-Stomp-CLAP.

Stomp-Stomp-CLAP.

Stomp-St-

I turned off the music, quickly before I could hear that voice.

My mother looked at me strangely.  "Why did you do that?"

"C said I shouldn't listen to that stuff," I whispered, trying to suppress the images of that fourth day, me and fourteen other people stomping away in the studio, memories valiantly trying to rise past this barrier around my soul, desperately trying to melt the ice in which it was cased.  They seemed so real, those memories, even in retrospect, but I would not be fooled again. 

"He meant, just while you were at the hospital.  If it makes you feel better, please let it play."

"No," I shook my head.  "I think it's good advice.  Besides, I've been, um- obsessing over them for long enough, it's time I moved on."

She looked me over, disturbed by the chill in my voice. 

"When I get home, if nobody minds," I announced to no one in particular, "I am going to take a nice hot shower, make myself a cup of tea, and box up a few things and put them in storage."

"Goose," my mother urged.  "You just got out of the hospital.  Rest."

"I won't be able to rest until I get those things out of sight," I murmured. 

"Whatcha gonna pack up?" Scott asked.

"Oh, just little dumb things.  Certain magazines, books, a bunch of records, you know.  And the pictures and videos, of course.  Can't forget those."  I also may have to unfollow those Queen spam accounts on Instagram.  The less of him around, the better off I'll be.

But my mother shook her head.  "Julia, no.  I'm pulling rank on this one.  It's nine o'clock now, it'll be at least ten when we get home.  You have an exam tomorrow morning in psychology-"

"I do?"  I blinked.  "But tomorrow is Satu- oh, yeah."  For I vaguely remembered griping about the injustice of the university system a week ago when I found out I had to drive all the way up to the school for one final semester exam scheduled on the Saturday before actual Finals Week.  The only thing that made the concept tolerable was the subject.

"Yes.  So you are going home and getting your rest.  We'll see how you feel in the morning, see whether or not you need to be driven back up here."

"I'll be fine," I muttered. 

Then I reached over and turned the radio back on to hear Stevie Nicks warbling the chorus of "Gold Dust Woman" listened to that echo-y filter on her voice, the warped guitars and sparse drums as they created the image of a dim, undefined wasteland. I looked down at my lap, hands folded, mouthing the lyrics silently. She seemed to be asking the same questions I was asking myself.

"Well, did she make you cry,
Make you break down,
Shatter your illusions of love?
And is it over now?
Do you know how
To pick up the pieces and go home?"

It was all in my head, I said to myself suddenly, more convinced now than I had been that morning. VR, VR, VR. That was almost all I'd heard today. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The only pieces to pick up are those of my own fractured brain.

Good God. What a joke to play on myself- what a ridiculous joke. Only in my dreams would he have even made eye contact with me. But Freddie Mercury wanting me- worse still, loving me? Loving some twenty-year-old American girl with bad eyes, messy hair, and a conscience? That wasn't even believable enough to fantasize about. The mere concept in itself was thoroughly laughable.

So why wasn't I at least relieved that I still had my virginity and my heart- or ashamed that I'd allowed myself to dream such vivid, extended dreams of losing both to Freddie Mercury?

We pulled to a brief halt at the stoplight, and my mother looked me over. She put her hand on my cheek, stroked my hair, looked at me that seemed to say she wanted to take away whatever was bothering me deep down inside- something I wasn't even able to fully sense yet.

To myself I said, Well, this is one way to kill an obsession.  Seven years, it's taken me.  Seven years and a serious, life-threatening VR trip.  That's what it took.  Oh, well.  Whatever works, I suppose.

The light changed, and we merged onto the interstate, homeward bound.  It felt like I hadn't seen home in forever.  I really was back.  My future, my goals, my job, my mother and father, my brother, our little dog, Bowie, and my conure, Farnsworth.  All that was real and dear to me, was once more in my life, enfolding me in its warm, beautiful familiarity. 

I had exactly what I wanted.  I had my life back.

"How do you feel, sweetie?" My mother ventured carefully after a moment.

I pointed at the radio speakers, still emanating the hopeless, empty, unhappy music.

"Like that," I whispered.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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