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Flashback (mf-teens, v)
by donovan@pa.mother.com (Donovan Colbert)
(C) 1995 Donovan M. Colbert.
Permission granted to freely distribute this text, in it's entire
form, including this notice, by electronic means on a not-for-
profit basis only. Any other use including, but not limited to,
print media, film or audio-cassette is a violation of Federal
Copyright Law.
I told them several times that she was my girlfriend, but they
never believed me. Not my wife, not the cops, not the judge nor
the jury. I guess the fact that she was only 15 years old, and
that I had gone out with her in Junior High both weighed against
me. How the hell was I supposed to be able to explain that she
hadn't aged one day in over ten years, or that she wouldn't leave
when I told her to. I guess I should start at the beginning...
I was sitting in the den watching television. The wife had evening
classes at the local community college. I picked at the two slabs
of thin, bland turkey that the box had promised was enough for
even the hungriest man. Seinfield rambled on to George about his
latest affair, and I ingested processed planks of dead bird.
The doorbell rang, shattering Jerry's reverie. Groaning my
discontent, I pushed the dinner away from myself and rose from the
couch. I wasn't expecting anyone, so the knock at the door was
limited to three distasteful alternatives. A solicitor was bad, a
neighbor was worse, but please, God, deliver me from Travelling
Evangelists, in particular those of the Jehovah's Witnesses or
Mormon faith.
I pulled the curtains aside and peered out the kitchen window. It
appeared I had selected door number 1, Door to Door solicitor.
Although, as far as the late-night knock on the door lottery was
concerned, I hadn't pulled a horrible selection. An attractive
teenaged girl, blonde hair, wind breaker and tight jeans stood at
the door, contemplating her feet. The lack of merchandise
indicated that she was most likely looking for donations or
conducting a political poll or survey. I could get this over with
in a commercial break.
I opened the door, and the girl looked up. Her eyes were frantic,
her lips pressed tight and her forehead creased with worry. A
flash of recognition arced across my brain for a moment and then
was gone. She looked at me for a moment as the worry disappeared
from her face.
"Good, it is you, I had a helluva time finding you," she said as
she pushed her way past me into the house.
"Pardon me," I responded, "do I know you"?
Ignoring my question, she continued, "you know, I've missed you so
much, it's been so long since we saw each other".
"Wha-," I said, the beginning of a theory taking place in the back
of my mind. My buddies were obviously playing a joke at my
expense. I could see them putting together the basic groundwork in
my mind. "We'll send over a cute teenager, have her lead him
through a song and dance, and then bust in and have a good laugh
as his face turns red". Put a younger sister or niece up to it by
bribe or extortion, sit back out front, and have a few beers.
Holding a finger up to pause her, I backed away towards the
kitchen window. "Excuse me, please," I said as I retreated.
In the kitchen I again pulled the curtains back, this time
scanning the street for cars with shadowy figures inside. The road
was empty of automobiles. I glanced along the bushes that ran
alongside the house, expecting that they were perhaps hiding from
my view there. I didn't see anyone.
I wheeled around and almost ran into her, letting out a startled
yelp.
"Who're ya lookin' for," she questioned me.
"My wife, she'll be home any minute."
"What are you talking about? Your wife? Are you feeling O.K.?
You're not stoned, are you," she replied.
I could feel the perplexed and crooked grin that played across my
face as I said, "Stoned, I don't do drugs, young lady."
"What is with you, David? You're talking like you're an old man!"
"I am an old man, compared to you," I countered to buy time,
wondering how she knew my name, my earlier suspicions nearly
confirmed.
It worked, for about a second. She mirrored the sideways grin at
me for a moment, then turned and bounced into the living room.
"c'mon in here," she called over her shoulder, "we have a bunch to
catch up on!"
Not liking this joke and wondering exactly what was going on, I
followed her.
She sat down on the couch, pulling her legs up indian-style
underneath her and I was once again hit with a searing bolt of
recognition. I searched my mind to recall which buddy of mine sat
like that, sure that it must be a family trait that I recognized.
I did know someone, but I couldn't quite put my finger on who it
was. Frustrated, I sat down on the lazy-boy opposite the couch.
She grabbed the remote and with a static snap the television
blinked off.
She regarded me, and then, patting at the empty space next to her
said, "Don't sit so far away, I don't bite". Then smiling, added,
"often".
I was now feeling more than a little uncomfortable with the
situation. I noticed she had removed her jacket. She wore an out
of fashion collared shirt that looked from the mid-eighties under
a tight salmon colored angora sweater. For a girl her age, she was
well developed, with powerful legs and a shapely bust. I sighed in
resignation.
"O.k., which one of them put you up to this," I asked bluntly.
"Which-what-who?!? What are you talking about?"
"I know they told you this would be funny, but I'm not enjoying
this," I told her. Raising my voice to a more audible level then,
"I don't think this is very FUCKING FUNNY" I bellowed, hoping that
the prankster would let themselves be known.
Instead, the girl cringed away from me, a hurt and frightened look
on her face. Not exactly what I had in mind.
"Damn, listen, I'm sorry," I apologized, "I didn't mean to scare
you. But this joke isn't funny."
She looked at me as if I might be a card short of a full deck. "I
know it has been awhile, but don't you recognize me, David, it's
me, Corie."
Again, a second of recognition, only this time, a sunburst. She
did look a lot like Corie, even the way she was dressed. Now I was
real curious. I did a mental run-through of my oldest friends, who
would have known me when I dated Corie, and knew her well enough
to be able to find a girl who looked so remarkably like her. I
couldn't think of a single person from back then that I still
associated with, let alone one who would play this kind of joke on
me.
"O.k., let's assume you are Corie," I played along. I had decided
that the best way to end this game was to trap the girl with
things that only Corina could possibly know. I frantically
searched my mind for events that only Corina and I had shared.
"Remember that night when we went over to the river and sat in the
high grass," I began.
"Yeah," she said, and I could see the night reflected in her eyes,
"it was so windy that night. And the cops stopped you when you
were walking home and harassed you because they figured you had
some pot on you, but for once you didn't."
A dull ache was beginning to throb behind my temples. I massaged
the sides of my skull in a slow circular motion. "Yeah, my dealer
had gotten busted a few days before, and everything was dry," I
almost whispered.
Corie smiled, "what was that guy's name, you called him Crazy
Hasko, didn't you?"
"Yup."
I tried to recall if I had retold that story to anyone. Surely I
had, but, the funny thing was, I hadn't been able to remember what
my dealer's name was for years. I had quit doing drugs completely
when I was seventeen, three years later than the date we were
talking about, and it was now at least nine years since that time.
I also didn't tell many people I had been a completely burnt out
stoner when I was a teenager.
I was starting to find the whole situation kind of frightening,
but I couldn't see it getting much worse.
Suddenly jumping up from the couch, the girl plunged her hands
into her pockets. "I've got something for you, you left it in my
backyard the night my parents came home early," she said
excitedly.
She pulled her hand out and produced a small brass pipe with a
carved wooden bowl. The bowl was caked with the ash and resin of
what had been smoked in it. One side of the bowl had a small
crescent shaped chunk out of it near the rim where the wood had
caught fire. I knew that it had caught fire because it was my
pipe, I had lost it when I was 15, at about the time I was dating
Corina. I was certain that no one in my current circle of friends
would have been able to produce that pipe. My heart skipped along
in my chest as if it thought it were racing a Porsche on the
autobahn.
Things had gotten much worse. I absently wondered if I was having
either a nervous breakdown or an L.S.D. flashback. At least a
flashback would (probably) go away. I had suffered an occasional
flashback since I quit my habits. Minor stuff, hallucinations out
of the corner of my eyes that disappeared like fairy dust when I
turned my head, or hearing a voice in an empty room, or just a
vague feeling of dislocation and hyper-reality, but nothing
intense. Hell, this was more intense than any full- blown acid
trip I had ever had.
Corina held the pipe out to me in her open palm, waiting for me to
take it from her. I took the pipe from her hand. I could feel her
flesh, warm and soft, as our hands brushed against each other. She
felt real enough for a hallucination. So did the pipe, for that
matter. I ran my index finger over the crescent shaped burn and
could feel the rough texture of the grain as it broke down under
my finger. The faint and musky smell of marijuana residue rose to
my nostrils bringing back memories of the times I held this pipe
up to my lips and inhaled deeply from it. I did raise the pipe to
my mouth, and took a dry hit off of it, sucking the taste of ash
and grit into my throat.
"So, what are you here for," I tried to sound casual.
"Well, I've missed you a lot," she said, looking at me
uncertainly, "and I was sort of hoping, you know, that we could
get back together."
A smile played across my lips. My mind was really pulling out all
the stops on me with this one. I figured I would entertain some
self-indulgent humoring of my sub-conscious.
"If you hadn't noticed, I'm in my late twenties, now, and you
appear to still be about fifteen years old, I just don't think it
would work. Not to mention the fact that my wife would probably
not appreciate me dating my eight grade girlfriend."
Corina looked at me, her lips barely trembling, the corners of her
mouth turned slightly down.
"I don't care who your girlfriend is now, how can you just turn
your back on all we had," she responded, her voice quavering.
"Girlfriend? I said WIFE, like as in MARRIED," I spoke to her as
if she were slow of mind and hard of hearing.
"Wife, girlfriend, same difference," she said dismissively, as if
she had barely heard me.
"This is unreal," I exclaimed. "You are nothing more than a
hallucination. I must be sick, and my body has just ate a ten year
old fat cell that had some very potent L.S.D. attached to it, and
sooner or later, an hour from now, or 8 hours from now, you're
going to disappear."
Her face brightened. "You're on ACID? Why didn't you say so. Now I
see why you're acting so strange. Why didn't you say you were
tripping? All this talk about being married and being twenty."
"I am married, and I'm twenty seven."
"Uh-huh, sure," she said, clasping her hand around mine and
pulling at me. "Why don't we go lie down, and you'll feel better
in awhile."
I yanked my hand from hers. "I don't WANT to lie down, I'm not
tired!"
"Hmnnn, it must be laced with speed," she thought out loud. "Would
you rather go for a walk, or something," she asked me, taking my
hand gently in hers again.
Hell, I thought, it's just a hallucination. Maybe I should lay
down. I was certain that I couldn't convince the hallucination to
wait in the living room for me while I took a nap. I realized that
I still had the pipe clenched firmly in my free hand. I made a
conscious effort to relax, and sat the pipe down on the coffee
table at the end of the couch. The clink of the brass pipe against
the marble tabletop sounded amplified as it echoed in my ears.
I turned back to her. "No, no, actually, I guess I am a little
tired, let's go lay down," I said. Maybe I should have seen if I
could have gotten her to wait on the couch.
The bedroom door closed behind us. I heard her engage the hook-
latch, which struck me as rather strange, considering that our
bedroom door had a lock on the handle. I turned around and
regarded the door. It was the door to the bedroom my wife and I
shared, but someone had attached a hook-latch to the door. It
appeared to be the same hook-latch that had secured the door to my
room as a teenager. I remembered why I had stopped doing drugs in
the first place.
Corina stood in the doorway, a budding smile across her face. "It
seems like years since we've done this," she said, pushing her
hands beneath the waistband of her jeans and tugging her shirt
loose.
"Decades," I corrected her.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, harder than I had meant to, as
she slipped her sweater up and over her head. Her flat midriff was
exposed as she removed the garment, and my breathing quickened in
spite of myself. I wondered inwardly what internal bogeyman had
awoke this memory. Again I found myself wondering if this was
merely an acid flashback or the onset of a mid-life crisis.
The sound of her zipper upset my train of thought. I glanced back
up as she wiggled the jeans over her hips. Her silk panties snuck
down slightly with the jeans, though she still remained covered.
The jeans fell down around her ankles and she stepped out of them,
kicking her keds off at the same time. To my relief she pulled her
panties back up. She stood regarding me, her shirt hanging down
just above mid-thigh. I could see the straps of her panties where
the shirt was cut high over her hips.
She came across the room to where I sat. She stood me up and
grabbed me by the waist, pulling me closer to her. I felt her
hands playing with the buttons of my Levis. She tugged down on the
top button, and with a staccato burst my jeans were unbuttoned. My
jeans slid over my waist as she leaned forward to kiss me. Our
lips met.
I'm not certain how long I was asleep, but it was twilight when we
entered the bedroom, and it was completely dark now. Through my
waking fog I remembered the events of the evening. A dreamlike
feeling pervaded, which relieved me. I glanced around the room
with half-lidded eyes. No fifteen year old ex- girlfriends in
sight. I got out of bed and dressed, buttoning my jeans as I
opened the door. I noticed that the latch-lock was absent, yet
another good sign.
As I left the room and started to walk down the hallway, a sound
from the spare room stopped me short. I hesitated a moment then,
and listened carefully. I tried to tell myself it was my
imagination, that it was the wind. It could just be the acoustics
of the room making it sound like a girl softly sobbing. I failed
to convince myself. I cracked the door open and peeked inside the
guest room. Corina was stretched out on her stomach across the
bed, her back to me. The shirt she had worn earlier was gone. Her
bare shoulders rose and fell with each sob. I let my eyes wander
down her body. Her panties hugged at her round buttocks and her
legs sprawled out behind her. She was turning the pages of
something, but from my perspective I couldn't quite make out what
it was. I inched the door a bit more open, enough that I could
barely slip through the doorway. As I maneuvered, a gust of fate
grabbed the door and it swung open wide, slamming into the wall
behind it. Cori bolted upright, the marriage album she had been
thumbing through falling to the floor. She crossed her arms
defensively over her bare chest. She looked at me accusingly, her
eyes shifting between mine and the album that lay open on the
floor. Her makeup had run down her cheeks marking the path of her
tears and her eyes were bloodshot and watery.
I probably didn't look to be in much better shape myself. I could
hear my blood pumping in my ears and I seemed to be standing at
the dark end of a long tunnel. I was shivering cold but my cheeks
felt like someone was holding a branding iron to them. I wasn't
certain that my legs would continue to support me.
"Why," she started, "why didn't you tell me, make me understand?"
"I tried, but you wouldn't listen," I replied.
I thought about it for a second, then added, "And you're just a
hallucination, anyhow, right?"
She looked at me in astonishment. "Hallucinate this," she
exclaimed, grabbing an ashtray and throwing it across the room at
me.
I flinched back, waving my hands in front of my face. The ashtray
cut a gouge in my wrist, deflected and thudded off my left temple.
I felt the bruise rising instantly as the ashtray impacted the
wall behind me and burst into shards. I wiped the back of my hand
across my forehead and regarded the blood streaked across it. I'd
had some pretty intense trips when I was a kid, but this one sure
took the cake. The pain searing through my skull was pretty damned
realistic too. My mouth had a dry metallic taste and I felt a wild
undercurrent of panic tearing through my chest like floodwater
broken free from its dam. I watched drops of blood cascade in slow
motion to the hardwood floor beneath my feet, splattering into a
crown, a reflection of my face starting back at me from the peak
of each crest. The voice of a drill sergeant screamed insults and
commands at me in my mind, but I couldn't seem to understand
anything he said. Just his screaming, dry monotone, profane and
angry. I could feel his spittle hitting my face. I brushed my hand
across my face to wipe it away, and it came away covered with more
blood. I was confused, I remember thinking, "The man in my head is
spitting blood in my face".
Then a floor lamp caught me across the other temple, shattering
the shaft in two and bringing me back to my senses. I sprinted
across the room towards Cornia, who was already grabbing at a new
heavy object. I assumed her intent was to hurl it at my profusely
bleeding head. I was dimly aware of the sound of more shattering
glass behind me as the floor lamp crashed through a glass table
top. I lunged at her, grabbing her arms and restraining her,
forcing her to drop the large metal paperweight she wielded. It
fell to the ground, landing on my foot, crushing bone and tearing
flesh. We wrestled to assert the better position, an awkward dance
of flashing fists, kicking and guttural grunting. Crimson puddles
of blood and red footprints streaked the floor, and we each
scurried to keep our balance as we struggled. I regarded the eyes
of my personal demon come back to haunt me, and saw a cold and
empty eternity behind those eyes. I realized it meant to drag me
back to that hell with it.
The sound of books hitting the floor stopped us from our
struggles. Without releasing our hold on each other, we turned to
look in the doorway.
My wife stood regarding us, my torn and bloodied body locked with
a young, naked girl with tear streaked face, surrounded by a scene
of destruction and rampage.
"What the hell is going on here," she demanded of us, demanded of
me.
I pushed Corina away from me, then. I pushed her gently, not with
much force. She was distracted, and her stockinged feet slipped on
the blood streaked hardwood floor. Her arms pinwheeled in a
frantic bid for balance, a look of comic astonishment on her face.
Then she fell backwards, back into the broken and jagged table.
The broken shaft of the lamp had landed base up, and I ran, arm
outstretched, to try and pull her back. Her hand reached for mine,
but we missed, and I heard the sound of the shaft tearing through
bone and flesh. Again everything became amplified. I could hear
the soft and wet sound of the spear of wood as it burst from her
chest. Saw the wound open where her ribcage met under her breasts,
saw the blood shoot from the wound like a broken water-main. The
broken edges of the table bit into her body, the base of her neck,
her arms and legs. The sound of more shattering glass drove into
my mind like shrapnel, the cracking of wood reminded me of walking
through dry leaves at the beginning of autumn.
Then it was silent again. Until my wife started screaming.
Name: Donovan Colbert E-mail: donovan@mail.mother.com (Donovan
Colbert) Date: 06/27/95 Time: 10:21:57