Regeneration X (33 page)

Well, I didn’t find Loren. Parker did. Loren Brodie is a classmate of his and she went about her adjustments to CR in a completely different way. She, too, was married, and even had children. But she started in Scotland and stayed there for the most part, until she started school here. The biggest difference between us was that she set out to reinvent herself
after
her divorce—when her son and daughter were married and settled. From my perspective, her road had been much easier than my own; this is how I’ve consoled myself. I know many of my difficulties were self-inflicted, but not all of them—everyone’s case is unique.

Although Loren was a stranger to me, except for this common thread, we became instant besties; we divulged otherwise personal details of our lives to one another within the span of a week. After we bypassed all of these getting-to-know-a-person boundaries, we got down to the nitty-gritty of Renovation. I’d come to some conclusions on my own, but it was wonderful to finally be able to share my theories with someone present, female and who had regenerated to approximately the same age as me.

When we started down this road, the first question I asked her was, “How do you account for the memories of the overlapping years being even more difficult to hold on to?”

“Can’t say I’ve really noticed
that
being the case; at least not for those memories in particular. Although, I wasn’t actively trying to retrieve them as you were. I think that’s when it gets hard. I’ve always found life memories to be elusive when called upon. Instead they spring up when you least expect them to.

And I had a poor memory to begin with. I never could remember dates, names or details. I couldn’t tell you now, for example, what I wore to my secondary school prom, or what my date’s name was. I can’t remember all my pets’ names from growing up, but just the other day I thought of Miss Purrkins, my very first kitty—I think I was eight or nine,” Loren said cocking her head to one side in wonderment.

“I think you’re right. You just reminded me of my poochie Fergus when he was a little pup,” I smiled in remembrance. “Sadly, I haven’t spared a thought for him in between my calls home,” I added, feeling remorseful for having forgotten or dismissed my sweet boy; although he was mine no longer.

“How old were you when you regenerated?” I asked boldly, pushing away the sadness. I was still pondering the consequences of CR, if any, to memory.

“I was 62, and while I can’t say CR had anything to do with memory, I have had a few instances of confusion. For example, I started dating this young man and, unfortunately for me, he looked similar to my ex-husband when we married. Needless to say, I had to stop seeing the young man,” Loren punctuated with a chortle, which defied her youthful appearance.

“I rather think this is also a matter of my character—I’ll probably always be drawn to the same type of man. And then there have been a few times I’ve said things such as, ‘Does your mother know you talk like this?’ or I’ve even caught myself admonishing a classmate about having sex at her age. Those instances are embarrassing.

“Is Parker the first man you’ve dated since your regeneration?”

“Yes. And luckily, he doesn’t look at all like Michael, but I have compared their characters and mannerisms on occasion. I think this is quite normal, though. I probably did the same with every man after Miles, my first love. So, again, maybe not something which is specifically caused by CR. Good! I’ve come to all the same conclusions as you so far. This might sound a little batty, but I’m actually having fun!”

“Aye, me too. Twenty questions about Renovation.”

“Let me get another round,” I said pausing to replenish our drinks.

Soon returning with said drinks, I resumed my interrogation. “Since we’re talking about men, have you had issue with your age and their obvious immaturity getting in the way of establishing anything meaningful?”

“Aye, at first I was grossed out. I’m younger now than my son, so all the younger men were boys to me. I regenerated three years ago, and it took me about two to start dating. I’ve found it takes the right boy-man to make you feel all right with it. How about you?”

“Well, at first, Parker and I dated not because I was looking for romance or companionship, but because I was testing my feelings for my husband and our marriage. It was more about hanging out with a guy to me, probably because of the mental age difference, but a completely rotten thing to do to him. I realize this now. At the time, honestly, I was rather disconnected from the humanity of relationships other than the one I already had. I didn’t have enough respect for teens to care about Parker’s feelings.

“So we broke up. I concentrated on school for a long while and didn’t date anyone. It’s only possible now because I’ve already made this mistake. As you said, it very much depends on the ‘boy-man’ and now I’m certain where my marriage stands. I don’t get
involved
very easily, though, so I have no idea what the future holds.”

“My turn to ask. How about school? Do you have a harder time learning?” I asked, curious to know if we had experienced the same challenges in this respect.

“Oh aye! This one is easy. I do very well with my studies compared to my classmates, but I try a lot harder as well. I spend the better part of each day studying. It’s frustrating. It takes plenty of repetition to get anything to penetrate this thick skull of mine,” she said, tapping the side of her head with her knuckles.

“Does that help? Cause if you’ve got a solution, I could use one,” I said grinning and tapping my head as well.

“It might if my knuckles were a book, maybe through aggressive osmosis,” she countered. “But seriously though, I think this is another effect of an aging brain and not so much CR.”

“I agree. It is still pretty rewarding to talk about all this with someone who empathizes.”

“Back atcha. Isn’t this an American saying?”

“Mmhm, I suppose it is.”

Loren and I decided to meet again as each other’s self-proclaimed support group sponsors; we exchanged all the specifics.

・ ・ ・

I had already figured out that long-term memories only stay with you for so long, and it wasn’t because they were being pushed out by new ones being made. It’s easy to simplify it by thinking the brain can only hold one lifetime. It was a difficult concept to let go; scientifically it just seemed to make more sense. I imagined every new experience I had was shoving an old experience out of my mind; rather similar to falling in a dream—the way Dr. Baum described it—except when I was conscious. He once explained that a person wakes up abruptly before a fall because the mind is trying to realign the metaphysical planes.

This is what I envisioned with memory. After CR, the mind attempts an alignment to adjust memories and experiences in an individual’s mental timeline, just so those timelines did not overlap—a kind of safety precaution more than the idea that the brain could not contain so many memories. This was how I dealt with and accepted this fact, primarily because I couldn’t remember the details of my youth and especially the years between 17 and 35. In reality, it is much more basic; the mind ages and we forget. If I were being logical, I would have recognized that the details of my childhood were disappearing, too.

Character and values as well, as with our experiences, shape us and being young again didn’t change this. I wasn’t looking for someone—or something—to blame, but it’s taken me a long time to come to terms with what can change and what must always remain the same. Loren’s comment about being attracted to a similar type of man each time, I have to be very careful there too, for my sake as well as for the man’s.

Chapter Thirty

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,

Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky

Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull

Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.

—William Shakespeare,
All’s Well that Ends Well (1.1.)

・
・
・

PARKER AND I WERE STANDING OUTSIDE, MEETING in between classes as well as just getting some fresh air, when a woman in an obviously American couple passingly said, “bone joor!” A guffaw involuntarily erupted from my throat. First, because the mispronounced greeting seemed such a
tourist
kind of thing to do and second, somehow either Parker, me, or both of us, appeared French without having said one word. Otherwise, why had she spoken a French greeting to strangers in England? Maybe even English-speaking countries were so obviously foreign compared to the United States that French was a natural assumption. At least she knew she was in Europe. I do not expect everyone to be well travelled, but the US did get world news—an awareness of at least different countries, and English speaking ones at that, was remedial knowledge, I would have thought.

The situation was so ridiculous I felt slaphappy, and Parker and I continued to laugh rudely and uncontrollably. I felt an itch of remorse as the woman turned to look at us, but I couldn’t stop myself at this very moment. I threw my hands around my mid-section and bent over. Inhaled a few deep breaths and thought, I should excuse our (my) behavior. She meant well despite her ignorance. I ran up to them, “Pardon me. I just wanted to apologize for our rudeness. My friend was saying something which made me laugh,” I said. “The best of British to you!” I yelled at them on my way back toward Parker.

Parker pulled me close and kissed me saying, “The ‘best of British’ part was cute—at least they’ll know now they’re in Britain, although, it might confuse them. England, English, Britain, British, and let’s not forget UK, Britannia or the British Isles. You should probably have been more precise and said, ‘best of British luck,’ or just good ‘ole, ‘good luck’.”

“I know, but I still wanted to correct them, so at least they didn’t go around saying, ‘bone joor’ to everyone in London,” I said, starting to feel a bubbling of a giggle starting again. “I was tempted to ask, ‘Neither of us is wearing a beret or a red neck scarf. What made you think we were French?’ But, I thought it would give it away that we
were
laughing at them.”

Something I said inspired another public display of affection. Parker drew me near again so my head tucked neatly under his chin. He was clean-shaven and smelled warm like the sun even though it was chilly enough outside that I could see my breath. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to deserve the embrace this time. Actually, I disappointed myself. I was becoming someone who said one thing and thought another. I was acting my visible age and didn’t like it one bit. I nestled into his chest and toyed with the button on his jacket.

“See, this is another reason why I like you. You think before speaking. Girls my real age don’t,” he said giving me an answer.

“Your real age! Are you calling me a fake teenager?” How sweet. I backed away from him casually. Of course, he couldn’t know I felt two-faced even though I ‘think before I speak.’

What Inez said when Parker and I broke up earlier this year was stuck in my mind: “It was never going to go anywhere.” With everything that had happened, I could not but help think, I’m waiting for the next twenty years to pass before I will be with a lifelong companion again, if ever. I try to block the thought from my mind when I’m with Parker, so he becomes just someone I pass the time with. I’d probably be doing this for every boyfriend I have for years and years to come. I don’t want to be looking, I want to be young and just enjoy the experience. On one hand, it wasn’t a problem. I didn’t think I
could
get hurt again. On the other hand, just as I didn’t think there was someone out there for me after Miles, now there couldn’t possibly be someone after Michael. For now, I think I’m okay with it. I’ve experienced both ends of the spectrum when it comes to love in relationships; consuming and comfortable. There are letdowns and joys, moments of boredom and instances of activity. I recognize this now if I never did before.

It just feels wonderful to be pursued and desired again, and while I like hearing the words and feeling the affection, I still feel held back from returning it. I don’t want to hurt Parker.

March 19, 2027

It seems as though it’s one thing after another. With all this going on, I’ve also come to a new realization lately. My motivation for regenerating was based on my desire for a career change, which I imagined would have a trickle-down effect on the rest of my life. In the same way, my past career shaped me into who I am now. While this is still the primary reason, from the beginning I felt I didn’t quite fit into the world as it is today. I thought if I were able to control my life, everything else would fall into place because I made the fit better. However, the world and I are still divided. Where once I thought it was wonderful that the times wouldn’t change, now I toy with the idea of taking a time machine back 50 years or so. I’ve lost everything that meant anything to me, anyway.

It’s my own fault, but it doesn’t help to feel regret at this point. I just don’t know how long it will take before I change enough and not still feel like a foreigner. I don’t’ mean in this country. And the scary part is, if I didn’t fit in before, will I ever (even if I learn the ways of this modern world)? This is something I’ve never spoken with Dr. Baum about and I’m a little afraid to now. I’ve made quite a list of things that could do with a rational perspective, love and relationships being on top of the list.

My life, no matter how I go about it, seems to be running in a circle.

Parker told me he loves me. Rather than returning his speech, I wanted to scream, “Shut Up!” Why can’t things just be easy for a little while?

So now I have to either explain to a 20 year old what love means to me or stomp on his feelings (again). The oddest thing about Parker is that I can’t decide if he’s more like Michael or Miles. His way of dealing with problems is similar to Michael’s. But his charisma, from what I remember, resembles Miles’. I’m drawn to Parker and am growing fonder day by day, but I feel like I assume Inez feels all the time; I don’t know if I’m capable of love, at least not in the same way anymore.