Do-Over (A Story Commission)
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DO OVER
The room is silent, and I just stare up at the ceiling. These rooms were once filled with the hustle of my small family, but now you can hear a pin drop. The silence is a stark reminder of what I’ve lost. Salt in an open wound that I don’t think will ever heal.
If only I could go back a do things differently! If only I could have been five minutes slower, then none of this would have ever happened. If only. If only a do-over was possible!
I rub my face. I’m tired. I’m lost. I’m broken.
I look to my side and see the photo of my wife and my daughter smiling together. I can barely bring myself to look at the picture of happier times. The hole they’ve left behind in my life feels like a canyon. If only I’d stayed with them. If only I’d been there to protect them!
Just over two weeks ago, on a trip to the cinema, my wife and daughter were attacked by a junky. He demanded money from my wife, but when she refused, being headstrong like she was, he shot them both in cold blood. The love of my life and sweet, innocent child murdered for the loose change in her purse!
And where was I!?
I was parking the car thinking that it would save time! I let my wife and daughter suffer at the hands of a desperate drug addict because I wanted to save five minutes of my time! The police later told me that the murderer was found dead in a nearby ally. Martin was his name. I assume the guilt of murdering two innocent people drove him to it. His death brings me no comfort.
I pick up the photo, which was taken last summer on vacation. Tears stream from my eyes as I force myself to look at their smiling faces. Tears run down my cheek and drop from my face as I try desperately to hold it together. What am I going to do without them?
Hours pass as I sit sobbing. No one to comfort me. Not a single soul to check up on me. My wife and daughter were the light in my life, and now that light has been snuffed out. My life might as well be over.
One thought dominates my mind. My life is no longer worth living.
Lowering the picture back down on the coffee table in front of me, I touch my fingers with my lips and place a kiss on my daughter and then my wife.
“I shall see you soon, my sweets,” I say through my crying.
Tunnel vision then hits. I make my way upstairs and into the bathroom. Filling the bathtub, I connect an extension lead into the bathroom and reach for my wife's hairdryer. My body shakes, and tears stream from my eyes, but I smile.
Not even bothering to get out of my clothes, I turn on the hairdryer in my hand and lower myself into the tepid water of the bath. For a moment, I just stare at the hairdryer and my entire being is telling me to stop. It’s almost like I can hear a voice in my head screaming out, trying to save me from what I have planned.
However, my mind is made up. “I’m coming, girls…” I say, switching the hairdryer onto max.
That voice in my head appears to get louder. It screams to me to stop. If I wasn’t set on never leaving my family again, I may have listened, but they need me wherever they are!
My life flashes before my eyes as I let go of the hairdryer, and it splashes down into the water. Instantly, my skin burns, and before I know what’s happening, I see the brightest light I’ve ever experienced. This light is all-encompassing. It envelops me completely.
“Charles,” a voice says, coming directly from inside my head.
Pain is all I’ve felt these last few weeks, but right now, I feel at peace. Did I die like I planned?
“Charles,” the voice repeats. “How far would you go to save your family?”
I check my surroundings, looking for the person, but all I see is the bright light in every direction. I want to talk back, but my lips, they do not move. I look down at myself. My body is unfamiliar. Smaller and more feminine than I’m used to.
“Yes,” the voice rumbles in my head. “I see. You would do anything for a do-over? A chance to change what was.”
I can barely feel my body as the voice talks to me, but as those final words reverberate in my mind, I start to regain feeling. A sensation like I’m being pulled down, back to where I once came.
“A do-over.” Those words echo in my mind.
Like waking up from a nightmare, I bolt upright in bed and find myself struggling to breathe. I scream out so incredibly high-pitched in utter agony. My vision is still blurry, and my mind racing at a million miles a second as I try and remember what just happened.
“Sis!” a young boy screams out, bursting into the room. “What’s wrong?”
The last thing I remember was being in the bathtub at home. I have no idea where I am, and from across this small bedroom, a boy, no more than eight years old, stares at me with panic written across his face.
“Carla!?” the boy says, rushing to be close to me. “W-why are you screaming!?”
I frown hard as I try and work out who this boy Is and why he’s just called me Carla, but it’s no good. I don’t know who he is. That’s when I take a moment to look at the bedroom around me. In one corner, a PC at home in the early nineties sits on a desk surrounded by school books. To my side, a slightly open closet. Hanging from the closet door handle is a pair of girl's flared jeans.
“Carla,” the boy says again, regaining my attention. “You’re scaring me.”
I shake my head in confusion, and then long hair whips in my eyes. I grab hold of the hairs in retaliation for dangling in front of my face and try to yank them away, only to find that they are attached to my head.
“Ouch!” I shriek out in the girliest of voices.
The boy giggles. “Your hair is attached to your head, silly.”
Still clutching the hair with my hands, I look down at the boy, confused. Slowly, I let go and lower my hands in front of my eyes. My heart skips a beat as my hands look so small and dainty. My nails are painted bright Barbie pink.
“W-what…?” I say nervously, as I remember that one time my daughter painted my nails.
That’s when I really start to feel strange. Not only do I weirdly have long hair that’s annoyingly in front of my eyes, but my body feels so….different. My legs are encased with a tight material like I’m wearing tights. My backside feels so incredibly large, and my hips so wide.
Looking down at my legs, my mouth falls open as I see myself wearing Marie Jane's, tights, and a cream dress. I scramble up on the bed, reacting to what I see. I’m scared and confused. Why am I wearing girl’s clothing!?
“Carla,” the boy giggles again. “What’s the matter? Did you see a ghost?”
I don’t reply. Instead, I run a hand up one leg and then feel the material of the dress I’m wearing. Then, like a gunshot to the head, I feel an emptiness between my legs. A flatness and a tenderness I’ve never ever experienced before. Not only that, but my underwear feels so soft and delicate against my skin.
I begin to peel back the skirt of the dress I’m wearing to investigate, but before I can confirm my fears, the young boy speaks up again, causing me to jump in fright.
“Erm, what were you doing in here?” he asks, pointing at the bedside table next to the bed I’m sitting on.
I look at what he’s pointing at. Stacked next the an alarm clock, also straight out of the early nineties, are several boxes of painkillers. I think that strange for a moment before I then see the pill cases empty and a pile of small, white pills off to one side.
It is not a usual sight unless someone is planning to take their own life with an overdose.
“Are you allowed those?” Martin asks, looking at the pills as he picks one up. “These are for grown-ups. Mommy says I should never touch them, and I don’t think you should either, Carla.”
I quickly agree with the small boy. “Yes, your mommy is right,” I say, opening the drawer below the countertop to slide all of those pills away. “These are very dangerous for kids.”
“Why are you talking like that?” the boy asks, giving me a curious look. “She’s your Mommy too, sis.”
I study the expression on his face for a moment, trying to comprehend what he’s just said to me. I don’t have a brother and why does he keep calling me Carla? That’s not my name, and even though I’m wearing a dress and panties, I’m not a girl.
“Hey, kid,” I say, looking for answers. “W-where are we?”
As I ask that question, I look down at my own body. I’m deffo wearing a dress, and what worries me even more, it fits me really well. It’s almost like this dress is mine, and whether or not I think I am a man or not, all indications would suggest I’m not.
“On earth,” the boy replies with an innocent smile. “But if you mean right here. Then we are both in your room.”
“My room?” I ask, looking around the place. It’s clearly a teenage girl's room. A teenage girl who’s so out of touch with the times! When did the nineties make such a comeback? I mean, the shoes I’m wearing—I’m pretty sure my first girlfriend used to wear one like them.
“Yeah,” the boy nods but gives me a suspicious look. “Are you okay? Mommy did say you’ve been sad recently. She told me to keep an eye on you until she gets back from work.”
I blink several times as I just stare down at the small mounds on my chest, clearly held by a tight bra that digs into my shoulders. I can’t work out what’s happened. Moments ago, I was joining my family in heaven, but now it appears I’ve traded places with a teenage girl.
I take a moment to confirm my suspicions. As the boy looks away, I bring a single hand between my leg and up my skirt. The sensations I get from that area of my body make the blood drain from my face. No longer do I have my manhood. It’s been replaced with bits of a teenage girl, and goodness—are they sensitive!
“Kid,” I say, shaking off my lost manhood to begin searching around myself. “Have you seen this girl's cell phone? I need to make a call!?”
Silence as I pat all around myself, trying not to think about all the alien sensations that this girl's body is giving me. Which is hard because all my clothing clings to me. My panties, for some reason, are making their way where the sun doesn’t shine!
“C-cell phone?” the boy replies. “What’s a cell phone?”
“Y’know…,” I answer without really thinking. “Like an iPhone or something?”
“I don’t know what that is,” he says before smiling. “Are we playing a game! I’ve missed playing games with you!”
“Kid,” I hiss, looking around the room and sliding my now much smaller body from the single bed. “It’s no game. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here and I really need to make a phone call to try and sort it out.”
As I stand, I wobble on my feet. They are much smaller than I’m used to and it takes a moment for me to get balanced. It’s like all my senses are completely out of whack, and I need to recalibrate how to even move. My body giggles as I move. It’s a very strange feeling having such a a feminine frame.
“Stop calling me Kid,” the boy huffs. “Mommy says you aren’t allowed to call me names!”
Ignoring him as I frantically search, I stand in front of the desk in the room and search under all the books and school pages. I find nothing but colored pencils and girly hair scrunches. Frustrated, I turn on a dime and think where else this girl that I’ve become might keep her phone.
Strutting across the room, I stop still as I catch a glimpse of my own reflection in a full-length mirror hanging from the door. I can’t help but stare at the girl in the mirror. She must be about around five foot six, with soft but big-looking brunette hair.
I step closer, fully aware that the girl in the mirror is me. No longer am I the man that I was once. I’m now an adorable, innocent-looking teenage girl. I look into her youthful, sparkling eyes, and I gasp at what I see.
“I r-really am a girl…,” I mumble aloud as I poke at my rosy red cheeks. I then lower my hands and cup my breasts. I can’t believe the sensation of it. I have breasts, and pretty sizable ones at that,
“Well, yeah….,” the boy chuckles as she stands beside me. “You wouldn’t be much of an older sister if you weren’t a girl,” he states. “You’re acting so strange, Carla! Is this what Mommy meant when she said you’ve not been yourself recently. She says she’s really worried about you.”
As he talks, I poke every inch of my body. My skin is soft, especially around my chin. My eyes are so bright and full of life. My hair is so long and lushes. I can’t be much older than fifteen. I can see the female curves starting to fill out. Whoever I am, this girl is going to be very attractive when she’s fully grown.
“Carla?” the boy grabs my dress and tugs at it to get attention. “Didn’t you want to make a phone call? The house phone is in the kitchen, remember.”
I manage to pull my eyes away from the young girl in the mirror to look at the boy who is apparently my brother. “Kitchen?” I ask, which makes him nod. I stand up straight, brush down my dress, and take one last glimpse at myself.
I wonder if I’m dreaming? I wonder if I’m dead? I wonder who this girl is?
“Hey, Kid,” I say curiously, trying not to seem like I’m a grown man now inhabiting his sister's body. “Erm…what is your name again?”
“Martin,” he replies and frowns. “Not snot face or gremlin or Kid or any of those nasty things you call me, Carla, Okay! Just Martin!”
I smile nervously at him as he tells me off. “So, where is your father?” I ask.
Martin’s face turns glum. He looks like he’s about to cry.
“Why would you ask that?” he replies, rubbing at his eyes to stop the tears. “Mommy says Dad’s now in heaven, Carla. He’s watching down on us.”
I can tell by the look of distress on his face that the pain is all too recent for him. His father must have passed away recently, and my talking about him seems to have only reminded him of that.
“Sorry,” I reply softly as he reminds me of my daughter. I step closer and place a hand on his head. “I’m feeling sad too,” I admit to him, thinking about my own family.
“It’s okay, sis,” he says with a nod. He then rubs his eyes, sniffs back hard, and tries to make himself bigger. “I know I’m the man of the house now. I’m going to look after you and Mommy, don’t you worry!”
I smile at him putting on a brave face. “That’s so very brave,” I reply. “Your Mom is very lucky to have such a strong and brave little boy.”
“I’m looking after you as well,” he complains, like I’m not taking him seriously. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Carla. I promise!”
My cheeks go bright red. For some reason, I can’t stop myself from blushing. As much as I’d hate to admit it, I’ve been so fragile recently. I’ve really needed someone to look after me, and I’m slightly jeloius of this girl I am for having such a caring brother.
“Thanks, Martin,” I say with a warm smile. “I’m a lucky….girl…. to have such a caring brother.”
“I know!” he grins.
That’s when I look again at the boxes of painkillers on the bedside table. What did the real Carla have planned? Have we somehow been connected on a higher level due to our fragile states of mind?
Before I get a further second to comprehend how I’ve become a teenage girl, Martin pulls me from the bedroom and Into the rest of the apparement. Around me is technology so out of date it makes me feel like I’ve gone back in time. It’s not only that, but the kitchen is full of wood cladding. I haven’t seen decorations like that since I was a teenager myself.
With his hand still grasping mine, Martin pulls me into the kitchen and shows me the corded phone attached to a wall.
I look at it in all its beige glory.
“Hey, little brother,” I say without thinking. “What date is it?”
Martin lets go of my hand and brings a finger to his lips in thought. “Erm, I think it’s September something.”
“What year?”
“Oh,” he smiles. “It’s nineteen ninety-three.”
My face drops as I look around the apartment. It all makes sense. All this retro stuff isn’t retro at all! I’ve gone back in time!!
Martin snaps me out of my confusion by once again tugging on my dress. “Hey, Carla,” he says bashfully. “Y’know how I let you paint my nails the other day?”
I look down at him, and he’s going red.
“You agreed that you’d play Sonic with me if I did, remember.”
I look across at the very large and bulky TV in the corner of the living room and underneath is a Sega console. I smile to myself as I remember playing Sonic as a kid.
“Can we play!?” he pleas. “I know you’re a girl and everything, but you’re my only friend.”
At that moment, the phone rings, and it makes us both jump out of skin. We laugh together as it’s only the phone. Reluctantly, I take the phone from the receiver and put it against my ear. A strange feeling for me as I feel the plastic pushing up against the several ear piercings.
“H-Hello….,” I say, lacking confidence, “Charles,” I then clear my throat to correct. “C—Carla speaking.”
“Sweetheart!” a woman's voice cries out from the end. “Don’t hang up. I really want to talk to you and I’ve only got a few minutes on my break!”
I assume who it is, but I can’t be sure. “Who is speaking?” I reply
“Don’t be like that, baby,” the woman sighs. “It’s Mommy. Please, can we talk?”
“Mom?” It’s been years since my own mother passed away. I find it a little uncomfortable to say allowed.
“Yes,” she replies, but then instantly gets upset. “I’m really sorry that I couldn’t stay and talk it out with you earlier, sweetheart. I want you to know you are so super important to me, and I’m so proud of the strong young lady you are becoming!”
“O..kay….,”
“It’s the truth, Carla, hunny. I know things have been hard for you at school and with….,” she begins to whimper. “Everything with your—your father. I don’t want you to think you're alone, sweetheart. I’m here for you, and I’m sorry we don’t get time to do the mother-and-daughter stuff anymore.”
“Mother and daughter stuff?”
“Why are you making this hard on me!?” she laughs, but it’s a frustrated one. “Y’know… do our nails and brush each other's hair. Do you remember those little fashion shows you’d do for me, sweetheart? You used to put on my clothes and then strut around in my heels. Do you remember? I miss that.”
Something in me breaks, and tears bubble in my eyes. I remember my daughter doing the exact same thing. I remember my wife and daughter having the time of their lives as she did the catwalk for us up and down the hallway.
Starting to sob, tears run down my face to my chin as I remember happier times.
Mom, on the other side of the phone, reacts to my tears. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says, letting out a long breath.
Still focused on remembering my own daughter and how much I forget myself. “I miss it too,” I reply.
“Do over?” Mom says with a snap, also fighting with her emotions.
“D-Do over?” I ask, wiping the tears from my eyes.
“Yeah,” she answers cheerfully. “I know things have been hard, and I’ve been trying to be strong for you and Martin. I know I haven’t been there for you as much as I should, sweetheart. I know you’ve been hurting, Carla. I know how closer you were with your father. But please don’t give up. I need you. Martin needs you.”
I look down at the boy who is now my little brother. The face of my wife and daughter's murderer flashes before my eyes, and I come to realize that he is the same person. This young boy, Martin, is the same junky that shot my family!
I should be filled with the same hate and rage that I feel for him, but for some reason, I only feel sadness and worry. Often, I wondered where Martin's life went wrong and what brought him to drugs as a need to cope.
If I have indeed one back in time and inhabited his sister's body, why wasn’t this girl (who I am) ever present at the murder trials? I must be connected! Is this my ‘do-over?’
“Sis…?” Martin looks up at me and smiles as I still hold the phone to my face. “Is that Mommy? Tell her I love her.”
I feel my body begin to shake in the moment, and I can’t control the tears streaming from my eyes. I think about the stack of pills on the bedside table. I think about what I did to myself in my bathtub at home and the bright, heavenly light I experienced. Have we switched because of that?
Have I been sent back in time to change the future!?
“M-Mom…,” I mumble through my tears. “Martin says he loves you.”
“Awww,” she replies. “I love you both.” Mom then clears her throat, and I can tell she’s worried about something. “Sweetheart, can we have that do over?”
That’s when I remember the voice in my head saying the same thing. I’ve been sent back to be this girl for a reason. I know it. Maybe living her life really will lead to change in the future?
“Yeah, Mom,” I say softly, hopeful that my family will have another chance. “Let’s have a do-over.”
“Great!” she cheers out. “You don’t know how happy that makes me, young lady. I thought for sure you were about to do something silly to yourself. I’m so relieved. Anyway, there are some pizzas in the freezer. Can you be a big girl and make you and your brother something to eat?”
“Sure, Mom,” I answer before pouting. “I’m going to do my best with this ‘do-over,’ so don’t you worry! I’m going to be the best daughter!”
“Thanks, baby. I’ve gotta go. See you later, yeah?”
“Bye.”
“Bye, sweetheart,” and like that, I hang up the phone with a bright smile on my face. I look at Martin and then brush the hair from my face. I’m not certain what’s happened and why I’ve traded places with this girl, but I’m going to be here for this family as long as I’m needed.
In honor of my wife and daughter, I will be the best daughter I can be! I just out my hip and place a single hand on my side—like my wife and daughter used to.
“Hey, Kid,” I smirk, resting my hand on Martin's head. “You wanna go play Sonic now?”
“Yes!” Martin’s face lights up. “Best sister ever!”
