Last 2 versions of shadows

During childhood you don't tend to weigh these things. As a child life is life and something you live with. Thinking more deeply is not something you tend to do.

In puberty, though, you start paying more attention to things like your own body as it changes (whether you are ready or not for them) and you start to consider things like "your place in the world".

Following the onset of puberty comes learning the mating rituals of adolescence; for the majority of people, it does seem that we fall short in desirability. As teen-agers it is far too easy to believe yourself unwanted.

Unwanted. Well, undesirable. Even unlovable. As a boy and teen-ager this seems the normal state of mind. It seems that very few of the boys were at the top of the food chain and got anywhere with any of the girls we'd all drool over.

And that's when you really start paying attention to life. There are a couple of bumpy spots during the teen-age years when death beckons to losers like me and it sometimes, in hindsight, seems a miracle that more don't heed that call. How I managed to resist the siren song of-self destruction seems a mystery, even now.

And I'd never considered that there were girls in the same mental state. We'd each been crushed so thoroughly and so often that it seemed sure we'd never meet each other even as our shoulders rubbed in the halls of High School.

So, given this background, High School had sucked. Okay, just for euphemisms, one can say it "emulated interstellar vacuum" as a kinder phrase. I'm not sure how many people actually had a pleasant High School experience but it seemed to me that my experiences during my adolescence, almost 35 years ago, has cast a shadow on me still.

Right now, this talk about High School may not seem relevant to this story. Believe me, it is. I ended up having to go through it again, though it should be easier this time.

Anyway, it's not that I'm complaining.

All right, yes, I *am* complaining.

I wasn't happy. I never did learn how to _be_ happy. I just couldn't work up the enthusiasm to work at bringing happiness to others, much less myself. Sometimes I wondered if there was a reason for anyone to strive for it. For the longest time through my teen-age years and well into my twenties, it seemed that everyone else had found happiness and I was left alone on the outside.

I'm sure you've heard that "charity begins at home", usually by churches that collect money from the members just to be sent off to distant missionaries instead of trying to help those less advantaged in the churches' own membership. If I listened to the words and not the example, I would have known that I needed to care for my own happiness-- and learn what it took to achieve it-- before working to bring happiness to another.

Color me stupid.

I didn't marry young. I didn't marry a virgin. I married the first woman who was willing to show interest in me and who didn't seem to mind the idea of having sex with me. Life seemed to be improving. Despite the doubts that she really loved me, circling like vultures waiting for me to die of disappointment, we still made a pretty good go of it.

My wife made the claim we were "happily married". It seems odd that she'd claim "we", given that she'd never thought to ask me how I felt about our marriage. It seemed to me that the phrase was oxymoronic since only one partner in a marriage is happy about it.

So now you've got a read on me, right? But you don't, not anymore. Sure, I was married. I'd paid for and raised two step children and only one of my own. I wasn't happy about that, either.

Now for the surprise.

I said I wasn't happy, but that doesn't really imply that I was actively unhappy. I'd withdrawn. I didn't care. I had no idea of how much my wife knew; she seemed to have her own problems relating to me. The distance between us worked well as a contraceptive, too.

Yeah, I couldn't give a damn about apathy.

Work was an escape from home life and home life an escape from work. As a software developer with system integration skills I was useful, creative and often sought after despite my mood swings. I suspected my mood swings were key to my poor showing at raise time which also did nothing for those same moods. Having a wife who is irritated that your pay adjustments aren't bigger is another annoyance.

Talk about a useless learned behavior. I'd learned to be as distant as possible from others as a form of defense whilst an adolescent. Yes, words could hurt me less but the people who liked me couldn't reach me either. I was distant from my siblings because it always seemed they were most interested in hurting me, possibly to feel better about themselves. It wasn't until things changed that I realized they were trapped in the same boat as I.

Brilliant I am not, but I got by. If I'd not been looking the other way, though, while driving home early from work, I'd still be me, but I'm not. Instead, I became someone else.

It's strange how you can say something like that and have it not sound like complete gibberish. I wasn't me any more.

Don't believe me? Well, you're in good company. I wouldn't have believed me either.

Just as a little bit of background...

I've learned, the hard way, that there are minds (or are they souls?) that can walk through regular people, stepping in to take over our bodies and even lives.

At first blush it sounds like something out of 'Quantum Leap' or 'The Matrix'.

I hadn't really liked 'The Matrix' the first time; After this happened to me it was even spookier than before. While I knew it wasn't a matter of "agents" taking my place, the idea that some soul can jump from place to place...

Unlike the movie, I wasn't taken over, I was swapped. Or maybe merely displaced into the nearest "empty". Kind of like the 'Quantum Leap' story line, only not like it.

It happened after I'd been in an accident where I was dazed but the young woman in the other car had been hurt. When I climbed out of my car to look into hers, worried that she was badly hurt and finding her laying there looking dead. A sudden fright ran through me along with a feeling of despair.

In the blink of an eye, though, it was me trapped in that car. I opened and focused my eyes, looking up at a strange man standing over me inside the wrecked car. I felt dazed and trapped.

I could tell that every part of my body that I could check still worked, more or less, but I was trapped in this strange car. The only saving grace came from something I didn't smell: gasoline.

I could see, I could hear, I could move a little, but each time I tried to speak I couldn't get more than a raspy voice. Added to all of the above was a pain in my left leg.

That strange man had straightened up and looked around ... and I recognized him.

It's funny to see your own body from the outside. Really. I mean it. No matter how familiar you are at seeing yourself, it's usually in a mirror. The non-mirror image will throw you; your hair is parted on the wrong side, the view from below your chin is a viewpoint you've never had, the back of the head is completely alien. This kind of feeling I'd only had before listening to my own voice on my answering machine. The sudden recognition was weird and made no sense to me. How could I have gotten this viewpoint?

Before I could panic I heard sirens. The man looked in on me and touched me tenderly on the shoulder, saying to me "remember".

After his hand left I started to feel new memories pour into me, memories of this body, senses, voices, people. Memories from the original owner of this body I occupied poured into my own mind, mixing with my own memories of being Jack, a 50 year old man.

The memories merged into me; my "Jack-ness" was still me but there were memories of "being Joyce".

I've learned something since; because *I* was older and had more memories I'd brought with "me", it was my own identity that was stronger, helping to keep me "me". Even if I was a tenant in someone else's body, I knew who I had been and could hold on to it all while knowing enough to "play" at being this girl.

I was Joyce now. I had memories of her experiences, but no memory of how she thought. It was an empty feeling with only the outer shell of this girl's memories.

I was still "me", keeping enough of my identity as Jack, but Joyce's knowledge was in my head. I had enough of her identity, knowledge of her family, her friends ... everything I'd need to act like her.

No, I had everything I needed to _be_ Joyce.

More or less. I had no real idea of what her attitudes had been.

Snapping things back into focus for me was "Jack" (whatever it was driving the body now) telling me "It looks like you'll be all right after all. You're young again, so, for your own comfort, you should stay away from me now. I'm sorry, but I *can't* put you back." He paused. "Then again you may not want to be Jack again any way. You'll have to live as Joyce from now on. Do you understand?"

I nodded as best I could, basically accepting the role of Joyce. Jack smiled at me as I heard the loud diesel of the Fire Rescue crew arrive, the siren finally winding down. Other sirens could still be heard as I heard the voices of the firemen as they got themselves off the truck.

Another inventory seemed a good idea, especially given where I was was and the body I occupied. It would seem like a terrible form of irony to have gotten a new lease on life only to spend it in a wheelchair. This process reported my having full sensory and motor function but I was trapped in the wreck. Some parts, like my left ankle, hurt. A lot. Other parts hurt too and had less trouble moving.

Despite the questions of the rescue crew, it seemed easier for me to be an observer, feeling distant, like it wasn't me trapped in this car. I watched passively as they used the "jaws of life" to bend the car open to get me free as EMTs did their best to comfort me, getting my vitals and checking out the parts of me they could get to.

Who knew?

I'd gone from being 50 and now I was 17, in a wrecked car. A car that I should not have wrecked. And whoever it was in Jack's skin had been inside Joyce... and had caused the accident. I was Joyce now so I'd get the blame.

Oh, shit. This was going to be tough to explain. With the few accidents I've been in I'd never been the one "at fault". My wife-- well, Jack's wife, now-- had made joking comments that I must have a whole platoon of guardian angels surrounding me.

Sheer luck, of course.

Not this time.

This time I'd pay.

I've never been pulled over for drunk driving, either. I've faced some checkpoints, though, and I never worried about it having been a tee-totaler. In this instance it was very different. Once they had me on a stretcher a cop asked me to breathe into a device, which I did. I really didn't think I had any booze in me.

Reality arrived: This hadn't been my body until now so I had no idea over whether the prior occupant had done any drinking despite being under 21. So I hoped I didn't have any alcohol in this new "me". I didn't know if I did or not. The possibility that there could be other drugs in the system I now occupied didn't occur to me until later, but I was fortunate that the body was clean.

This kind of ignorance was not bliss.

I seemed to be all here, even though I wasn't happy with the "here" here, if you get my meaning.

Somehow I'd been given a new lease on life. It was starting out pretty confused, but I'd become someone else in the bargain. I had enough knowledge to "be" her.

Okay, so there were some downsides to this deal.

I was female. Check.

I was a teen-age female. Check.

I was a teen-age female who'd just been at-fault in an auto accident. Check.

I was a teen-age female who'd wrecked a car and wasn't out of High School yet. Check.

And I had a serious aversion to my own memories of my own High School years. Check.

Somehow this "new lease" wasn't filled with assets.

Being suddenly female didn't bother me so much; I'd already been fascinated by some of the transgender stories, so there was a certain fascination in learning this. Also, when I'd been a teen-ager I'd thought that being a girl might've been preferable, given the roles of asker and askee.

What bothered me was the liabilities I'd just accrued in the accident, insurance or not. Another worry, deferred for now, was the nightmare of having to attend High School again.

So the situation wasn't all good. Hopefully it wouldn't turn all to be all bad, though.

There were other burdens that I'd learn about. One I would learn at the ER would be uncomfortable to work around.

My trip to the ER wasn't a barrel of laughs, either. After my fairly incoherent explanation of how the accident had happened from my point of view, I was rolled into one of the ambulances which quickly left to bring me to the nearest hospital.

Once at the hospital I learned that I'd broken my left leg (I lucked out, a non-displaced fracture in the fibula, just above the ankle) so I should be able to hobble out with a "walking cast" today. Unexpectedly for me, there were other complications; I wouldn't be walking out so soon.

I might have thought I'd gotten a good deal (despite having to live as a girl) but my first experience of an epileptic seizure confirmed to me that I would pay for what I got. The first of the unexpected burdens had arrived.

Now, I know what seizures are; I've had friends who were epileptic.

Yes, I know, as the one having the seizure, there was no way for me to tell, was there? Exactly, I didn't know _what_ happened, only that _something_ happened. Out of nowhere a hole appeared in my memory as things had moved around from one instantaneous moment to the next and a serious headache materialized.

Between the headache and the confusion I felt, the nurses were nice in trying to calm me down, doing their best to ensure the young girl I was wouldn't panic.

So they succeeded in calming me down just enough. When I pressed for an explanation one took pity and said "Dearie, you just had a small epileptic seizure. Don't worry about it, you'll be fine, just take it easy."

Well hearing epilepsy was scary but I knew it wasn't likely to kill me right away.

I was finally able to talk, trying to keep to this girl's persona (not about to draw attention to the "real" me), asking "Petit mal? Grande mal?"

All right, so the terms have been obsolete for a while, but so was *I*.

The nurse looked at me in shock. "Petit mal, child, what we call an 'absent' seizure. You just went away for a short time, no panic, all right?"

I calmed down. No panic. She was right.

I could live with this.

But... could I live with an itchy crotch? What was I really feeling down there?

Oh. I had to pee.

I hate bedpans. I really do. I hated them before and still did. Having to take a piss in one now just rubbed my face into my situation. I missed my penis; a "urinal" would have been so much easier for me to cope with when taking a whiz. Wiping my new plumbing brought back how my wife had to train our daughter.

I discovered, upon completion of my ablutions, that the itch in my nether regions was only coincidental with a very full bladder. This body was horny. And, being in the hospital, it would be awkward for me to learn how to take the pressure off.

I also took a closer look at myself, once the bedpan had been taken away.

One nice thing about ERs is that they tend to push patients into little rooms and then not look in constantly. This gave me time to explore my new home.

Joyce, I found, was underweight. Very under weight. I counted the ribs. She almost had no breasts; the bra that they'd earlier helped me remove gave the body the illusion of breasts through strategic use of padding.

She had nice hips and a belly button. Her hands had been small and slim, the nails short and unpainted. These feet I had inherited were also delicate, with long toes. This was different from the stubby toes I'd lived with for the last 50 years.

Joyce apparently believed in shaving the pubes, though her frequency had fallen off. Some of the itch I was feeling came from pubic hair growing back. I'll admit to some fascination with the idea of experiencing a female orgasm but, despite how wet the folds were, this did not seem the right place and certainly not the right time for experimentation.

The hair was a dirty blond; I recalled just enough of how she'd looked and knew it wasn't from a bottle. It wasn't long but I knew there wouldn't be a bald spot right now. It was almost strange to look forward to having something worth brushing.

"My" left ankle was wrapped up so it was immobilized for now as "I" waited for the doctor.

There was pain in Joyce's body but nothing I couldn't deal with. The bruises from the airbag were only starting to ache.

All in all, if I was still me and had I met Joyce under suitable conditions (i.e. me being single) I would have seen her as only mildly attractive. One of my first thoughts as a man would have been to get some dinner into her. Making all of that an idle thought was the final straw: As Jack, I would have been daunted by the age difference...

I wondered what had happened to Joyce's soul, where she'd been displaced to, just as I'd been shunted into her body. I also wondered who would end up displaced into me whenever the-- whatever it was-- jumped to another.

That's when more memories jumped out at me. That *thing* had left me hints and some knowledge.

Joyce -- the original Joyce -- was dead. She'd been intensely depressed, wishing for death... and the thing that had left me here as it jumped to me, had displaced her soul into a dying body. I realized that it had jumped to my body to get away from this one, given the chance of something that would kill her. I'd apparently been chosen to die... but I hadn't.

In some ways this knowledge made my tenancy less onerous.

In other ways I mourned for the girl who'd been evicted.

And, pushing back the desire to cry, I was interrupted by the transporter who told me he was taking me for a CT scan.

Three and a half hours later I was still on an ER 'bed' (what a laugh), having been out of the ER three times; a CT scan, an MRI and a special EEG which had triggered another seizure. My butt was not happy with the thin mattress of this so-called 'bed'.

I'd gone through her wallet and pocket-book many times. She was pretty dull. The memories I'd been left with from this body allowed me to identify the pictures she carried.

Knowing where to find things in the wallet was handy when the cops returned for yet another interview. I seemed to do better this time.

Joyce's parents were a real trip, too, and arrived just as a doctor came to talk to me. The expression on his face seeing "my parents" was one of irritation; it looked like the timing was bad. I was fortunate that he was able to present the situation and told them I was being admitted to the hospital over night for observation-- and so that a neurologist could look over the results and interview me.

Just what I needed.

Of course, once the admitting physician left I'd been abandoned to the tender mercies of Joyce's parents.

Even with most of her memories (well, sensory and the like, so I could "replay" what she'd seen, heard and even tasted) I'd wondered why the original had wanted to die. Less than ten minutes after I was left alone with Joyce's parents *I* wanted to die, too.

Despite being experientially older than they were. I was now only 17 years old, in this body. They'd been only 20 when their first child, Joyce, had been born. They'd given Joyce younger sibs, too, just like I'd had as the original "me". But I had over ten years of experience on them and I wasn't sure how well I could hold it back.

Now I'll admit here that I'd given lectures like this one to my stepchildren (and even my own son), in concert with my wife, trying to instill a sense of responsibility into them. Now I got to listen to many of the things I'd told my "own" children from the other side. It was not comforting. Instead of paying attention to "my" parents, I was mentally squirming out from under them.

Now I understood better why all three of "my" children were so messed up. It also felt strange to feel some empathy for them all now. Especially since I was now a girl.

And the thought that ran across me of meeting my son Colin (who was now Joyce's age) in a flash was weird. It was so weird to have that sudden thought of carrying my own grandchildren. I almost giggled.

Whoa. This was *weird*.

The lecture continued, on and off, as I was finally brought to my hospital room and placed on the bed, by the door. I saw my room-mate was a young woman-- uh, older, given my current abode, I wasn't a lecherous 50 year old man any more-- who seemed to be asleep.

The coiffure I inherited from Joyce got messed up again; unlike the earlier EEG, patches of scalp were being cleared of hair for the electrodes to be placed there. This was not a quick process and the droning of "my" parents didn't make this a relaxed interlude. I could tell my room-mate was not happy to be awakened by their voices.

I came to the conclusion that Joyce was a fuck-up because of the unrelenting pressure to behave within a small box. She had no real room to grow, so had grown in ways her parents would not have anticipated or been comfortable with.

Hearing echoes of my own parents was uncomfortable as well. I'd been given a new lease on life and it seemed a good idea to keep it up.

As tough as I'd been with my step-children, I'd never have allowed any of them to be restricted to this degree and I often cut them some slack that Helen wouldn't have. Even so, getting a taste of what I have given them was not my idea of fun.

I could understand Joyce's depression when the prior tenant evicted her: It's hard to "think outside the box" when it looks like a casket.

So the lecture kept going and going like the Energizer Bunny and the first break happened as a result of a nurse coming to take my vital signs.

A thin 17 year-old girl should not have a BP of 170/98.

Once the parental units were encouraged to leave (ostensibly to take care of their other children, though, from both my old and new point of view, this wasn't much of a favor for Joyce's siblings) another set of vitals were taken and my BP had dropped back to a far more tolerable (and normal!) 120/68.

My sigh of relief once they were gone was shared by the PCT (a girl not much older than I was now) who muttered "And I thought my folks were a pain in the ass." My room-mate heard this and chimed in "I hope to God someone kills me before I turn into one of them."

I shrugged these thin shoulders that now belonged to me. Neither said anything I could disagree with. Despite the pull to be defensive of them as "fellow parents" I knew I couldn't go quite that far and stay anywhere near character. "Just be glad that it's me that's stuck with them, OK? You guys did luck out in only being witnesses and not having to participate."

I heard my room-mate chuckle as her own vitals were taken, then she asked "So, what are you in for?"

I smiled at her before answering "I had an auto accident... and it looks like I had an epileptic seizure, so they want to keep track of me; that's why I'm being monitored."

She looked at me, nodded, "OK, I understand. Hopefully you will do all right. I'm Roberta. My friends call me Bobbi."

I took a closer look at this woman; she was sturdy, looked quite strong with fairly plain features but still quite nice in personality. I answered her "I'm Joyce. I hope I'm not too bad a room-mate."

Roberta-- Bobbi-- snorted. "You can hardly be worse than the room-mate from hell I had last night. I'm in here because of a TIA, I'm to have a cardiac catheterization tomorrow. They still don't know why I have these episodes. And this damnable nitroglycerin patch gives me a headache like you would never believe."

Unfortunately I also knew a lot about TIAs and nitro headaches; I was fortunate that she didn't really notice the understanding nod I gave reflexively. My old self knew about TIAs the hard way. The last major event was really disturbing when my whole left arm seemed to be at "greater than arm's length" from me. That spooky sensation stayed with me for almost two weeks after all of the symptoms I'd otherwise felt had faded. My old body had also gotten a clean bill of health, leaving the mini-strokes unexplained until a neurologist asked me the right question. It seemed like a good question to ask my room mate, on the off chance it would help: "So, are you under any unusual stresses at work?"

I saw her head snap around back at me fast enough that she almost left her eyeballs behind and her mouth started opening and closing, kind of like a fish, taking several such cycles before noises (starting with "uh-- uh--" and getting quiet again) turned into words. Her answer was "Yes. And a bunch of other issues, too."

I nodded back to her. I almost spoke up before realizing that I was a 17 year old girl who wouldn't understand her situation, so I waited to see if she'd say something more.

She next changed the subject to something that was outside my experience so I listened carefully and tried not to make any comments that would unmask me.

Dinner arrived.

I can say that now, as a seventeen year old girl, I had enough of an appetite to call what was served "dinner".

Now I admit that "hospital food" is not always the oxymoron that "school cafeteria food" is, but it's close. (After all the cost-cutting for airlines, "airline food" no longer really existed, so it wasn't an oxymoron any more. It's been said that you have to have examples to prove the nature of the tag... and airlines so seldom have anything claiming to be "food" that there's no association left.)

So these slim hands of mine dug into dinner as I drove the body through the activity of eating.

Pretty much the first thing I noticed was that I could taste almost everything. That was the first strange thing about this dinner; I was expecting dinner to be almost tasteless. The second thing was that I liked it.

My room mate stepped into the bathroom when the third thing happened. I had a visitor. It was... me. The old me. With whatever it was driving it instead of... me. Jack walked in.

Now thinking back on it I should have been completely freaked by this. The weird shit was that I was calm facing the thing that had shoved me into this situation. I think I was more angry than anything else, but, in some ways, I was also glad to get another crack at life, so my feelings were very thoroughly mixed.

It was the second visitor that followed him in, a middle aged woman, that _really_ creeped me out. She was good-looking enough but something about her felt... odd.

I turned to 'Jack' and said "Since you can't pop me back, I figured you'd never hunt me back up again. Are you going to do that anyway?"

He shook his head. "You need to be oriented. You're one of 'them' now. Susan, here, can orient you." He paused, an almost happy look on his face. "Fifteen hundred year, you know, and only a few more left for me. Thank you."

I looked a question. The woman got my attention again, with "Joyce, you're now an immortal, like me, jumping from body to body as your host dies. Jack, here, will die with this body, now, because you survived the jump."

I thought about it. At one time I'd flirted with the idea of killing myself but could never work up the necessary rage to become a killer-- a pre-requisite for a suicide. Instead I'd just not cared enough about living, given the burden.

That's when the true import hit me... *I* wouldn't die. My body could, but the essential *I* wouldn't. It was the very sudden intake of breath and fear on my face that Susan responded to, with "Right. If your 'Joyce' body dies you'll swap with someone else and *they* will die. The rule is that you will jump into the person who cares the least for living, but, lass, there's not much consolation in realizing that you've killed someone. The first time... no, even after hundreds of jumps, it'll still hurt."

Even though stunned, I said "How do you choose?"

Jack spoke up again "And that's why I'm thanking you. Somehow, by surviving, I'm free to die now."

Susan spoke up again, after glaring at him "I've got a lot more time in the saddle than you did... and I wish *I* could get out of this." She turned back to me; my anxiety had dropped with facing her and realizing what this was about. "We can't explain why but you'll come to know what you can and can't do. There are some extras, but they aren't all that good as compensation."

Jack spoke up again "And that's why I'm thanking you. Due to your survival after the exchange, I am now free to die when this body does."

Susan spoke up again, after glaring at him "I've got a lot more time in the saddle than you... and I wish *I* could get out of this." She turned back to me; my anxiety had dropped with facing her and realizing what this was about. "We can't explain why but you'll come to know what you can and can't do. There are some extras, but they aren't all that good as compensation."

Both of them smiled. Susan spoke "I'm not the oldest of us, all right? We have some that have been around for twelve thousand years, and they know of others that preceded them. We can see and feel each other, you'll see. I can tell that you're here, already. One fellow that acts as a mentor nowadays met Christ himself and asked. He was told that we exist as a reservoir of knowledge, understanding and continuity... and that it's our duty to live. He wasn't the only one to talk to Christ; I wish I'd been able to get there too to meet him." Her face turned sad, "Anyway, you pay for what you get. Yes we live. Yes, we learn. Yes, we touch people and help them. Yes, we get to *be* different people. Yes, we get to feel the pain when our living has sent someone's soul away, but at least God's hands are there to catch them. Sometimes duty isn't always enough to go on... and committing suicide now is futile; it won't kill *you*. Instead, someone else will die."

Susan slowly gathered herself as I considered what she'd told me.

That was the moment my room mate re-appeared, popping out of the bathroom, eyes like saucers, staring at all of us in turn as we turned to face that door.

I uttered those famous words from the beginning of (I think) every episode of Quantum Leap: "Oh boy!"

Susan turned to Roberta and said "Hello."

Bobbi took a couple of quick breaths and seemed to shake in her slippers. I turned to "Jack" and said "Help her back to the bed. She doesn't need a stroke right now."

He was quick to help her; I could see Roberta look at him with some anxiety but calmed given how tender and caring he was.

Seated again, Bobbie asked "What are you? I heard a lot of that, but... what are you? Who are you?"

I pointed at the man who'd helped her into bed. "I was him and then found myself... here. What's driving him used to be here, a simple swap. She" pointing to Susan "has been around for a while, too."

Susan looked at Roberta without showing any anxiety for this exposure of reality. "Bobbi, I don't think you'll need to worry about us. Just don't be so damn depressed. You're a good woman and there *is* someone for you. You'll have twin girls before year-end and then two more children." Susan smiled at her, seeming happy.

I looked around, saw Jack nodding. I had to ask "What?"

Jack stared at me, startled. "You don't know? Oh, yeah, it will take a while for you to see and feel it. Along with the price we pay to live... we are given flashes of a person's future." He shuddered. "Sometimes you wish you didn't. Some of those flashes can be very ugly. You feel dirty knowing ahead of time the hell someone will live with. The good flashes can be very pleasant, pleasant enough to make up for those." He looked at Susan, "You know, it is almost a complete relief to know I don't have to face the visions any more."

Roberta looked at us again, gaping. "What?"

Jack turned to her "Susan had a flash of your future. You will find happiness."

Susan threw a curve ball. "Jack, how would you feel if I told you that you were going to bring her happiness?"

I started to ask "What?" when the body that I once inhabited looked startled. Susan turned to me "You're not Jack any more, you're Joyce. And ..." she flinched, the color draining from her face. "Wow, you'll spend a long time as Joyce and undoing the damage done to Jack's son Colin, too. I suspect Heisenberg was righter than he knew; few of these connections would have been possible without us being here."

I asked her "Why the flinch then? You looked distinctly uncomfortable."

Susan blinked. "Your... parents. OK, Joyce's parents. I got the flash. Your brother Eric just murdered them. With a knife. He also knifed himself so he's bleeding to death right now. Kristin, who's away tonight, will be the only other survivor. Do you remember what Jack said about the flashes? He's not kidding. When it's good it will feel VERY good to you. When it's bad it's awful. This wasn't the worst vision I've had... but it is never pretty."

Susan smiled, as did Jack. "There _are_ connections we hang on to, strings we can pull."

Roberta just sat on her bed, gaping like a fish, but I could tell her eyes were sliding up and down the body I'd driven for half a century... and could also tell that her nipples were erect. Seeing this made my own nipples tingle and the "deep itch" return, which, really, was a set of sensations new to me. My sensations turned up when I realized that my old body was sporting an erection in his drawers and Bobbi's eyes were scanning it. I turned and Susan was eyeing it as well.

Susan smiled, as did Jack. "There _are_ connections we hang on to, strings we _can_ pull for each other."

Roberta just sat on her bed, gaping like a fish, but I could tell her eyes were sliding up and down the body I'd driven for half a century... and could also tell that her nipples were erect. Seeing this made my own nipples tingle and the "deep itch" return which was really a new set of sensations to me. My sensitivity turned up when I realized that my old body was sporting an erection in his drawers and Bobbi's eyes were scanning it. I turned and Susan was eyeing it as well.

Once it was just us I asked "Hey, Susan... are we some kind of sex fiends or what?"

Once the room's occupants had dropped back to the four of us I asked "Hey, Susan... am I now some kind of sex fiends or what?"

I don't know how I did it but I looked a question at her.

"Joyce... you can't help but enjoy your partner's feelings. You'll always know. And you'll always be able to tell what kind of partner you'll have from the flash of the future."

I was nodding when a pair of nurses with a PCT walked in; all three were interested in Bobbi's vitals so they pulled the drapes around. I managed to over hear one mention "We were concerned when your pulse went way up."

I could hear Bobbi's whispered reply "the man visiting my room-mate... wow".

When the nurses finally left they gave "Jack" a rather more detailed survey (and a smile) before leaving.

I was jealous. Why couldn't women have looked at me like that when _I_ was him?

My BP, pulse and temperature were again nominal and we were left alone again. When we opened the drapes again Bobbi gestured to Jack and...

Now I was getting pissed. As Jack and Bobbi kissed I turned to Susan and asked "Why couldn't I have been so desirable when it was me in there?"

I got a smirk from her. "The flash works both ways. You _were_ getting those kinds of looks. You weren't noticing them."

Jack came up for air and Bobbi said "We'd better stop now or we'll get interrupted again. And I don't want to _be_ interrupted. Tomorrow? Please?"

This Jack was apparently not as married to my wife; he took her hand and kissed it, then there was a mad scramble to exchange contact numbers.

I turned to Susan and asked "If it had been me in there and I'd visited Joyce, what would've happened?"

A rather predatory smile formed. "You would have fallen in love with her... and kicked yourself for six months after your wife died hunting her down. You both would still have married and had children, just the time-table would've been pushed back a bit."

"By the way... when you know someone is going to die, how do you deal with it? Can you change it?"

Jack sighed. "I know you've seen it at least once. Unlike 'Dead Like Me' there are no grim reapers, there's nothing engineering accidents, but there's one thing we've learned over the years... we can't extend a life. Shorten it, yes, but that hurts to even think about, but something keeps us from ever extending a person's time here. The only bodies we can move into are those who want to die. You have to learn not to interfere and try to 'save' someone. Capiche?"

I nodded. "Capiche." Knowledge has often been a bitter fruit.

Susan turned to Jack saying "Don't forget to bring Colin when you visit Joyce here. they won't let her out right away and you need to offer to take her in. Colin will be a good distraction for Joyce, I think."

Visiting hours were winding down and I watched in awe as Jack and Bobbi kissed one last time.

Being wired to the bed was no fun but at least they could disconnect a "plug" that allowed me to escape to the toilet before crashing for the night. The cast on my left ankle was no fun but at least I was able to perambulate. I was glad for the crutches.

I had my first real "flash" in the morning; the neurologist had come to visit me and discussed my case and the idle thought of "I wonder how well he gets around" crossed my mind and I got his future... and past.

This new lease on life was going to suck.

It sucked even more when the cops arrived. Ouch. And some of the feelings, in reality, were more visceral. Joyce's body did things to keep me from looking suspiciously detached. At the end of the interview I felt wrung out.

Bobbi reassured me that I'd be all right, that she'd take me in in less than a second. I figured that she was still full of the drugs they give you to get you through the catheterization (hey, I've been there and done that and some of the drug were *wonderful*) and would not likely remember or realize the offer.

So when Jack arrived mid-day (it being Saturday) with Colin and "my wife" I was surprised. When my "wife" was the one making the offer to take me in it felt nice, but that was nothing compared to how this body responded to Colin.

My panties were suddenly drenched. And it wasn't pee.

Colin wasn't unaffected either; his eyes were scanning what they could of me but his pants were tight.

I wasn't completely taken over by my sex drive to the degree that Colin was; I could see his eyes continuously roaming over my body and trying to see through the sheets at my crotch. I kept shifting trying to get comfortable and only when I realized that I'd lifted and spread my knees to make my unused vagina accessible did I realize that the body knew what it wanted.

Despite the body's messages, I learned that, as a girl, my brain, as turned on as it was, still retained command. This was not the best place for a tryst...

I reached out a hand to him, he took it, took my other one, leaned over and kissed me.

As a man I'd've been completely grossed out, but I was in a girl's body, and the good news was that I could ride the body without paying too much attention, so I just rode along and went with the flow.

This was weird.

But snapping out of it with a hand in my panties ... two hands in my panties, actually, with mine guiding his and holding it to me ... was a surprise. If it hadn't been for the interruption of a girl to take my vitals I realized I'd have taken the boy I'd raised in a previous life right then and there on the hospital bed.

I'd never felt this way... and I could feel it in him, too, somehow. We'd captivated each other.

The interruption helped us before Jack and Colin's mom returned to the room; they'd been talking with the admins about where I was going to live when discharged.

I knew there was extra room in the house, but I also knew that I'd be in Colin's bed.

I got a flash for me and Colin. I'd live a long time with him; we'd marry, have children, help with grand-children.

That flash also told me that he'd die before I'd jump to another. The happiness of the future life I'd seen was a good counter to the weight of the future loss.

I could be content; my new life would work out.