Page 8 of Fast Forward

“Dr Ford?”

“Yes, I must see her now!”

“But Dr Ford retired years ago.”

“Huh?” Oh yeah. She’d probably be about seventy by now.

“Mrs McSnelly, are you all right?”

God, my name sounded even worse out loud. “No, I’m not. I really need to see a doctor. I’m supposed to be twenty-five but I woke up this morning a middle-aged housewife and have no idea how I got here! I don’t know if I’m sick, or crazy – or both! I need answers!” I thumped my fist on the desk, my breaths coming short and sharp.

“Okay, just a moment, Mrs McSnelly.” The receptionist put on a headset and spoke into the microphone as I tapped my foot impatiently and glanced around the waiting room. A man eyed me with pity, but when I locked eyes with him he quickly looked away. Ryan stood behind a fake pot plant, fiddling with its leaves. My eyes turned to the floor and feeling slightly guilty, I picked up the brochures and replaced them on the desk.

“Dr Vischek can see you in a few minutes,” the receptionist said, lifting off her headset. “Take a seat… and try taking some deep breaths, okay?”

Deep breaths, yeah right. Like that’s going to get me out of this nightmare.

“Would you like a paper bag?” the receptionist asked.

“What for? Do you mean to put over my head? Geez! I know I’m not looking my best but have a little compassion!” I fumed. Oh, the nerve of the woman.

Her eyes widened and she spoke softly, “To breathe into. So you don’t hyperventilate.”

Oops. “Oh. Sorry, um, no thanks, I’ll just…” I gestured awkwardly to the row of chairs.

I sat down and a moment later Ryan sat next to me. Unable to stifle my foot tapping and hand trembling, I picked up what looked like an iPad from a small table and looked at the menu on the screen. I pressed the icon for magazines and then the icon for Domestic Delight. I flipped mindlessly through articles about home improvements and decorating, until an advertisement for a homewares company caught my eye. KC Interiors. Interesting… when I was younger, I used to play around with sketches of beautiful lamps, mirrors, vases and candle holders, and joked that I could start my own business called Kelli’s Designs.

That was until one of my mother’s ‘episodes’ where she ridiculed my artistic passion and I lost all confidence, gaining confidence in my appearance instead. Why waste the gift of a photogenic face and perfectly proportioned figure? That’s what Mum used to tell me as she dragged me from one photo shoot to another. At first they were boring, but I soon grew to love the whole thing – photographers calling me beautiful as lights flashed around me, make-up artists complimenting my almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones as they brushed colours onto my face. There was nothing more rewarding than seeing the finished product – a glossy professional photo of yours truly.

“Mrs McSnelly?” A man, presumably Dr Vischek, emerged from a nearby room. “Please come through.”

I put the iPad thingy back on the table and bolted into the room, pacing back and forth until the doctor made me sit down.

“I saw you only a month ago, Mrs McSnelly. What seems to be the problem?”

Oh good, maybe he knew something. Maybe I was being treated for a brain tumour and was experiencing one of the symptoms or side effects. “I’m fifty!” I blurted out.

Dr Vischek looked at the file on his computer screen. “Ah, so you are. Happy birthday!”

“Happy? I’m not happy. I’m horrified!” I stood up again. “Only yesterday I was twenty-five. This can’t be possible! How is this possible?”

Dr Vischek tugged on my arms to encourage me to sit down again. What was it with sitting down, how was that supposed to make everything all right? I was a model and used to standing, godammit!

“I know how you feel, Mrs McSnelly, it seems only yesterday I was a new doctor, newly married with a newborn baby and now I’ve been in practice for fifteen years and have three kids. Time sure flies, doesn’t it?” Dr Vischek gave me a knowing grin.

“But you don’t understand! I really was only twenty-five yesterday… well, twenty-four to be exact. Today should be my twenty-fifth birthday, but I woke up and… well, look at me!” I stood once again and waved my hands around my degenerative body like I was demonstrating a new kitchen appliance. I pressed my belly, allowing it to wobble, lifted my drooping breasts out of the southern hemisphere for a moment and pointed to the rugged landscape that was my face. “I even have wrinkles on my lips!” I shoved my face close to his so he could see. “Before too long I’ll be power-walking down the pathway to the retirement village wearing a pink velour leisure suit!”

“Mrs McSnelly, try to stay calm,” the doctor said, lifting his hands and facing his palms towards me as though I might be a bomb about to explode any second. “Are you telling me you’re having some memory issues, or are you just stressed out about turning fifty?”

“Of course I’m stressed about turning fifty, but the thing is, I don’t remember being forty-nine yesterday, or forty-eight the year before. The last thing I remember is having drinks with my friends last night. But last night I was twenty-four.” This time I sat down of my own accord, suddenly tired and wishing I could lie down. Lie down, close my eyes and wake up in my own bed.

Dr Vischek leaned forward in his chair, deep furrows drawing a V into his forehead. “Do you remember bumping your head, or falling, or having any sort of pain, tingling, or numbness?”

I shook my head and he shone a bright light into each of my eyes.

“Taken any medications, drugs – marijuana even?”

“Of course not!”

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