Page 4 of Fast Forward

“No, my head’s fine, I just…” Geez, I felt like Drew Barrymore’s character in Fifty First Dates and William was Adam Sandler, humouring me in my unfortunate condition so I didn’t lose the plot. Hmm, a bit too late for that… but anyway. “I just feel like time has caught up with me, that’s all. Life seems to have gone by so fast.” If I played along and kept it together, maybe this terrible morning would somehow go away and I’d be transported back to my normal life.

I needed a shower. I’d close my eyes and focus on the water and my fifty-year-old self would wash away and when I opened my eyes I’d be twenty-five again. Worth a shot.

Except the shower had no faucets and I didn’t have any idea how to turn the bloody thing on. “I think I’ll feel better after a shower. William, er… honey, can you take a look at the shower thingy? I think it needs fixing.”

This seemed to please William, as he rolled up his sleeves and walked over to the contraption on the wall. “Let’s have a look.” He pressed a few buttons and waved his hand under the diamond-shaped showerhead, and the second time he did so, water streamed from the tiny holes. “Works fine,” he said.

“Could you try turning it off for me too, just to test it?”

He pressed a button on the top side of the contraption and the water flow came to an abrupt halt. “That works fine too.” He smiled and turned towards the door. “See you in the kitchen for breakfast.”

“Wait!” I lunged at him. “Could you turn it on again, you know, to save you having to come back in, just in case it plays up again?”

“Anything for the birthday girl.” William repeated his earlier process and this time I watched him like a hawk. He pressed one button on each of the three rows and a red button in the middle, then waved his hand twice under the showerhead.

Got it. I think. Well, hopefully I’d be out of here soon and wouldn’t have to use this thing again.

When William closed the bathroom door behind him, I took my rather confused nightgown off again and stepped under the stream of water. The pressure and warmth soothed my skin and for a while I felt like my old self. I mean my young self. I imagined being in my own shower in my own apartment, looking forward to my twenty-fifth birthday party at the hippest restaurant in the city, followed by a beautiful speech from Grant and culminating in his proposal by which I’d look completely surprised, and accept the DSJ engagement ring with a resounding yes!

Pleased with my visualisation attempt, I opened my eyes and prepared to say a silent thank you to the universe upon seeing my familiar bathroom and youthful face in the mirror. Instead, I said a few not-so-silent profanities upon seeing the same unfamiliar bathroom that was fast becoming my least favourite place in the world.

I thumped my fist on the button on top of the shower contraption, stopping the water flow, and stepped out of the shower. Clamping my lips tightly together to stop from screaming, I crept towards the mirror, knowing all too well what would greet me.

The same crow’s feet I’d seen before that framed my eyes like a broken fence around a dilapidated old house. Damn!

The same laughter lines formed an arc around my mouth, looking more like remnants of inconsolable sobbing. Bugger!

Lip wrinkles, a saggy neck and forehead furrows that have turned my face into a landscape rivalling The Andes mountain ranges. Crap!

And of course, the piece de resistance; Kelli’s jelly belly. Yep, despite my impressive visualisation, I’m still fifty!

Damn. Bugger. Crap. Multiplied by ten.

Desperate to dry off and cover my hideous body, I automatically reached for a non-existent towel. Having run out of expletives, I simply said, “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

Standing with my hands on my hips, I examined the giant hand-dryer thingamajig and tilted my head to the side, furrowing my already furrowed brows. It must be used in place of towels, there’s no other possible explanation. I prodded and poked the machine tentatively but nothing happened, so I inched myself between the two parts of the machine, hoping it wasn’t some kind of vice that would squish my body into oblivion. Although, on second thoughts…

“How do I turn it on?” I asked myself out aloud and at that moment, jets of warm air pushed against my front and back. Reflexively I shut my eyes and mouth. After a few seconds it stopped, my body completely dry. Maybe this bathroom wasn’t so bad after all.

Anxious to finally get some clothes on, I opened the door a fraction, checking to see if the coast was clear. I tiptoed into the unfamiliar bedroom and pulled back a sliding door. The good news was an array of clothing hung from a rack, so I’d be able to put a long overdue end to my nakedness. The bad news was I wouldn’t be caught dead in most of the outfits. Who would wear such things? Well, me obviously. But surely my fifty-year-old taste couldn’t be that bad? I was a fashion model for Christ’s sake! I knew what’s hot and what’s not, and this stuff wasn’t even lukewarm.

So I had three choices:

1. Remain naked.

2. Put my nightgown back on.

3. Suck it up and wear one of the outfits.

As my stomach grumbled for food and my nose detected a faint smell of something good cooking, I stepped into a coral-coloured starched skirt in which the hem ended halfway down my calves before turning upwards into a revolting curved abomination and looking like a baby catch-all bib. The matching top was just as bad, its hem curving upwards too, but if the need arose at least I’d have a place to store snacks. Or Valium.

Now desperately hungry and looking like a middle-aged Oompa-Loompa, I followed the smell out of the bedroom, down a hallway and into a kitchen, where William sat at the bench sipping from a mug. If he was there, then who was cooking?

I looked towards the source of the delicious aroma and nearly threw up into my curved hems. A young man stood there in a pink apron. He was tall, with various pieces of metal jewellery adorning his pierced skin and his hair was jet black despite one hot pink streak falling loose from his mullet/Mohawk/ponytail thingy.

“Happy birthday, Mum!” he said, and for the second time that day I wilted to the floor.

Chapter 2

---