She had never thought that space travel would be a journey of interest. Only now,
living in this ancient body, did she realize it just might be the ticket back to
her youth.
She’d once thought that the least desirable aspect of being confined to a
spacecraft would be the cramped and claustrophobic quarters. But since the brilliant
flash in her brain that caused the “stroke,” she already had no choice
but to live in a soft shell, confined to a wrinkled casing of skin, shaped by the
rack of ribs and framework of ulna, tibia, clavicle, and spine. Even her eyelids,
like broken window shades, were unable to wind back onto their shafts.
When she awoke from the stroke she had tested her brain, running through the
multiplication tables up to twelve, and conjugating verbs, first in French, then
Italian, comparing the past, present, and future tenses with clumsy English. She
imagined herself walking up a steep hill, lungs heaving, sweat running down her back,
legs strong, and using her arms to pump as she forced herself to climb along the road
to the next tree, then the next. And on her pillow, the back of her head was wet with
salty sweat and her fingers lay limp, curling inward, not able to even count to ten.
She found herself traveling back to her beginnings, and discovered that the distant
memories filled out in vibrant, rich colors like a cinemascope film: her mother
in an embroidered apron making peanut butter cookies in the kitchen; the wonder
of a red starfish she found on a second grade field trip; the attraction of the
curly-headed boy who kissed her first; and the awe she felt at the birth of her
daughter.
As she lay in the hospital bed she forgot about the bothersome visits and hushed
voices of visiting relatives, and the intermittent ringing of the phone down the
hall. She didn’t mind being turned over when the attendant changed the sheets,
and she learned she liked the refreshing sponge baths that she’d once despised.
She now travelled freely in the inner space days of her youth, rejuvenated, and
her body was going along for the ride.
has always had print and words in her blood, since she grew up working for her
family’s weekly newspaper. Now an artist and writer living on the cliffs of
the Pacific Ocean, she has short stories published in various journals, including
Curly Red Stories. She’s a devotee of Italian and visiting Italy,
and of her two cats.
