BOOK THREE

Pearson and I

Story by Charles Finley

The final chapter

A decision one of us has to make

Upon my desk a bobble head; an idea of a relaxing item to make me chuckle and soothe my feelings during a crisis: It was my assistant Alicia’s idea of a subtle present to remind me; to always keep moving.

I just had a birthday. I am now older than I was yesterday, but I remain as young as I feel.

I am now forty-two years old.  I still shift for the occasional client but I have chosen to ground myself and try to enjoy all that happens around me; not that I would miss any of it, but to try engaging myself more in the real world.

The passing of my last living relative leaves me an orphan. My mother passed last year in her sleep at the age of 92.

 I stayed with her for many nights. In those last moments we held each other’s hands one on top of the other. We would laugh, we would cry. She told me that I continued to make her proud every day, and talked about the day of my birth in 2001. Something she never told me before.

The night of my birth coincided with multiple celestial events; a meteor shower, the conjunction of Mars with the moon and the closet approach between the two of 2 degrees.

A rare meteor shower took place and peaked right around my birthday; November 21st. It was called the α-Monocerotid meteor shower. It filled the sky with thousands upon thousands of streaking points of light visible to the naked eye.

She told me how she was able to watch the light through the hospital window while waiting to give birth to me. She told me that on the day of my birth I was kicking violently during this natural event and then it suddenly stopped without warning seconds before I was born.

A coincidence: maybe; but still a very unique and memorable moment for my mother and father.

My mother always believed in me, but never believed my story about the shift. She did question my abilities as an artist and wondered where I got it from. My dad never showed any signs of artistic talent; she just assumed it was a gift.

Her funeral was simple and elegant and she deserved nothing less. Lying peacefully under her favorite tree; the willow tree, she will continue to listen to the rolling stream in the distance and receive the warm rays of the sun as she has always enjoyed.

A return to the shop reminded me that I have collected more moments on canvas than I could ever have imagined.

***

Hero was not a word our son was well acquainted with, but today was different.

It wasn’t the winning run. It made him understand that life will sometimes throw you a curve when you least expect it, and you will always come out on top if you try hard enough.

His mother and I watched from the side lines as he made his first touchdown. Our son at the age of twelve made a run of twenty seven yards. 

The last eight yards were the most crucial but his determination was strong. He blocked, he twisted and turned through four opposing players before reaching the end zone.

He stopped; he raised his arms in a personal celebration that reflected his achievement. The crowd rose in applause that vibrated every seat and shook the stadium.

The opposing team was just as impressed. He stood alone basking in the few minutes of personal triumph before he was eventually surrounded by his teammates.

I was personally very proud that day; I know the rest of the family was as well; it was a sight that we all cherished, and I mean all of us.

*** 

My gallery is filled to the brim with art and spectacular images. They continue to sell without hesitation; yet they are not mine to truly enjoy.

I am now less than half the age my father would have been; and most days I still feel the loss. The emptiness continues to haunt me; as I am the last of my line.

A walk through the gallery led me to the front door and outside I went. I tilted my head up to the sky with my eyes closed; I let the sun beat on my face. I continued to take in my amazing life and all that I have seen, but were they mine?

A short walk and a cup of coffee later I returned.

Alicia reminded me that today was the closing of my mother’s house, my childhood memories were soon to be gone. We had made arrangements to remove the remaining contents and finalize the cleaning for the new owners.

Most of her things were donated as per her wishes, furniture, dishware, silverware and her clothing was to be donated to the church for the down trodden. The only things left were boxes in the attic, which contained family memories.

Being the lightest; the loading of the last box was the hardest, the heaviest and the most heartfelt.

Hearing the last click of the walkway gate finalized the moment as I turned for my final mental picture of something that once was.

The three last boxes held all of my childhood; the only memories I can truly say are my own.

Back at the gallery; Alicia and I took the time to open the boxes and help me go through my final thoughts and visions.

The first box contained letters back and forth from the both of them when they started dating. Family picture albums, birthdays and a few ribbons for salesman of the month.

My father was a salesman for a tool company and his job included weekend road trips to other cities for business trips and conventions.

The second box contained gifts from my father to my mother and from my mother to my father. Knick knacks he would buy her to remind her that he always thought about her while he was away on business and away from her.

Her gifts to him were reminders of his devotion to her and the family, remembering to never give up.

The third box contained some clothing; a wedding dress, a tuxedo he wore when they got married, a prom dress and my father’s favorite overcoat and hat that my mother bought him to keep him warm when he was far from home.

These were things I could not and would not get rid of. This was all I had left to immortalize my parents.

Alicia held the Prom dress up and let me glance upon its beauty. I proceeded to hold the tuxedo in the same fashion, but it was just a little too small for me.

***

Doesn’t our boy look so handsome all dressed up in his tux? My wife spoke as if our son was getting married. He was seventeen going to his senior prom. I had gotten the car all washed and waxed. It looked sharp. I never questioned his abilities to drive, I taught him everything I knew and I taught him well.

I ran over a few pointers on what and what not to do, and to always bring protection… You know just in case it rains. That was one of my jobs, keeping my son safe.

***

The overcoat and the hat were well preserved as the others were and I remove them from their plastic vacuum sealed bags. It was a perfect fit and it was warm as hell. The hat finalized the outfit and the look, while allowing me to feel the closest I ever felt to my father in years.

Alicia could see the look on my face, she saw the smile, the feeling and the loss I had for him. She never asked me before but now it seemed almost appropriate for her.

“What happened to your father?” It was a question I always expected, but didn’t see coming.

I told her it was a heart attack, because that was what I was told. I never felt comfortable with that; I just had to accept it.

My grandparents always talked about him as a very strong, funny and intelligent man, who took care of himself: so I always felt I had to question their explanation.

Alicia became quiet, and then spoke “Do you think they were lying”

I don’t see why they would lie to me about something like that, but I learned to live with it.

Her response was again short and sweet. “Wow, okay”

We closed the boxes and stored them away.

***

            If I told you once; I told you a thousand times, don’t you ever lie to us, ever! We did not raise you this way… Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?

“Dad, I didn’t lie” Now, that’s twice…. Your grounded one week…. “Oh dad, come on!”

We got a call from your teacher. He said you haven’t shown up to class in a week. So it’s either you or your teacher that’s lying. Which one is it?

“That’s not fair…” Fair? How would you like it if your mother or I lied to you?

“Come on… it was home economics, a cooking class. I hate cooking.”

So you did lie…  You know what? It doesn’t matter, you go to class; you do your work and that’s it.  

So you will be in bed by 9:30; No friends, no television; homework is to be completed, and we will be doing it together… you and I side by side. Any questions “But, but?”  No? Okay then…Off you go.

I finally finished the last few paintings a few weeks ago. I have been nonstop for the last 8 months. These finished the last works that were commissioned by private clients.

Alicia informed me of a call from a new client who wished to talk to me about possible employment.

I took a look at his number it was from out of state. I called the number and a man answered.

He gave me the name of Stephen H Hawke: It sounded phony to me but I accepted it.

He told me that he had mailed a package to me a few days ago and he just got a text notice that it would be delivered today.

He mentioned that he was unable to meet in person due to an injury it had received a few years back. He was restricted to a wheelchair and has been ever since.

I told him that I was taken a break to go on vacation. I also promised him that I would check it out when I received it. I made no promises, but I would get back to him.

A few hours later I watched as a delivery truck drove off from the front of my house. The envelope was thick and heavy.

I opened it and read over the material. A few 8 by 10 pictures were the first to be seen as they lay on top. A man with only his back towards the camera is seen walking the street. A long black overcoat topped with a grey bowler hat with a white ribbon along the rim.

New York City, February sixth two thousand five.

The enclosed letter told the story of the night in question. The man in the pictures walking was a stranger to him that he accidentally killed in a car accident only moments after this picture was taken.

He told me he was able to get the picture from a street camera, he had a family friend who worked for the company.

He proceeded to explain that the car broke a steering bracket and had locked up; causing him to run the gentleman over on an empty street. He then left the scene of the accident.

He crashed into a brick wall some many miles away; far enough from the scene that there was no connection to him. He was left with the injuries he has to this day.

Stephen said he only found out a few days later, as to what really had happened that night.

I called the gentleman back. I asked him what he wanted me to do with this information.

I need you to right the wrong.

I told him; this is not something I do and that I couldn’t help him. He pleaded non-stop for twenty minutes, but I had to refuse, I had to let him go and end this.

I ended our discussion abruptly and I hung up.

***

I continued to complete what I started. Getting everything in order so I could relax; take a vacation. I didn’t want to think about anything. I just wanted to be me.

The following days consisted of repeated phone calls and messages left on my voice mail. Stephen was very persistent.

A few weeks had passed when I accidentally picked up the phone and he was on the other end.

What he said next became the turning point to our conversation.

“Mr. Finch, please… I was drunk, I made a mistake”

Excuse me?

“There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret what happened. I am bound to a wheelchair for the rest of my life after I took the life of an innocent man.

I spent the last twenty-four years: every waking moment of my pathetic life reliving that moment, that horror and the regret. I am asking you to find out who that person was so I can give the family piece of mind.”

I hung up the phone and reviewed the package again. Small fragments of information but nothing definitive; it was nagging at me. Something was not right. Something didn’t add up.

The date, the year and the location meant something to me but I couldn’t pinpoint it.

My decision to research the incident, led to articles, and blurred out images that did not show the person in question or any relationship to the Mr. Hawke.

The accident was more horrifying than depicted, the name was never released for privacy reasons and no facial recognition was possible.

My decision to shift was hanging over my head. I had to make a choice.

The only image I had to shift with, were the pictures I received in the mail. There were a few from the local papers that showed the street corner, but that was it.

I knew from experience that I would not shift at that exact location of the actual pictures but days or weeks before. I knew I was going to spend some time there.

I called Mr. Hawke. I relayed to him that I will accept his commission, but that I could not guarantee anything.

***

Our child was in no ordinary accident. This was something I couldn’t even describe if I tried too.

The medics did all they could, but he never fully regained consciousness. He laid there motionless as everyone tried to bring him back from this tragic incident.

My boy, our son who saved two children that horrible day lied helpless in a hospital bed. The coma lasted 11 months.

A child at that age of 9-1/2 having no regards for his own safety and wellbeing; took it upon his self to put himself in harm’s way.

Removing two little kids who were playing jacks on what they thought were unused train tracks: led to an incident heard round the world.

Trapped under a thirty two car freight train; caused severe mental and physical trauma, putting him into a coma. We never left the hospital…

I lost my job, and I didn’t care. This was my son and I was not leaving his side. The family took turns holding his hands, reading to him and praying for his recovery.

Families from all over sent flowers, gifts, started a fund-me campaign and held vigil’s outside the hospital in parks all over.

***

            I approached Alicia as she sat in her favorite lounge chair going through paperwork she was putting together. I told her I was going to take the commission and that I will be shifting momentarily.

She thanked me for letting her know. She said

“I will be right here when you get back… Go find your bird man.”

I have to admit that wasn’t her normal response but she seemed, for a lack of a better word, content with it.

My shift landed me in an alley just outside Time square. The date was February sixth two thousand five at eight pm. I had no problem fitting in with the year and date

I have to admit I knew my way around but had very little time to locate the man in the picture. It wasn’t an easy task, but the area he was in, was downtown.

I made my way to the location of the hotels, bars and clothing stores. Being New York City, it was open all night which helped me to find my destination easier.

Having shifted many times before I have never really had a shift bring me so close to the actual date and time so I had to work quickly. Store after store and hotel after hotel led me to the bars and clubs along the streets; located underneath the buildings on street level.

 Jazz, rock and poetry reading rooms were all that was left; a wide variety for the lonely at heart or just a quiet night out to relax.

“The Blue spot” was a Jazz club, second to last place on this particular street. A local bar with a small stage: soothing local music and a calming atmosphere. Tonight was house music.

Entering the small club that hosted a 6 stool bar and 12 tables that sat 3 patrons each helped make my decision simple. An approach to the bar was the obvious way to go so I would not look out of place.

The only two lonely hearts at the bar were quiet and just absorbing the atmosphere. A tilt and toast of their glasses to each other showed me they were in a subtle conversation of some kind.

As I threw a twenty on the bar the bartender asked my preference. A gin and tonic was my drink of choice.  As I twirled the glass in my hands the conversation of the two men made its way to my chair.

I got a good look at the man in the middle, grey hair and a stash. An overbearing and deep voiced gentleman who made his mark upon me. His first words were…

“Who is your favorite sax player?”

My reply was quick and direct…Wayne Shorter…

The gentleman in the middle responded with excitement.

“Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time…”

The man at the end held his glass high, now there’s a guy who knows his music. I took the opportunity to engage further. They were actually my father’s albums and I listened to them over and over on very special occasions. It was my only way to feel close to him. It was his favorite music.

The man in the middle was named Stephen, The name sounded too familiar. He was a local who had enjoyed his Friday nights: a few extra drinks after work and music to fill his soul. I responded with my reply. My name is Pearson, when the man at the end spoke… “Now that is a jazz players name if I ever heard one, who gave you that name?”

My Father

The other gentleman was an out of Towner. Here on business for the weekend. I never really got a good look, but I did feel a slight connection with both of them as we discussed in detail the jazz players of the last twenty five years.

***

            You never know what kind of music will fill your soul, only to find out which one soothes your soul. Believe you, me. There is a difference.

When I was growing up it was the beginning of the British invasion, the Beatles, the stones, the kinks… You name it, we had it. When out of nowhere. “The Devil’s music made its way into many a lost soul.

By the end of the 60’s, Rock and roll was everywhere.  Though the phrase was introduced much earlier, one famous songwriter immortalized the genre. Neil Young, who told everyone “Rock and Roll”, will never die. He was right.

There was always one type that soothed my soul no matter the moment. Jazz… there was Miles Davis, John Coltrane and Charles Mingus. If I was to pick my favorite it would be jazz. I would sit alone put on an old record and just take it all in, slowly feeding it to anyone within an earshot.

Trying to decide who was going to be my son’s first concert; took a little time to figure out. My final decision… Billy Joel. You can’t go wrong with Billy Joel.

I warmed him up as we drove in the car or when we were home doing yard work. I played enough to watch him enjoy it.

Billy Joel’s opening number that night “We didn’t start the fire” He jumped out of his seat. He never sat down again. Sometimes as a father, you just know what’s right.

***

The gentleman at the end seemed subdued, as if he had other things on his mind, the talk of jazz did soften him up a bit, but he still held back.

He didn’t have many drinks and from what I saw he was milking the one he had for what seemed like forever.

Eventually turning the conversation around; reminiscing about his family became the topic for the time being.

This seemed to annoy Stephen as he made his way to the bathroom mumbling words I could barely understand. It sounded like he said “This guy and his family”

That’s when I got a good look at the man at the end of the bar. Faint memories were all I had, but from what I could see; it was him. I needed to make sure; a simple question would seal the deal for me.

Excuse me, if you don’t mind me asking… what’s your name?

“My name is Burton. Burt Coleman.”

It was a somber response. He seemed to be a very lonely, a very quiet type of man, self-absorbed. Keeping to his self and trying to enjoy the moment.

This was my mistake; the resemblance was uncanny, but it obviously was not him. For a moment I thought I hit my mark like a bull’s-eye.

Stephen returned a bit unwound and started cursing through most of his phrases. I didn’t seem to want to listen anymore to his blabber. 

I was starting to get confused; something was not feeling right, why am I here? Was this the Stephen; The Stephen who contacted me?

I started hoping something would show me a sign. This guy Stephen was getting out of control and dropping drinks like flies with a swatter. His speech became almost nonverbal, slurring, drooling and just talking shit.

***

Do you remember your first drink? I do. I was 14. My friend Charley brought over a six pack of Rheingold or Pabst blue ribbon I don’t remember; anyway I loved his name and enjoyed saying it out loud.

Chuck, Charles Buckley. We sat in my back yard hidden away from everyone. We opened our first can of beer, they weren’t that cold and we didn’t know the difference.

After the second beer it started to drizzle. He called it quits and left me sitting in a cloth chair that had been sitting outside and getting soaked.

Nothing happened at first and I wasn’t feeling anything at all; until, Mother Nature had her way. The stack of empty cans next to me; made me realize that I was only recycling the warm brewskis.

After standing up; it took all of 5 seconds before I started puking my brains out.

I promised my wife I would not let our son experience his first drink in that way.

His 16^th birthday seemed like the perfect time. He was growing up. He has become very respectful and has learned his lessons on many occasions.

Learning to respect the alcohol will get you far, disrespecting it has it consequences.

He told me he tried beer once and didn’t like it at all. So a more manly drink was open for opportunity. I told him you don’t need to drink all of it. Just savor it and just take a sip or two. I believe to this day he has understood my meaning; his choice, my favorite Gin and Tonic.

***

Stephen was making more and more visits to the bathroom. The last one seemed to take quite a bit longer than the last one.

As Burt and I expected a return, Stephen never did. The next sound was that of an emergency alarm being set off that coincided with a metal door being slammed shut,

We both assumed the back door was the culprit, but no one entered. As the current song ended the sound of car engine revving became apparent.  The Bartender Mike assured us it was just Stephen making his usual departure.

Mike told us that Stephen use to be on a professional Rally race team back in the day. The continued sound of his engine echoed throughout the buildings and it was causing a stir.

The most annoying sound to me is that of screeching tires upon the blacktop.

Mike had made a comment to us that this is what he always does before he heads home. My instincts took a hold of me. I looked at Mike and asked him,

Just out of curiosity, what was Stephen’s last name?

“Too be honest I am not sure… I never asked. Wait. He pays by credit card let me look”

I cringed at the thought. I didn’t want to know the answer. This is one time I didn’t want to be right.

He returned as if he found a pot of gold, waving a piece of paper in his hand

“Got it; It’s Hawke… Stephen H Hawke”

Excuse me, what did you say?

“His last name is Hawke, you know like the bird”

That was the moment I knew. I ran out the front door, turned and ran to the corner where the picture was taken…The camera was 8 feet above the ground. I flipped over the garbage can and used it as a stepping platform. I was able to get into the right position.

I saw the man in the black coat; I had completed the moment, but I knew I knew this was not right. I shouldn’t be here.

I made it back to my point of entry and shifted back to my reality.

My return from the shift at that exact moment was not planned and it was terrifying.  I didn’t have much time. I ran until I found her. I had to know.

Somehow she knew I was coming back, she was waiting for me; sitting just as she was when I left on this adventure.          I got right up in her face and I just lost it.

Alicia It was you! Wasn’t it… You set this up. Why? How? Why would you do this?

She abruptly took a stand. She pushed me back with both hands using all of her anger. Her eyes became jet black and she tore into me like never before. We have had our disagreements but this was over the top. I have never seen her like this and I never saw this coming.

She began to speak violently, as she pointed her finger right in my face. She exploded.

DON”T you ever talk to me like that again….EVER!

Mr. Hawke was my father. My parents abandoned me was I was 3 years old. My mother left because she was a druggy. She couldn’t handle a child. My father was a religious drunk and a 24-7 alcoholic.

I was put into a foster home. I hated every minute of it. My escape from that reality was you. You were my sanity.

I learned how to fuck over the system through the years and was able to continually meet with you and I wanted to be with you. No one and I mean no one wanted me, no one cared for me.

Then out of the blue, there you were. There was something about you that I could not quite pin point.

Then you told me about this magical mystical thing you could do, and I lived through it with you. I listen to your stories and prayed for a life like that.

The stories you told.  The adventures, the experiences you felt… I lived every one of them… Every God Damn one of them!

Our chance meeting was just that! In a park every weekend; that was my vacation from my reality.

You were the only friend I had; you changed my life and made it for the better. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.

We were family. I never expected marriage and either did you. That wasn’t our destiny. We were mates…Soul mates of the mind is how I think of it. I know you agree.

I kept tabs on both of my parents through the years. My mother lived with nothing but junkies. I eventually lost track of her.

 My father moved to New York some years later and for a while I didn’t care.

He eventually was arrested multiple times for DWI and racing, his favorite pastime. He wound up back on my radar.

I am really not sure if you know what I do for you. I do a lot of research; I have programs that find people of interests.

Every so often I look at his life to remind myself how good I have had it and where I would have been if they never left me.”

Alicia stopped momentarily; as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She had put me in my place. She had never told me. I fell back in shame and disbelief.

After all these years; it took my selfishness to see the real Alicia I never knew. I took it for granted. I couldn’t apologize enough.

She sat down in the same chair as when I found her… she continued with a more relaxed emotion.

“You asked me why I did this.  These last few years have been hard on you; I saw it in your eyes, the pain, the loss and the memories of your family.

You’re alone now. I know what that feels like. You once told me, that emotions do not transfer. I didn’t believe you at first. However if that is true, then what you are feeling right now are your true feelings from your own reality.

You need to go back. You need to go back now and finish it.” This is a decision one of us had to make.

I questioned her again. Why?

“Because he killed your father; NOW GO! And don’t come back, until you complete this shift…. Promise me… I SAID … PROMISE ME!”

I promise.

The returning shift brought me one block away. Alicia last words were hauntingly powerful. I didn’t know how to accept them. What the hell am was I supposed to do?

I heard the car racing, doing donuts and screeching in the distance; I ran as fast as I could, to find this man again Who Alicia believes was my father.

Coming up from behind I caught up with him walking the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He was unaware of the danger.  He was calm and carefree.

I saw the lights from the car reflecting off the walls of the surrounding buildings. The sound and the vehicle were getting closer.

WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSE TO DO! Am I being tested; what did Alicia expect me to do? I had seconds to decide.

I stopped for a moment. My hands found their way to the top of my head; I started screaming as if I was losing a major conflict with myself, eyes closed. My screams were louder than the car itself. When just at that moment a tap on my shoulder along with a faint voice.

“Hey Son is everything okay?”

My eyes opened. My hands dropped to my side. The look on my face had to be that of horror. The first single word from my mouth felt completely natural.

Dad…?

“No sorry, I am not your dad; Wow that was some scream are you sure you are feeling okay?

I stopped from embarrassing myself any further, I looked around; the car had passed us both and sped off.

I did not consciously do this; when out of nowhere I fell to my knees.  

***

***

            You know Son, there will come a time when you need to make a decision that may affect others. It is a choice that only you can make. It might feel selfish, maybe even feel morally wrong, but if the outcome becomes completely questionable, you may be the only one who knows if it is the right thing to do.

But dad I still don’t quite understand.

Let me try it another way

You have to ask yourself if what you are about to do, will cause severe consequences to those around you or will the effects be very minimal. Will it affect many or the few. Sometimes it is not an easy decision, but one you and you alone must decide.

So If I understand you right. The many; out way the few

You know… you watched too much Star trek… But you are right

Thanks Pop

***

——————————– Finish the meeting with his father—————————————

                    STARTING HERE

Holding a palm sized mirror for my final destination was my choice, quietly nestled in my front pocket and out of sight. Although it was just a look away, this moment left me almost speechless.

I created and held on to an image I was to use for my final shift, a new place, one where I should find peace and serenity.

I learned to hide it even farther away from myself until it was needed. Today was that day.

As I closed my eyes; I was able to look over my achievements and failures. I drifted aimlessly through years of excitement, laughter; friendship and heartache only to stand before my final decision and realize they were never really mine to bear.

I tilted my head back and absorbed the rays of the sun, feeling the warmth I believe I will never feel again brought my life full circle. I realized that my life was everyone else’s. I lived through their eyes and not my own.

I am not sure what lied ahead or if anything will be there for me. Will I exist in another state, will I feel a loss for the ones I know and loved, will I be remembered for the good I have done or just the bad.

Questions, I know will all soon be answered.

I admit I took a few questionable commissions and not all of them were good natured. Some were filled with hatred, disgust, and revenge: as others was just the retrieval of good hearted information.

I was not a part of them, but I watched. I explored their possibilities as well as the results. Some actually felt right, but some felt wrong. I started believing they were mine, but they were not mine to act on.

I don’t think I was supposed to be me. During the time I existed I enjoyed being other people or someone else altogether, but this wasn’t the life I wanted. This wasn’t my life.

I hesitated for as long as I could; hoping for a sign that what was about to happen was the right move for me.

I made my decision to alter my life and try not to change anyone else’s. Was it possible? Would anybody even know that I did?

It would be considered a selfish act either way, but one of them was less selfish than the other.

I was finally able to meet my father, and he was all they said he was. Our short time together was welcoming to all who spoke of him.

 My mother was right. My grandparents were right. He was a loving father and an idol I truly wish I knew.

I am not sure why it is taking so long for the miracle I hoped would happen, isn’t happening. I must have miscalculated my timing or the outcome I wished for.

I knew I couldn’t stay much longer in this shift. Something had to give.

The sudden jolt of random images seemed to overtake me in a way I have only ever experienced after a shift, but I haven’t shifted yet.

Blurriness affecting my vision, Headaches worse than migraines I never experienced before, all causing me to keel over in an overload I could no longer handle.

These were completely random; with one interesting catch… These images carried raw emotion.

This is unlike anything that has ever happened to me: Images were disappearing and being replaced right before my eyes, new ones emerging out of thin air but not in front of me: Inside me.

These were new. I now believe they had everything to do with the situation I hoped to create. In the blink of an eye, I relived decades of memories.

These were mine… ALL MINE!

Family portraits, vacations, fishing, were pulling hair all flashing rapidly as if I was reliving an entire life in matter of seconds. I know now what had happened.

History had to remain unchanged. Stephen H Hawke did not have his accident yet. This needed to happen for the chain of events to be complete.

I stood proudly as an onslaught of emotions filled every new thought. I cried, I laughed, and I smiled, but my time was running out. I had to shift while I still could.

The last new image I saw was a family holiday picture in front of a Christmas tree. My parents, grandparents, me and a young girl wearing a Christmas sweater that said,

“Alicia, The best sister ever”

My shift had to be now, as I opened my eyes I projected the last image. The last sound I heard was the shattering of the mirror I held for my final shift.

The End