Author: Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Max had started the day with anti-anxiety medication, some painkillers, and a mild sedative. He was so relaxed that the nurse had to practically pour him into a wheelchair to get him down to the transfer station for the procedure.
“Morning Maxwell”, one of the gowned and masked personnel in the brightly lit room spoke. Nobody was looking at him, so he had no idea who was speaking.
The nurse coaxed him to his feet, stripped off his gown and eased him back onto a slightly reclined board that softened and molded to his body as he was leaned into it. The nurse applied pressure with both hands on his shoulders until he had sunk halfway into the warm, enveloping material, then he did the same with his hips, arms, and legs, turning away only when Max was held firmly in place.
There was a flurry of activity just beyond his peripheral vision, and then another person similarly entrapped in a wall of black goo was swung around to face Max, their bodies just a few feet apart.
Max started as he recognized the face as his own, an unblinking mirror image of himself.
Not a mirror though, this other face was a little softer. Gone were the frown lines, and the bags beneath the eyes, and the hairline wasn’t nearly as receding. This was a younger version of himself, not worn so heavily by the ravages of time.
“It’s not the years,” he heard himself say, “it’s the mileage.”
There was a chuckle from somewhere nearby.
“You’re going to feel a little disoriented, but it’s important that you focus as though looking in a mirror; it helps the reassociation with your self when the transfer is complete.”
A hum started somewhere, a sensation he could feel through the material molded to his flesh, the vibration of a sound he could hear in his bones more clearly than in his ears.
Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
He studied the face before him again, looking for some reaction, some sense that the other Max had felt it too, but there was nothing, just the frown lines and bagged eyes he’d grown so accustomed to…
He stopped mid-thought as the realization struck him.
“Was that it? Are we done?”
The older, worn out Max was swung out of view, and a pair of nurses stepped up to help him down to stand on the floor.
“That’s it, we’re done.”
Gone was the fog of medication, gone too was the ache in the knees and the persistent throbbing from a shoulder separation that had never really healed.
He squatted, and launched himself into the air, nearly cracking his head on the ceiling before landing awkwardly, the nurses reaching out to steady him.
“We’ll need to adjust that…”, a voice behind one of the masks spoke as he made changes on a console.
“Wait”, Max felt a familiar anxiety begin to rise, “what do you mean ‘adjust that’?” His voice started to shake as his mind raced. “Are you telling me you can make changes to me? What else can you do? Who has access to me? How do I know you’re not going to make…”
His voice trailed off, and a feeling of calm washed over him.
“There, that’s better, what was that you were saying, Max?”
Max squatted, springing back up to full height without the slightest ache in his knees, and the pain in his shoulder was a distant memory.
So to was some nagging thought, something just at the edge of his recollection.
Mustn’t have been important, he thought.
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