I tripped on the way out of Jeff’s loft, landing face-first into the railing overlooking the parking lot two stories down. It was an absolute miracle the rusted metal didn’t break and let me fall to my death. But could you really blame me for that fumble with the kind of day I’d been having?
I caught a girl cheating on me, and right after that, I realized I woke up in a new body! Technically she wasn’t my girlfriend, per-se. That dishonor belonged to Mike Smith, the previous owner of this body. But that didn’t make the situation any better! I wasn’t in my own goddamn body anymore!
I picked myself up with a painful groan and made my descent down to the lot below. A very slow descent. Who knew what the hell was going on, but the first logical step was to figure it out. I reached into my pocket in search of a phone, but all I found was Mike’s wallet and keys. Not even a dumb phone!
Back in the loft, I was somehow able to access Mike Smith’s memories. I squirmed as I tried to repeat the process, poking and prodding every corner of my brain in hopes of finding the right switch, probably looking like a giant idiot to anyone who was watching. Which was hopefully no one. I was starting to get a headache.
Eventually, I hit just the right mental button, and… nothing. My headache started to grow a little worse.
I took a deep breath and kept walking. I still needed to find Mike’s car, so I tried it again. This time, it didn’t take as long for me to find the switch, and my head didn’t even hurt as much afterwards! Oh yeah, and I actually got a result.
I walked past several cars to a rustbucket of an Oldsmobile. Paint was flaking off all over and the left-side mirror was severely bent out of shape. One of the doors was even a different color from the rest. Still, I felt a weird sense of nostalgia that wasn’t my own as I looked at the jury-rigged scrap heap, so this had to be it. Mike’s beloved car.
The vehicle was definitely ancient, since they didn’t even make Oldsmobiles anymore. It even had a stick shift! One more trawl through my mind, this time without much trouble, and I was able to draw upon Mike’s muscle memory. It took over for me and began to operate the dinosaur, driving it onto the road towards anywhere but here.
The neighborhood was completely unfamiliar, the roads and landmarks all unrecognizable. It wouldn’t have surprised me if the body I ended up in was far from home, but how far away were we talking about? According to Mike, I was in… Newark, New Jersey?!
I steadied the wheel just in time to avoid swerving into the car beside me. The driver violently honked their horn while shaking their fist, while I just held my head down and let them get some distance. Starting a fight on the road was the last thing I needed now, especially when I was on the other side of the country.
That bit of info just brought up even more questions, and I still needed answers. It was time for Plan B. If there wasn’t a smartphone on hand, then maybe a computer? I expected Mike to own something equally ancient, like one that still ran Windows 98, but his memories came up blank. Maybe he just didn’t have any memories of using a computer? Could he really have been that sheltered?
Either way, it was time for plan C. If I couldn’t find a smartphone or a computer, then I had to rely on one of the most classical repositories of knowledge around; the library.
One turn plus a gearshift later, the car was barreling down the highway. My heart rate began to slow back down, and the sound of rushing wind took my mind off the worst of this whole situation. I tried focusing on the billboards to distract myself further. There were the expected ads for accident attorneys, and a surprising amount for gentlemen’s clubs. The Golden Rail, Poles to the Heavens, Exotic Birds. That last one had a picture of a flamingo on a stripper pole. The freeway was probably going over a bad part of town.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
But the boards alongside them were what caught my eye. More attorneys, from medium-sized firms to small practices, trying to drum up business from passers by. Morgan and Jorgen, Mezzare Legal, Wilson-Burton-Clide, and the list went on. But how likely was a driver going to use a highway billboard to find a divorce lawyer?
Maybe women didn’t like their husbands going to all the strip clubs? I decided not to pay it too much mind.
A lot of weird shit was going on, and there was no point just staring. I had the memories of my body’s previous owner, and hopefully it could give me better answers than just blankness.
“So, Mike Smith. What do you have to say about technology in general?” I asked out loud, eyes still focused on the road, not wanting to make the same mistake of underestimating the truth twice. “You don’t own a laptop, smartphone, or even a basic cell phone! And you expect me to believe you don’t know what any of those are? Fine, let’s start with something simpler. Do you know what a telephone is? Those things are ancient. And if not, a fucking telegraph. A goddamn caveman would know what that is.”
A mental image of a corded landline appeared in my head. Along with Mike Smith flirting with his now ex-girlfriend.
“Seriously dude, get over it!” I hissed. “I did you a favor by dumping her!” The chances anyone was actually listening in on the other end were slim, but it sure did feel like some part of Mike’s personality was still around.
I let out a sigh, turning my head to the side as several cars overtook mine. Other Oldsmobiles, Fords, and Toyotas. There was even an Aston Martin in the mix. They all looked pretty old-timey, maybe there was some kind of car show going on? But why wasn’t there anything more modern either? Not even a single Prius!
“Seriously, what year was this?” I whispered to myself. “Hold on, 19… 80?!”
I took a big gulp of air and held onto the steering wheel with a vice-like grip. It took all of my willpower not to drive through the overpass barrier out of shock and onto the road below. “Ok, easy does it Chuck. Don’t slam on the accelerator, don’t wrench the wheel, don’t get yourself killed.”
1980 wasn’t so bad, right? This was living in America, I was white, and housing was cheap! I’d survive, probably even thrive! So why did it feel like I was about to have a heart attack? Oh, right. “GODDAMN IT 19-FUCKING-80!”
The oldsmobile skidded across the asphalt and slammed into the car in front of me.
The airbag quickly inflated, and my head went careening into it. The safety device broke the worst of the impact, and even if it hadn’t, it would’ve at least woken me up from this fever dream.
I punched the airbag out of the way and slowly got out of my car. I read that you were supposed to wait until the paramedics arrived, but it really wasn’t that big of a crash. The other vehicle was stopped a little away from mine and only had a large dent on its back fender. Neither me nor the other driver should’ve been too hurt.
“Hey buddy, are you alright?” I asked, slowly walking over to the driver-side door.
The door was thrown open by a leg and out stepped a man who was exactly five feet tall, partially balding, and beet red. He glared at me with his bloodshot eyes and opened his mouth wide to take a deep breath. He huffed several times before finally speaking.
“You asshole! Do you know how much that cost?!” A puff of steam escaped his nostrils as he breathed out.
“Shit, sorry man. I’m insured, they can pay it off.” An image of paperwork sitting in my glove compartment flashed through my mind.
“Fuck you!” the man shouted as he charged at me.