Between Two Minds: Awakening Page 10

  “I appreciate the opportunity, boss.” It sounded like the Padre was holding the promotion over my head rather than looking out for my well-being, but I showed no signs of questioning his sincerity.

  While I was mostly sincere, I had already begun to mistrust working for the Padre. I was doubting the promotion even more, but another part of me thought the money was just too good to pass up.

  After the proper thirty-minute wait, the Padre firmly gripped the money case by the handle and pointed toward the exit. Approaching the stairs, I glanced back at the body on the landing, less disturbed by it than before. We headed down the stairs. At the bottom, I eyed the elevator remains as we entered the long hallway toward the exit where we followed the LEDs out. I opened the groaning metal door one more time for the Padre and followed closely behind. As the door screamed to a close behind us, anger and despair overcame me.

  I didn’t sign up for this shit!

  Chapter 8:

  It’s All Part of the Process

  “I didn’t sign up for this shit!”

  Tony, the therapist, nodded as Gerald shared his feelings with the group.

  “I can still smell my flesh burning. I can feel my skin bubbling. It’s as if it was literally burned into my memory. And everyone keeps saying they’re glad I’m alive and breathing.” Gerald took a deep breath. “Big deal! I’m not so sure I would have made the same decision if I was given a choice. Divorcing my body can do a lot of things, but in my case, the thoughts…the nightmares…the hell that I live every day, really make it hard to be grateful for this body.”

  In therapy leading up to a migration, some counselors likened the time immediately after the procedure to being burned alive, when your new immune system kicks in and takes its ire out on you. Poor Gerald experienced both the real thing and a mind migration. He had been working on a construction site when the new building caught fire and immediately consumed him. The way he told it, he would have certainly died had his wife not approved the last-minute, emergency migration. As amazing as it was that he was alive, the fact that he’d kept his sanity through it all was the most impressive thing.

  “After what seemed like an hour of burning, I basically died. I was gone. I was sure of it. But then suddenly, I had a flicker of consciousness—a flicker that forced me to relive each and every agonizing, gut-wrenching second over and over. I told myself that I was just burning for my sins, for everything I had ever done wrong. Every last goddamned awful thing I had ever done was running through my head. Things I did as a kid, things I had done as an adult. I repented hard, but clearly, I was the scum of the earth for the torture that was being thrust upon me. It wasn’t until I heard the doctor’s voice that I realized I wasn’t dead. He was counting, and as the numbers got lower, so too did my suffering. Part of me was relieved that I wasn’t actually in hell, but another part was disappointed. I was so tired of hurting and begging for mercy. I’m still exhausted every day. It may have only been a week to get here, but it felt like an eternity.”

  The group nervously shuffled a bit as the gravity of Gerald’s words sunk in.

  Tony broke the momentary silence. “Gerald, your experience is not uncommon for such a rushed procedure. Everyone else in the room had six months to a year to prepare. Believe it or not, I am pleasantly surprised at how far along you are. With our help, you should be able move past the grief of your situation and be happy again one day. It just takes time.”

  We were gathered in a large corner space in the recovery lounge. There were ceiling-to-floor windows on three sides of the room, and the natural light was easier on the eyes than halogens. Still, it made the room warmer than I would have liked. The cafeteria wasn’t far away, and the scent of beef stew made my stomach rumble because I was one of those odd people who had always loved cafeteria food.

  “Does anyone have any words of encouragement for Gerald to take away?” Tony peered around the semicircle of auto and manual chairs.

  “I do.”

  “Thanks, Jaime. Go ahead.”

  “I wasn’t burned alive, but pain has been a normal part of my life for the better part of two years. My doctors discovered a disorder in me, where my body incorrectly synthesized proteins, leading to the development of cancer in many of my internal organs. I was given six months to a year to live, and I made the decision then to migrate out of my faulty body and into one that functioned correctly. The countless hours of chemo and radiation therapy made it difficult to complete the psychotherapy. Well, three weeks ago, I learned that the cancer had spread to my liver, lungs, and bones. I still had two months of prep work to go, but didn’t have time. While I can’t remember what happened leading up to the procedure, I will never forget the pain of the cancer sweeping over my insides like wildfire. That pain is fresh in my mind even to this very moment. So, I appreciate that you are here and that you’re willing to share your experience. Stay strong and let me know if you ever want to talk.”

  Gerald sat back in his chair, and his eyes fluttered. He seemed surprised that anyone could relate even a little to the excruciating pain he was still experiencing.

  “Thanks, Jaime,” said Tony. “Who’s next?”

  A lanky redhead in an auto-chair next to me chimed in. “My story’s a little different, but I was also rushed. Society has come a long way in accepting that gender identity is a fairly fluid concept. But my family never saw it that way, and my mother would go on bigoted rants anytime the topic was brought up. She sent me to a religious school, and as a result, it took me through most of my teens to finally figure out that nearly all of the grief in my life was over the fact that I was born a woman when I’ve always been a man.”

  He shifted in his seat, confessing his discomfort at telling the story.

  “After turning eighteen, I finally had enough credits and courage to prep for the migration. When my mom found out, she kicked me out of the house. I lived with friends and on the streets while I went through the program. But word quickly spread to my old classmates why I was homeless. They found me in the city one day and beat me to within an inch of my life. The trauma stopped my brain from processing the beating, but I still have phantom pains throughout my new body to remind me of what happened. The silver lining in it all was that my mom made the final call for the procedure to happen because she would rather have me alive in a man’s body than not at all. Without a second chance, I would have missed the opportunity to see her progress has a person. We actually talk every week now.”

  Jim, whose birth name was Jeannette, gave Gerald a half smile and a nod after finishing his story.

  “Thanks, Jim. Gerald, we will resume this discussion during our one-on-one. We really appreciate your contributions, and we’re all going to keep supporting you the best we can. Ryan, would you like to wrap up today’s sessions by sharing your story with the group?”

  I was a bit caught off guard, but had known my time was coming eventually. I inhaled deeply and stared at the argyle pattern on the floor.

  “Since I couldn’t explore the world like other kids, I was always curious. Even at a young age, I had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. I read countless books and watched every documentary I could get my hands on. Hell, I even taught myself Morse code just because I was bored. But none of it was enough. I would look out the front window and wonder what the world was like out there, and I knew something had to give, so I quickly changed my focus from simply researching to exploring. I was determined to know everything about historic landmarks and places that I would probably never visit. I wanted to know what it felt like to be near the volcanic ash that had consumed the Big Island. I wondered what it was like to meander through the remnants of the Fallen Tower of Pisa and the Great Wall of China. None of those places were auto-chair accessible and we couldn’t have afforded the travel anyway, so I used VR to visit them. The experience was amazing even if it wasn’t real, though I guess it didn’t help that we could
only afford the second-generation VR headset. Most kids thought it was lame back then, but those are some of my fondest memories. Even though I was disabled, I tried to make the best of it.”

  The smile that had slowly crept onto my face faded quickly.

  “Then at age six, everything changed. Out of the blue, my father left us. No goodbye, no note, no nothing. One morning, he was gone. When I asked my mom where he was, she said he was working a job across the country. Weeks went by, and I asked about him more and more. After about a month, I knew he wasn’t coming back.”

  I coughed hard to clear my throat.

  “At first, I didn’t understand it. My folks never fought that much. They generally seemed to like each other. They met right out of college and had been together ever since. That was when I connected the dots as to the only reason he would leave, the one thing that would drive him to throw it all away.”

  It still stung to think about that realization all those years ago.

  “It was because of me. His only child, his one attempt at procreation, and I was born with a malformed spine. I didn’t walk. I didn’t run. I didn’t play. I was just needy. I needed to be bathed. I needed help using the bathroom. I needed help getting food. His only child wasn’t much of a child at all. I was just a lot of work to care for.”

  It was surprisingly cathartic to say all of that out loud to the group.

  “It wasn’t long after he left that I began taking to heart what a burden I was. After talking to my mom about it, she burst into tears and assured me that he left for his own reasons and that it didn’t have anything to do with me. It was the only time in my life that I felt like my mom was lying to me. But I knew she was doing it to protect me, so I gave her a break. As difficult as it was for a six-year-old to comprehend, I knew life was going to be even more difficult with just my mom and me, so I decided that I would need to be a lot more self-sufficient. I mastered the manual chair I had been scared of. I learned to operate the stair lift so Mom didn’t have to take me downstairs every day. Then for the next six years, I worked as hard as I could physically and mentally to put Mom and me in a good position. I always got top grades in school and even started to clean up around the house as much as I could. Things weren’t great, but we managed.”

  Another cough forced itself out.

  “Still, while we made the best of life, I felt like there was something more I needed to be working toward, a bigger goal than just getting by. That’s when the two biggest things happened. My mom gave me my one and only auto-chair. And then not so long after, I saw the news about mind migrations. Suddenly, I had purpose. Suddenly, I had direction. With all of the existing medical bills my mom talked about, I knew I would have to save for a long time in order to afford the procedure. But I was more than happy to.”

  I felt like I was being long-winded, so wanted to wrap it up.

  “Anyway, I’m humbled and thankful to finally be in an able body. I am also thankful that for the first time since I was six, and even in a room full of diverse strangers, I feel like I belong. Sure, I’m still working out the weird dreams that came along with the migration, but if that’s the worst of it, I know I’ll be okay. Thanks, everyone, for listening to me blabber.”

  As my voice died down, the sound of the air conditioner became apparent.

  “Thanks, Ryan. Does the group have any words of encouragement to share?” Tony swiped past a few pages on his handheld holo-pad.

  Jim spoke up first. “Hang in there. I was having weird dreams too, but they’ll continue with your medication and therapy, and those will settle down.”

  Jaime encouraged me as well. “Yeah, just keep the goal in focus. You’re just trying to get your mind back to one hundred percent, and that’s different for everyone.”

  Tony wrapped things up. “Well, that’s it for today. We made a lot of progress, and I want to encourage you all to capture any additional thoughts in your journal apps. As we’ve told you from day one, a mind migration is an ongoing process and it takes work to move that process along. Remember: we have a scheduled off day tomorrow, but if you need anything, you can just message me from your bedside terminal. Thanks again, everyone.”

  The newer model auto-chairs that the others had were nearly silent as they came to life. I couldn’t bring myself to replace—betray—Auto with a newer model, so I’d opted for a manual chair during my rehab. I was about to head back to my room when an ad on the monitor across the room caught my eye.

  “Looking to use your new host’s hands and brain in a fun and interactive way? R & F Automotive is looking for part-timers and volunteers to restore early-twenty-first-century gas-powered vehicles for the entertainment industry as well as collectors. No experience necessary. Apply today!”

  One of the old-timer vehicles they showed was black, and in an instant, I had the feeling that I recognized it. The odd thing was that I had never been interested in any of the technology from that time, so wasn’t really familiar with any of them. It was almost like a déjà vu that didn’t make any sense. Then vivid flashes of random items shot into my mind. Steering wheel. Manually driving. Cadillac. Crashing!

  I had no idea what a “Cadillac” was or why I was so moved by the thought of getting into an accident in one of them, but I knew it had to be related to the strange dreams. I wasn’t scheduled to meet with Tony for a couple of days, but needed to discuss my dreams with him sooner rather than later, so I approached him as he was putting his holo-pad in his bag.

  “Excuse me, Tony?”

  “Yes, Ryan?”

  “Do you have a few minutes to meet with me? I know our next one-on-one isn’t until Friday, but there’s something I wanted to discuss.”

  “Sure, Ryan. Let’s head back to my office.” Tony pulled the strap to his bag over his head, and we both headed for the hallway. “How’s physical therapy coming?”

  The steady click of Tony’s designer shoes created a comforting rhythm to our pace.

  “Good. Everything above the waist is working great. We’ll be attempting my first steps in the next couple of days.”

  “That’s great. It’s going to get tougher as you get closer to the end, but as long as you keep a positive attitude, you should be fine.”

  We rounded a corner, and the clicks from his shoes disappeared on the carpeted hallway where all of the offices were located. I wheeled into Tony’s office and stationed myself near the discussion couch. Tony placed his bag next to his desk and sat down in the chair across from me.

  “Now, what is it you wanted to discuss?”

  “Well, in general, I think the migration has gone well. My only real hang-up is the strange dreams I’ve been having. When I wake up, I can recall a very visceral, very real experience that took place in the dream, but none of the imagery feels familiar to me. It’s almost like I’m seeing through the eyes of someone el—”

  “Seeing through someone else’s eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  He let loose the slightest grimace, making me question the dreams even more. “Is this type of thing common, Tony?”

  “Strange dreams are a normal part of the procedure. And when you’re awake, you technically are seeing through someone else’s eyes—your host’s. But to feel that way when you dream, and to think of it as real…while it’s a bit concerning, it’s not entirely unheard of.”

  Fear grew in me as Tony spoke.

  “So what do we do?”

  He looked away, like he was instantly lost in thought.

  “Tony?”

  Shifting in his chair, he turned back and looked me dead in the eyes. “Ryan, what I’m about to tell you—ask of you—it’s technically not part of the process. It’s also a little unorthodox. But hear me out.”

  His brief pause had me on the edge of my wheelchair.

  “We normally say that it’s fine to discuss any aspect of your migration you want:
the mental aspect, the physical toll, the emotions, and so on. Hell, we tell you to journal everything that comes to mind because it helps your new brain get used to your way of thinking. And with all of that, I think you have done a great job to this point.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “However, based on your dreams, I think we need to take a different approach through the final stages of your migration. I want to encourage— No, I highly recommend that you do your best to ignore your strange dreams. I know that may be difficult given how real they seem to you, but as we discussed, your mind is trying to reprocess all of your thoughts and memories, and they can get scrambled a bit in the beginning, before your mind has had a chance to properly put things back together. You’re experiencing a conglomeration of movies you’ve seen, books you read, games you’ve played, etcetera. I’ve heard of a few cases like yours, and if you’re not careful, the dreams can consume you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not trying to stop you from expressing yourself. I’m merely saying that we should try a different approach, and it doesn’t have to be permanent. We have three sessions remaining. How about we discuss everything except the dreams for the next two, and if you think it’s not helping, we can come up with a plan in our last meeting to get you what you need. Does that seem fair?”

  “What about my journal? Can I try to write about the dreams there?”

  “Again, I suggest that you just let the dreams come and go as they will and don’t dwell on them. Journaling about them won’t make that possible.”

  Tony’s advice didn’t sit well with me since I was never the type to ignore something and hope it went away. His comments really did go against everything I had been told. On top of that, writing and talking about the dreams felt like the right thing to do. The past few nights, I had anxiety trying to fall asleep because I had a feeling the next dream was coming my way. And each morning, I felt disappointment when I tried to jot down details only to realize that I couldn’t remember much of them. In that sense, thinking about letting the dreams go actually did bring me some relief. In that sense, maybe Tony was right. Maybe focusing too hard on the dreams was dangerous, and letting them go would bring me peace. Still, I needed to know more about the dreams before I could put them to rest.