The Long Way Home
Lonnie Facchina
Allison Hellerman woke up Sunday morning and stretched. Today was the beginning of the next phase of her life. Her new, retired life. Last night had marked the final hurdle to complete freedom - a retirement party, thrown by her coworkers. Their farewell gift was a week vacation in Mexico… leaving tomorrow!
Allison planned her day with delight. She would shower and dress, then go for a walk. Afterwards she would pack and call her sister to let her know she would be away all week. She would have to ask Mrs. Miller next door to water her plants and pick up her mail. Allison was thrilled; she had never been out of Florida. Too busy working her butt off so she could retire at fifty-five. Now it was payoff time.
You’re still good looking, she thought, as she stared into her mirror and dried her short blond hair … no wrinkles yet. Nice white teeth. Not bad for an old broad…who happens to be heading for Mexico tomorrow! She grinned at her reflection. No more work… ever! Allison manipulated the blow dryer to get her hair to look like it did when the hairdresser had done it yesterday. Messy without looking accidentally messy.
“You’ve got to be a contortionist to do this style,” she said to her reflection. As she switched hands to dry the other half of her head, the blow dryer slipped from her fingers and fell into the toilet.
Allison spun around and grabbed the dryer, which was bubbling and frothing the water like a cappuccino maker. She pulled it out of the toilet and felt a slight numbness as the shock ran up her arm. Her legs buckled and she sagged to the floor. As her eyes drifted shut she was aware of the coolness of the tiled floor against her cheek.
Allison opened her eyes slowly. She was walking into a room she didn’t recognize. Stunned, she spun around to look back into the bathroom. It wasn’t there. In its place was a hallway leading to unfamiliar rooms. A man’s voice she had never heard before asked her what was wrong. Startled, she spun back to look at him.
“The weirdest thing just happened. I thought I heard someone behind me,” a kid’s voice answered the man. The voice was coming from Allison’s mouth.
“WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?” Allison shouted, panicked.
“What’re you talkin’ about, Dad?” asked the kid.
“What? Robbie, what are you talking about?” The man stared quizzically at Allison.
“What did you just ask me?” The kid was confused.
“WHO ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?” Allison screamed.
“Did you just hear someone yelling?” the kid asked the man, who shook his head, one eyebrow raised.
I can’t feel my heart, maybe I did die, Allison thought. This is what happens when you die? You end up in someone else’s body, in someone else’s life? God, please, no!
The kid was Robbie Porter. He was thirteen and getting ready to go to hockey practice. Something weird had just happened, like he had gone schizo or something. He thought he heard voices in his head. Robbie shook it off and ran out to meet his Mom, waiting in the SUV.
Allison was sure she was dreaming, and it was vivid. She was trapped inside some kid's head. She could see through his eyes and hear his thoughts, which were about hockey practice and somebody named Roy, whom Robbie really hoped wouldn’t show up today.
Robbie crunched through the snow, heaved his heavy hockey bag onto the back seat, and climbed in next to his Mom. Their Jeep puffed thick plumes of white exhaust into the winter air.
Allison was surprised at the coldness in the air freezing Robbie’s nose and fingertips, when just a moment ago she was in her muggy bathroom in Orlando.
Where the Hell am I? Snow and mountains... Allison noticed the license plates on a row of parked cars and they all read “Beautiful British Columbia.”
This has got to be the weirdest, most real dream I’ve ever had, but I have to wake up. Come on Allison. Snap outta this.
After a five-minute drive through a quaint little town perched on the side of a mountain, Robbie’s Mom pulled up in front of a large, yellow-painted concrete building.
“There you go, Robbie. Have a good practice. No bashing any heads in, ’K?” she joked.
“Aw, Mom. You take the fun out of everything!” Robbie grinned as he jogged off to catch up to his buddies.
Hockey practice involved lots of yelling, skating hard, falling and being pushed into the boards. Allison was exhilarated by the unlimited energy of a young boy pushing all his muscles to the limit. The treadmill at her gym had never been this intoxicating.
After an hour and a half on the ice, she unwillingly joined the boys in the shower room. Their joking conversations were silly and childish. Allison would have blushed… had she known where her cheeks were. She tried not to listen. Suddenly there was tension in the shower. She felt Robbie stiffen as he slowly turned towards a big, red-faced boy plowing fully clothed through the shower room. Robbie silently moaned. It was Roy, and he was focused on Robbie. The other boys acted casual but backed away. Robbie had nowhere to go.
“Yo, Porter. Where’s the twenty bucks you promised me today?”
“I never promised you snot, Roy.” Robbie’s voice was strained and Allison tasted his fear. Roy lunged and a squeal escaped from Robbie’s throat as he was slammed up against the wet concrete wall. Roy grabbed his balls with a fat hand and began to squeeze. The pain was intense, nauseating. Suddenly Allison screamed, “ROBBIE! TELL EVERYONE ROY MUST BE GAY BECAUSE HE’S GROPING YOUR CROTCH!”
Robbie automatically hollered, “Hey, everybody, Roy must be gay ’cause he’s gropin’ in my crotch!” Robbie forced a grin, but there was only misery in his eyes.
Roy backed away in surprise as all the boys laughed. His face turned purple and he muttered as he left, “Stupid cunts.” The laughter followed him right out of the shower room. Now Robbie was the center of attention. All his teammates surrounded him, thumped him on the back and relived the moment in the way only teenagers can.
Robbie was quiet on the ride home. His Mom tried to draw him into conversation, but he was preoccupied. She decided he was having one of those moody teenage moments and let it go.
When they got home Robbie went straight to his room. He looked at himself in the mirror and for the first time Allison could see him. He was tall and slender, with blond hair and brown eyes. Handsome in a smooth-faced, boyish way. His hair was sticking up all over, still damp from the shower. He subconsciously smoothed it into place. He stared hard at his face and she could hear his thoughts.
What’s up with Roy? Why me? Robbie was near tears. Now if I don’t stand up to him next time all my friends will think I’m a weenie, but I don’t want to end up fuckin’ dead… This is so bad. What made me call him gay? What was I thinking? Shit, this is all I need.
“CAN YOU HEAR ME ROBBIE? MY NAME IS ALLISON.” She yelled so he'd hear.
“Where are you?” Robbie demanded, spinning around, eyes darting to every corner. Who was this voice that kept yelling at him?
“What did you say, Robbie?” his Mom hollered from the kitchen.
“Nothin’, Ma,” he hollered back. “Where are you?” he whispered.
I think I’m in your head, Allison said quietly. Now that she had his attention, Robbie could hear her and she didn’t need to shout. I can see through your eyes, but I usually can’t make you move. I’m sorry, I’m the one who told you to say that Roy was gay. I thought it would help. I have no idea what’s going on here…
“How did you get in my head?” he asked, leaning closer to the mirror to look into the depths of his eyes, as though he’d see a little person poking out.
I think I electrocuted myself. I dropped my blow dryer in the toilet.
Robbie giggled, despite himself. Down the hall in the kitchen his Mom smiled. She imagined him on his computer, chatting with his friends online.
“Can you leave my head any time you want to?” he asked.
I don’t know…she was surprised at the idea. I don’t even know how I got in your head, let alone how I’d get out. I know I don’t want to be here. I have just lived 55 years as a woman; I’m not ready to start over as a twelve-year-old kid.
“I’m thirteen,” he shot back.
His Mom poked her head in as she walked past and saw Robbie staring intently in the mirror. “Who are you talking to?” she asked.
“Myself,” Robbie replied, annoyed. His Mom backed off and he closed his door.
“Look, maybe you should just be quiet.” Robbie was agitated. “I can’t be having conversations with some imaginary friend. People will think I’m schizo.”
Allison was offended. She’d just been told to shut up by a thirteen-year-old. Shit. She wasn’t even sure she could keep quiet. This was supposed to be her future? A silent passenger in a teenager’s life? Was this hell?
Robbie turned away from the mirror and sat down at his computer. Allison had been dismissed.
A loud clanging startled both Robbie and Allison and, in the dim morning light, Robbie rolled over and turned off his alarm. He quickly rolled back to the warm spot he had just vacated and laid there thinking. He hadn’t heard the woman in his head since he had told her to go away, and now he wondered if she’d left, or maybe she’d never been there at all.
“Are you still in there?” he said aloud, hoping he wouldn’t hear anything.
Allison decided not to answer. Let him think she was gone. He’d relax and it would give her time to decide what to do.
Going back to school was dreadful. Allison had forgotten how juvenile kids were. This was the "dropping-snowballs-down-girls’-pants" age. Also, Robbie was becoming sexually attracted to girls and it didn’t take much to get him going. Allison found the sensation of getting an erection amazingly pleasant, but Robbie’s embarrassment overrode the pleasurable feelings.
The morning passed in a fuzzy haze of Social Studies and English. Lunch hour was a welcome break from the intense boredom of class. Robbie was the center of attention because he’d challenged Roy yesterday. He glimpsed the bully once during lunch, skulking around by the pop machine. When their eyes met, Roy drew his hand across his throat and mouthed the words, “You’re dead.” Robbie snorted and turned back to his friends. Allison felt his heart race.
Finally school was over for the day. There was laughter and joking as a group of boys headed for the pond with skates and hockey sticks slung over their shoulders. They played hard till the winter day sunk behind the mountain, then they all headed home for supper. The evening consisted of homework and chat lines.
Tuesday at school was a repeat of the previous day. Allison began to help Robbie with his schoolwork, subtly at first, then bolder as Robbie seemed to accept her presence. She could explain his subjects better than the books provided by the school.
What were the authors thinking? These books are so boring. Allison was animated as she explained Robbie’s math to him. She loved the subject and Robbie responded to her enthusiasm. As the days passed his knowledge flourished with her help. She was inordinately proud one day when his math teacher complimented him in class.
The week went by in a blur of school, hockey and family time, when the three Porters sat together in their living room and laughed at sitcoms. Allison learned to ignore Robbie's life and spent much of her time worrying about hers. While he was chatting on his computer after supper one night she thought about how her sister and nephew had taken the news of her death. Allison wondered if they missed her. A thought slammed into her mind.
Maybe I haven’t been discovered yet! Maybe I’m dead on my bathroom floor with a blow dryer in my hand, rotting in the Florida heat. Oh my God!
ROBBIE! She shouted. He winced and snapped, “There’s no need to yell, okay?”
Oh God, please! I need you to phone 911. I might be dead at home. Tell them that Allison Hellerman of 16653 Yucca Lane in Orlando, Florida was electrocuted. Ask them to check it out!
Robbie reached for the phone next to his bed.
No, Robbie, wait. They will be able to trace your call and there's no way to explain this. Call my neighbor instead. Her name is Mrs. Miller.
Allison gave the number to Robbie and he began to dial. Halfway through he dropped the phone back into its cradle. Both he and Allison said “pay phone” simultaneously. Robbie grabbed the calling card his Grandma had given him last Christmas, threw on his ski jacket and boots and hollered that he was going for a walk. His parents didn’t even look up. Five minutes later he arrived at the phone booth outside the 7-Eleven store and dialed Mrs. Miller's number as Allison recited it.
A cautious, elderly voice answered on the third ring and asked, “Hello?”
“Hello Mrs. Miller. You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Allison’s next door and I think something may have happened to her. Can you please phone the police and ask them to break into her house? I think she might be hurt or dead or something.”
Robbie hung up and waited for Allison to say something. She didn’t. He understood. He turned and trudged the four blocks home under the cold, sparkling stars.
The next morning dawned bright and sunny and Robbie bounded out of bed. It was Saturday and he was meeting his buddies at the pond for a game of hockey. He quickly dressed and ran down to the kitchen for toast and cereal. His Dad was reading the thick weekend edition of the paper and his Mom hummed along with a song on the radio while she did dishes.
As Robbie settled into his chair with his Mini-Wheats the song ended and an announcer’s voice reported the nine o’clock news.
“Police are baffled by an anonymous tip phoned in to an elderly woman in Orlando last night. The call was made from a pay phone in Clancy, British Columbia at about nine-thirty pm, Orlando time. The caller, evidently a young boy, asked the woman to call local authorities to check on her neighbor, whom he thought might be hurt or dead. The police gained access to the house in question late last night and there a woman was found, apparently the victim of an accidental electrocution.
“The woman, whose name cannot be released pending notification of next of kin, had gone undiscovered for almost a week. Coworkers assumed she was in Mexico on holidays. The woman had recently retired.
“Police are questioning residents of Clancy, BC, hoping to find a lead to help them discover who called from a 7-Eleven pay phone, and just how a young boy knew about a death four thousand miles away.”
Robbie dropped his spoon with a clatter and both parents turned to look at him.
“Allison,” he whispered, stricken.
“Who’s Allison, Robbie? Did she make that call?” His Mom started across the room towards him. He looked like he was going to faint. His face was unnaturally pale and his eyes, sad and shocked, seemed sunken into his head.
“Rob? You all right, Buddy? Do you know what’s going on?” Robbie ignored his parents’ questions and pushed his chair back. He half-fell over it as he spun around and bolted. Moments later his parents heard the slam of the front door.
“This is strange,” Robbie’s Mom said.
Robbie was still trying to ram his arm into his coat sleeve as he ran down the street. He had no idea where he was going, but slowed as he approached the 7-Eleven store. A police cruiser was parked out front and people were milling around the parking lot.
“Allison?” Robbie spoke the word out loud. Nothing. Was she gone now that her body had been discovered? Was that why she’d been in his head in the first place, so that he could help her be found? But why him? Was he psychic or something? Robbie hoped not. He certainly hadn’t liked having some old lady listening to his every thought. Inexplicably he found the silence in his head sad and lonely.
Charlie, one of his hockey buddies, saw him standing at the edge of the parking lot and ran towards him, ungainly in his clunky Sorels.
“Hey, Robbie! Did you hear? We’re famous! We have a murderer in town who killed some lady in Florida and called the police last night from that phone!” Charlie pointed.
Robbie couldn’t pretend. Muttering something about having to get home for breakfast he turned and jogged back the way he’d come, leaving Charlie staring after him as though he’d sprouted broccoli from his head.
By the time Robbie got home he was pretty sure that Allison had gone. He avoided his parents and, once alone in his bedroom, slumped into the chair at his computer. He didn’t feel like chatting, so he checked his email. Five messages, the first four from his buddies passing on the time they wanted to meet at the pond today, the fifth from someone he didn’t know… alliswell@hotmail.com. That message read, “A word of advice, Robbie. Always put the lid down! All my love and profound thanks, Allison.”
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