[Holding_Caulfield]

He woke the next morning with a monument in his lap that rivalled the Eiffel Tower. "This is too much," he said as he practically jumped from the bed and into the bathroom. He washed his two slices of buttered toast down with a couple of glasses of water, okay so it was six glasses but who was counting? He walked to work that morning, all twenty blocks, and he still got there early. He felt wonderful as he sat looking at his computer with a new found excitement, he remembered things that had been lost in the Swiss cheese of his mind for years, he could remember the name of the girl he had kissed at Bobbi Farrell's party, hell he could remember Bobbi Farrell's party, her name was Kathy Simons. He had forgotten that name and that event not long after it happened, as was the way with a lot of stuff nowadays it seemed, it only took a few days for some piece of information to slip through one of the many holes in the cheese, and he was sure the holes had been getting bigger! But then suddenly it was there, as clear as if it had happened only twenty-five minutes ago instead of twenty-five years. He didn't get much work done that day, he spent most of it deep in thought. He thought about everything from his life here on Earth to the possibility of life elsewhere. He thought about his childhood, his disastrous High School years and the following nightmare that had been College. There had been so much he'd wanted to do, travel, screw around, hell he'd always wanted to learn French, but now it was all behind him, well he still could learn French he supposed, but what was the point if he could never afford to actually go there. "You wasted your life Byron," he told himself, "So make the most of what's left!" There was something else he noticed though, women. Before he had been like a shadow, no one really noticed him, but now all of a sudden he was getting looks and not just any looks, those looks, the kind that you only give out when you're looking to score. He had been a good looking man in his twenties and early thirties but then the divorce had finally set in and out came the middle aged man he'd tried so hard to suppress and overnight it seemed the looks had vanished, but now it appeared they were making a startling return. Rhonda, from accounting had practically made a pass at him in the elevator this morning, and he couldn't deny the thought of taking her up on her offer appealed to him greatly, but he had been out of that scene for over ten years and didn't feel up to leaping back into it head first just yet. He paused for a moment suddenly overwhelmed with a great thirst. He glanced out into the hall where the water cooler sat, but he knew the minute he saw the clear blue plastic bottle that it's contents would do nothing to quench the dryness in his throat. He knew what he had to do, and the need was so strong that he knew he had to hurry. He left his briefcase on his desk, he even left his coat hanging on the back on his chair and he just got up and left. He looked at his watch but didn't really take in the time it told he as he began to run back to his house, but he knew he made it in less than half an hour. He wasn't even that out of breath as he stood in his kitchen the glass held steadily under the running tap. The first mouthful was like life liquefied and chilled to perfection. He felt revitalised as it ran down his throat, and after several more shots he felt good enough or un back to the office. Which he did, beating the record he'd set himself on his first try. He hadn't been missed, and he didn't really care if he had, he had a hundred and one excuses already prepared in his head, and several more just waiting to be collected should someone question him about his sudden disappearance. He whistled his way through the day, even sang a couple of tunes that had also been victims of his holey memory but had risen from the depths like a whale, every word in place, every note in perfect pitch. As he reached out to pick up his briefcase at the end of the day he stopped in surprise and stared at his hand, a soft look of amazement on his face. His hand didn't look like his hand, it looked, well it looked like the hand of someone who wasn't nearing a half century. He reached out and touched the smooth skin and realised the other hand was the same. He stood for quite a while looking at the matching pair, astonished that they were attached to his body. But they were there was no way around it, they were his hands and he loved them. He thought for a moment then stood up and walked over to the picture that hung on the wall, it was a simple seascape that had been there when he first arrived, but now as he looked into it, seeing his reflection in the glass he couldn't believe his eyes. He spun around and fell back against the wall and began to laugh, a nervous not-sure-what's-going-on kind of laugh. He dared another glance but the face that looked back at him was the same. It wasn't his, couldn't be his. He needed a mirror. Once again leaving his things he rushed out and headed for the restrooms. He checked the stalls and when he was satisfied that they were all empty he took a deep breath and turned to the mirrors that lined the far wall. "Oh my God!" he said loudly, then laughed at the sound of his own voice. "Jesus Christ." He moved closer, staring at the bright eyes that looked innocently back at him. He turned his head to the side and looked at his hair line, the grey was gone, all of it was the rich deep brown it had been ten years ago. He reached up tentatively and began to laugh again as his hand felt for the hair hole he had had for the last eight years or so. He couldn't find it. Does hair grow back like that? He didn't think it did and yet it had, he had been balding last week and now he had a full head of hair. He had gone from George Costanza to George Clooney in less than a month! He turned on the faucet and filled his hands with cool water then leaned forward and splashed it on his, or whoever's it was, face and looked back up at the reflection. He waved his hand just to be sure, but he knew it was him. "Shit," he said laughing that laugh again, "Holy shit!" He turned and began to pace. "This is impossible, I mean is this possible? This can't be possible." He stopped and looked again into the mirror, smiling broadly exposing his white teeth, "Shit, this is...this is...well I don't know what this is but whatever it is it's weird, and it's scaring the hell out of me and it's exciting and I'm talking to myself!" he stopped and took one final look at his new self then turned and collecting his things ran back to his house for the second time that day. He picked up his line of thought in front of the kitchen sink as he filled up his glass eagerly. "Radiation perhaps, maybe I've been poisoned and it's making me appear younger, or maybe it's making me hallucinate," he took a sip, "No, radiation would make me sick and I'm not ill," he sighed and took another bigger sip, "Aliens, I was abducted, they performed cosmetic surgery-" he started to laugh. Another sip. "Maybe my diet is finally paying off...yeah right Byron what diet?" He was getting no where even faster than usual, he refilled the glass and moved his thinking session to the sofa, "I haven't taken any mind altering drugs lately...have I?" he thought for a moment then shook his head laughing, "No, come on Byron your brain is working for once use it," he raised the glass to his lips then stopped, "Oh shit," he said loudly, "Maybe it's a brain tumour, like in that John Travolta film, it's making me see things that aren't really there," He lifted the glass to his mouth and took a big gulp of it, "Nah, that was just a movie, if I had a brain tumour there'd be pain, headaches of some kind surely." He glanced at the paper on the coffee table, usually he only read the funnies, sometimes did the crossword but never finished it, now though he found himself actually reading the stories and not just the front page one either. He picked up the paper now, letting his mind drift from the idea of a brain tumour to the news that the amount of abandoned babies had increased drastically lately and that two more people had disappeared and that a dog had caused mayhem yesterday afternoon when it decided to take a stroll up the middle of Finch Street and that police were still looking for clues as to why a woman ran her jeep into Partridge Canyon. He sighed, "No good news as always," he mumbled as he threw the paper back onto the table, he drained the glass and got up to refill it once more, "Maybe you're just lucky," he said to himself as he turned the tap on and ran his fingers in the stream of water until it was at a satisfactory coolness then plunged the glass into it, "Maybe God decided to do a little miracle, something not so attention grabbing and you're the lucky winner." He nodded, he liked that line if thought, it was the kind that didn't end up with brain surgery or even worse him being lowered into the ground in a box with the family and friends he didn't have sobbing at his wasted life.......