Emilie in the 80s: Chapter 3 (Patreon)

Chapter 3

Emilie? Pete thought. Is that my name in this dream? Emilie? Just like my daughter? Freud would have a field day. Part of him just wanted to hide until he woke up from this weird dream or coma or whatever it was. He felt self-conscious about being a girl, having such big boobs. But if this was a dream, then everyone in here was a figment of his imagination, so what did it matter? Still, he went to the closet and found a robe, pulling it tight around this strange body, then rolled his eyes as he pushed his feet into a pair of Alf slippers, tentatively peeking out the door to see…. This looked just like their house. The one he’d grown up in.

He went down the hall, the stairs, turned and found his Dad sitting in his chair, a napkin tucked into his shirt. The floor was the same white linoleum, the Green Ice Box, with the freezer a little rectangle above the refrigerator, the way they all used to be before the side by side, stainless steel design had come in style. The whole room swam with the tangy odor of bacon, the hearty smell of wheat.

Pete paused again, staring in wonder at the old kitchen, seeing it even as the memories came back to him, the memories and the reality right before his eyes blurring together. “I think Emilie was dreaming she was ET,” Dad said, chuckling. “She was mumbling home.. go home…”

“Silly,” his Mom —-

Pete froze. That wasn’t his Mom at the stove, and she wasn’t making waffles, but pancakes.

“—girl,’ the woman finished.

“Sit down!” Dad called. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

Pete took a tentative step, pausing. There was a girl sitting at the kitchen table, looking at a book. She had brown braids and looked a lot like Pete— or rather, the girl he’d seen in the mirror. Like a younger version of her, and she looked like she was on her way to blossoming into a full-figured woman, just like … Pete.

As Pete wandered over to his usual seat at the kitchen table, he stared at the strange woman at the stove. She looked a lot like the girl he’d seen in the mirror— red hair, pale, creamy skin, and curves all day long. She reminded him of Jacquline Bisset, but with much larger breasts.  Pete sat, his robe and nightie climbing up his legs, and he got up and pulled it down, this time tugging it down as he sat. The whole time, he kept staring at that woman. She was pretty, he had to admit, but what was she doing here? And where was his Mom?

The woman didn’t seem to notice Pete’s confused stares, but brought over plates of steaming pancakes and put them on the table in front of Pete and Dad, then grabbed a plate for herself. Pete started to smother his pancakes with butter, then, on an impulse, testing a theory, he said, “Mom?”

“Dear?” The woman said as she poured syrup over her own stack.

“Nothing,” Pete said, the feeling of weird, confused emotions coming over him once more. So, is this supposedly my Mom? It was wrong, and what had seemed like a dream— an unusual dream, but a dream— now started to seem like a nightmare as dread began to creep over him. Everything was so real, and yet so wrong. This was his childhood home. And that was his dad. But, he wasn’t a girl, and this wasn’t his mother.

And he wasn’t supposed to be a girl.

Once he’d gotten done buttering his pancakes, he accepted the syrup from the Mom. Log Cabin, he noticed. Not Aunt Jemima. Cutting a chunk off and plunging his fork into the stack, he slipped the pancakes into his mouth, tasting the butter and syrup merging together, the malty taste of the pancakes…. They were soft and tasty, but he missed the crusty, toasty exterior you got with a waffle. Still, everything seemed so real. He’d never had a dream that seemed this real, where everything tasted so real, smelled so real…

Where he had such big boobs. But, if this wasn’t a dream or some sort of nightmare, what was it?

Dad was his usual self, nose in the newspaper while he ate. The newspaper looked so archaic, though it had only been a few years since they’d mostly disappeared from homes, replaced by computers and smart pads. Dad was reading the first section, and Pete glanced at the front page- The Detroit News.  A headline screamed “Weaponization of Space Moving Ahead” and another, further down the page: “Soviets Hold Naval Exercises in Eastern Caribbean.”

Soviets? Pete wondered, confused. On the other side of the kitchen, pushed into a corner, a small screened, tube television chattered away.  A weatherman with permed hair and a bushy mustache standing in front of a map of the USA.

Nibbling on a piece of bacon— crispier than his real mom had made it, Pete noted, crinkling his nose in annoyance at this invader who didn’t cook things right. He glanced at the fake mom. She was carefully eating her food, all prim and proper. Noticing Pete’s attention, she smiled and said, “How is everything?”

Weird. Terrible. Wrong, Pete thought, but not wanting to upset anyone, especially his Dad, he forced a smile and said, “Peachy.”

The other girl, who’d kept her nose in her book while eating, looked up, crinkling her nose. “Peachy?” She mocked.

“Lexi,” Dad murmured. “Don’t start.”

Pete started to feel trapped, claustrophobic. He took another bite, wanting to get up, leave, somehow wake up from this dream. Just then, a clanging bell suddenly rang, and he jumped in his seat, almost spilling the glass of milk that had been left in front of his plate.

“Someone get that,” Dad said, finishing with the A section, setting it down and starting on the Sports Pages.

“What is that?” Pete said, looking to the wall to see another rotary phone hanging on the wall, remembering the days when phones had actual bells in them, realizing he’d heard the sound of a bell ringing.

“You get it,” Lexi said, kicking Pete beneath the table.

“Why me?” Pete said, feeling a strange sense of dread as he stared at the ringing phone.

“Why not you?” Lexi said.

“Kitty,” Dad said. “It’s probably for you anyway.”

Pete knew Dad was talking to him, somehow, so he just got up, tugging on the hem of his nightie and went to the phone, picking up the receiver, feeling the cold plastic in his hand. It had been a long time since he’d used one of these. He put it to his ear, felt a bunch of hair in the way, pulled his hair back and brought the cold phone to his ear. “Yes?” He said.

“Emmmmiiiilllllliiiieee!” A voice squealed.

Pete reeled, pulling the receiver away from his ear. “Um, yes?” He said. “Who is this?”

The phone was silent, then he heard a girl laughing. “You almost had me there,” the girl said. “Very funny.”

Whoever this is, she thinks I know her, Pete thought. He forced a laugh and said, “Got ya?”

“Tell her you’ll call her back,” Dad said. “This is family time.”

“I heard,” the person on the other line said. “Lame.”

“I’ll call you later,” Pete said, hanging up.

“You’re always ruining family time,” Lexi said.

“Lexi,” Dad grumbled.

“I’m full anyway,” Pete said, wanting to get away from this situation, to think, to try and figure out what was happening.

“You’re a growing girl,” Mom said. “Finish up.”

“I’m really full…”

Dad peaked out from over his newspaper. “Listen to your mother.”

Pete sighed and sat down. He started eating again. “You excited about your senior year?” Mom asked.

Pete looked at her. “Me?” He said.

“Um, who else?” Lexi said.

“I’m a senior,” Pete mumbled to himself. “Im high-school?”

Mom looked at him strangely. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Such an airhead,” Lexi mumbled.

Sirens wailed as a police car raced past their house. On the little television, the announcer was now talking about a pack of wild dogs that had been roaming in Farmington, attacking family pets. Pete raised an eyebrow, his sense of dread growing. “So?” Mom said. “Senior year?”

“Um, yeah,” Pete said, playing along. “It’s a big deal, right? Senior year.”

“I’m stocked about my sophomore year,” Lexi said. “It’s going to be so bad.”

“Bad?” Dad said, drawn away from his newspaper. “Why do you say that?”

“Bad means good to teen-agers,” Mom said, clearly proud of herself. “Right?”

“Mom, don’t try and be cool,” Lexi said.

Pete finished eating and, remembering the rules from when he was a kid, he took his dishes to the sink. “May I be excused?” He asked.

“You’re excused,” Mom said, offering a smile.

I was asking my DAD, Pete thought, but kept it inside. “Can I read this?” He asked, curious about the headlines he’d seen in the newspaper.

Dad looked at him like he’d gone truly crazy. Lexi slit her eyes at Pete. “Knock yourself out,” dad said.

Pete grabbed the A section and headed back up to the bedroom where he’d woken up, closing the door behind him and leaning against it with a sigh, glad to just be alone. Looking at the front of the paper, he saw the date: Monday, September 1st, 1984.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he stared at the date. Pinched himself again. 1984? The possibility that he was dreaming was seeming less and less probable. He’d never had a dream that seemed this real. Plus, he could see colors. Didn’t people see their dreams in black and white?

But if this wasn’t a dream, what was it? Had he somehow travelled through time and turned into a girl in the process? It didn’t seem likely, and yet, looking down at himself, what else could it be? It was like Peggy Sue Got Married, and he was Peggy Sue. His thoughts turned to his wife, children, and he felt a pang of loss. If this is real, he thought, if I did travel back in time, there has to be a way back. There’s always a way back whether in Peggy Sue Got Married or Back to the Future.

So, where to start?

The phones jangled. Pete remembered how they only had one phone line and all the phones took calls on that same line. Before he could even answer the pink, princess phone, though, the ringing stopped, and then Liza shouted from downstairs: “It’s Fiona!”

Relieved at least one mystery had been solved, Pete grabbed the phone, this time hooking his long hair behind his ear automatically. “Yeah?”

“Finally done with family time?” Fiona said.

“Yeah,” Pete said.

The phone was silent for a time. Pete shrugged, feeling his breasts bounce. “So, um, why’d you call?”

“What? Are you a spaz?” Fiona said. “You’re supposed to come over? I’m just calling to finalize the details.”

“You know, I’ve had a weird day and—“

“No!” Fiona said. “You are not backing out now. We’re going to 12 Oaks. I’ll be there in an hour. Get ready!”