Formerly Brandewyne

Brandy looked at her watch. It was a quarter past eleven. She didn't want to be around for the stroke of midnight. These people would get drunk and wild. She had never liked to drink. She wasn't going to start now. She looked through the open doors and watched her co-workers. They seemed to be having a good time. The photographer was making his rounds through the crowd. She and Nancy had already been cornered soon after arriving, but the resulting picture made her uneasy. She wasn't in a hurry to purchase it.

Nancy was talking with Stan. Without saying goodbye to anyone, Brandy left the party, making sure Nancy didn't see her leave. If she had, Nancy would never let her go. Brandy wished she hadn't come. She found her car and unlocked it. She absently wondered how many drunks were on the road at this hour. Shrugging off the grim thought, she got behind the wheel and started her new Ford Mustang.

She had just reached the bridge when the glare from a pair of headlights pulled her out of her thoughts. She gasped as she saw a car swerve into her lane. He was going way too fast. There was nowhere for her to go. If she swerved to the right, she would go off the bridge. Hitting the brakes, she jerked the wheel to the right anyway and tried to get as close to the edge as she could without hitting the rail. Unfortunately, she struck the rail and could only sit there as the car headed straight for her. The driver hadn't hit the brakes yet. Just before impact, she could see that the driver was laughing and looking at the woman seated next to him. Too late, he turned to face the road ahead of him and mirrored Brandy's own look of horror, as the engine came hurtling into her front seat. Somewhere Brandy could hear a woman screaming. As everything went black, she recognized the scream. It was her own.

Brandy opened her eyes. Well, at least she tried. They wouldn't budge. She would like to rub them, but her arms were too heavy to lift. She scrunched up the muscles in her face to see if she could. They were stiff but did move. Trying again to open her eyes, she was able to open them a crack. The glare of the bright light made her shut them again. She could sense movement around her, and a shadow fell over her closed lids. Opening them again, she could barely discern the silhouette of someone hovering over her; blocking out the light. Blinking a few times, she was able to focus on a man.

Brandy opened her mouth and licked her lips. She was almost disgusted at how dry her tongue was. She tried to fill her mouth with enough saliva to coat her parched tongue. She choked on a word.

She gave him a feeble nod. What was wrong with her? She was hardly in control of any of her muscles. He returned to her side with a small white cup. Placing his strong arm beneath her head, he lifted her head to the cup. He poured a very small amount of water into her mouth. She let it sit on her tongue. When he asked her if she wanted more, she nodded. He gave her a little more. She swished it around her mouth before swallowing it. She wished she hadn't. It burned all the way down. She grimaced as he laid her head back down on the pillow.

"Do you remember the car accident? You were driving home from a party." She noticed he was reading this information off a chart. The memory hit her so hard it almost hurt. If she had been standing, she would have fallen. Her car had been hit head on. She had tried to get out of the way, but there had been nowhere to go. She had been wearing her seat belt, but the angle of the collision... She had heard the scream. Her scream.

Brandy snapped out of the nightmarish memory and realized she was gripping the sheet with her left hand and the man's sleeve with her right. She hadn't remembered moving either hand. She had been unable to move them before. He was looking down at her right hand.

At the mention of her arms, she looked at her right hand. The first thing she noticed was her ring was missing. The next was her long nails. She unclenched her hand from the sleeve and flexed her fingers upward to see them better. All her nails were well groomed and about a quarter of an inch long. The stress of her job made her chew her nails. She had never taken such good care of them. She turned her hand around and looked at the palm. She gasped. The scar she had received when she fell off her bicycle when she was nine years old was gone. Brandy turned her head to look at her other hand. The nails on her left hand were just as perfect as those on her right. Turning her arm outward, she looked for the scar from falling on the water sprinkler when she was eleven. It was also gone. She stared at the man.

He only looked at her inquisitively. Slowly, she moved her hands to her face. After feeling her face, she trailed her fingers down to her ears and then her hair. Fear almost stopped her, but she took hold of the top of the sheet; which was pulled up to her neck. Tilting her head so that she could see, she noticed first that she didn't have any clothes on. Slowly lifting the sheet, she looked down her body. Brandy had never been classically thin, and she knew that gravity had taken its toll. She remembered that her breasts and buttocks had begun to sag. She had stretch marks on her breasts and hips.

Not now. As she stared at this youthful body, her jaw fell open. This body was slender with pert breasts free of stretch marks or fault of any kind. Her legs were long and shapely. Brandy let the sheet fall back in place. She let her heavy hands and head fall back to the bed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening her eyes, she looked back at the man. He had stood silently as she appraised herself. He looked at her awaiting her next question.

"Of course." He was gone only a moment. Upon returning, he handed her a mirror about six inches wide. She grasped it with trembling fingers, almost afraid of what she would see. Saying a silent prayer, she opened her eyes and looked into the mirror.

She would have smiled if she had not been so shocked. It was her face. Thank God, it was her, but a younger version. At 39 her face had aged well, but now she was looking at how she was in high school. She watched the single tear form and then roll down one rosy cheek. She lifted one hand and wiped it away. She again looked at that perfect hand.

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