Piracetam

Chapter 2
The Procedure

Tuesday came around and Josh was at the Starbucks early.

"Did you give any thought to my proposal?" asked Dr. Cagliari, as he sat down with a cappuccino.

"Yes. And I hope you don’t mind, I told my parents about it, because it didn’t seem like it was possible. They looked at the paperwork and my mom said you were either a crackpot or a genius," said Josh.

Dr. Cagliari laughed. "I don’t mind, and I’m hoping I’m a genius."

"So how does this work? Exactly. Like, is there a risk that you won’t take me back far enough, or you’ll give me too much and I’ll end up in diapers?"

"What we’ll do is take you back to just before the accident. You’ll still be a late bloomer—can’t change your genetics quite that dramatically—but then we can give you an accelerant so that you mature past the awkward adolescent years in one year instead of six."

"Can you really make me taller?"

"Yes. You’ll need to give us a lot of information—school records, of course, we can get for ourselves—so that we can create the right dosing and schedule for the growth hormone. That’s a much more exact science than the piracetam. Assuming you give us the right information, you’ll be somewhere between 6’3" and 6’5". Isn’t that what you wanted?"

"Yeah. I’d love to be taller than everyone—"

"Think carefully about that, though. Even at 6’3" you will have trouble buying some types of clothes; taller than that, and you won’t fit into things like airline seats."

"I guess you’re right. Well, what happens to other people?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let’s say I go back in time to when I was 16. Young, strong, strapping, prime of life, all that happy horsecrap. But I had my son when I was 25. He’s 14 years old. Would he disappear? Would my ex-wife never have met me?"

"This only affects your own personal timeline. You will travel back in time. You’ll have shadows of memories from your old life that will slowly fade as you go on in your new life. You’ll remember your son at first, and be able to connect with him so that you forge new memories, but eventually you will live as his brother or whatever. And if you don’t re-engage with your ex-wife, well, you’ll forget she ever existed. Given how she hurt you, how could that matter?"

"What about my parents? My parents want to see how this works on me. They’re fantasizing about going through it themselves. Would we be like ships passing in the night?"

"You’ll want to re-establish a relationship with them before they undergo the procedure if you want to be doing Jäger shots with your dad this time next year. Given that you’ll be a teenager, you might want to continue living with them. I can’t promise they’ll be allowed to undergo the treatment, though."

"So, what then? I’ll be physically 15, what about, you know…"

"Mentally? You’ll be yourself at first. You’ll slowly start to assume the mental trappings of your physical age. Given that we’ll be giving you a growth accelerant, you’ll probably turn mentally 18 about the same time you turn physically 18, which is to say, about six months in."

"That wasn’t what I meant, John. I mean, am I going to be interested in… you know…"

"Sex? Yes. You’re going to be a teenager, Josh. At first your body will crave sex more than your mind, but again, by the time you’re about physically 18, by which point you should be about six feet tall, you’ll be 18 through and through. And you’re a good-looking guy; imagine being a tall, masculine, good-looking 18-year-old."

"Awesome. I’m in."

John laughed and two tedious hours were spent signing paperwork. The next six months, though, went by in a blur; there was so much to do. Quit his temp job, go through measurements and interviews, liquidate what little cash he had left, pay bills months in advance, and, most of all, spend time with his parents and his son. Explaining the procedure to his son Chase was surprisingly easy.

"So you’ll be, like, my age?"

"A little older than you. And shorter, at first. But by the time a year’s done I’ll be your height and older than you by quite a bit."

"Why don’t you just hang out at age 16? That’d be kinda cool… to have a big brother."

"Chase, I don’t want to be a kid. I see how moody you get, and I see the zits and the body odor and the worrying about girls. I remember those days, and I’m not in a hurry to spend any more time like that than science says I have to. But it would be nice to be brothers with you."

The day of the procedure, Josh was awake early. He spent two hours looking at himself in the mirror, trying on every outfit he’d ever loved and shrugging sadly. "This is pathetic," he said to no one in particular. "I look like a fat, short lump. Anything has to be better than this." As 6:00 a.m. neared, he shaved his face, then threw on some jeans, a t-shirt, and some tennis shoes, and walked out to the waiting cab.

As they pulled up to Dr. Cagliari’s office, the cabbie says, "Looks closed. You sure you want me to leave you here?"

"Yeah, no problem," said Josh, fishing a $20 out of his wallet. "Look, I’m going in for, um, some surgery. I don’t know what life will be like when I come out. So here, you take this," he said, emptying his wallet and handing the cabbie a wad of cash.

"You got cancer or something?" asked the cabbie.

"No. Just feeling fey," replied Josh.

"Oh yeah, I got a nephew like that. Likes boys instead of girls. Damnedest thing. But it don’t make him spend money. Thanks though."

Josh shook his head and walked into the nearly deserted office. Myra, the receptionist, was just getting started at her desk. "Morning, Myra."

"Good morning, Mr. Witz. Dr. Cagliari is here already, you can go right back. Room number 5 is ready for you. You’ll need to take off your clothes."

Room #5 was a large room, furnished like a bedroom, but with a hospital bed where there should have been a queen-sized pillow-topped bed. Josh stared at the luxury appointments as he stripped off his clothes and laid them in an untidy heap, anomalous in the impeccably tidy room. He looked around for a robe, but found nothing.

"Good morning, Josh," said Dr. Cagliari, entering the room. Josh jumped, startled at being found naked.

"Hey, doc. Is there a gown somewhere?"

"No gown. You get to do this in the buff. There’s no point in a gown, because it won’t fit you tomorrow anyway," said Dr. Cagliari as he placed an IV port in Josh’s left arm.

"What are all these wires for? What’s the mask for?"

"I need you to have one REM cycle before I give you the piracetam," explained the doctor. "The mask helps me determine when your breathing speed changes and the wires monitor your brain activity. Ready?"

"Yep. Let’s get this over with," said Josh, laying down awkwardly in the bed, his arm hair a black edge against the white sheets.

Dr. Cagliari drew a thick, oily substance from a vial into a large syringe, then injected it into the IV port.

Josh fell asleep nearly instantly.