SECOND CHANCE -SPECULATIVE SHORT FICTION

Have you ever wished you could change your past? Would you do it at the cost of another's reputation? In "MY LIFE RUINED BY A SECOND CHANCE", Jasmine naively goes on a TV show where someone wishes for

I thought I wanted it. Wow, I was wrong.

“Welcome to Second Chances,” the popular game show host Rodney said. He flashed his exaggerated smile. The hum of the audience vibrated against my sternum.

My head spun in dizziness, and I gripped the podium to avoid falling over.

“As you all know, the winner of our trivia round will have an opportunity at their second chance.”

Nerd-man to the right looked like he could spout out the answers to any question, probably a walking encyclopedia. Homemaker to the left seemed as clueless as a yappy poodle.

Rodney rubbed his hands together. The smell of his aftershave distracted me. “Let’s not waste any time.” He proceeded to pelt us with question after question. Nerd-man knew his stuff, but my quick reflexes kept me at an advantage. Homemaker just giggled, never once answering a question. My dry tongue made the answers come out in a stutter. Just as I thought I might blackout, the trivia round ended.

“We want to thank all of you for your efforts, but we can only have one winner. Jaque and Herman are at a tie. This next question is for them and will determine the winner.”

Jaque adjusted his pocket protector. I cracked my knuckles.

“Are you guys ready?”

I tried to speak but only croaked.

Nerd-man pulled at his collar. “Give it to me.”

Rodney stared at us, building suspense. “German kids wear what around their necks at New Year for good luck?”

Nerd-man hit his buzzard quicker than I could process the question. A heaviness pulled at my neck. Nerd-man hadn’t gotten any answers wrong. He had won.

“They wear advent wreaths.”

“Oh,” Rodney’s voice elevated, then dropped. “I am sorry. You are wrong.” Rodney stood directly in front of me. “Herman, you have a chance to steal the question for the win. What do German kids wear around their necks for good luck?”

“Pretzels!” Memories of my time in Germany had saved me.

“Oh, I am sorry,” he said, dropping the corners of his mouth into a frown.

I had gotten it right. Prickles of anger tormented me.

Rodney shook his head. “Jaque, the game is over.” Rodney faced the crowd. His voice bubbled in excitement. “Congratulations, Herman! It is time for your second chance. What will it be?”

I stood with my arms around my stomach, not processing I had won.

“Herman, wipe that glumness off your face. You have won! What will your second chance be?”

I shrugged.

Then it hit me. I won!

I WON!

“Surely you thought about your second chance before you came on the show. Is there an ex-girlfriend you want to be reunited with? Is there a job you feel you were unjustly fired from? How about the trip you never took?”

I felt like a duffer as I tried to come up with something good. “I can only think of something impractical.”

“Perfect, we love a challenge. What is it?”

The studio lights burned into my skin. I stuck my hands into my stiff pockets. “Well, I have always spent my life wishing my dad hadn’t taken the job in Germany during my high school year.”

“Ah, but if you hadn’t lived in Germany, you might have lost the winning question. Please tell us why you wish for that.”

“Well, I was popular before we moved.” Why did I say such a stupid thing on national TV? I couldn’t stop the words spuing out of my mouth, turning me into a shmo.

“The kids in Germany were cruel. I was so lonely in high school.” Had I just said that? Great! The next time I saw the guys at work, they would crucify me.

“Alright! Let’s do it. Let’s give you your second chance!”

Balloons and confetti dropped from the ceiling. Cheesy music played. Was Rodney going to dig up my friends from junior high? That was fifteen years ago. Did I want that?

I stumbled out of the studio, unsure what my prize would be. I brushed confetti from my shirt.

“You made yourself into a fool,” I mumbled.

With my head still spinning, I went to Carla’s Carbonara to meet my girlfriend for lunch. I waited for over an hour. When I tried calling her, I went straight to voicemail.

She had stood me up.

“Great, she watched the gameshow and is embarrassed by me.” I didn’t blame her. Even though we had only dated for two months, I knew I wanted to marry her. “You probably blew that.”

Dejected, I went to my apartment at Arlington Heights, but my key wouldn’t open the door.

“What do you mean you have no record of me as a tenant?” I asked the property manager. “I have lived here two years. I have never been late on rent.”

The manager slid back in his chair. He smelt like a Polish hotdog. “I am sorry, we have no record of Herman Spendlove.”

I shoved my chair across the office. “You will be hearing from my lawyer.”

I jammed my elbow into the crowd at the metro, receiving dirty stares and angry remarks. I didn’t care. How could the apartment complex steal my things? Acidic urine permeated the stank air.

After a fifteen-minute walk, I flung my grandma’s front door opened and stomped into the house.

“Grandma! Grandma! You have to help me. Arlington Heights stole my things!”

My grandma scratched her head as her eyebrows lowered. “What are you talking about?”

“They locked me out of my apartment.”

“When did you get an apartment?”

“What are you talking about?”

Grandma clapped her hands as her eyes widened and her worry wrinkle smoothed. “I am so glad you finally found an apartment. It is time you moved out!” Grandma came at me with a hug that sucked me into her folds. She left a sticky film on my face. “By the way, you look great in that polo, and I am so glad you finally got a haircut.”

“Grandma, you are confusing me.” I rubbed the corner of my shirt across my sticky cheek.

Her face clouded as she seemed as disoriented as me. “Just let me know what I can do to help you pack your things. Meanwhile, a package came for you today. I put it on your bed.”

“My bed?”

Grandma pointed toward the hall. “Yeah, I put the package on your bed.”

I walked through the hall to the spare bedroom. I hadn’t slept there since I was a kid.

The spare bedroom had changed. It had always been a sparse room with only a bed and desk. Now the room looked occupied with pictures on the wall, a dresser lined with knickknacks, a shelf sagging from books, and a closet filled with clothes.

I went back to the kitchen. Grandma pulled a casserole dish out of the stove, and I recognized the smell of her meatloaf. Too bad I had already eaten my lonely lunch. I probably could make room for her home cooking.

“Did someone move in?” I asked, eyeing the dish as she removed a layer of tinfoil. Steam rose around my grandma, and my stomach growled.

“Just you and me, kid.”

My grandma noticed the desire for her meatloaf on my face and raised her hand. “Don’t touch. This is for my bridge club.” She turned her back to me, so I returned to the spare room.

I didn’t recognize the cheap clothes in the closet. The pictures on the wall were foreign to me, especially the one of my mom embracing a strange man.

I returned to the kitchen. “Grandma, obviously someone is living in your spare bedroom. Who is it?”

Grandma narrowed her eyes. “Can I get you some tea?”

My words exploded. “Who is living in the spare bedroom?”

“Just you. What is going on with you today, Herman?” Grandma pulled a cloth from the drawer and wettened it at the sink. She brought it to my head, but I pushed her hand away.

“Herman!”

“I just don’t understand. What is going on?”

“You are scaring me. Why don’t you sit down? Are you on drugs again?”

Again?

“I have never done drugs in my life.”

Grandma slammed her hand against the counter. “Oh, you can’t do this to me again. I can’t go down this path with you again. You have had sobriety for almost two years.”

Tears ran down my grandma’s reddened cheeks. She paced in a figure-eight. “I can’t. I can’t. Oh, Herman. Why? Why?”

My arms went numb. I had no answer for anything going on. My grandma’s feet thumped as she entered her room, then returned holding her purse. “I will be back. I need to talk to the pastor.”

“Grandma?”

She poked her head back into the kitchen. “And don’t touch the meatloaf.”

I stood in my spot long after Grandma left. Finally, I returned to the spare bedroom with nothing else to do.

I explored the knickknacks on the dresser, then rummaged through the bookshelf. At the bottom, I found three-year books for Arlington High, the high school I had desperately wished I had attended. I opened the first one and then fainted.

When I came to, I leafed through the pages.

There I was in all three yearbooks. I looked scruffier and harder each year.

“I don’t get this. This isn’t me. I hadn’t gone to Arlington High.” I had wanted to, but we had moved to Germany.

Rodney’s words played in my head. “Alright! Let’s do it. Let’s give you your second chance!”

Had I gotten my second chance?

I pulled out a photo album from my elementary years, not seen since I had moved to Germany. I opened it and watched the progression of my life at Arlington High. There were pictures of the friends I so desperately missed. It troubled me how our appearances changed. We went from clean-cut kids to angry, dark-looking teens. On the opposite page of my high school graduation, I saw a newspaper article about my dad’s death.

“Joseph Michael Spendlove, age 44, died at the scene.”

“Dad is dead!”

My muscles constricted my organs, and I couldn’t breathe or move.

“Dad is dead!”

What else would I discover about my life in the pages? My countenance changed in the pictures, and I seemed to carry a dark cloud as an aura. Progressively captured through pictures, my bones sharpened as I lost weight and appeared gaunt. I found another newspaper article listing two of my friends as suspects in a murder.

And then I came to my mom’s wedding pictures.

Pictures of my mom celebrating her union with another man.

A man that wasn’t my dad.

I chucked the album across the room. It burst apart, spilling pictures on the green shag carpet. I ran to the bathroom and puked. When it felt like I had ripped open my esophagus from such violent puking, I stumbled into the spare bedroom and lay down.

Heat burned from my core. Sweat drenched my polo.

As I lay there, I looked up at the closet. Several McDonald’s uniforms hung in a crumpled mess of wrinkles.

“I work at McDonald’s!”

I shook my head. “I don’t work at McDonald’s. I work at the Pentagon.” I lifted my hip and grabbed my wallet. I searched for my security clearance card but didn’t find it. Also, my stack of credit cards was gone. It wasn’t even my wallet, except for my photo on the pathetic-looking state ID.

I curled in a ball and hit the wall, bringing a throbbing to my hand that moved into my wrist.

“This can’t be. This has to be a dream.”

I straightened my legs and knocked the package off the bed.

The plastic crinkled as I picked it up. I opened the mylar bag and out tumbled a paperweight with words etched into it.

“Congratulations on your second chance!”