Out of Time

Rosalind Franklin was a 21 year old with a terminal illness, ready to die. 70 years later, the Cryo Program does it's job and saves her. Well again, she seeks out her now 87 year old little brother.

Courage. It’s a trait I clearly lack today in heaps and bounds as I once again fail to bring my knuckles to the damnable green-paneled door in front of me. This is my fourth unsuccessful attempt since stepping up the porch steps. My fourth. And I thought for sure that third time was going to do the trick. With a deep sigh, I glance down at the taunting welcome mat with greetings in several different languages. It makes me wonder whether this is any sort of reflection of how worldly and language-proficient the man I’m here to see is.

Checking the watch Gail gave me before letting me loose this morning, I notice that the minute hand has moved five digits forward. I have, in fact, been standing here for five whole minutes just staring at the door. “This is ridiculous, Ros,” I tell myself, shaking my head. Just knock. You know you want to see him.

I’m not sure why I’m so reluctant. I want to see Charlie. I don’t care if 70 years have gone by, I just want to see how he is and how his life has been and…and everything. I want to know everything.

But I have to remind myself that it's been 70 years. To me, it seems like I saw him just a few days ago. To him, it’s been decades since he visited me as I lay in my hospital bed and told me goodbye. We were both convinced that the next time I went to sleep I wouldn’t be waking up again. Even after he and my parents saved me by admitting me into the Cryo Program, he must have given up hope I would return in his lifetime. Maybe by now he’s moved on and doesn’t care. Maybe he’ll see me at the door and tell me to turn right back around and leave.

“No,” I mutter to myself. Charlie would never do that; he was too kind and polite to ever turn anyone away like that. I’m just anxious.

Gail understood my hesitance. When I woke up bewildered about how I was even alive, she was the one to explain to me what the Cryo Program was and why my family had opted to admit me into it. She understood how I felt. Nine years ago she was in my position, having just woken up and feeling complete out of her time.

But Gail was only asleep for 23 years. I’ve been out for 70 and most of the people I knew are gone now, including my parents. That’s the risk of the program. It provides the terminally ill, like me, with the chance to be cured and to live a full life. The catch? They’re put into a cryogenic state where they don’t age and they are not affected by their disease, but it takes years for researchers and scientists to discover a cure. Decades can slip by before one is found, and by then…

Well, by then they wind up like me, because sometimes there’s no telling how long it will take to find a cure. Even when there is an estimate of how long, those sorts of plans don’t always go according to schedule.

Gail said my family didn’t know how long it would take when they made the decision; whether any of them would be there for me when I finally woke up healthy again.

After the initial despair of realizing my parents were gone, I grew angry that they hadn’t given me the chance to decide what to do. Gail suspects that they were given the Cryo Program option a short while before Charlie’s last visit, but they hadn’t decided until after that. They could’ve let me weigh in on the matter. After all, it was my life they were deciding.

I know what I would have decided. I wouldn’t have wanted to leave my family behind and risk living without them. Nor would I have wanted them to spend years wondering how much longer it would take to find a cure or if one would ever be found. I’d have thought of everyone except myself, and they knew I would. So to let me have the chance to live a full life, they admitted me without my consent because they knew I would have protested.

I can’t say I entirely approve of what they did, but I also can’t say I would have done anything different. Either way, it’s in the past now. 70 years in the past, to be precise.

I couldn’t be more thankful that Charlie, at least, is still alive. When I woke up and was told how much time had passed, I knew that surely my parents were gone. But I had suspected that Charlie was, too. I’d cried with relief when they told me that I was wrong.

Still, it’s taken me two days to work up the courage to see him despite my initial excitement.

So, finally, I gather up the courage I’ve been short on for the past five or ten minutes and knock. Three times, just to make sure my presence at the door is noticed. When I don’t immediately hear movement from the other end, I start to worry that he might not be home or that I’ve got the wrong address. What if he doesn’t answer? I don’t think I could get myself to come back here again.

I hear voices and the fading sounds of laughter from deeper within the house. A moment later, a set of footsteps strides up to the door. When it opens, I come face to face with two dark-haired, olive-skinned women. One is in her mid-forties and the other her early fifties. The delightful glow in their eyes and fading smiles indicate that I've interrupted a pleasant conversation between them. Their expressions shift into one of confusion. They’re wondering who I am and why I’m here.

Seeing them makes me glance down solicitously at the piece of paper I have clutched in my hand with Charlie’s address scrawled on it. Swallowing, I meet the gaze of the two women. “I’m sorry, I might have the wrong address. I’m looking for a Charlie Franklin?”

The younger of the two answers with a small smile. “No, you’ve got the right place. He didn’t mention he’d be having anyone over, though.”

“He, um…he didn’t know I was coming,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck in a vain attempt knead out the surging apprehension within.

“I’ll go tell him you’re here. What’s your name?”

Again I falter. “Actually, I…well, I was hoping…I think it might be better if you don’t say. Just�"Make sure he’s sitting down.”

Both look confused and a little uneasy for a moment. They have a right to be, given how creepy that must have sounded. But then the elder woman’s rusty copper eyes go wide and her jaw drops.

“Oh my God. Oh my God! Em, it’s her!” She whispers in utter disbelief, and it’s then that I understand that she’s recognized me.

“Unbelievable!” Em gasps, her expression now mirroring the other woman’s. “You’re Rosalind. You look just like you do in the pictures! How did we not see it earlier?” she directs this last part not at me, but at the other woman.

“I just can’t believe it! It’s been�"it’s been, what, sixty-something years?”

“70,” I answer, still unable to believe it myself. “Hold on,” I add, as I make a rather startling realization. “Are you two…you’re his…” They’re his daughters. They have to be. They look alike and they seem to be his caretakers for the day if they don't just live here with him.

The pair laugh. Em answers. “I’m Emmeline and this is…this is my older sister, Rosalind.”

This time it’s my jaw that drops. “Hold up. He…he named you after me?”

Emmeline and Rosalind are smiling from ear to ear at me.

“Maybe I should’ve sat down first,” I tease with the utmost feeble and unconvincing laugh. It's a sore shot at squashing down the swelling emotions inside.

So much for that belief that he’d forgotten or didn’t care anymore.

“And you're still standing out there, too! Oh, I’m so sorry!” Rosalind exclaims, holding the door open and stepping aside. Emmeline steps behind her, allowing me room to step inside.

“Thank you.” I hope they can’t hear the shakiness in my voice as well as I can.

“I’ll go tell him he’s got someone here to see him,” Emmeline says as soon as I’m inside. She starts down the hall, but she doesn't get halfway before a young, female voice stops her.

“Mom, what's taking you so long? How many Franklins does it take to answer the door?”

I look from Em to Rosalind for an explanation. It’s Em who obliges, given that Rosalind has turned her attention to the voice from down the hall. “That’s Jackie, Rosalind’s daughter.”

“Grandpa’s wondering what’s taking so long,” Jackie calls a little quieter as she rounds the corner. I’m astounded to see that she’s just about my age, perhaps a year or two younger. As she makes her way over, I can see her attempting to figure out what’s going on here in the foyer.

“Tell Grandpa we’ll be right there. He has someone here to say hello,” Rosalind instructs, but Jackie doesn’t want to listen.

She steps into our little circle in the foyer and directs her attention straight at me. She narrows her eyes at me as she studies me. It reminds me of the look I've seen on my peers in college when they're staring at a question and trying to recollect the answer.

I figure she must have seen a picture of me if her mother and aunt have; especially if her mother bears my name.

I can see the exact moment that she makes the connection. “No. Way. Excuse the language, mom, but holy s**t! You’re Great-Aunt Rosalind!”

For a long moment, I just gape at her like I’d gaped at Emmeline and her sister earlier. This is unreal! Not only do I have nieces who are twice my age, but I have a great-niece, too? I bet she isn’t the only kid that Emmeline or Rosalind has. Maybe they aren’t the only kids that Charlie has! It’s mind-blowing to even consider.

Realizing I’ve been gawking long enough, I give her a weak nod. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“How is Grandpa not flipping�"Wait, Grandpa doesn’t know yet, does he?”

“Jackie, shush! No, Grandpa doesn’t know yet!” Rosalind says, putting a finger to her lips and glancing down the hall.

“He doesn’t?” Jackie exclaims in a hushed voice. “How does he not know?”

“Because they wanted to give me the chance to contact whoever I chose to when I chose to. They didn’t want to risk letting a relative know I was awake and having them come to see me before I was ready for that.” I feel guilty. I’ve been afraid to see him because I knew that as soon as I did, the last bits of the world I knew would slip away forever into the past. Seeing him would solidify the fact that I’m 70 years from home and that the little 17 year old that I last saw is no longer here.

It took me two days to change my mind and realize that it didn’t matter how long had gone by. I didn’t care. Once I’d gotten past that, I realized that I wanted to know how he had faired while I was gone, as painful as it is that I wasn’t there for any of it.

“I guess I can understand that,” Jackie says with a shrug.

“I was also afraid,” I add, “of seeing my little brother as a white-haired old man. It would make all of this,”�"I gesture to them and the house, but the gesture only conveys a fraction of the insanity that is this whole Sleeping Beauty situation�" “too real.” And it would make the world that I knew too far gone.

"I can't even imagine," Emmeline breathes, hand over her heart in a show of sympathy.

My voice wavers as I add, "He was seventeen when I last saw him. To me, that was no more than a week ago."

Emmeline sniffles. Rosalind is quiet, but there's a hollow look in her eyes and she wraps her arms a little tighter around herself. Jackie tugs at the sleeve of her cardigan, swallowing hard to keep her emotions in check.

“Well, if you’re ready, I say we don’t keep him waiting any longer, hm?” Rosalind says. She begins to lead the way down the hall without a word from anyone, and we all follow. I tail the three, waiting for Rosalind or Emmeline to let him know I’m here before I step into the room.

“Dad?” Rosalind calls as she steps into the living room. The thunderous pounding in my chest is boisterous enough, I’m sure, that someone must be able to hear it. At least Jackie must, since she's the one immediately ahead of me. “Dad, there’s someone here to say hello.”

Emmeline and Jackie step into the room and out of my sight. I assume they’re taking seats beside him or somewhere else in the room.

Rosalind still stands at the archway, ready to introduce me. “I know you weren’t expecting anyone, but I think this is a surprise visitor you’ll be happy to see.”

“Come on, Lin, ‘nough with the dawdling,” an old, oaky voice teases. My heart skips a beat as I realize that the voice belongs to Charlie. “Who is it?”

“I’ll let her introduce herself,” Rosalind says before turning to face me and holding out a hand. I mean to reach out for it, but I can’t get myself to move. Understanding the problem, Rosalind steps forward and takes my hand. With an encouraging smile, she leads me into the room. “It’s okay,” she murmurs into my ear.

Somehow, he looks exactly like I’ve imagined he would. There are wrinkles around the eyes and mouth that show he’s flashed plenty of smiles. There are so many speckles along his dark skin�"one for every year you aged, we used to think. Whenever we visited Nana we used to try to count all the ‘age spots’, but we never quite managed to finish. We’d lose our place or get distracted by her beautiful piano playing. Despite so many changes, though, his eyes are still the same warm, honey-and-grain gold. If I weren't so worked up right now, I'd laugh at how his hair is still miraculously intact. He used to cite statistics with disturbing and abhorrent frequency: '50 million men, Ros. 50 million in the U.S. alone suffer from hair suffer from hair lost. What if I'm one of them? Like, later on, I mean.'

I remember telling him he had little room for concern given that our family had no history of hair loss and that he wasn't even eighteen yet. Hair loss didn't start that early.

Any chance of hair loss he may have had, I'm sure he washed away with all the exercise he did and carefully regimented meals he ate. Judging by how slim and fit he is even in his old age, it seems he kept those habits up over the years.

When he turns in his seat and meets my eyes, I clear my throat and put on the best smile I can manage, wishing it could do this reuniting moment the justice it deserves. My heart is fluttering and I can feel myself trembling with nerves and emotion. “Hey, Little Boo,” I say, my voice tight. I started calling him that when we were little and the little menace had a habit of hiding places so he could jump out and shout ‘boo!’ in order to startle his hapless victim to pieces. I figure it’s a result of us playing Peek-A-Boo with him so much as a toddler.

At the wide-eyed, completely disbelieving look on his face, I can no longer hold myself together. My vision blurs with tears as he gets to his feet and begins to close the gap between us.

"I know--" I cough when I hear how hoarse my voice is and try again. "I know that this must be such a shock for you..."

"No," he gasps. I blink at him, confused about why he seems to look so...devastated. "You can't be here. How can you be here?" One of his hands slowly reaches out to cup my cheek, but it’s not there to try to affirm him that I’m real and returned to the world. Instead, I get the sense that he’s trying to wish me away back where I came.

"Dad?" Emmeline, her sister, and Jackie all seem as confused by his reaction to me as I am. We’d all thought that he would be ecstatic and surprised; that there’d be a lot of joyful tears and hugging…not this.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean? There was the Cryo Program, then those 70 years as a human popsicle, and then they found a cure and woke me up."

Charlie shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. I know it's all so sudden. They didn't tell you they woke me up and I didn't give you any kind of warning."

He shakes his head again and holds up a hand to signal me to stop talking. "That's not it," he sighs. "You can't be here because there isn't a cure to what you have."

I let out a laugh. "Of course there's a cure. I got it. They gave it to me. It worked, Charlie. I feel better than I've felt in a long, long time. Not counting the 70 years." I wave my hands from head to toe and turn from side to side. "See? Good as new, if not better!"

He flashes a faint smile, distantly acknowledging and appreciating the attempt at humor and comfort, but a deep frown is quick to take its place. "I'm sorry, Ros, but they've lied. It must be temporary, because there's no cure that I've heard of. Despite their best efforts to keep your awakening a secret, there would be something in the newspaper about it by now."

"What?" I look over to Rosalind, Emmeline, and Jackie for clarification.

Rosalind answers me. "Historically, Cryos tend to make big headlines when they wake up. Especially ones like you. You're young and you were in Cryo for a long time, sick with a terrible disease that its victims and the scientific world have combated for ages…Dad’s rght. As much as they say they take your privacy into consideration, it would’ve been a scientific revelation that they would’ve boasted everywhere to everyone."

"So you think that because there are no headlines about me that they just...gave me some phony cure? Let me loose on the world while still sick and dying but letting me think I'm cured?" I'm sickened at the thought so much that I have to sit myself down on the armchair nearby. My legs are beginning to feel very wobbly.

Charlie's red eyes are brimming with tears. "Trust me, Ros. I've been keeping an eye out, still hoping that they'd find a cure for you; for everyone. I've got connections. I scour the science journals and the newspapers, but I haven't heard a thing."

My whole chest constricts and my breathing grows short. "The doctors and nurses�"everyone was lying to me?"

"Grandpa, are you serious?" Jackie exclaims, horrified.

"But why would they do that?" Rosalind demands.

"Dad, just because it wasn't on the front page of some tabloid doesn't mean that they didn't come up with a cure!" Emmeline urges him to consider.

Charlie closes his eyes and falls back into his seat, instantly seeming another 87 years older.

"Charlie, no. Please tell me it isn't true," I whimper.

Slowly he raises his head and meets my eyes with his own tear-streaked ones. "I'm sorry, Ros, but I think it is."

"But I feel fine! I can walk, speak, and stay awake for more than two hours at a time. I've been vomit free ever since I woke up! I could do f*****g cartwheels across the room if I wanted to! I mean, probably. Not that I should. I think the sinfully gorgeous chick they assigned me to for PT would�"" Suddenly the world before me rolls steeply and dangerously to the left. A tide of silence and fuzziness washes in like a wave at the shoreline of the beach my family and I once frequented.

As I regain my balance and composure once again, I realize I would have fallen over if it hadn’t been for Charlie. I was so focused on the sensation and the sheer panic swelling within me just then that I didn’t realize he had grabbed my arm to keep me from completely teetering over.

When I raise my eyes to meet his, there’s a dread in his that makes my stomach do a sickening lurch. He’s realized the same thing I have. For me, the sensation is familiar and not far from memory. For him, it’s like a long-forgotten nightmare coming back with full and abrupt force.

My eyes scan across the room from Charlie, who is still clutching my arms to hold me up, to the other three women in the room. All three have a similar expression of panic and concern marring their once cheerful faces.

And I know without even having to consult a mirror that I’m broadcasting my own fear all too clearly for them to see, because I know exactly what this means.

This is exactly how it started the first time, and it means that Charlie was right.

Seven decades in a coma and nothing has changed.

It turns out I haven’t been cured after all.

Author's Note

Does the concept seem plausible? I'm not a scientist and yes this is sci-fi, but I don't want it to seem too far-fetched. Do you get a sense of the characters that seems good enough for the length this story is? What are your thoughts on the dialogue?