My Mind is Made Up

© 2014 Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Chapter Eight

Exactly as Mr. Gooding had warned, Mrs. Lanteen won the contest. She would be continuing The Lafayette Boys, with some changes. I had made fifth place and when my manuscript was returned to me it was with a note that mine had been the most original story that they had received. Though it hurt not to win, even when I had been given good warning, the note raised my spirits, along with the weekly salary that Mr. Gooding paid me, in cash and based upon the acceptable machines that I supplied Miss Carter. It was not a great deal of money at first, but giving my father his dime back made me feel proud. Giving mother half of what I earned was also nice, it meant better things for my new family even though the work was contract and very temporary.

Explaining to ‘my’ parents where the money was coming from required letting them read my carbon copy of the school contract. Father nodded sagely, returned the paper then gave me a very rare smile. “I am proud of you Heather” was all he said before standing and walking out to the barn. There was always work at a farm after all, and after returning my contract to the little desk I shared with my sisters I went out to help my father, we needed to sharpen several scythes today and Heather was a very good helper with that, so I had to draw up the right memories in order not to cut a hand off. Even so when mother called supper I was more than happy to put away the stone I was using, at least I had managed a fair number of tools without more than nicking my hand once. That brought another reminder of the difference between my birth body and this one. My blood was red, Heathers was dark purple, almost black I thought.

What did surprise me occurred two days later, Mrs Lanteen had written a letter to me about my story. She was asking why I didn’t appear at the awards ceremony, as the top five contestants had been awarded small prizes. The truth there was that I hadn’t been invited, reading further I found that all top five stories had been printed in the paper, mine appearing on Monday. At least that proved my copyright, or creation rights as it was called in this world. Mrs. Lanteen wanted to use my ideas in her stories, she even offered me ten dollars for the rights to my idea. Mother thought that I should take it, money was money and always not enough after all.

“No mother” I explained. “If I sell the rights, then she can do anything that she wants with my idea while I can never write anything about them again.”

“But its ten dollars” my mother countered.

“That it is, and how much is she paid each week for her story? Two dollars? Five? In a few weeks she has her money back, by New Years she has made more and what would next year bring her? I will not sale.”

“Oh my, I hadn’t thought of that” my, well Heathers, mother admitted. “Then you will do what with your idea?”

“I have written up an outline of story ideas, I have also reworded my first chapter” I admitted. “There were many minor mistakes I discovered, re-reading a while after creating it is a good idea. I will be mailing it out tomorrow, I am submitting it to Most Interesting Stories as a two part short story, it is a very popular boys adventure magazine and pays three cents a word.”

My mother thought for a few minutes, I knew that she was trying to do the math but she hadn’t finished sixth grade. “That’s sixty two dollars mother” I explained, “Providing that they do not edit it to death.”

“Sixty... and she is offering ten? Why I ought to...” Mother stopped, looked at me then broke out laughing. “And here your father and I believed that you would add up to nothing. You haven’t done well in school lately and your choice of men was, well, not quite what we had hoped.”

I drew Heather’s memories of the last year to the fore, realizing what had occurred to crush the young girls heart. “With Grandmama wanting me to become a Nun and you and father expecting me to become a farmers wife. Mother...” I asked, “Just what did school grades mean when my choices in life were limited to just the two? I have always loved creating stories in my mind, to have that one dream crushed, why I might as well have thrown myself into that river instead of falling, so little was my chance of doing what I wanted.” And throw herself into the river was exactly what Heather had done I abruptly realized. Her spirit had been dead long before her flesh felt the rivers none to gentle caress.

How much of this was I making up and how much was truly Heather, slowly winding herself into my mind? Science fiction, that was me, as was the characters I created but the drive to write, I had never had a desire to write, I just wanted to qualify for Mars, work diligently at whatever career was assigned me and live there in peace with the woman I loved. Seriously, I needed to meditate, to see what was going on inside this brain I now owned. That Heather herself, her personality had passed, this I had already verified but I had forgotten memories, desires and talents. By not locking them away certainly they had integrated themselves with my own mind, that meant that I was no longer simply Thomas Creed Gardner, human, I was also Heather Rose Baker, whatever these purple skinned people called themselves and I was going to have to suck up, accept what was happening and live with it. Patricia was in my past, Doctor Carter was forever untouchable and I had no backup or training.

“Heather?” my mother asked, drawing me out of my thoughts. Yes, as much as I was in Heather’s body, this woman was my mother. “Are you all right honey?”

It was odd how many colloquialisms were the same in this world as mine, just in a rougher, more primitive form. “Fine mother” I answered, “Just, I was thinking, wondering if, with two futures I couldn’t stand that I didn’t fall but jumped into the river.”

Mom grabbed me, hugging me tight. “Oh dear, your brother saw everything, the bank gave way under you. You grabbed a bush as you fell but it simply fell in as well. No honey, you didn’t jump. Why, a person who wants to drown themselves doesn’t pull their clothing off, they let the weight pull them down. You fought for life, a suicide just gives up so no, you never jumped. You have always watched the river, that time you just got too close at the wrong time.” She held me so tight I almost couldn’t breath, then she whispered into my ear “Ignore what your grandmother wants, ignore what we want. You have already proven that you know what you want so go out and grab it, just remember to come home now and then.”

I decided to broach a subject that probably shouldn’t be broached, but the worst mother could do was throw me out of the house after all. “And if I discover that I want a woman in my life instead of a man” I asked in just as small a voice.

“Then you will be just like my sister Rachelle, just don’t bring her home until your grandmother has passed away and don’t bring home a greenskin. Rachelle made that mistake, it is why you have never met your Aunt. Your father and I will understand, after all we already have two daughters to give us more grandchildren now don’t we. Now lets get dinner started shall we?” Only then did she release that near death grip, let me tell you this little fact of life, breathing is not overrated. But what was a greenskin I wondered.

We retired to the kitchen, as father called it, and began to prepare a meal. Apparently Heather had about as much cooking experience as I did, I knew how to boil water without burning it, and yes you can burn water. When you do it is called vapor, and what is left behind is well, whatever was in the water as a solution. Mother had decided that since Heather, me, had ‘woken up’ that it was time I learned how to cook, my first job being to peel potatoes. In my world potatoes had long vanished, having been susceptible to a nasty virus that had come out of North Korea, these things looked exactly like the photographs in one of my textbooks, only twice as large. So I peeled with a paring knife, all the while trying not to cut myself and get purple blood all over those lovely looking white potatoes. It was a trying experience, one that somehow I managed to succeed reaching my goal.