Youthphoria

I turned the box over in my hand - Youthphoria. A patch that promised through combining nanotechnology, stem cells, and NAD to reverse aging by the replication and repair of cells in the body. I examined my 39 year old face in the mirror - the fine lines of crows winking, the lines of laughter, the silver streaks framing my face, the worry lines in between my eyebrows left from too many years puzzling “WTF?”.

Several of my friends had already “patched–up”. Prim had reversed to age 29 and was already bouncing around with perkier breasts and no cellulite. I ran a hand down my bumpy thighs where ice cream had decided it liked to stay. I sighed, running my fingers the box that touted “safe, effective - look and feel younger in days!”.

In the back of my mind I could hear my father’s wisdom, “If it sounds too good Celeste, it probably is” and my mother’s favorite, “If everyone jumped off of a bridge, would you?” Then I heard my 3 year old cry for me as my body groaned for coffee, unready for a day of chasing a tornado toddler around and around. Single parenthood was not for the weak, or the un-caffeinated.

“29 and I’d have SO much more energy for him.” I thought, and slapped the patch on without a second thought.

-

The doorbell rang it’s electronic chime and my phone lit up with Prim’s perky face. Jace was on the couch with breakfast watching old cartoons. I took another sip of my coffee and sighed - I was not caffeinated enough for Prim this early. I drug my slipper feet to the door, still in pajamas, robe, and messy bun - bracing myself for the onslaught of perkiness that was Prim, dressed brightly in neon pink, not a blonde hair out of place.

“Oh I’m so sorry to bother you Celeste” her voice singsong, “I thought you’d be up by now.”

“Jace and I do like our slow Saturday mornings” I smiled back half-heartedly.

She peered behind me over my shoulder and smiled longingly at Jace - something of sadness washed over the corners of her mouth where a sticky pink lip gloss crinkled downward. For all of it’s regeneration and renewal, some things even Youthphoria couldn’t fix. She flicked her hand in the air waving off the moment and snapped back to herself, “Well, I just wanted to see what you are doing today. I'm having a girl's night at my house. I was hoping you’d join us.”

“Oh,” I replied, shocked. Prim had not invited me to anything but the annual block party since I had Jace, as if being a mother revoked my girl card. “I’ll have to find a babysitter for Jace” I replied. Prim and her friends were not my first choice for company, but I had not had a night out in a very long time, and I was desperate.

Prim tossed her hair and shook her head, “Nonsense, bring him. There’s going to be other children there, and Rebecca - you know her of course, her eldest Camilla is watching them. It’ll be fun!”

I mumbled an OK then saw Prim’s eyes widen with glee as if it was Christmas morning and she’d just gotten a pony, “CELESTE!!!! Why didn’t you tell me you’d patched-up!”

I shrugged, embarrassed “ I just put it on this morning.”

“Oh honey, just wait - you are going to feel like a new woman! Oh I’m so excited for you! And you’ll have so much more energy for Jace!” She was a flurry of hands and for all of her bubbly annoyance I found myself liking her. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your morning. Text you the details about tonight!” She blew a kiss and bounced off towards her home next door.

-

I rang the doorbell of Prim’s house - a happy little windchime sound that complimented the pink door. Her husband Dan, an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair opened the door. “They’re just in the kitchen” his deep voice welcomed. “Jace, let's find the other kids and I think we have some monster trucks back here.”

I smiled. Prim and Dan would have been amazing parents. Jace bounded off with Dan shouting “tuck” in perfect three year old, and I felt my hips and lower back relax with gratitude.

I made my way to the kitchen where Prim had laid the counter full of charcuterie boards, spreads of flavored butters, fresh fruits and tiny tarts. She was pouring pink champagne into cut crystal flutes while effortlessly carrying on conversation. A born hostess, I thought, as she handed me a glass with a warm greeting.

“I’m so glad you could come Celeste!” She crooned, “Of course you know Rebecca and Katie who lives right behind me, and this is Dana and Shonda. Dana and I do Barre classes together, and Shonda and I work together”

We began sharing the latest stories from the trenches of our lives. Prim proudly showed off my patch for me and everyone agreed how much I was going to love it as they shared their personal anecdotes - how much it had given them boosts of energy with their kids, how it helped Prim remember all the important things for her business with ease, how it had helped each of their sex lives with renewed vitality.

“It’s like being 19 again! We can’t get enough of each other.” Rebecca giggled like a school girl who had gotten caught making out with her boyfriend, “It’s phenomenal. Wouldn’t trade it - worth every penny for this damn thing for the orgasms ALONE!”

“Oh I know! Dan and I, fooled around in the back of his car yesterday! We haven’t done that in decades!” Prim whispered heatedly.

“You just better watch out for that stick shift! Don’t want to go in the wrong gear!” Rebecca laughed loudly, and we all giggled along with her, except for Prim, whose face dropped into a rare frown of disappointment.

“That’s not funny Rebecca.” Prim stated flatly, and the room hushed.

“I’m sorry Prim.” Rebecca said through giggles she could not fight off, “It’s just the thought of trying to make love in that tiny car - I cannot imagine things not getting in the way, especially the shift knob!”

“I SAID IT”S NOT FUNNY!” Prim shouted. We all stared at her. I don’t think any of us had ever heard Prim angry, not even when Dan spilled a bottle of red wine on the new white carpet in the living room when a storm had caused one of the block parties to retreat to the inside of their home. Prim moved a delicate face framing wisp of hair to behind her ear and took a breath, “Sorry.” She stated calmly, “Must be getting close to that time of the month. Sorry Rebecca, of course it is a little funny.” She brushed off the anger as easily as it had arisen and evening reconvened with stories leaving butter greased tongues as easily as the champagne poured.

-

I tucked Jace in and kissed his sleeping face, which always looked smaller when he was quiet and still. He had played hard, and was still clutching the small black monster truck Dan had given him to take home.

It was late, and I knew I should sleep, but I was renewed from having the night off from motherhood, the food, the conversation, and the mild drama. I cut on the news to settle in to the drone of monotone newscasters and boring political topics that could send me off to sleep as if reading the dictionary.

“Tonight we’re airing our exclusive interview with Dr. Samuels, the founder and creator of Youthphoira to discuss the ethics of the youth renewing patch system. Dr. thank you for being with us this evening”

“Thank you for having me.”

“Dr. There’s no doubt about the positive impacts Youthphoria is having on everyday lives but still some people are questioning the ethics of harvesting stem cells from prisoners. What would you say to those people to put their minds at ease?”

“It’s a fair question. I want people to understand that the process is painless - we utilize a process called apheresis. Blood is taken via a small catheter in the arm which is passes through a machine that separates the stem cells from the blood. Then, the remaining blood and plasma are returned to the donor. All of the prison donors are either on death row or serving life sentences without the possibility of parole and our program is voluntary. We tell them this is a way that they can give back and contribute something positive to society. In exchange for their donations we provide them with a requested meal, extra bedding, additional screen time, or other comfort which they request when they sign the donor agreement. There are no risks. This is a win for everyone.”

-

I woke with a start - beads of sweat dripping from my face. The nightmare hung in the air like low-lying fog on an early morning road. I could barely recall my body running through woods, branches scratching. Who was I running from? The dream began to melt in the glow of the morning as my breath slowed. I remembered the patch should be working now. I jumped out of bed to examine my face. My skin seemed to be glowing, and the crows feet looked more from gliding ballerinas beside my eyes versus hockey players. It was working. I sighed with contentment and marvel, “what an age to live in”

-

A week later I was chasing Jace around at the park, kicking soccer balls, throwing him in the air and sliding down slides. It was such pure joy to find the energy now to be the mom I wanted to be.

“Such a lifesaver aren’t they?” another mom, who was pushing her daughter on the swings smiled at me, pointing to her patch.

I answered her, barely out of breath, “They really are.”

-

That night, I tucked into bed carefree and weatherworn from the sunshine and fresh air, and the dream came again, more vivid than before. I could smell the dirt of the woods as my shoes kicked up forest floor. I escaped from the grabbing branches into a clearing where trailheads merged. I was running from someone. There were bathrooms just ahead. I went inside and caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror, but the vibrant red hair and sinister smile grimacing from under emerald green eyes wasn’t mine.

-

I woke to flickering blue and red lights outside my window and felt a ball of dread drop into my stomach. I wiped the sweat from the nightmare, threw on my robe and ran outside where Rebecca and Katie were gathered in front of my house zoned in on Prim’s.

“Oh my God!” I shouted, noticing the yellow crime scene tape wrapped around Prim’s pink door like an unwanted gift, “Is Prim ok?”

“It’s not Prim!” Rebecca sobbed, “It’s Dan!”

“What?” I puzzled, “Did someone break in?”

Rebecca sobbed as Katie wrapped her arms around her, looking at me, “Prim shot him.”

“That doesn’t’ make any sense. They were so happy.” I uttered, looking at Prim’s house in bewilderment as they carried Prim to a police car in handcuffs. In the flicker of the lights I could tell her jaw was set, her mouth smug, her eyes defiant. Her ponytail bounced with an edge that looked like the crack of a whip as she turned her head to duck into the police car.

“You can never tell what goes on behind closed doors”. Katie shrugged.

-

I didn’t sleep much the rest of the night. My mind was wrapped up with worry and wonder. It was so out of character of Prim and I could not get the smug look she had on her face out of my mind. I cut on the morning news to look for an update.

A story of a man punching a female barista over his coffee order being wrong wove into statistics on a rise in road rage then an all out brawl between parents at a middle school basketball game.

Breaking news. I turned up the volume hoping it was a press conference about Prim.

We’re sorry to interrupt your regular broadcast. We just received word that the President of the United States has shot the Secretary of Defense during a cabinet meeting. Sources tell us that the President was debating with the Secretary at the time, took a weapon off a secret service agent, and fired. Sources tell us that cabinet members subdued the President. A press conference will be held from the White House briefing room at 2pm. Stay tuned as the story unfolds.

My jaw dropped. The entire world had gone mad.

-

A Few Month’s Later

“A recall has been issued for Youthphoria after scientists determined that the cell replication created mutations that effected impulse control and disposition towards violent behavior. Consumers are asked to drop patches off at their local hospital for destruction. Youthphoria is offering all consumers free psychiatric evaluations and monitoring for a period of five years. CEO Dr Samuels was arrested yesterday after attempting to flee the country. He is faces several felony charges". The news droned on in the background.

I heard my father’s voice echo in my head, “I’m so disappointed in you.” and the words of my mother chimed in “I told you so”.

I drifted off to sleep. The dream was always the same now - me, running through the woods, flashlights chasing. I made it to the bathroom mirror, but the red hair and green eyes were gone, replaced by my now 29 year old face, and the sinister smile of a woman who had drowned her own child. I woke when it was over but it wasn’t the startling waking from a nightmare - it was calm, disconnected. I couldn’t feel any pain from it even though I knew I should. I fell back asleep clutching the prize from the first and only stem cell donation I had been able to make - a small black monster truck.