Age ain't nothing but a number.

Age ain't nothing but a number.

He ran the glass under the tap for the third time and put it to his
lips. No, the water definitely tasted funny, not bad necessarily just
funny. So far he wasn't too impressed with is new water supplier, he
should have known when the representative had looked about twelve. He
poured the rest of it away and set the glass back onto the draining
board and walked back to the breakfast table. The paper lay flat, the
headline informing him that there had been no news on the seven people
that had disappeared from his area over the past six months. He sighed
and sat down with his cup of orange juice in his hand. He read the news
story more out of boredom than actual interest. The seven people, four
men and three women, had disappeared from practically right on his
doorstep with no sign of a struggle, no clue as to what happened at
all. He frowned but didn't really think much of it. People upped and
left without a word all the time, it was nothing that he, Byron Harris,
forty-something insurance salesman, divorced for the last decade, felt
he needed to worry about.
He drained his glass and left it by the paper as he got up and left for
work. He was not as excited about his job as he had once been, he
didn't feel old but when it came to the computer he had to use he felt
ancient. He just didn't have the brain for it, but he knew he had to
use it, the world was run by computers now, if he didn't get with the
programme he may as well go stand in a museum with the rest of the
dinosaurs!
His office was more a cube than anything else, very impersonal, very
cold and more and more depressing with every passing week. He had not
pictured his life being like this, when he was younger he'd had dreams,
ambitions. He never thought he'd end up where he was now.
He put his briefcase on his desk and sat down. The computer whirred to
life with the press of a button and pages or data appeared before
him.
It was all gibberish to him, he knew the buttons to press to get to his
work but only from memory, he didn't really understand what it was he
was pressing. He did the ritual with barely an upward glance, and all
at once his work was up on the small 14 inch screen.
"Another day another dollar," he muttered and slowly got to work.

The house was cold and dark when he finally walked through it's
familiar door and put his briefcase on the table by the window. He
switched on the lights and went straight to the heater and switched
that on too, he hated being cold, and since turning forty he seemed to
be cold more than he was hot. H e didn't like growing old, he didn't
like it one bit. He walked into his kitchen and put the kettle on, a
nice cup of coffee would warm him up, but he was thirsty and couldn't
wait so he poured himself a tall glass of water. He drank it down
without taking a breath, the taste was unusual, but not unpleasant. In
fact he thought, as he put the glass back in it's place on the draining
board, he quite liked it, it gave it a kind of zing that he found
appealing. He turned back to the kettle but found he didn't want coffee
anymore, he wanted more water. He stood at the sink and filled and
refilled the glass until he was truly satisfied. It took seven
glasses.
He had the best sleep he had ever had that night, and when he awoke he
realised he wasn't the only thing that rose that morning, for the first
time in ages he awoke to a tiny tent where his groin was. He laughed
his way to the bathroom and relieved himself in more ways than one,
another thing he hadn't had cause to do in a while. It was a good start
to what turned out to be a good day. He got to work early sat down in
front of his computer and suddenly knew what he was doing, for reasons
he couldn't fathom, he could understand what was written before him. He
laughed to himself as he began to type. He laughed a lot that day, he
had reason to laugh, it was as if his brain had suddenly come to life,
like the huge lump that those scientists always say we never use had
been jump started by means outside of his understanding. I mean he had
no powers, no E.S.P. but his mind was extremely alert, so alert in fact
that he managed to convince his boss that he should give him the day
off and he spent the rest of the day in the park.
It was a good day and when he got home he had a good night, he cooked
the perfect dinner, remembering to check on the food this time instead
of only realizing it was burning when the scent singed his nose hairs,
which were also disappearing by the way! He had a picture of cool
refreshing water to wash it down with, then a cigar, something he
hadn't had in a while because it burned his throat and always made him
cough, but not this night, this night it was remarkable, probably the
best cigar he had ever had. He smiled as he took a long pull from it,
then relaxed back onto the sofa and he blew it back out in a long thin
line, watching it disperse into the room with a look of complete
contentment on his face. A face that was not looking as worn as it had
been, a face that for once didn't look it's own age let alone the usual
ten years older. Byron Harris hadn't felt this good on years.
He woke the next morning with a monument in his lap that rivalled the
Eiffel Tower.
"This is too much," he said as he practically jumped from the bed and
into the bathroom.
He washed his two slices of buttered toast down with a couple of
glasses of water, okay so it was six glasses but who was
counting?
He walked to work that morning, all twenty blocks, and he still got
there early. He felt wonderful as he sat looking at his computer with a
new found excitement, he remembered things that had been lost in the
Swiss cheese of his mind for years, he could remember the name of the
girl he had kissed at Bobbi Farrell's party, hell he could remember
Bobbi Farrell's party, her name was Kathy Simons. He had forgotten that
name and that event not long after it happened, as was the way with a
lot of stuff nowadays it seemed, it only took a few days for some piece
of information to slip through one of the many holes in the cheese, and
he was sure the holes had been getting bigger! But then suddenly it was
there, as clear as if it had happened only twenty-five minutes ago
instead of twenty-five years. He didn't get much work done that day, he
spent most of it deep in thought. He thought about everything from his
life here on Earth to the possibility of life elsewhere. He thought
about his childhood, his disastrous High School years and the following
nightmare that had been College. There had been so much he'd wanted to
do, travel, screw around, hell he'd always wanted to learn French, but
now it was all behind him, well he still could learn French he
supposed, but what was the point if he could never afford to actually
go there.
"You wasted your life Byron," he told himself, "So make the most of
what's left!"
There was something else he noticed though, women. Before he had been
like a shadow, no one really noticed him, but now all of a sudden he
was getting looks and not just any looks, those looks, the kind that
you only give out when you're looking to score. He had been a good
looking man in his twenties and early thirties but then the divorce had
finally set in and out came the middle aged man he'd tried so hard to
suppress and overnight it seemed the looks had vanished, but now it
appeared they were making a startling return. Rhonda, from accounting
had practically made a pass at him in the elevator this morning, and he
couldn't deny the thought of taking her up on her offer appealed to him
greatly, but he had been out of that scene for over ten years and
didn't feel up to leaping back into it head first just yet.
He paused for a moment suddenly overwhelmed with a great thirst.
He glanced out into the hall where the water cooler sat, but he knew
the minute he saw the clear blue plastic bottle that it's contents
would do nothing to quench the dryness in his throat.
He knew what he had to do, and the need was so strong that he knew he
had to hurry. He left his briefcase on his desk, he even left his coat
hanging on the back on his chair and he just got up and left. He looked
at his watch but didn't really take in the time it told he as he began
to run back to his house, but he knew he made it in less than half an
hour. He wasn't even that out of breath as he stood in his kitchen the
glass held steadily under the running tap. The first mouthful was like
life liquefied and chilled to perfection. He felt revitalised as it ran
down his throat, and after several more shots he felt good enough or un
back to the office.
Which he did, beating the record he'd set himself on his first
try.
He hadn't been missed, and he didn't really care if he had, he had a
hundred and one excuses already prepared in his head, and several more
just waiting to be collected should someone question him about his
sudden disappearance. He whistled his way through the day, even sang a
couple of tunes that had also been victims of his holey memory but had
risen from the depths like a whale, every word in place, every note in
perfect pitch. As he reached out to pick up his briefcase at the end of
the day he stopped in surprise and stared at his hand, a soft look of
amazement on his face. His hand didn't look like his hand, it looked,
well it looked like the hand of someone who wasn't nearing a half
century. He reached out and touched the smooth skin and realised the
other hand was the same. He stood for quite a while looking at the
matching pair, astonished that they were attached to his body. But they
were there was no way around it, they were his hands and he loved
them.
He thought for a moment then stood up and walked over to the picture
that hung on the wall, it was a simple seascape that had been there
when he first arrived, but now as he looked into it, seeing his
reflection in the glass he couldn't believe his eyes. He spun around
and fell back against the wall and began to laugh, a nervous
not-sure-what's-going-on kind of laugh. He dared another glance but the
face that looked back at him was the same. It wasn't his, couldn't be
his.
He needed a mirror.
Once again leaving his things he rushed out and headed for the
restrooms. He checked the stalls and when he was satisfied that they
were all empty he took a deep breath and turned to the mirrors that
lined the far wall.
"Oh my God!" he said loudly, then laughed at the sound of his own
voice. "Jesus Christ."
He moved closer, staring at the bright eyes that looked innocently back
at him. He turned his head to the side and looked at his hair line, the
grey was gone, all of it was the rich deep brown it had been ten years
ago. He reached up tentatively and began to laugh again as his hand
felt for the hair hole he had had for the last eight years or so. He
couldn't find it. Does hair grow back like that? He didn't think it did
and yet it had, he had been balding last week and now he had a full
head of hair.
He had gone from George Costanza to George Clooney in less than a
month!
He turned on the faucet and filled his hands with cool water then
leaned forward and splashed it on his, or whoever's it was, face and
looked back up at the reflection. He waved his hand just to be sure,
but he knew it was him.
"Shit," he said laughing that laugh again, "Holy shit!"
He turned and began to pace.
"This is impossible, I mean is this possible? This can't be possible."
He stopped and looked again into the mirror, smiling broadly exposing
his white teeth, "Shit, this is...this is...well I don't know what this
is but whatever it is it's weird, and it's scaring the hell out of me
and it's exciting and I'm talking to myself!" he stopped and took one
final look at his new self then turned and collecting his things ran
back to his house for the second time that day. He picked up his line
of thought in front of the kitchen sink as he filled up his glass
eagerly.
"Radiation perhaps, maybe I've been poisoned and it's making me appear
younger, or maybe it's making me hallucinate," he took a sip, "No,
radiation would make me sick and I'm not ill," he sighed and took
another bigger sip, "Aliens, I was abducted, they performed cosmetic
surgery-" he started to laugh. Another sip. "Maybe my diet is finally
paying off...yeah right Byron what diet?" He was getting no where even
faster than usual, he refilled the glass and moved his thinking session
to the sofa, "I haven't taken any mind altering drugs lately...have I?"
he thought for a moment then shook his head laughing, "No, come on
Byron your brain is working for once use it," he raised the glass to
his lips then stopped, "Oh shit," he said loudly, "Maybe it's a brain
tumour, like in that John Travolta film, it's making me see things that
aren't really there," He lifted the glass to his mouth and took a big
gulp of it, "Nah, that was just a movie, if I had a brain tumour
there'd be pain, headaches of some kind surely." He glanced at the
paper on the coffee table, usually he only read the funnies, sometimes
did the crossword but never finished it, now though he found himself
actually reading the stories and not just the front page one either. He
picked up the paper now, letting his mind drift from the idea of a
brain tumour to the news that the amount of abandoned babies had
increased drastically lately and that two more people had disappeared
and that a dog had caused mayhem yesterday afternoon when it decided to
take a stroll up the middle of Finch Street and that police were still
looking for clues as to why a woman ran her jeep into Partridge Canyon.
He sighed,
"No good news as always," he mumbled as he threw the paper back onto
the table, he drained the glass and got up to refill it once more,
"Maybe you're just lucky," he said to himself as he turned the tap on
and ran his fingers in the stream of water until it was at a
satisfactory coolness then plunged the glass into it, "Maybe God
decided to do a little miracle, something not so attention grabbing and
you're the lucky winner."
He nodded, he liked that line if thought, it was the kind that didn't
end up with brain surgery or even worse him being lowered into the
ground in a box with the family and friends he didn't have sobbing at
his wasted life.
He spent the rest of the evening reading, not the paper but one of the
many books that had until now been there only so that his bookcase
didn't look naked.
He had read about a third of the way into it and so far he was
impressed. He glanced at the cover.
"King Lear huh?" he smiled, amused that he was actually reading and
understanding Shakespeare, "Who'd've thunk it!"
He read almost the entire book that night and when he awoke (yes his
flag pole was raised again!) it was all still clear in his mind, he got
up, stretched and went into the bathroom, then froze as he caught sight
of himself in the mirror.
"Holy shit!" The reflection that stared flabbergasted back at him
wasn't the late thirties version of himself he'd discovered in the
mirror yesterday, this guy couldn't have been more than thirty, maybe
even less than that.
He laughed the laugh of the unsure again and looked down at his body,
it was all different, younger, toned, far smoother than it had
been.
"I can't go to work like this," he said aloud, as if discussing it with
his inner voice, "People wont recognise me, or maybe they'll just think
I had the worlds fastest face-lift."
He put the toilet lid down and sat on it.
"This is way past weird," he muttered, then found himself standing and
walking to the sink, where he proceeded to fill his cupped hands with
the cool clear water and lift it to his lips. Something made him pause,
he looked into the crystalline liquid and thought for a moment.
[The water] his inner voice told him, [This all started when the new
water came]
"Yeah but it's just water" he answered back, but the voice wasn't
done.
[But you yourself said it tasted funny]
"But not bad, it didn't taste bad,"
[But it tasted funny, and you've been drinking a hell of a lot of it
lately,]
"Not necessarily,"
[Byron you ran home from work to drink it, when there's a perfectly
good water cooler outside your office]
"Yeah but that water isn't-"
[Isn't the same water] the voice concluded.
Byron separated his hands and watched the water disappear down the plug
hole.
"My water's been poisoned," he whispered as if if anyone heard him he'd
be in trouble. "Does that mean I can't drink it anymore?"
He felt suddenly uneasy at the thought of not being able to drink it,
he even reached for the tap but the voice spoke up before he could turn
the faucet.
[Do you really want to do that?] it asked.
"Yes!" Byron told it.
[Go ahead then, do it, see what happens]
"It can't be poisoned, if it were poisoned I'd be sick...right?"
The voice didn't answer.
"Shit," he stared at the taps, wanting desperately to turn them, drink
their entire contents, but he didn't instead he showered and got
dressed, then have to force his voice to sound older he phoned in sick
at the office.
He spent the day in front of the T.V. something he hadn't done in ages,
he watched sitcom that made him laugh until he almost peed his pants
when a few days ago he would have moaned at the serious lack of comedy
in any of them, he watched Jerry Springer, actually sat through an
entire episode and found himself shouting at the screen when the
transvestite revealed to 'her' boyfriend that 'she' was really a
man.
"Oh come on," he yelled, "How could you not know, look at her!"
He laughed at the sheer stupidity of some people and for a few hours
didn't think about his possible poisoning situation, but when he
finally went to relieve himself he found himself staring into the eyes
of a twenty-something version of himself.
"Not again," he said as he stood frozen to the bathroom floor, "It's
only been a few hours."
But there he was, young tanned, handsome, no where near the balding,
forty-something he had been a week ago.
He'd had enough, he did his business then went to the dresser in the
hall and rummaged through his wad of papers until he found the pamphlet
the water company representative had given him.
He took it into the lounge and dropped onto the chair by the
phone.
"Revivify, the water of the past today!" He read off the front cover,
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He flicked through the pages
searching for a number, but he couldn't find one. "Dammit!" He picked
up the phone and dialled information. The voice that answered sounded
even more pissed off than he was.
"I need a number for the Revivify Water Company," he said as politely
as he could. There was a mumbled, "hang on," and then the line went
quiet.
He waited, drumming his slender, youthful fingers on the arm of the
chair, then with a loud cough the voice returned.
"What city is that in sir?"
"Umm, I don't know, is there more than one number?"
"No there's less than one number."
"What?"
"I couldn't find a listing under that name, if you give me the city
it's in I can try a better search."
"I don't know what city it's in, I assumed it was in this city."
"Um, no there's no Vivify Water Company in Southport sir, or in any of
the neighbouring towns."
"You're sure?"
The voice sighed.
"Yes, I am sure."
He hung up, he didn't feel the voice deserved a thank-you or a
goodbye.
He slumped back in the chair and frowned. "No number listed." He said
quietly but the inner voice corrected him. He knew it would.
[No, not no number listed, no company]
"Yes thank-you," he said although he didn't think that voice deserved
one either, it was always interrupting him, telling him he was
wrong.
"No such company, but there is such a company because it get my water
from them."
[The water that tastes funny] the voice added [The water that we think
is the cause of this weird stuff]
"We? No, no you, you think it's the cause."
[You think it to other wise you'd be drinking the water]
"I can drink the water," he told the voice. "If I wanted the water I'd
drink it."
[No you wouldn't]
"Yes I would."[Go on then, you're thirsty I know you are, go on and
drink the water]
"Fine," he stood up and walked to the kitchen sink, filling a glass and
raising it to his mouth, he took a deep breath and parted his lips. The
glass remained a few millimetres away.
[See I told you]
"Fine," he said pouring the water away and replacing the glass, "I wont
drink the damn water but not because you think it's tainted, I
just...I've had too much water lately I want something else." He walked
top the fridge and got himself out a beer then returned to his place by
the phone.
[The water is weird] The voice said after a few minutes, [You know that
at least]
"Revivify," Byron said thoughtfully, "The Revivify Water
Company."
[What about it?]
"Revivify," Byron said again, frowning as his thoughts deepened, "That
means rejuvenate."
[Fitting]
"The rejuvenation Water Company," Byron mused, "The breath new life
into Water Company,"
[What?]
"The make young again Water Company,"
[What are you doing?]
"Make young again, Revivify, Water." He sat forward suddenly, his
fingers rested gently on his bottom lip, "Rejuvenating water, it's
making me young again."
Without warning he laughed loudly.
[What? What is it?]
"The Revivify Water Company, it can't be, it...it is, but...it's
impossible surely,"
[WHAT?]
He jumped up and ran into the bathroom, leaning on the vanity and
staring hard at his reflection.
"I'm younger," he said, "I don't mean I look younger, I am younger, I
am-" he narrowed his eyes judged himself thoughtfully, "I'd say I'm
about twenty-six"
[Have you lost my mind? What are you talking about?]
"The Fountain of Youth," he said quietly, "I've been getting my water
supply from the fountain of friggin youth!" He began to laugh again
even as he turned on the tap and filled his hands once more.
[I've gone insane!]
He drank the water down and refilled his hands.
[You shouldn't do that] The voice warned him, [Even if it is the
fountain of friggin youth]
"Why not? I wanna be 18 again,"
[You don't know what this stuff can do]
Byron stopped and looked at his mirrored image.
"It can give me what I want," He said pensively.
[And what's that?]
"A second chance," He smiled and his reflection smiled back.
He drank once again from his hands, then moved from the bathroom to the
kitchen. A glass could hold so much more.
He turned the radio on and spent the rest of the day dancing between
the kitchen sink and the toilet, but he never even broke a sweat. He
had never felt so good.
He went to bed finally at 2.30 am, leaving the radio playing, and fell
asleep with an ease he hadn't had in years, he dreamed of all he could
do again, and his dreaming kept his waking mind from realising what was
happening. The sleeping figure in the bed, was no longer in his mid
twenties. The smooth tanned skin of his face was now a pimply kind of
blotchy pink, his groin was overacting in a way he had forgotten about
long ago. But it didn't stop there, the spots vanished as did all the
body hair he had grown accustomed to, his groin grew inactive once more
and the sleeping child continued to dream.

The sun burst through the windows like a living thing, casting long
shadows across the wooden floor. Alerting anyone inside that a new day
had begun and they were missing it if they were still asleep. But there
was no one inside. All the rooms stood empty. A single voice could be
heard from far inside. A woman was talking on the radio.
"-the woman, thirty-five year old Sandra McKinney, is said to have
killed herself after being fired from her job last Friday, and finally
another abandoned baby has been found in the Farnham area of Southport,
the child, a boy, was discovered in a house this morning after
neighbours reported hearing the child crying in the night. Authorities
are searching for the owner of the house Byron Harris, a forty-four
year old insurance salesman."

The End.