Contributor: E.S. Wynn

Knees and floorboards creaked together in protest as Robert shuffled to the door, stretched feebly to peer through the peephole. Outside, a beautiful woman fidgeted with her gorgeous chestnut hair, eyes wandering nervously across the rickety porch in a way that seemed familiar, seemed odd.

"Go away!" Robert shouted, pulling in his own nervous breath, settling back down onto his cane. "I don't want whatever it is you're selling!"

"Selling?" She shouted back. Porch boards creaked beneath shifting feet. "Robert! It's me!"

Swallowing, Robert stretched again to look through the peephole, saw the woman staring back at him, emotions playing across her face, hurt and sadness, nervousness, hope. I'd remember that face. He told himself. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm your wife, Robert." She replied. Soft, direct. "I've lived with you for over fifty years. Your name is Robert Coleman. You were born in Dusseldorf. Your favorite dinner is roast beef with fried cabbage."

Can't be. His brow furrowed. "Thelma?"

"Let me in, Robert." Beyond the peephole, she almost danced, excited, worried. "It's cold out here."

"You don't look like my wife." He said suddenly. "Even when she was younger. Thelma was a beautiful blonde."

"This isn't my old body, sweetheart." She smiled. "Natural blonde is very in vogue in SoCal, so I traded it in for something different. Something more. . . fun." She giggled. "Do you like it?"

"It's. . ." He shook his head. "Traded it in?"

"Oh silly." She tried. "Listen, let me in and I'll tell you all about the whole experience."



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