Mind Bender

Rough stages, but will post for now and see where it goes.

Calvin T had always lived mostly in his head. His friends had called him "The Daydreamer," and he often had things turn up where he hadn't put them, or couldn't find things that he had been carrying minutes before.

First, it was his keys. He left them on the dresser, his desk, even a keychain by the door, but when he'd need them, they'd be gone. He'd search the other places where he often left them, then in a panic because he was running late (he was ALWAYS running late), he'd tear apart the couch cushions, look in closets, his running shorts, jeans pockets, only to have them turn up back in the original spot.

But it didn't stop there. Years passed, people died, friends got married. It felt like a blur. Had he been in a coma? He didn't think so but he couldn't account for the gaps in time, in memory. "You live too much in your head," his girlfriend Stephanie said. Yes, maybe that was it.

He was riding his bike. To his right a red Volvo turned the corner 200 meters away. He turned away to check left, then looked right again, turning just as the Volvo swerved, squealing its tires and blared its horn. The rearview mirror nicked him, sending him into a ditch, and as he tumbled he saw blades of grass, still glistening with dew, brown clods of dirt kick up around him like a slow veil, and red packed clay rise up to meet him in a slow, crushing embrace. His helmet cracked and he heard the cross fibers split apart as the helmet took the damage instead of his skull. Where had the car come from?

The hundred mile "rails to trails" race was coming up, and Calvin had been training for months. The day of the race, Calvin hit a steady pace, and found himself in the midst of five to six bikers that were sticking closely together. The ten mile mark came up, the twenty, the twenty-five, and the others began pulling ahead. A few other bikers had come up from behind and passed him as well, and Calvin found himself biking across a flat stretch with no other bikers in sight. His mind began to wander.

Minutes later he looked around him and noticed the road ahead. It was sloping sharply down and he was accelerating, faster and faster. Calvin ratcheted the gears to the top speed and rounded a corner, to see the finish line a 300 meters in front, untorn, waiting for the first bicyclist to cross the line. In less then a minute he had crossed it, barely noticing the perplexed looks of the passersby as they glanced at their watches, then looked again more intently. He must have picked up the pace he had thought, passed the others without noticing.

When the final results were in Calvin had won first place, but not without contest. The judges would send the results to a review board for further review . . .

The headaches began, nothing more than a low buzz at first, but growing progressively stronger and louder. The doctors prescribed medication, ran EEGs, sent him to labs, to Mayos, to the top physicians and scientists in the world, but nothing worked. After a while they gave up. And then the headaches stopped. Calvin woke up at 7:04 to find his hair receding, rapidly. He had overslept and would be late for work. He showered, shaved, stared at himself and his receding hairline in the mirror, telling himself he'd buy some Rogaine on the way home, and left for work. The clock above the kitchen sink read 7:02.