Chapter 7

I was second-guessing myself coming up to my mother's house. Was I an eighteen-year-old man or an eleven-year-old girl? Was I merely a caretaker for this body? Was Cindy ever going to return or was this my second chance at life? I had all my memories of Eric and none of Cindy, but this body was clearly a young girl's body.

That last was a bit scary, but the longer I sensed no sign of Cindy the stronger the possibility felt. Only scary in the thought that I had no idea how to be a girl. At that point, I was living in the body and telling myself that I needed to do the best job I could for Cindy. Facing a future with the possibility of periods, pregnancy and childbirth didn't bear thinking about, so I was using avoidance, but without any evidence that Cindy was still on this plane, I was beginning to suspect this body could be considered mine.

From a sexuality point of view, the eighteen-year-old man that I was, was very much into ladies, but the eleven-year-old girl was not interested in either sex. I found myself admiring beautiful women, but not getting that rush of lust that I had as a man. The idea of being with a man still felt wrong and alien, but this body I was now in might have different ideas.

Whenever my mind shifted in such uncomfortable directions, initially, I put it off by telling myself that it was Cindy's body and it would be up to her what she did with it. My job would be to support her as best as I could. With her continued absence and the slowly dawning realisation that this might be my new body, I tried to put a positive spin on it, which was, it was better than dying. How many people got such a fantastic opportunity as a second chance at life?

I knew I wasn't Eric anymore. I had noticed that my mind didn't think quite the same. To be honest, I think this new body was far more intelligent than my old one, but far more emotional as well. The level of fear I had felt so far was frightening. I could still think logically, but for some reason trusted my gut more than my reasoning. My thoughts tended to stray in different directions. I cared about how I looked and how people perceived me. As Eric, I wanted to be attractive to women, but otherwise didn't care, as Charlie, I wanted to be pretty and cute.

Michael was standing behind me when we approached my old house door. My mother's car was in the driveway, so I knew she still lived here and wasn't at work. It was nearly six in the evening and mum usually was home by now. With Michael behind me, I couldn't put this off, although my emotions were going crazy and I was struggling to cope. I knocked on the door nervously. A quick glance at Michael got me an encouraging smile.

My mum opened the door with a gentle questioning smile on her face. The love I felt for her rushed through me and I reacted.

“Mum!” I said moving into her arms. Her arms automatically opened for me and I burst into tears hugging her.

After giving me a good hug she laughed nervously. “I'm sorry dear, I'm pretty sure you have the wrong person.”

I got my crying under control, but I was still sniffing. “You might be surprised,” I muttered. I lifted up my T-shirt and my bra to show her my chest scar. “You are the mother of my heart,” I told her.

She gasped. “You have Eric's heart,” she sobbed, her hand going to her mouth.

“Can we come in?” I asked.

She clutched me to her breast and started crying, which got me crying again. Eventually, we got ourselves together and withdrew to the lounge. I introduced Michael as a friend.

“How did you find me? I wasn't allowed any information on the person who received his heart,” mum asked.

“Have you heard any stories about people with transplants having memories that seemed to come from their transplanted organs?” I asked.

“You have memories of me?” mum asked incredulously.

“I remember everything.” I sighed. “It's a long story and not a very pleasant one, but, at least for the moment, I suppose you could say I am Eric in Cindy's body.”

“Eric?” she asked trying to peer into my soul.

I touched her energy with mine and said confidently, “mum,” with tears in my eyes again.

We were sitting on sofa's, but different ones, but feeling the truth to my words and story, she opened her arms again and I rushed back into them.

“Do you want me to tell you my story or should we wait for Kate?” I asked.

“I have missed you so much,” mum said, kissing my head. “Kate is with Beth, but I will text her to come home.”

When Kate came home, mum didn't explain other than to say that she needed to hear my story. I touched them both with my energy so they would know I was telling the truth. Like Michael, I told them everything, the only thing I downplayed was my meeting with Michael. His history was personal and not for me to share. I just said I convinced Michael to help me.

Although they believed me, they still needed some kind of reassurance, so I played the violin, told them some of my memories, showed them my ability to disappear and shared hugs and kisses.

Michael wasn't shy and spoke of his history as a warrior and the resultant PTSD which had resulted in his trip to Australia and eventual homelessness. He painted me in a very positive light. He admitted that I had given him two thousand dollars that he intended to pay back. He needed to sort some stuff out but would be in touch, then he left, knowing that I was in good hands.

I had spoken to Michael about his healing and he had some friends that he wanted me to help, so I knew at least part of his task was going to be contacting his colleagues in America and either bringing them here or working out how I could go there. I didn't have a passport, birth certificate or even knowledge of my full name and birthday.