My eyes shot open, and I gasped for air. The room was black around me, and as I panted my eyes adjusted to the dark. I felt the sheets and the pillow underneath me as I writhed and shifted under the blanket on top of me. My body refused to respond, and I lay near paralyzed. I felt...smaller. Weaker. I willed anything in my body to flex or shift, and in a wave of goosebumps my body shuttered to life. As I sat up in bed the walls loomed around me. My head pounded, and the memory of what had just happened to me slipped away like a lucid dream.

  I scanned the room around the bed I lay in the dim light, and a sense of familiarity filled me. I knew this room. A familiar musty scent filled my nostrils, and I gently coughed as if remembering how to breathe. I lurched my feet off the side of the bed, which dangled for a moment before they hit the floor. I stumbled, catching myself as I wobbled and leaned against the wall to adjust my balance. I lurched across the room to where I was certain a light switch was. I flipped up the switch, and flinched as the room illuminated.

  It was my room. Or rather, my childhood room, like something from a photograph. It was all there - the shaggy red carpet, the black faux wood slants of the wall, the bookshelf built into the wall above my desk filled with nick knacks and books. There was my old blue dinosaur rug in the middle of the room that covered a messy stain from when I spilled a bucket of black paint. And next to the desk on my right was the old four-legged dresser that my grandfather made me. In front of it was a large gift bag, and poking out of the top was an unopened Lego pirate ship. I knew that set well; I kept it in pristine condition since I was ten, and it had decorated my home office for over a decade.

  And here it was. Brand new. In the package. Unopened.

  I stood there for several minutes in disbelief. I reached out and touched the bright yellow box that held the pirate ship, feeling the smooth cardboard on my finger tip. Mouth gaping, I spun my eyes around the room taking it all in. My Kirby Puckett baseball poster. My brown toy chest. My old wooden bed. Even the dent in the back of the door.

  I was back in my childhood room. Somehow.

  I took hold of the door knob, which was now at my shoulder level, and made my way through the basement living room and towards the downstairs half-bath. Despite my awkward steps, I noted immediately how energetic I felt; adults accumulated so many small aches and pains over the years, and it was now as if they were all lifted. I supposed everyone forgets how limber and painless it felt being young, and it was exhilarating to not creak and crack as I walked through the bathroom door. I turned on the light and climbed on a stool to see my reflection.

  Staring back at me was the ten-year-old version of myself I remembered from my old photos. The shaggy brown mullet, the yellow Ninja Turtle pajamas, the two front teeth growing in, the bright blue eyes which were currently wide-eyed in shock. I suppose I was a little slimmer than I remembered, but there was no doubt: this was me at ten years old. I laughed in spite of myself; half out of disbelief, half out of amazement.

  As I stared and pawed at my face and hair, I heard footsteps on the floor above me. Curious, I exited the bathroom and climbed the red stairs that led out of the basement and into the kitchen upstairs. It was still early morning, with the sun barely shining over the houses next to ours, and I sat at the kitchen table in amazement. It was definitely the house I remembered, with its modest kitchen and wood trim. The wallpaper, the decorations, even the smell – it was exactly as I remembered it. Even the old junk drawer next to the sliding glass door.

  I slid the back door open and stepped onto the dark brown patio in the backyard. Our house was a small white bungalow with light brown trim. The separated garage was the same color and adjacent to the house next to the tall tree in the center of the yard.The living room was situated towards the front yard, while the kitchen and dining room was towards the back. My younger brother and I had rooms below the stairs to the basement, and my baby sister had a room upstairs next to my parents' bedroom.

  Oh my god, my parents! I thought.

  I stepped back into the kitchen and closed the door behind me. Right on cue, the kitchen door opened, and my father walked in. It was not the older man I remembered, nor was it the weakened husk laying in a hospital bed covered in tubes and struggling to breathe through the COVID infection that would eventually take him. No, this was my father in his prime with his simple blue pajamas, an even wilder mullet than my own, and his thin bristle of a mustache that he wouldn't shave off until I was in college. He had a newspaper shoved under his arm.

  "Matthew?" He blinked. "What are you doing up so early? And why were you in the back yard?"

  My knees shook, and my heart skipped a beat. Instinctively I leapt towards him and threw my arms around his stomach. I squeezed him for dear life.

  "Whoa, okay now," he said, the paper falling to the floor as he petted my head. "You okay, champ?"

  I squeezed him even harder, as I felt my eyes water. "I'm sorry, Dad! I'm sorry I couldn't see you in the hospital!" I whimpered into his stomach.

  "Uhh, it's okay, Matt. Think you had a bad dream."

  I wiped my eyes quickly, collecting myself. I pushed aside the horrible memories of things which wouldn't happen for another thirty years, and I cleared my throat. "Right, Dad. Sorry, Dad! It's just...so good to see you!"

  Dad raised his eyebrow and smirked. "Well, alright then. Why don't you sit down and I'll get your breakfast."

  I grinned, and sat back at the table and watched Dad pull out a box of cereal and set a bowl and spoon in front of me. I couldn't stop staring at him as he made his pot of coffee. In my mind, it had been a few years since Dad died but here he was, in the flesh, and calmly flipping through a newspaper. I watched him between bites of cereal, and I noted the date on the front page: Friday, May 10th 1991. Doing the math, it was several days after my tenth birthday. Somehow, I was in the past!

  As I sat with my dad, soaking him in, we were eventually joined by Mom who was carrying my one-year-old sister Janie. She was just as surprised as Dad was that I had gotten out of bed on my own, and again I was floored at just how young she looked with her humongous amber-colored glasses and her short, obviously 90s hairdo. It was shortly thereafter that my younger brother Tim – seven years old I remembered after a few seconds of calculating – scampered upstairs to join us and sat next to me, scowling at the morning with his tousled, blondish brown hair. Neither of us did well in the mornings growing up.

  Mom sat Janie in her high chair to feed her, and Tim shoved me out of the way to pour himself a bowl of the sugary cereal I was eating. Instinctively I shoved back, with Mom snapping at the two of us. I was surprised that I instinctively acted like a child, but collected myself quickly. I sat grinning at the scene of us, my family simply eating breakfast together just as I remembered it. They thought nothing of it, but to me it was absolutely brilliant. Like living a memory.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Okay boys," said Mom as she scooped another spoonful of yellow goop into Janie's mouth. "Go get ready for school."

  Damn, I thought. It was fascinating that I was now back in my childhood home, but I think with that urging from Mom the reality of the situation hit me. If I was ten again, that meant I was in elementary school. I had to think hard about what grade I was in in 1991; I was pretty sure it was fourth. Mostly sure. This was going to be a pain, remembering where I was supposed to go. What was worse is that it dawned on me that this wasn't a momentary dream of the past; this was the long reality of reliving it. I wasn't relishing the idea of going to elementary school again.

  Tim ran downstairs before me, and I made my way downstairs into my room to dress for school. I opened up my dresser and pulled out a t-shirt and shorts and tossed them on the end of my bed. I pulled off my pajama top, chuckling at my small arms and scrawny, hairless chest. It had been a while since I hadn't had hair on my chest. But it was when I pulled down my bottoms that did a double take and had perhaps the biggest shock of the morning. And that was saying something.

  Underneath my white Underoos there was...nothing. Not exactly nothing, but a distinct lack of what I was expecting. Between my legs was unmistakably not what a ten-year-old boy should have. I stared down wordlessly at the bald mound between my legs trying to register what was there, or rather what wasn't. Wide-eyed with an increasing sense of dread, I reached down and felt around the area, feeling nothing but bare skin between my legs. Still cupping my smooth groin, I collapsed backward on the floor. What the hell was going on?!

  With my pajamas around my ankles, I slumped against the wall. My legs were spread as I stared between my legs and shook uncontrollably. Everything was exactly the way I remembered it: the house, my family, even my name was the way it was! My face looked exactly the way I did when I was ten! Yet here I was, with the incorrect set of anatomy between my legs. Why did I have the wrong body, or was it that my body assembled incorrectly? My fingernails dug into my temples as I began to hyperventilate and gawked at myself. What was going on? What was I going to do?!

  I heard a knock on my bedroom door, which thankfully I had closed behind me. I quickly reached down and pulled up my pajama bottoms to cover my nudity before Dad stuck his head in the door.

  "C'mon Matthew, stop horsing around and get dressed, or I'm coming back down with the hose!"

  I yelled back at Dad, still covering myself, and he went back upstairs with no comment. Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed a clean pair of underwear and after stripping off my pajamas and after taking one hard look at myself I pulled them on. It noticeably did not adhere to my new biology, but I did my best to ignore it as I threw on a set of clothes for the day. I pulled on my socks in a daze, and thankfully I noticed my school bag on the back of my desk chair with all of my supplies inside. I slung it on my shoulders, and uncomfortably marched upstairs, completely aware every time my inner thighs brushed each other of what had changed about my anatomy.

  Tim was already sitting upstairs, dressed and ready to go, and Mom was fussing over his hair. Dad was kissing Janie on the head and heading out the side door with his briefcase in hand. Mom inspected me just like she had to Tim, and then shooed us out the door.

  "Have a good day at school boys, and behave!" she shouted at us as we walked down the driveway. We lived only a couple of blocks away from the school, Hilldale Elementary, and already there were kids piling onto the street making their way to class. I was incredibly self-conscious, with each step a reminder of what happened, but not even Tim was even aware anything was amiss.

  I knew where the school was, but I couldn't remember where I was supposed to go at Hilldale. Thankfully, a boy waved me over as we entered the front doors. I vaguely remembered that his name was Randy, and he was my best friend when I was in school. Which meant he was now my best friend. Tim ran off to his classroom, and I followed Randy to what I assumed was our classroom. I was right; I was in fourth grade, and it all came flooding back. I merely nodded as Randy jabbered about kid stuff, really just trying to gauge my situation.

  Eventually my fourth grade teacher Mr. Dolland, I remembered his name being, told us all to sit down at our desks. I stood dumbly in the front of the room, having no idea which desk belonged to me. When I told Mr. Dolland I didn't remember which desk was mine, half of the class laughed at me, and I slunk into the seat Mr. Dolland gestured towards. As he went over the morning announcements. I massaged my temples as if to open up my brain to scan what was inside and get my bearings.

  I spent the entire day mulling over everything that happened to me. Whatever had happened before I woke up this morning was quickly disappearing from my memory, but the knowledge and memories of my previous life were still bubbling to the surface. I knew that Bill Clinton would be president next year, that a thing called the internet would be invented some day, and other random bits of knowledge of the now-future. Obviously I didn't know the details of the future; it was more of a vague recollection of things to come. But the information did very little for me as my miniature frame sat at my school desk.

  Mr. Dolland passed out the Friday math quiz to the class, and it proved a brief distraction from the cacophony of thoughts in my head. It was good to know that I will have no problem with school work if I had to relive my school days. My thoughts immediately went to my personal situation, as I shifted in my seat awkwardly as my knees pushed together unobstructedly. I could feel my anatomy underneath my underwear, and I tried in vain to digest what happened.

  Was I still male, and whatever dumped me in 1991 forgot one singular detail and made me a eunuch? Everyone seemed to think I was a boy. It could be just a superficial change; after all, I looked exactly the same in the mirror as I remembered. Then again, what if I was a girl now? It's not like I hit puberty yet; if I was a girl, the only visible difference at the moment would be...down there. But why was I changed? Was it permanent? How was I changed? And if I was changed, how the hell was I going to explain what happened to me? It's not as if this could remain secret for long!

  These thoughts crashed through my head in what was decidedly average for an elementary class. I mostly just followed the rest of the class and did what Mr. Dolland told me to do. It wasn't hard; if I was handed a worksheet, I effortlessly filled it out. I would glance at my peers as they struggled with the work, and sort of dozed off as I waited for the class to finish, desperate for a chance to be alone with my thoughts. We were later marched into the cafeteria for lunch, and during the subsequent recess I followed Randy and we hung out on the playground equipment.

  It was a few more hours of classroom time before the end-of-day bell rang. I was dying at this point; it was frustrating having to sit and wait through these incredibly simple classes. What was worse was that it didn't distract me from my anxious thoughts. I practically ran home; I remembered that since Mom and Dad both worked I was a latchkey kid, which I was certain that parents did not do anymore in the 2020's. As soon as I got to the house I locked myself in the bathroom, stripping off my clothes as I sat on the toilet seat to examine myself in horrified fascination. There was no other difference in my body other than that area, and could barely summon the will to touch it let alone stick fingers in there. It was a struggle to keep my head straight and not turn into a blubbering wreck.

  I hid in the bathroom for most of the afternoon, switching between staring at the ceiling disconsolately and staring at my groin in dread. Eventually I had to pee, and I carefully studied what happened as it trickled out of me. My body seemed to know how my plumbing worked. When I heard Mom return home after picking up Tim and Janie from daycare, I pulled my clothing back on. I told Mom that I wasn't feeling well, and after feeling my forehead she sent me down to my room to rest. I spent the majority of the evening curled up in bed, with my brain firing on all cylinders trying to figure out what I was going to do.

  I eventually passed out from sheer exhaustion without coming up with anything. I felt alone, helpless, small, and worst of all utterly lost.