To a Tee

“Harold. Harold it’s time to get up for breakfast. You hear me Harold?”

Harold groaned as he rolled over in his bed. Another day had begun and with it another summoning by his mother. The seventeen year old reluctantly dragged himself from his nice warm cocoon into his bathroom. He sighed heavily, remembering the dream from which he had been so rudely awakened by her nagging. In his own fantasy world Harold wasn’t the typical nerd picked on by all the cool guys. Instead he was the most popular and handsome jock of his school, adored by the girls and envied by the guys. Everyone wanted to be his friend.

“Harold. Stop dallying and get down here for breakfast. You’ll be late for school.”

“Yes, Mother. I’m coming.” Plucked out of his reverie, he quickly got ready and glimpsed in the mirror. He was about as far from cool as anyone could possibly be. After downing his breakfast he headed off to his high school, not eagerly anticipating the day ahead but glad to get away from his overbearing mother.

He slowly made his way home after a somewhat bearable day at school, stopping at the local junked car lot as usual. The owner was a good guy who always let him explore the old wrecks, most having seen better days long before Harold had been born. A glint of light from one corner caught his eye as he scavenged through the myriad of parts lying on the ground. Something underneath all the rust and grime was calling to him. Harold had been through every inch of the yard and yet somehow the rusty Triumph motorcycle had remained hidden… until now. Reacting purely on an unsatisfied hunger, Harold plopped down on the seat and grabbed the controls, longingly caressing the clutch and brake levers while dreaming of riding the motorcycle on the open road. He could swear he smelled the sweet aroma of gas mixed with oil and feel a slight breeze dance across his face and through his hair. He closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like to feel so free.

“Cal… hey, Cal. You okay man?” Harold’s eyes snapped open at the call. He must have fallen asleep while sitting on the bike and was dreaming. Yeah, that had to be what was happening. What a vivid dream though, unlike any other he had ever had before. His mind must be playing a trick on him for the bike appeared almost new. Neither the junkyard nor anything else familiar was anywhere to be seen. Cars that were a lot like the heaps at the yard whizzed by except these couldn’t be more than a year or two old. Confused, he let go of the controls and swung his legs off the bike, nearly stumbling over unfamiliar heavy boots as he stood up. Ignoring the young man coming towards him, Harold ditched the smoke dangling from his lips and made his way over to the nearest building. Nothing about the situation made any sense, especially not some nut case thinking he was somebody named Cal. The reflection in the glass doors stopped him dead in his tracks.

Six years ago he had snuck into a movie theatre. Up there on the screen had been an angst ridden but oh so cool man, one with whom he had immediately identified. He decided that he would emulate his new hero. Two years later he had cried when a tragic accident had befallen his idol. No, that wasn’t at all right. The reflection in the glass grimaced as Harold fought off the foreign memories of a life he had never known. He wasn’t Cal. He was… His brain was on fire from the war raging in his mind. Cockiness and bravado replaced the shyness and insecurity of a lonely teenage misfit as a new persona took over. Pieces of Harold’s life fell one by one, rebuilt into another life – twenty one year old Cal’s life – the man reflected in the doors who, as fate would have it, was a twin of the lost hero in every possible way.

That was some crazy shit. Cal thought to himself, lighting a fresh smoke to clear the last weird remnants of another lifetime from his head. This life fit him to a tee and he lived it as though there was no tomorrow.

“Hey Trask, get your skinny ass over here.” He called over to his best pal Aron as he made his way back to his ride.

“You okay Cal?” A worried Aron anxiously asked his friend. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Never better bro. Let’s go have some fun. Meet me over on East Eden Street in about an hour.” Cal flashed his smile no one could resist, pulled his gloves on, and kicked the bike into life. The rebel had a new cause to pursue as he roared off down the road. James Dean would be proud.