The Age Altertron by Mark Dunn

never anything to sleep on. You just float.
Then the next minute—kazam! Here I am on the floor of my room and there’s a
pain in my side and my neck aches.”
Rodney and Wayne remembered that their friend liked to sleep on the floor of
his bedroom like an Indian. While this was an easy thing for an eleven-year-old
to do, it would not be recommended for a man in his sixties.
“Still, it’s great that I’m home. Look at Mom. She’s a lot older now. She doesn’t
look it, though, does she?”
Mrs. Ragsdale blushed. “That is what I’ve missed about my Petey Weety! He always
says the sweetest things!” Mrs. Ragsdale reached over as if to tousle her son’s
hair. But since he didn’t have any, she pulled her hand back and looked a little
embarrassed.
“Come in, boys. We are celebrating Petey’s return. We will do that for a while
and then we’ll spend some time being appalled at what had to happen to bring
him home. But for right now, let’s all be festive!”
Mrs. Ragsdale led her two guests into the living room. Sitting on the sofa were
two old men and a woman who appeared to be in her sixties. Rodney knew immediately
who was who. “Hello, Mr. Ragsdale,” he said. “Hello, Mr. Craft. Hi Becky.”
“Hi,” said Becky. She had a strange look on her face, which made it hard to
tell how she was feeling about what had just happened to her. Her hair was gray
and she had pronounced crow’s feet about her eyes. She also had some folds in
her neck that were similar to those starting to show on her mother’s neck before
she disappeared, although Becky’s were deeper.
“Becky is very happy, aren’t you, Becky, that all the little children are back?”
Mr. Craft patted his now sixty-something-year-old daughter on her knee. He did
this slowly and stiffly as old people will sometimes do things, as if moving
too quickly or fluidly was either an impossibility or was to be avoided because
of the chance of injury.
Becky nodded.
“But this last hour hasn’t been easy for her.”
Becky shot her father a disapproving look, which told him to be quiet.
“I’m sorry, pumpkin,” said the very old Mr. Craft, whose face was creased with
too many wrinkles to count. “I wasn’t thinking. So boys, did you hear that Mr.
Armstrong is out of his bathtub now? He came out the minute his little Darvin
and his little Daisy showed up. Of course they aren’t so little now, but he
was glad to have them, and they were all so glad to be reunited with each other
that they all climbed right back into that big empty bathtub as a family and
just hugged and hugged on each other.”
“That’s so nice!” said Mrs. Ragsdale as she poured the coffee. “Would you like
some coffee, Becky?”
“No, I don’t drink coffee,” said Becky curtly. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but
I’m still thirteen years old. Thirteen-year-olds don’t usually drink coffee.
Thirteen-year-olds are hardly even teenagers. Oh, I just hate this! I absolutely
hate it!”
Becky ran out of the room. The room was quiet for a moment except for the sound
of Mrs. Ragsdale pouring coffee. Then Becky returned, wiping her eyes. “I’m
sorry. I’m better. This is very hard. If the Professor isn’t able to fix this,
then we will lose a huge chunk out of our lives. I won’t get to be a pediatrician
who makes children laugh with her hand-puppets.”
“You wanted to be a pediatrician! With hand-puppets! Oh how nice!” said Mrs.
Ragsdale.
“You can still be a puppet-performing pediatrician, pumpkin,” said Mr. Craft
to his daughter.
“No I can’t, Daddy. It’s too late. It’s too late to be anything now but old.
I hate this. Why do things like this have to happen?”
“We don’t know, Becky, but all is not lost.” Mr. Craft looked at Rodney and
Wayne when he said this. “Is it, boys?”
Wayne shook his head. “We were just going over to see the Professor.”
“And ask him what needs to be