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Prairie Mom Synopsis A woman, Sarah, nearly vaporized by a lightning bolt, finds herself in Chuck's home 150 years later. Back then, in Sarah's time, very young boys some, were still swaddled in diapers, most, the younger ones at least, wore dresses. Also in her time even some of the older boys well past diapers were often dressed as girls. For the young ones dresses simply made it easier to change a diaper. For those older boys it kept them mindful of who really ran the home. Sarah would use both reasons on Chuck. Players Chuck Johnson also known as CJ; Sarah Dawnwright; Theodore, Sarah's son. Story Sarah tightened her grip on the reigns easing her team left a little. Wagon Master Compton had put her last because of the mules. Stronger than horses, he said, to pull through the deepening muddy ruts cut by the wagons ahead of her. Sarah's mules, like her wagon, were the best money could buy. Strong as they were though, Sarah knew they were struggling as the rain softened ground rutted even deeper. There was no question that they would have to stop soon. Sarah's only prayer was that her two mules remained more afraid of her buggy whip than the storm growing worse around them. Seventeen wagons started off with the storm looming ahead to the West, although moving East towards them. Only six, with Sarah last, had made it this far, the rest turning back for the last town they'd passed. Wagon Master Compton promised they'd be camped before the storm hit. Wagon Master Compton had been wrong. Sarah had that thought with a touch of anger as the wind driven rain pelted with her like small, sharp little shards of ice. There were a few more unkind thoughts for Wagon Master Compton as Sarah shivered against the cold wind and rain. Rain was bad enough but the lightning was growing worse. Sarah's team, more skittish with each new flash and roiling explosion which followed, were beginning to struggle against Sarah's control. Sarah brought her whip up to give Jib a little flick behind his ear, a not so gentle reminder of who really was the boss. Unfortunately as Sarah's whip was skillfully reaching it's apex millions of watts of highly charged particles, particles seeking to calm themselves by mating with the ground, immediately found a conductor - a metal ring. That ring, a band on the leather handle of Sarah's whip, was more than suitable for that plasma's starting point. Plasma, the forth state of matter swirled fiercely, coalesced and instantly gathered itself as an electrical discharge, having found it's next path to ground. That first bolt of current formed, moving at 93,000 miles per second touching that ring, then Sarah's hand, before Sarah drew her next breath. before her brain fired another thought Sarah Dawnwright, in that instant of time too fast to measure, died. Sarah no longer saw or heard anything in that raging storm as she spasmed. lifting involuntarily to fall forward. A second later she came to rest on top of her two dead mules. Her family, the ones far behind her in Chicago, now a good month past the start of her adventure, would never hear from Sarah again. For the rest of their lives they would forever wonder. In the blink of an eye, and no more, Sarah died completely dry. Water evaporated instantly as nearly 50,000 degrees of super heated air formed around that river of current and Sarah. Neither Sarah nor her mules heard the clap of crackling thunder only a millisecond later. There was another sharp crackling. This one smaller, much smaller, but not too unlike the one that had taken Sarah's life. "Damn it," Chuck said as he jumped back instinctively. He cursed again at the sound of thunder in his own stormy night. It wasn't natures thunder he cursed, nor that storm outside the thick windows of his lab, but the one fighting fiercely inside for it's own release. Chuck was tired, exhausted actually, and his hand shook. Last thing he needed was for his hand to shake, he mused shaking his head clear. That small wicked snap, a tiny bit of lightning, together with the smell of ozone, was his fault. Chuck cursed again, stepped back and stretched the fatigue out of those hands and limbs as he rolled the stiffness from his neck. He was fighting for control of himself before setting his fingers delicately on the controls once more. Small adjustments recorded by six small dials took a steady hand and his, at the moment, were far from steady. Chuck took a breath, held it before stepping back to the console to began twisting each dial only slightly. Each small knob was delicately changing current flow, plasma density and those so very delicate magnetic lines needed for the fields. It was those fields that were keeping all hell from really breaking loose. That spike, the one that startled him, grew smaller, smaller still and finally disappeared. Chuck eased up a bit, relaxed, then smiled. Chuck's eyes scanned each of his instruments before making that second adjustment, and the risk of another breach ended as his bubble of fury calmed once more. His own version of lighting was again forming a nearly perfect circle of ferocity, his latest and best so far. All of it his within a very elegant little Tokamak Fusion Test Reactor. Chuck's first version, while successful, was so crude compared to this one. His first reactor only generated a tiny pin head of energy, but enough back then. A moment of existence actually, but long enough to impress those in control of the money. More than enough success now to be fully funded by Proctor's new Plasma Physics division. Another prototype two years later, this one bigger and far more powerful, was like none before this. Once it could sustain itself, it could very well become as important as that first tiny electric generator that lit a bulb nearly a century before. Not only that but it was almost reaching that elusive break even point. In energy, the break even point is the point where usable energy gotten from a process exceeds the input energy. Chuck didn't use the term perpetual motion but he liked the glimmer in the eyes of those who understood what that would mean. Years before this, Chuck's idea was nothing more than a thought. Hardly more than a fantasy to some, with no real or known science behind it, although just describing it had earned him his doctorate. Imagine, he once said to a friend, gaining more energy than you put into creating that energy. His friend couldn't imagine such a thing, but Chuck did. When Chuck graduated and joined Proctor, he found his fantasy changing with new logic and money, lots of money. Powerful changes that only well funded research provides. More years later logic took hold firmly to became his first reality, and with it a small sun formed one night in a large steel magnetic bottle. For others, those watching behind goggles on that night he demonstrated, Chuck's reactor was pure magic. For Chuck, it still was as his computer estimated the temperature in the millions. Chuck's numbers showed he was just a tiny bit under 510 million degrees Celsius. About 70 times hotter than it takes to melt a diamond and thirty times hotter than the suns center. An estimate only, because nothing on earth could survive probing that temperature. Instead, Chuck measured temperature by way of a spectral analysis of Hell's own flame. His computer, modeling that ball a thousand times a second, gave him a look into the fury and power of suns, a tiny sun, a sun he'd fashioned with his own hands. It made him smile. His sun was almost a biological son of sorts given his feelings right then as he watched the bubble form again. Chuck smiled over the wonder of it, but also because he was well above what he had needed for that next level of promised funding. Chuck easily could hold a steady and very solid 100 million degrees Celsius. Hot enough for commercial fusion and that was now easy. Too easy as his system became more stable. So easy that he had just passed that part of his research off to others for a new goal. Chuck's goal now was to hold that tennis ball sized bit of plasma between "invisible reactor arms" and not lead. Remarkably, it would virtually be out in the open. Waves of magnetic fields only, and best of all no longer inside of a large steel container. Chuck had succeeded in crafting his magnetic bubble in such a way that to the plasma it was a solid wall. So solid in fact that no real physical containment was necessary. Before long, Chuck hoped, it would simply be a base with his sun hovering above it. For now it was elegant enough to wow those who once again controlled the purse strings. There were gasps that day Chuck demonstrated his new field even before the plasma truly showed itself. That field as it grew stronger, was almost tangible forming within a deep resonating hum just before his little ball of fury popped into existence. Chuck's plasma ball, unlike those working on the same sorts of things, no longer needed a chamber which meant that someday almost any container could be put around it. Any container, even a car, he'd once said seriously. Imagine a car, Chuck noted, with that pin head size ball of fury driving a crank shaft with nothing more than a large battery keeping it contained. Imagine a golf ball size sun driving turbines for a ship, or a basketball size ball providing a cities power, and his company did imagine such things. A dream for so many years now hovering three feet from the floor in those seconds before it popped out of existence. Chuck was nearly there as he bent over his instruments once again. As it happens this time, so was Sarah. Chapter three Sarah saw that light and she too gasped as the others watching Chuck had. She gasped unheard, and in a different plane of existence of course. Unlike the others witnessing Chuck's success her reaction wasn't over the technical achievement but it's beauty. A nearly perfect sphere of white, almost bluish liquid fire. Fire that looked to Sarah like pure glass with liquid glass swirling within that delicate and spectacular fiery shell. Sarah gasped a second time when she got a brief momentary glimpse at the angelic face within that window just ahead of that ball. He was so pretty, Sarah mused, moving towards that bright spot in both her eyes and another in her heart. Sarah moved forward, but stopped short, disappointingly short when that light drawing her so suddenly popped out of existence. Chuck, shook again and cursed as the whines and fury spooled down. It would take another two minutes to slow the process then stop. Five more minutes to restart. Chuck's hand had slipped and the magnetic lines of flux that kept the ball formed eased up too much on the right side. An emergency override, for the sake of safety, cut the power before Chuck did - thankfully. He had an hour left before his day would end along with the power he used until the world woke. He could wait, but playing with this fire of his was far too fun and besides, he'd heard something. Chuck had heard something and would have sworn it had sounded like a woman. A woman saying, "Oh how beautiful!" Sarah was sure that this was something worth knowing about, deciding then and there to remain for a time where she thought it might appear again. Time, of course, was a subjective term for Sarah after so long without it, but Sarah still knew impatience. She also cursed a bit when that ball of light vanished. Although, to her credit, she cursed properly as a women of her time would. Sarah had also heard something and for the longest time stood trying to gather up the memory of it. She smiled when a memory came and that too was subjective but it felt like she smiled. It had sounded like a curse to Sarah and she laughed. It had been a good long time since she'd heard a man swearing. Chuck laughed as well, then shook his head as if to clear it. Too many hours, too little sleep and too much imagination. That sound he'd heard obviously not words, could have been an odd snap of superheated air mixing in and out of the plasma. Not words at all Chuck laughed again at himself this time before getting serious for the task at hand. This time, as his magnetic bubble began to form, Chuck waited before attempting to tune it. Chuck waited and watched as the temperature grew beyond the highest melting point of everything. Sarah again had a sense that something odd was happening nearby. Odd because it felt like a doorway right from the start of seeing it. She wasn't sure past her feelings, but she'd also come to realize that those feelings, if they were feelings, were her new senses. Sarah was also sure she could pass through that door and would love to. Only that opening was gone again before she could make that attempt. Then suddenly she felt it somewhere near again. Chuck looked at the energy he still had available to him and the time left to play with it. It was enough he decided as he advanced the four levers now interlocked for this startup sequence so they moved as one. It was not too unlike a pilot advancing throttles for takeoff. One hand taking his shell to the maximum once again, the other resting on the lever that would release hell once more in the guise of a deuterium nuclei. A thousand volts plus another thousand volts of energy was refocused in four different ways. His left hand on that other lever slid forward and with that move, gases flowed into the center of that energy. Those gases were about to be superheated loosing all of their electrons. At the center of that highly electrified collection of nuclei there was reified air. Within that swirling air something began to glow and physics changed. There before him, once again within that changing physics, a small rift formed and a kind of calm came within the fury of his storm. Sarah could sense that thing, that fury or whatever that thing was because it was near again. Very near but her knowledge and skills, some of them at least, were still beyond her grasp of it. She sighed again over that, wishing she was smarter and understood this more. She was sure it was something wonderful, something to know about. There was so much wonder as she sighed. Sarah sighed often in those nearly half dozen decades. First over not understanding why that storm pelting her so ruthlessly had ended so abruptly, then again when she realized it hadn't actually ended, but she had. Death, or the one she'd come to know, wasn't death, as she'd come to expect. There was no heaven, nor hell, just this place where she moved about - alone. Only Sarah had also discovered, in that same great span of time, she really wasn't alone. That part she knew for sure as she moved again to where she was positive that door was about to open. It didn't and again her world was silent. Silent, but Sarah still had her new senses as she thinned herself a little bit more to reach out to feel where it might be. Chuck, meanwhile, stopped fidgeting with his controls allowing the field to fall to a null. He was too tired and knew it. Transformers in the background, humming mightily from the power surging through them, began to grow quiet. He'd held his plasma ball for nearly a minute this time. At first, months before this, it was only for a second or two. Someday He'd hold it for hours. Someday he'd hold it for as long as he wanted. On that day Chuck's odd little toy would became a nearly perfect machine with as much energy as the Sun. Only not today and sleep pulled at him. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning, and soon those seven million megawatts of capacity that he borrowed each night would be diverted back to those millions of coffee pots about to begin perking. Chuck yawned and stretched. It was time for bed. Only he paused. That moan, a moan sounding almost like a sigh, caught his attention in the new silence of his lab and he froze. Chuck had heard it, and he was sure of that, only it wasn't there when he stood listening. Tired, too tired, he decided, as he stretched his limbs and body again against his tenseness. The intensity of each test always capturing his muscles in a rigid state till those test ended. He was so close, he mused, as he made his way out of his lab for home. Sarah frustrated, coalesced again. It had taken Sarah nearly five decades to understand she had died and another, almost, to know she was neither here, nor there and not sure where. Another decade passed as she searched for the meaning in just that new circumstance. More thoughts came on other things as well. Sarah was never hungry, nor cold, or hot, nor sleepy and reasoned often over that. It wasn't until nineteen hundred and five before she found herself among people again. Not often and not clear why, but on occasion and often enough to savor those moments. As it happens, Chuck's doorway, or the one he was creating was also, and often enough, natures doorway. Those doorways of nature were random and occasional as the Sun flickered a tendril of plasma this way or that. Sometimes Earth was in the way as a tendril slapped at our reality. At Sarah's reality, as well, as Sarah began using those doorways as often as she could. Space itself is a sea of time and a void full of nothing but, as it happens, in nothing there is something. Within that something are small eddies where both time, and that void, swirl and collect. Sarah discovered those swirls as her first doorway was created by nature. That's how she'd found the people on the other side. In time she came to understand that she was once one of them. Sarah had no sense of time because time, where she was, didn't matter much. Nor could Sarah measure it if she had any sense of it anyway. For Sarah all of the references she once knew no longer existed. Sarah just simply moved from one place to another and never sure she was even moving till those windows or doors opened on occasion. That's when she would notice changes. The world was changing. That other place, that place Sarah once occupied when she lived, had changed greatly. A calendar on a wall surprised her because it had a woman on it. That calendar held a woman in clothing women of her time wouldn't dare wear least they be accused of terribly wicked things. So the fashions shocked her at first, as did women smoking back in 1920 in a saloon they called a Speak Easy. Speak Easy was a term for the bars that grew up in an era of probation. Nylons, though were a delight when she watched them going on, and so were those bits and pieces of wickedly sensuous lingerie she found women wearing in later days. Cars scared her witless at first, as did a light bulb that flicked on in those early days. Then there was a plane in bright yellow, once used for training in 1938. That too nearly gave her a heart attack till she realized it wasn't going to eat her or that she didn't have a beating heart any longer. There was a lot of magic for a women that had been driving a team of mules half way across America's new continent when that part of her existence ended. Meanwhile, Chuck's own magic kept him happy as he pushed the second of his two classics down the long stretch of road towards home. He was fifteen miles away from the world he worked in and a hundred years in the past where he lived. His home was built centuries before his modern glass and plastic lab when he took the job. Thanks to his family, Chuck lived comfortably, but decades in the past. Actually Chuck lived in the house he'd grown up in. Chuck's house was once his grandfather's notion of affordable peace, having built it at the turn of his grand parent's century. Chuck didn't know he was privileged, and he was and brilliant besides. Chuck only knew he was different because the other boys in those days often teased him for it. A nice contradiction now with old money from Boston, then new money from his mother's generation, it was combined and all carefully held in a trust in his name. He was devastated when his mother passed away, and grew reclusive before his work drew him out again. That was all Chuck lived for now, that work and when he had the time, his home. Chuck's restorations of both the house and it's furniture was more a tribute to what he remembered, besides comforting for him. As often as not though it was simply something to do. An attempt to resurrect the grandeur he'd grown up in he'd tell those who asked, although few did. When Chuck's mother died he had kept the house up, even modernizing it where needed, and one day the state would own it. The state would own it all, including the lands that connected to that estate. His families legacy, or a large portion of it, now part of the state's parks system on paper, or would be someday. It was a cleaver move by an attorney friend which had secured for him a perpetual right of way, and virtually eliminated that risk of the state's imminent domain. His deed of transfer, for the sum of a dollar, but only at his death, was a cleaver incentive against the worlds encroachment while he lived. Chuck was well off, secure, alone, and happy to be, as he pulled into the spacious garage changed decades ago when the stables were no longer needed for horses. His research, born of his education, grew quickly without the burden of making a living from it. His first passion now that research. His second passion his house and cars. His mother would not have approved of those cars. She was a strong conservative in a world moving far too fast for her taste. As was her son at times when she warned him over this or that. Manners and customs fit perfectly with her tradition and Chuck was steeped in it growing up. Most boys would consider some of what Chuck had to endure rather sissy and perhaps it was for them. For Chuck, tea in the afternoon and two baths a day under the watchful eye of a nanny, was both a comfort and accommodating ritual. Those rituals simply moments to allow him to pause, his mother often said. Pause and take a breath in a world always rushing. Those precious moments with his grandmother, and mother, was a way to ground himself from the small shocks of life and a few not so small. When Chuck's second bath ended he was always dressed in silks beginning with his underpants his nanny tied him into before his britches. White silk stockings and strap shoes followed before a silk ruffled blouse - then off to tea. Chuck rarely talked to other boys and never about his dinner clothes or the nightdress he wore to bed. Chuck, remembering those days, yawned as he entered the bedroom flopping on the bed his mother once held him in. It had been her room before this and chuck was sure, when he realized what he'd just done, that she actually gasped loudly over his actions. It was his mind gasping, but Chuck reacted as if it really was his mother. Chuck rose instantly to that voice in his mind admonishing him for mussing his bed's spread and daring to lay on it with clothes on. Try as he might old habits still lingered and laying on a properly made bed with your clothes on, in that house, was simply unheard of. So to, that other world Chuck believed existed which is where his plasma was now held. In our world of normal physics what goes up must come down. Only that's not true in a space with few definitions and so many directions. He was taught that since up and down were relative only to the person looking, and some might even be up in a different direction than Chuck. That was true once, but truth, his mother warned, may only be a good guess at times. Chuck's education changed that like so many different pegs in so many different holes. It's a neatly crafted belief you begin learning as a child his mother warned. Only the round peg can go into the round hole. Which of course eliminates, if you believe such things, any necessity to believe otherwise. Once that happens the mind closes and locks itself up his mother warned. Chuck smiled over that. His mother, while as practical as any human he knew, made him often think well beyond himself. She loved tradition, but hated being stagnant she once said. She hated beliefs cast in concrete as well, but loved those small rituals. She proved that once when she took up a square peg from Chuck's toys and rounded it with a knife to fit another hole just to make her point. Our beliefs, Chuck's mother once said, can be changed if the person wishing to change them can prove otherwise, at least to himself, that change is possible, and we should always be trying to prove otherwise. The world was flat until all the people that believed that to be so, changed. However, it first took someone believing it wasn't, then proving it. Man could never go past thirty miles per hour because the very air would be sucked from his lungs until someone went past thirty miles an hour and didn't die. Man was not meant to fly until a man flew. Each belief, fostered in part by our fears of change actually changed because of those beliefs. Change, Chuck's mother also noted, would only change when someone overcame their own fears long enough to prove to others that their fears were now groundless. That was, is, and most likely always will be, the way most men really learn, and this his mother also taught him. Some anyway, Chuck's mother cautioned. Some perhaps never she also noted. So Chuck Johnson, or CJ as his friends called him, believed only those things he wanted to believe, and CJ would or could change what he might believe in within a second. CJ sometimes changed without any other reason than simply for the sake of change. It drove his friends crazy at times those changes. One minute CJ might argue passionately against them, the next, and sometimes without saying why, suddenly in full agreement. That ability to ignore some notions, and embrace others, or see with a curious eye rather than one filled with fear was often a good thing. Seeing is believing, but sometimes you've got to first believe you are seeing it. Chuck would often say and that too drove most of his friends slightly nuts. His friends, most anyway, loved CJ's view, because he was always slightly off center of theirs. His views gave them a different image of things, safely, while they could remain centered and argumentative. That difference, that odd view at times, made CJ far less likely than they, to faint dead away when Sarah would first appear. We call them ghost! Most of us don't believe in them, but in truth they are simply people existing where most of us will someday exist. Oddly enough we do believe, if you count religion as another opinion on such things, and that was thanks to Chuck's mother again. Chuck's flexibility came from knowing, after his research, that time and space, even our very physics... all known rules, change in that place where his bubble formed. "Often we don't believe, at first, because we are afraid and it's better not to, and perhaps rightfully so," Sarah once said to someone before adding, "although even if you are afraid you should at least look first to see why it is you fear this or that." Sarah was so much like Chuck's mother in some things. However, it took nearly fifty years for Sarah to realize she wasn't driving her team of mules across the muddy plains of what would someday be Oklahoma any longer. Sarah also came to know that, this time it took for understanding, was necessary. This in-between place she was in is actually designed to be that way. We are infants in our first existence or in this current form we call life. Hardly a moment in the full scheme of things. So, we have no choice, but to hover about this newer place for a longer time, curious, confused but warming to it, and along with that pause a growing sense of safe. Eternities waiting room, Sarah once mused, but of course only to herself. That changes some, but slowly, so there is time for understanding on what the Gods know. You can't know what a God knows till you become a God yourself Sarah noted that sometime in the early 1900s.. For some it might very well take all of eternity to learn those lessons. A few poor souls may never do so. Which, in a way, is fortunate because many will have that long. For Sarah it wasn't nearly as long as most. For Sarah it was the same world she had known before her death, but with something new being added constantly. All sorts of new things were changing around her as she began to realize what she was. Ultimately Sarah came to understand a small part of it and even that word ghost. Actually, it was 1900, or there about, when she greeted her first person, but it wasn't until 1915 before she tried her first real hello. What she said before that, when she did try and speak, as in the case of that first person, and given it's impact, might well have translated as a boo. For him and the ones that sometimes saw her in the years that followed, or for those that heard that odd voice, it really was more of a "boo" than "hello". By 1940 Sarah had become far less frustrated over people like that, and far more forgiving of them, their fears. By 1950 she actually began searching for the ones that didn't fear her. A few, a very precious few, saw her and smiled. Children mostly, but on occasion an adult. The children though, saddened Sarah. She wondered over that at first then realized why one day. She had forgotten for so long. Truth was Sarah's son had been with her that night. Sarah's son was somewhere, even perhaps here, where she was. Sarah, when she was struck by lightning that night, died alone with her mules, and so did her son. Her son was behind her, crying fearfully against the booms and roars of a world he didn't yet fully understand. He was under a quilt and over that an oil cloth against the storm. None of those things saved him that night. Sarah's son had died as quickly as she had, but she'd forgotten that for a time. For a time, as with most in this phase, she simply moved about trying to understand where she was and how she'd gotten to wherever it was, she was. Getting a handle on living somewhere between here and there isn't easy, even if you believe in here and there. So, during those first fifty years or so, Sarah took on some of her new reality and ignored her past. For much of that time she was ignorant of where her son might be until one day she simply realized he wasn't there. From then on, in spite of everything else, she searched. There had been a dozen encounters before CJ. A handful of moments when she thought she had found her son. None of them were, but none of them lessoned, even in the slightest, her hope that he was somewhere, waiting. Perhaps even searching for her as she was him. Not even the fact that he was most likely dead simply from old age, had he lived, changed her views. Old age, had he lived, Sarah began to realize, might very well be a possibility. Although that didn't matter either, because also, at some point, Sarah began to realize that were he dead, he'd most likely be here somewhere or perhaps even past her. Sarah, as pragmatic in death as she had been in life, was just as pragmatic now, because she had learned things. The one advantage of living aware, even the way Sarah now lived, was that knowledge filters in, in spite of ourselves. We gather things in even without trying to learn them. Although in Sarah's case, once a teacher, and already blessed with a thirst for understanding, had gathered in much and studied it. Understanding some things came slowly but, with all the time in the universe, it came. She understood that she'd died, but she knew she wasn't dead. Matter can neither be created nor destroyed but it can be altered and what had once been Sarah, that matter that she once was, had simply become something else but, clearly, still very much Sarah. That other part, that part she now was, wasn't the Sarah she once was, but since she could reason that, she also reasoned she still was, whatever it was she was back then. She also knew that heaven or hell, or the ones she'd learned of, were, if they existed, most likely still a ways off. She often prayed still that she was headed for heaven, but she understood she had a long ways to travel yet. So Sarah did learn and understanding came. She watched happily at times while watching the world she'd known, change. Sometimes for the worse as wars came and went. Sometimes for the better. She found happiness, most times, and often in those changes. She also began spending large amounts of her existence in both that learning and, because of her original calling, trying to teach. She had loved teaching when she was teaching. Teaching had been Sarah's calling then and, in some ways still. If people knew of her and what she was they too might find more hope than they often had. What better way to spend some of her time, she mused, than in spreading a small amount of hope to those that still lived as she once had. That last though, unfortunately was often a frightful vision to those seeing her, and just as often not very receptive to Sarah's intent or her desires to teach them. Something she noted just before she stopped doing that. She had more to learn, and some things are better left alone till she did. That last young man had wet himself when she said hello and she felt bad over that. She mused over that last contact, He was a student who she'd thought might understand. Clearly he didn't as a puddle formed around his feet. Although, as bad as that was, she'd laughed. Her new fate didn't leave her without a sense of humor either, because she'd left a number of puddles around a number of men's feet over time. She was a woman from a different time but she hadn't liked what some men did even back then, and some things hadn't changed, to her great displeasure. So, while this life she now lived, still amazed her, even more than her last, she was often more amazed over how little things did change. That was also the nature of a long life without the burdens that come with such a long life. Sarah explored, studied and searched. She still enjoyed sunsets and other things that had always made her smile and, most of all, the laughter of a child unbridled. Sarah also carried some of her opinions of things with her in her journey. Opinions still very much intact in spite of the time growing between then and now. Some things stand the test of time and much of what she believed had. Her strongest was that children didn't seem to be allowed to be children as much as they had when she was mothering her own. Sarah also came to believe that men, those men running things now, hadn't done much better than those men back then. That too stood the test of time, so much so, that she enjoyed watching some of those women that she encountered in these new ages. She didn't know about dominates when she was alive, but she came to realize she might have been one of them even in her time. She also liked the progress women had made, but hated how long it was taking. All of this only important to mention here, because that first view of Chuck, or CJ, was soon followed by some of those other views. Although at first it was simply his bubble that caught her eye that one night not too long ago. That bubble first then another notice and a resemblance to her son. Chuck was a brilliant student at Bidwall. That was clear to the school, his advisers and to Protol's Chief scientist when he pushed for the grant. Chuck could have gone to any of the big five collages but his mother's illness made those choices impossible. When Chuck's mother passed away a lot of Chuck's desires for the world outside of Bidwall passed with her. He wasn't a recluse, but his friends numbered only a few more than the fingers on one hand for a time. Chuck, as logical as he was, was hardly that over how he took comfort with the loss of his mother. He wasn't sure what he was doing that night he brought the diapers home other than his need for them seemed so compelling. Disposables that first time and the first time he'd slept in his mother's bed, this time without waking in the dark so fearful. Within a few months he didn't feel so alone and his curiosity came back to him. Where had his mother gone, he wondered. Chuck ultimately went deeply submerged into that world of physics. Physics was a world few of his friends understood and none could follow. So he spent much of his time tinkering in his lab in the basement and on things that sparked his interest. It was those sparks that had been one of the reasons Sarah had stopped by. A bright light again one night, that reminded Sarah of that last night when lightning danced down her buggy whip and around her hand before taking her. Chuck would someday be known for his work in the area of plasma fields. His thesis, and a fairly good start of an idea, was in developing a plasma shield containment using only magnetic's. His shielding wasn't so much a cover but a way to move it about and his plasma not so much whole, as much as it was a hole. Chuck had found that if you create a rift, for want of a better word, first, and then your plasma ball you had your plasma contained. How that rift formed wasn't clear yet, but he was beginning to learn how to form them. Moreover, if you could move that rift about and even carry it with you, you had a vessel. A very special vessel, clearly, to hold things nothing on Earth could hold yet. A container that had no form or shape or substance to hold a force beyond understanding was what Chuck was working on. Chuck's little machine, the one he was tinkering with at present, was fifteen years away from the one that would cost several billion dollars, and for the present it was just tinkering. To Sarah it was like a beacon in the night, and stepping towards it was hardly more difficult for her than someone passing through a real door. Sarah knew that door was nearby and the following day, with Chuck fully rested, there was another moment coming for Sarah, and before her another bubble formed. There were two gasp in that instant as Sarah took that figurative or perhaps literal next step: One gasp from Chuck who saw Sarah appear, and the other from Sarah who saw, in Chuck, something of her son. Or at least what her son might have looked like at this age. CJ for his part began remembering all of the ghost stories he'd ever heard or seen. To his credit he was more curious than fearful. Sarah was curious as well, since she had little to be afraid of from this side and Chuck, a believer of sorts, had little to be afraid of from that other side, so that gasp from each and mostly surprise, quickly drifted towards a grasp of each. There was, in another instant, a somewhat nervous curiosity formed between them. Sarah waiting for that puddle to form that didn't, and Chuck waiting for his vision to clear that didn't. It was, if you can imagine such things, the oddest encounter you can imagine. CJ, even more amazing to Sarah, moved towards her. Sarah remained as still as was possible near that plasma flow so as not to scare the boy if that was possible. She smiled and CJ smiled back. He extended his hand and withdrew it almost completely till she extended hers. Chuck wasn't sure what he was touching, but it was clear it wasn't exactly like touching another hand, but it wasn't death either. For Sarah a hundred years had passed without another human touch and her smile grew broader as she felt or at least sensed the warmth of life once again. "Can you speak?" CJ asked. "What an interesting question," Sarah voiced, although it was clear it wasn't exactly air passing over a larynx as Sarah added, "I would have thought you'd asked if I was real?" "OK, are you real?" CJ asked finding it amusing that this woman, if she was a woman, might not be and thought to remind himself of that. He was tired and he suspected his brain of creating this. "I am I suppose, but different now, not like you are obviously! I was once like you, but that changed, also obviously," Sarah voiced with a light amusing tone to it. There were a dozen more questions and all answered as well as Sarah could answer. CJ's amazement grew as much as Sarah's pleasure in watching this young man adjust to her so easily. Chuck wasn't sure yet if he'd been simply working too long, or if she was real, or what real even was, but they talked anyway. If he was nuts, Chuck mused, it didn't much matter and he liked talking with this woman. They talked of her, of him, of this impossible possibility and the obvious impossibility. They discussed what he was working on and what she had learned. A hundred years of existence outside the plane of existence leaves a whole lot of interesting things up for discussion. Although CJ lived in the here and now, he was raised from a touch of Sarah's time, and that was a plus for Sarah as well. It was pretty remarkable for both of them. Odd as well. Chuck's invitation to tea, as silly as it might sound to someone observing them, was heartwarming to a woman that hadn't felt much warmth for so long a time. Tea seemed right for the occasion. Although Sarah no longer needed such things, other than for the amenities that came with such things. Chuck had learned much from growing up with only a mother and nanny to guide him. His grandmother as well spending as much time teaching him, and his offer of tea was one of those lessons. Tea time was something Chuck often missed. Tea was a reason to pause his grandmother once said. To have a reason for not doing something or to do absolutely nothing under the guise of doing something. Chuck hadn't fully understood that till he asked his grandmother why she took a book, then fell asleep reading it. She laughed explaining that she hadn't taken the book to read. That book, she told him, was simply to have a legitimate reason to sit, relax and then drift into a nap. It was clear to Sarah there was a woman's touch within Chuck's world. Even this odd world so full of technology where she first met Chuck. Chuck served tea in a porcelain pot that matched a dainty set of cups and saucers. His mother's tea set kept for the memories of her. Knowing that, soon after Sarah entered through that field fully, pleased her. Chuck was gentle, kind and, most of all, not fearful of her. That was a very big plus. When she entered his house she felt warm in a figurative but real sort of way. Chuck was also obviously not fearful of lace doilies or ruffled dust covers, because so much of the house his grandmother and mother had so loved, remained. Chuck's mother had grown up in that house, and Chuck followed in her footsteps. Much of what both women enjoyed in Chuck's life remained. Antiques now, but most nearly like new, and they made Sarah very comfortable, those surroundings. Even the drive to that house was odd, but happily so since it was actually her first time in a car. Sarah didn't need the car to move about but she liked the noise and it's sensations of speed. She had grown up knowing only horses and mules. Sarah felt energized, excited, as they almost flew above the ground although the speed rarely reached past forty in Chuck's classic Mustang convertible. It hardly seemed that long ago when she was sitting at home, her home, sipping tea from a cup also decorated in roses. Sipping tea in Chuck's home, was not too unlike the one she had left in Boston almost a hundred and fifty years before. Sarah had answered most of the questions Chuck asked or as well as she could. Chuck wanted to know where the tea was going and Sarah didn't know although she suspected they went where she often stayed. If she no longer had a body then how was she managing her tea cup? Again she didn't know. Sarah finally said, as she had to her students so often, "the joy you will face answering one question grows delightfully, because there is always another question right behind it". Then it was Sarah's turn. Sarah was fascinated with that plasma flow after she'd dipped her hand into the small micro thin stream. Chuck, in turn, was answering all of Sarah's questions as well. Some of it over what he was doing, and a few on why he wasn't afraid of her. At first he was, he admitted. The fact that he looked so much like her son also fascinated him. If he wasn't her son, she mused, he could have easily been a sibling. Of course if he was her son he'd be long dead, so perhaps Chuck was a relative of hers? A fanciful thought but oddly comforting as well. For a mother still hoping to see that child she'd lost, that was more than enough reason to hold onto the moment. It could even just be wishful thinking, Sarah mused. Sarah said as much, and Chuck nodded his understanding of such a thing, because he felt that way about his mother and grandmother. Chuck admitted he was seeing some of his grandmother in that woman sitting across from him. It wasn't obviously his grandmother, because Chuck was practical enough to know better about such things. Perhaps not even in looks, and certainly not in style of dress, which was more like his great grandmother, Chuck mused, but in other things. It was what his mother or grandmother often did as habits that Sarah did as well. Some of it by way of her gestures, and many of the things she said, his mother said. Sarah couldn't tell him anything about her, or anyone else where she was for that matter, and Chuck had asked. She couldn't tell him why that was so either. So incredibly odd, and yet not because there were always going to be questions without answers. Both knew that and both, to their mutual benefit, also understood that. Nor, in spite of this encounter and how fantastic it seemed, but because she could still remind Chuck to take his elbow off the table. Even more odd was how Sarah had done that which wasn't vocal, but in the same exact way same way his mother once did. Just a small gesture without interrupting the conversation she was engaged in, and on another level completely. Chuck removed his elbow also without losing his train of thought. If there was someone making matches out there then this one was truly being made in real time. Chuck shook his head in amazement. Sarah shook what she took to be her head in the same way. Of course there were differences. Sarah looked more like the fading pictures of Chucks great great grandmother since she still favored the clothing from her period and Chuck didn't dress anything like Sarah's son had, she said. Sarah knew enough about changes to know Chuck wouldn't understand what she meant by that so she left it alone. By the time Chuck was ready for bed, hours had passed, and he was exhausted past his excitement. Sarah promised to be there in the morning and promising, as well, not to be there when he showered. A laughable sort of promise given and taken because of her current state. A practical request in a very unpractical situation. Sarah didn't sleep, she said, but she could drift off in a relative sort of way, and laughed a little when she said it could also be literal as well. There was a lot of humor in this and that helped both of them as well. Sarah had drifted off, literally, allowing Chuck to sleep, waiting with the patience of a woman who doesn't bother with time anymore. Her smile was nostalgic at first then slightly more playful as the image of her son grew more clear to her after Sarah slid quietly back into Chuck's room. Innocence comes with sleep, Sarah mused. A face, in sleep, is in it's nearly perfect state of bliss, she also mused, and wishing next that it was her son laying there. Obviously it wasn't her son, but just as obviously she thought of Chuck as she might a son growing to be his age. What was missing, Sarah noted with a twinge of guilt, was the differences between those times and these. Chuck could easily look a lot more like her son Sarah mused. Her son's flowing ringlets, and soft blond curls, Sarah so loved putting his hair into, were not there. Not at first, but there now and she smiled. Matter is as matter does she mused to herself. Of course boys no longer wore dresses or gowns to bed or pinafores at play so there were some differences in what Chuck was wearing now before Sarah changed that as well. Sarah was a little surprised to discover Chuck wearing a diaper. Sarah had often wished she'd had such things, as those plastic vinyl panties when her son was soiling himself. That was one of the reasons boys wore dresses back then. She would find a way, she mused, to ask Chuck about what he was wearing to bed and why. Which, as a thought, left her for other thoughts and those mostly about matter. Sarah had learned some things in her many decades of being what and where she was. Matter, or almost all matter is one or more combinations of 92 elements that occur naturally. If you look deeper, and Sarah often did, you can see the smallest part of an element or atom. Beyond that, and for Sarah only slightly more difficult, the wonder of electrons, protons and neutrons. Those chemical strands that made nylon, if you looked where Sarah could look, had the same basic building blocks as any natural material or any other synthetic. Molecules and compounds, Sarah mused as she imagined often this into that. Sarah was herself the basics so everything she knew she also knew as the basics. Elements were elements. All you had to do was go deep enough and almost everything could change to be anything else. Sarah also knew that the young man now laying there, now in his nightgown made of the softest of silks, might not care for what she had done. She worried over that some, but the likeness of her son drove her further into those minor touches that made him even more so. He was sleeping so doing this to him counted less, Sarah justified. Chuck's gown was not too unlike the ones from Europe back then. Sarah was part of Boston's upper class and silks were a big part of that class. Her son wore the best silks that money could buy and she smiled over the image she was creating. Sarah's son wore the best and in those days you measured both in the material and the style. "Delightful," Sarah whispered to herself as Chuck's gown grew more elaborate and decidedly very French and very aristocratic. Ribbons formed, slithered easily into bows and grew more dainty. Fabric emerged and merged becoming lace here, something closer to a ruffle there. Layers upon layers formed, moved, then rested complete, and all of it just below Chuck's awareness. Chuck, of course, would have screamed from the indignity of it all. Sometimes her son even did back then, but, back then, that was a mother's right and a son's duty. Besides, she simply had to see her son again or at least the likeness of him. For her it was an image of a young boy that had never known pants as this one now appeared. In the world where Sarah lived physics, or its laws, were as amusing as the illusions of a master magician and almost as easy to do or undo. Sarah had learned that after a time. She wasn't sure how things happened but that didn't much matter managing matter. Putting this young man into his flowing silk gown, or twisting his hair into curls, coloring it or even making it slightly longer took hardly a thought. Sarah wasn't even sure if there was actually a thought when she made such things happen because she couldn't find a thought behind it. She simply did what she could do. All of that a given, more or less, since most of what Sarah was could be looked upon as little more than perhaps a thought. You might want to call her energy, but that wouldn't work very well because energy didn't cover all of what Sarah was. Nor would energy explain away what she was doing to that young man, as a dress began forming around Chuck without Chuck being aware of it. A very pretty gown replacing the gown he'd just been in. It had been one of her favorites on her son back then. Pink then was for boys and blue was favored for girls. Chuck's dress was in pink and made of silk as were the slips and pantaloons she formed under it. She left Chuck's diaper alone as she worked on his pantaloons. Somewhere Chuck's awareness only noted that something felt nice and he smiled in his sleep. He was dreaming of his mother and her flowing nightgowns surrounding him as they once had. Sarah's smile reflecting Chucks as she paused momentarily fearing Chuck might wake. She was almost there anyway, she mused. Her friends, back then, would have adored Chuck as she did suddenly. Sarah had been admired for her artistry in regards to her son's look. An odd word to use in context to what she did with her son, but to the other women with boys, Sarah truly was an artist. Sarah's son rarely looked like a boy most days but there were days even more special. On those special days when they all met at the park there was not even a hint of the male he was. That was her art and, again, she was truly an artist. Sarah should have breached her son far sooner back then, but she had hated the thought of putting him in pants. Much of it because, in pants, he would be his father's son then, and not her's in that figurative and often literal sort of way. So she fought convention even then, and her husband occasionally over what his boy was still wearing. He might just as well of had a daughter he would argue, and Sarah would smile amusingly because that's what he had. "Better!" Sarah thought to herself as she settled in on something in a delightful shade of pale pink for Chuck while a bonnet formed. Like his dress it too was French in style, satiny, ruffled and ribboned exquisitely. Chuck's dress waisted below the breast, now swept outwardly. Long sleeves snug at the wrist but puffed at the shoulders matched perfectly a bonnet of fine lace and ruffles held in place with a sweet soft satiny pink bow. Were that Sarah's son laying there in his flowing dress and slips over those pantaloons he might have lodge a complaint himself over his clothes and often did. Always one or two protest, at times, because even most girls had far less frills than the dresses Theodore often wore. Of course Theodore was going well past the time when he should have been breached, but that hardly mattered. Were the truth be known, and if Sarah had her way, her son would have never known pants. Ironically she wasn't alone in those views either, because teas taken back then, with other women of her mind, were very delicate affairs and so too the sons of these women. This, obviously, always out of view of those fathers. So it was, at those teas, that it might appear as though there were nothing but playfully happy little girls with their mothers attending. It might also appear that all of those sipping tea or working their needlecraft, were little girls with their mothers. Little girls learning themselves to become mothers. Which wasn't the case at all since none of those women had girls. It was a club of sorts and very secret for obvious reasons, and while some of those boys protested their plight, others didn't and even those protesting did so lightly. Some mothers simply thought it better that boys remain as girls for as long as possible before growing to be men. Some boys thought those same thoughts and had no desires, after some amount of time, to grow into men. The mothers of those boys were delighted and often the envy of the rest. Even Sarah's husband finally gave into that view of his son that his wife held, and while he sometimes did bring the topic up, he didn't carry it too far. He didn't dare, simply because he knew that his wife did suspect he wore unmanly things himself. Actually he knew that she knew about that corset he had begun to wear. Which, as justification, was only worn to "maintain" his "masculine" features and male form as laughable as that had been when said. A fib and ironic because even if true it was such a contradiction. Besides, that corset had nothing whatsoever to do with those french pantaloons of satin Sarah favored that so often turned up missing. Nor did he dare make that a topic either when she accused him with the evidence of that very thing. Women, as she pointed out the obvious one day, simply did not soil their dainties in that manner or location. So it was that Sarah's husband didn't dare complain, because Sarah might have mentioned that time she found him fluttering about in her petticoats, feigning too much alcohol, when he hardly drank at all. In time her husband had found himself fluttering about in his dainties without the benefit of alcohol or any other reason than Sarah's demands once she knew. There was more than one occasion when Sarah sent her husband to the kitchen in her fineries to fetch her a glass of Sherrie. Yes, she was a dominate even back then and only now beginning to understand the joy of being such a thing. All of those images and memories Sarah was conjuring up, as Chuck lay there fitfully, unaware that he was passing through the fashions of those times and even those that came later. Quite a few more besides and right before Sarah's eyes. Sarah had learned of fashions through the ages so she knew about those wickedly sweet baby dolls that women wore in the fifties. Baby dolls were frightfully wicked garments, Sarah mused, when first seeing them. Naughty things she would have loved wearing in her time and she would have. So, before she decided to move about the house and explore, she left Chuck looking very delightful in a short nightgown made of pink nylon under a layer of that airy chiffon trimmed in lace. Sarah left and was moving easily about the attic when Chuck woke. It takes roughly twenty minutes for a liquid to make it's way from one end of our system to the other. Some amount of time more for all of it to pass and get stored. Chuck's last sip of tea was half again as much as his bladder could hold. So that dream he had, about going to be bathroom, became a strong urge to do so as he woke. He had only gone to bed out of necessity, because he hadn't wanted to at all, but the woman, if that was what she was, had promised to be there when he woke. She wasn't anywhere when Chuck looked, and Chuck worried that he'd dreamed her. He hadn't, he realized, as he slipped from beneath his covers and away from the fog of thoughts created when he was between sleep and wake. He was still trying to sort out the differences his senses recorded as he stood. What had he remembered before bed and what could he apply from those memories that would make it real instead of a dream. He had been working hard on his project. Perhaps too hard and perhaps he really was losing it. He wasn't dreaming of course and were he not as groggy as he was he would have had more than enough proof as he rose. That proof was there under his finger tips. That bubble gum pink baby doll she'd left on him when she'd left, covered panties and suddenly they moved over his plastic vinyl panties and those in turn moved over his diaper. Instead of wetting his diaper, Chuck rose suddenly. Those first steps of his suddenly faltered. Chuck took a step, another, then paused, but his arms moved still, and they moved against nylon. The layers of nylon above another for his panties moved differently and with it a pleasant sensation. It was only a hint at first, and to his credit, when he did discover that he wasn't wearing his "boys" pajamas he simply smiled. It wasn't a conscious smile, because he wondered again if he was dreaming still. You can wear such things in a dream. Although he wasn't sure, and his doubt came in a series of small ways. The first from a stretch he made a few feet from his bed, the second a touch with both hands just after he began making his way to the bathroom. If he played too much, going to the bathroom would be difficult, he mused. He mused as well over what he wore. Chuck was in his diaper as usual and that, in spite of what people might think, at least for him, was normal. Given that he'd gone to bed in his diaper and plastic panties under pajamas, at least the pj's had changed. Those pj's were cotton, what he was wearing was nylon. Nylon moves differently than cotton, and that small spasm of delight woke him faster than the awareness of what he might be in. His mother's mirror, now his, and across from the bed she once slept in, gave him a silhouette decidedly feminine in the pail glow of moonlight. His hands ran down his sides, filling in more details, adding slightly more delight. He knew then that he had not dreamed about that women, and wondered how she had dressed him that way, then why, and finally where she had gone so he could ask. The logic making him laugh because there was no logic in any of it - again. He was going mad and he was wearing the proof of that and how delightful if that were true. That woman wasn't just a dream because this wasn't. "I'm so sorry," the voice said from behind just as Chuck returned to his room, and before he could realize what she meant, he was in his own pajamas once again. Chuck looked down at his pajamas and decided, sadly, it had been a dream, and deciding that, decided as well that so was she. Tomorrow he'd rest at home for the day. Maybe even take a small leave from work. "Sorry for what?" Chuck asked anyway. If it was a dream he needn't be too concerned on what he said or did. "That nightgown! That was silly of me, but you remind me of my own son, and of a time when boys wore such things. Not that style per se but something suitable and I was longing for my son. I'm afraid I played a bit while you slept. I meant to undo what I'd done before you woke," Sarah said. "It's ok! I mean I know that you aren't real, so it's really ok," Chuck said amused at what he'd just said. He hesitated a moment, then looked back and started to speak: "I ..." Chuck paused again. Even in dreams there is caution. He'd almost said that he liked it, but didn't. Sarah had been around for a long time and smiled. There was a pause as she searched her own memories both old and new. He was going to say he liked it, but didn't. She took another moment to reason it out for her sake as well as his. It was an obvious statement even as fragmented as it was, although it wasn't fragmented at all to Sarah. Sarah didn't want to scare this young man, only because they were communicating, and she enjoyed his mind. Yet she longed for that child she'd lost and that passed any other reasoning as that baby doll set appeared again. Sarah's smile formed once again, but this time not from that feminine over that male vision that so pleased her, but from Chuck's nearly spoken thoughts. The fact was Chuck had said what he'd said, but only as a thought, and just because he didn't voice his thoughts the energy to make them was there and it was understood almost as clearly as if he had said it. He didn't make that connection, but his next thoughts simply had confirmed what Sarah had suspected. Chuck really did like it and how delightful that was. Although Sarah drew pensive once more. She knew about boys and men of these times so she immediately gave him an out and said, "I know males in these times don't wear such things, but they did in mine. It would please me greatly if you would chose to remain that way for a bit longer. I do so miss my son." Chuck looked down at what he was wearing, and believing himself near the edge of a nervous breakdown anyway, or perhaps still dreaming, smiled back saying, "Sure, why not!" Sarah knew the answer was glib before Chuck gave it. Yet he'd given it and that baby doll changed into a sweeping gown under a robe of the same silky chiffon. Elegant as a formal gown in layers of silk over silk now layered over Chuck. She held that for a moment satisfied that it looked a lot like the one she remembered. The sash, a wide ribbon of pink satin, perhaps wider than what she remembered was very close otherwise. Chuck's panties wer