Time to Go - Part 2

I couldn't help but grin back at her. "I have to admit, this is kind of fun," I replied, turning this way and that to get a better look at myself in the mirror. 

My mother clapped her hands together. "Good! Now that we've got the look down, how about we take it a step further?" she suggested, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Before I could question her further, she produced a small makeup case from her dresser and beckoned me to the vanity. As she expertly applied eyeshadow, eyeliner, and lipstick, I marveled at the transformation taking place before my eyes. My features softened, my eyes sparkled with newfound depth, and my lips took on a luscious hue.

"There," my mother said with a satisfied smile, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Now you truly look the part."

Staring back at me was not my own reflection, but that of my mother's younger self, the image of her at sixteen years old perfectly mirrored in the glass. My mind reeled at the sight, struggling to comprehend the impossible transformation that had taken place.

I reached out a trembling hand to touch my face, feeling the smoothness of youthful skin and the delicate contours.

My mother watched me closely, her eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and pride.

"What do you think, Matt?" she asked, her voice filled with anticipation, “Or, shall I say, Carol?”

Carol… My heart skipped a beat at the sound of the name, a name that belonged to my mother in her youth but now, somehow, 

belonged to me as much as it did to my mother all those years ago.

I hesitated for a moment, testing the weight of the name on my tongue, "Carol…"

"You wear that name well, my dear," she said softly, her hand reaching out to adjust my outfit.

Despite my reluctance to acknowledge it, my 16-year-old mother was nothing short of stunning. Her body was an hourglass figure, with gentle curves that seemed to flow seamlessly together. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy at her beauty, knowing I was plain and insignificant in comparison.

As if reading my mind, my mother spoke up, "Matt, I know it's strange to be in my body, but don't let that scare you. You know, at your age, I was quite popular with the boys.”

I couldn't help the sheepish smile that crept onto my lips as I asked, "Really? Popular with the boys?"

My mother let out a light laugh, her eyes sparkling with fond memories.

"Oh, yes," she replied, "They were always drawn to me. I never had to try too hard to catch their attention."

“But I like girls, Mom,” I blurted out, feeling the need to clarify.

Her expression softened and her voice turned gentle. "I know, sweetheart," she said, "But I was certainly attracted to boys. It wouldn't be so strange if some of those feelings carried over to you, now that you are me."

Her words struck a chord within me. Perhaps she was right.

"I suppose not," I murmured, trying to shake off an inexplicable rush of curiosity.