The Adventures of Calvin Michael Johnson
Rycliff
The Adventures of Calvin Michael Johnson
Prologue
Wednesday, June 10, 2020
As I approached the middle of the intersection, I barely caught the blue flash to my left, vaguely identifiable, like a truck. It’s the last coherent image I can concretely remember. The impact on the driver’s side was explosive and wild. I’m violently thrown helplessly across the compartment. My ribs, shoulder, and leg were rendered useless by the collision as pain radiates down my left side. My head smashed into the steering wheel, and I passed out.
Blackness. Nothingness. Silence. I awoke briefly, but no one was here, I feel like I’m nowhere, surrounded by a thick blanket of fog. I didn’t feel pain or anything else, for that matter. I feel disconnected. With perfect clarity, I replay in my mind the entire accident. I see the dark blue 2019 F-250 4x4 speeding through the intersection, blazing through the red light. Colliding with my cherry red, mint condition, 1956 Ford T-Bird, obliterating the tiny car. I watched as the vehicle wrapped around and fuses with the metal light pole across the intersection. I watched in terror as a passerby stopped and tried to open the door to get my unresponsive body from the car. I’m enthralled by the emergency responders buzzing around, trying to extricate me, by cutting my precious car into smaller chunks. They finally have my body on a gurney where they furiously perform various emergency procedures, stopping bleeding, immobilizing extremities. Working tirelessly to bring this body to life.
I watch as put me into the back of an ambulance, and it sped away.
Thinking back, I should’ve towed the T-Bird, it was too expensive to drive. I knew that, but I couldn’t resist. It was on my bucket list of favorite cars; there were many others. If I had been driving my truck towing the T-Bird, I would be alive, but alas, I did not, and now I am not, alive that is. If I’m honest, it was a crappy end to a crappy day and a crappy life.
I’m more alert now, still, silence abounds, and no one else is here. I can tell I am not on a physical plane, as I don’t have a body. It’s ok, I suppose, after all the last few minutes before I got here, there was a lot of pain, loads of it to be exact.
But now I can’t feel anything, including pain. There are no odors, no sensations of any kind.
Soon I begin to think back on the time of my existence. It’s like an 8K movie with a matching Dolby Digital stereo soundtrack. At first, it’s a neat and fun exercise watching me. I grow from an infant through the toddler years and early childhood, with quickness, just the highlights, the fun and happy memories of being a child. There were, of course, the obligatory misadventures, bumps, and bruises. The occasional trip to the ER for a broken arm, from falling out of a tree—the time I missed being hit by a car by mere inches. You know typical everyday kid stuff.
Junior high was the next series of events. Here things changed. I’d quit caring about excelling in the classroom, turning in mediocre classwork and studying only for the test, not for the pleasure of learning. I let my friends slip away by not being active in their day to day activities. At lunch, I would sit alone, at first, by choice. But this soon turned into a self-imposed exile, which continued into high school. I was on the football and baseball teams throughout junior high. I had natural talent, and I was gifted with an athlete’s body. I didn’t have to work at it to be good. So, I didn’t. I was the star of the school. I was cocky and self-centered, soon I had no real friends left. I became miserable and hated their guts. I didn’t deserve to be treated like that. I discovered beer and girls, not necessarily in that order. I didn’t have a steady girlfriend. I just wanted to have fun. Coach told me I couldn’t play if I kept acting up the way I did during practice. He also said I needed to lay off the booze. I only drank on the weekends. But he said he’d cut me if I was caught hungover again. So, I quit drinking until that summer.
High school rapidly approached. During the last week of eighth grade, along with many others on the team, I was given an invitation to try-out for freshman football. I figured I was a lock for starting quarterback on the varsity team. Yeah, I know I must start on the JV squad, but I won’t stay there. I’m too talented. I just know coach Wilson is going to move me to the starting team. I mean, he didn’t promise me, but he said I had potential.
Why should I give my best effort for those losers? Coach hadn’t let me play in the last three games. We only have two left for the season, and he hasn’t even let me practice with the varsity squad, forget playing with them. I didn’t need this crap. I’ll show him; I won’t even come out next season. See if they win any games without me. I spent an awful lot of time in detention. I still think I was a nerd, but nobody accused me of it.
My grades were in the toilet. Well, no, they were worse than that. I turned in enough overdue assignments, and with a couple of good test scores, I managed to keep from flunking out. I was barely scraping by with a 1.975 GPA. I had very generous teachers who rounded it off to a 2.0. Somehow, I blamed them for my poor performance. I can’t really watch too much more of this junk. I know I screwed up, and this was only the beginning. I hope they don’t keep playing all my past mistakes. The rest of high school is a blur. There were a few highlights, the time I won the knowledge bowl, and made regional and state finalists. On the debate team, I could always win an argument. I wanted to be a lawyer, among other ideas. Of course, I had one class I excelled at, auto shop. I instinctively knew all about cars. They spoke to me in a language all their own.
Oh, boy, here we go the lost years... I mean early adulthood. I’d rather forget... No, I have forgotten them. Years spent aimlessly moving from one job to next with no goal, no purpose, and no clue. Jobs I quit because I knew more than the boss. Positions I was terminated from for lack of performance or some other just cause. Jobs I begged for, only to piss them away and lose them because I didn’t take them seriously or put any effort into it.
Of course, it’s not just jobs I lost; relationships went down in flames as well. Women I dated had a noticeably short shelf life. If we got to three weeks, I ended it over some pretext or another. The longest time I was part of a couple was four months, and for 2 of those months, she was in the hospital with a severe illness. I wasn’t trying to be a douchebag. I just wanted to have fun. My mother and father were always telling me I was wasting my life, and I was going to end up alone if I kept treating women like I was. I figured I had time to settle down later. Later became much later, then never. In the last ten years of my life, I had a total of 7 dates. Three of those dates lead to a relationship. But they quickly fizzled out, and I was told in no uncertain terms not to contact them ever.
Now I don’t want you to think I was a prick or an ass my entire life, or that I never accomplished anything because that would be untrue. I simply took too long to mature and realize other people counted for something more than a means to an end. I had to relearn this lesson as I had forgotten what my parents and society taught me in my youth.
Finally, the movie got to the present.
I restored cars, mostly American muscle, and classics. I made them better than new; I upgraded them to modern-day beasts. I added ABS, crate engines with DOHC (dual overhead cam) twin fuel injection, turbo, or superchargers. I updated the exhaust systems, added airbags, and improved safety equipment, such as tempered glass, advanced electronics, upgraded the stereo, with Bluetooth capability as standard equipment. I made them this way because my clients, while extraordinarily wealthy, were mostly not interested in “the classic car” experience. They didn’t like the harsh ride, or the lackluster performance and poor braking when compared to modern sports cars. Not me, I preferred them as they were. I enjoyed the quirkiness of the classic American car. Restoring old cars started as a hobby and grew into a business.
My clientele may have million-dollar pedigrees, but I was not getting rich off my company. Don’t mistake that for me being in the poorhouse, I did ok. I was just too self-conscious to take advantage of the situation. I have had many customers tell me they would have been willing to pay double what I charged them. But I thought better prices would bring repeat business, and it did, word of mouth was great. It is just one example of not taking advantage of opportunities that came my way.
I wake up once more. I’m alone, but not lonely. It’s bright, but not blinding. It’s peaceful and quiet. I still feel nothing; I still feel disconnected. I feel confused. If this is heaven, it’s not what I was promised. If it’s hell, I think they exaggerated greatly. No fire, no brimstone. No one else seems to be here. “Hello?” I yell out. “Is anybody here, can anyone hear me?” No response.
Suddenly, sometime later, I have no reference for how long, a day, a week, a month, it doesn’t matter; a voice calls out my name “Calvin.” Only my mother calls me that. Everyone else calls me Michael or CM. The voice is not my mom. It’s not distinguishable as a male or female, and it’s mid-range and tonally neutral. So even though I can’t tell who or what it is, in my mind, I ascribe maleness to the voice. Again, I hear my name,
“Calvin.” It’s louder and with just a hint of urgency to it.
“I’d rather you call me Michael or CM. I hate Calvin. Have ever since I was a kid, I got beat up a lot over that moniker. I started going by Michael right around my freshman year of high school.”
“Ok, Mike. Can I call you, Mike?” The voice asked.
“I guess that’d be alright. Just not Calvin.”
A man was standing in front of me. He wasn’t there a second ago, I swear.
“Hello, Mike. How is everything going?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that. I can’t seem to feel anything. I don’t feel connected to anything, not even my body. I can’t see it, nor feel it. I’m sure I’m dead, but I still exist somehow.”
“You’ve got an excellent handle on the situation,” The nameless man answered me.
Finally, I had just to ask the obvious question, since it appeared that he would not introduce himself. “Who are you? Where am I, what’s going on here?” All in rapid-fire staccato. I had had enough. I was getting fed up. I began to feel like I was being held against my own free will.
“Patience. All your questions will be answered to your complete satisfaction. Well, let me rephrase that, most… many… almost all of your questions will be answered. There are parts of this plan that must be kept from you so that the proper balance of free will and chance remain in balance.”
“Ok, I’ll give you a chance, but I really want some information,” I replied.
“All in due time.”
“So, are you God?” I finally asked. He was just looking at me, and so far, no further information had been imparted to by him.
Laughing, he answered, “No, not as you imagine or think of him. I am an agent, or maybe a better term would be Guardian, who’s responsible for this universe. Yes, Guardian, that’s a good name for me. You may use that to address me. We have many universes that we oversee. This is part of what I need to talk to you about.”
“All right, so you’re not God, but you’re in charge of the universe? Sounds like being God to me.”
“No, I am not like any of your deities. Most of my duties require me to be hands-off. But this is a rare exception. I shall be injecting my personal bias into a very delicate situation that needs to be resolved. In this particular case, you are the only person who can do it.
There has been a tragedy that has occurred to a young man. We had extremely high expectations and plans for this man. But a cruel twist of fate has rendered that plan as impossible, or so we thought until you came on the scene. I was certain that this problem did not have a solution.”
“What do I have to do? How can I be the solution to anything? I’m a nobody,” I stammered.
“What would you say your biggest failing was during your lifetime?” he asked me.
“I have been replaying many parts of my life since I’ve been here. I can clearly see my biggest failing now. It has to be my lack of ambition and not taking advantage of opportunities that presented themselves to me,” I replied. “I have had a long time to think about those opportunities. I was built for athletics, football especially. I played my freshman year. I was on the freshman JV team. I didn’t put forth a lot of effort, but I thought I should be first-team Varsity. I was a slacker, and the coach knew it. As a result, I sat on the bench most of the time. I didn’t go out for any sport in my sophomore year. My grades were an issue as well. I was brilliant, genius IQ, but I never applied that intellect to produce the marks I knew I was capable of achieving. Instead, I coasted on C’s and Low B’s when I put in the effort, or it was a subject I enjoyed. But those grades became barely passing marks by the end of high school. Because of these actions, attending college was not an option.
The military accepted me. I needed the discipline and structure that it imparted to me. I did my first enlistment and got out. The army thought I was a good bet; they offered me a chance to go to college on them and a commission as a 2ndlieutenant, but I turned them down cold. I wasn’t a lifer, and I was afraid of flunking out of school and going back as an SSgt. I got out the military, and the gulf war was just starting to kick off. I thought I made a great choice. I was sure I would have been sent over to Kuwait or Iraq. I would have been a casualty. I convinced myself.
Five years later, working as a mechanic, something I enjoyed, I was offered to buy out the old man who owned the shop. I’d known him since high school, working part-time back then to make a buck. I liked working on cars. I rebuilt my first car at this shop; it was a 1965 Ford Mustang. I loved that car. It was a sorry piece of junk I bought for $500. During high school, I rebuilt the engine and transmission under the watchful eye of old man Herbert Otis. I restored the body and made the car nearly new by my junior year. I told Mr. Otis I needed to go to college because I wanted to have a degree to get a real job. Mr. Otis told me I could work during the day and go to college at night for the first couple of years. He would make me a full partner, and over time I could buy his share out of the profits. He told me all I had to do was run the day to day operations and let him retire. I thought about it for about a month. All I could do was think about what if the shop started losing money. How could I run a business and go to college at the same time? I passed on the offer.
College was a struggle. Old man Otis closed the shop, leaving me without a job. I caught on with a repair shop across town. After five years at college, I earned a B.S. in mechanical engineering. So now I received my degree and looked for a career level job. I finally found employment with Ford Motor Company as a system engineer. I was part of the new products team working on various new cars. I learned how to integrate multiple new systems into an existing platform. I was in my element. I enjoyed my job, and my peers well regarded me. I was offered and turned down team lead and project manager positions multiple times. Eventually, I was laid off in the economic downturn. After many sleepless nights and much encouragement from my friends, I decided to open my own shop specializing in restorations and modernization of classic American cars. So yes, I was aware of my biggest failing.”
I saw a smile appear on the man’s face. “I would agree with your assessment, Calvin,” The Guardian nodded in response.
“Hey, I thought I asked you to call me Michael.”
“What things would you do differently, if given a chance?” he asked. “How would things turn out if you could go back and relive the life you had? Would you squander that opportunity as well? Or would you take full advantage of the situation? I need to know because I can’t waste any more time or energy on you if you are going to be the same man that I brought here. I am going to tell you part of the plan that I have for the young man you are replacing. Of course, only if you agree to it. I won’t force you into it.
That’s the reason you’re here. Our first choice, the Calvin Michael Johnson of this universe, was happy he died. I tried to impress upon him the greatness he was destined. We gave him extraordinary gifts. Much like you, he was brilliant, athletic, and very charismatic. And like you, he tried to hide or not let these gifts grow. While he was with us, we offered to send him back and restore his body and mind to its original state. We explained some of The Plan to him, and I told him I would be willing to guide him. But some complications of the accident were too much for him to bear, and he decided to transition.
I was compelled by the laws of free choice to allow it. You see, we Guardians don’t overrule free will, we can’t. You can make poor decisions and act up even against your own best interests. It’s how your species learn, through trial and error, one lifetime at a time.
Most take many lifetimes to achieve anything. We are offering you the chance to go back and start over as a young man of sixteen, back to where you started to make poor choices so that you can make better ones. And help our plan. This universe lines up with yours in almost every way. Many of the same problems that existed for you the first time exist in this time.
Our goal is to change it, so this universe’s technology expands at a quicker pace. Our overarching goal is for man to take his proper place among the other interstellar races. However, agents in favor of creating chaos will stop at nothing to stop you. We want you to use your potential to bring about many positive changes. Toward that goal, we will leave your memories and experience intact. We will give you all your host body’s memories and experiences and skills as well as enhancing muscle memory, intellect, and recall. This process will allow for the absorption of information more efficiently, and we will also give you super performing metabolic processes, including rapid healing.”
“Ok, what’s the catch? This is beginning to sound too good to be true. Why did the Calvin of this universe decide against this if you were willing to help like this? What aren’t you telling me?”
I began to think this was a trap of some sort. I was intrigued by the idea of going back to 16 and getting a “do-over,” but let’s be real. What could I change by starting at sixteen? I guess if I stopped and thought about it, I would make sure I was a better student. I would definitely put more effort into athletics, especially with the physical upgrades. I might see some playing time that way.
“Well, there are some unexpected complications that arose from the actions of others, we call them the Agents of Chaos, they want to derail this plan. They want to keep humanity from evolving to the next level. They interfered with The Plan and killed Calvin and his family in a car accident. We have kept Calvin’s body, but allowed his spirit, his essence, to transition. We intercepted your spirit and are going to replace it in his body. There should be no chance of rejection since you are essentially him. He decided he didn’t want to continue all alone in the world and was grateful to take the next step. I’ll leave you alone now and give you some time to think about this.”
Chapter 1
Wednesday, June 30, 1976
I was alone again. Was I going to take advantage of this opportunity? That question kept rolling around in my head. Could I make better choices this time, well sure I could? I would remember all the pitfalls. I would know what to change and how to change it. A coherent idea began to take shape, slowly turning into a plan. I could see myself taking advantage of this opportunity. I don’t know how long it took for this decision to become a solid plan, but it did. It would start with playing football being a team player and getting high marks in high school. That would lead to college, which would lead to a better career outlook. Maybe I could take ROTC and become an officer, or start a company, or politics. I could see myself being a success. I could feel it.
I woke up. There was beeping, loud, and constant beeping. Also, indiscernible voices, muffled by being broadcast over a PA system. There was light, muted, and dull. And most of all, there was the pain. Lots of pain. High intense levels of pain. My whole body was in discomfort. I was in casts and bandages and strapped into the bed. I could not move very much at all.
Soon my eyes adjusted to the lights, and I was able to focus. I saw I was in a hospital room, attached to tubes and wires. A nurse walked through the door. She was an African American, full-bodied, on the short side. Maybe 5’ 3” and was wearing a starched white nursing uniform and cap. I haven’t seen a nurse wear that for ages. They generally wore scrubs like most everyone else in the hospital. She looked at me and made a beeline to my bedside, turned off the constant beeping. Then she started to poke and prod me. Did I mention I hurt everywhere? Her administrations were not improving this situation. “Hey, that hurts!” Was that my voice? It had to be. I spoke the words. The voice wasn’t mine though it was deep and melodic. I sounded quite different than I expected.
“I’m sorry young man, but I have to examine you and make sure you’re ok. I am going to be quick about it and go get the doctor.” With that being said, she took my temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. It was during this procedure I make a most startling discovery yet. I am a black person. I mean, I am an African American.
To take my blood pressure, she moved the bed into an upright position. While this was happening, I could see my unbandaged hand. It’s the hand of a black person. I am a black person. I mean, I am an African American.
I’m beyond speechless. The Guardian said I would go back to being sixteen. I would get a chance to do it over. I was going to be a success, but Nothing was said about being a black man. Then the nurse left me.
This was more than I bargained for, I didn’t expect this. I am not a racist. I never believed whites were better than blacks. I never discriminated against them. The ones I met and worked with were just like anyone else. They all had their faults and problems, their hopes, and their dreams. But if I am honest, I never put much thought into it or them as people. Of course, I never put a lot of thought into other people in general. I can see how I was very self-centered the first time around. I had to come to grips with being black. I was still in a state of shock when the doctor walked through the door. A small cadre of other medical professionals trailed after him.
They came over and formed a semi-circle around the bed. One of my visitors extended a hand and introduced himself as Doctor Albright. He and all the men with him were white. I saw some nurses, some of which were African American. It appeared I was in a teaching hospital. The doctor gave a summary of my chart reading to the assembled group, and they discussed treatment methodologies.
“You’ve got to be one of the luckiest young men I have ever known. We thought we’d lost you. You have been in a coma for nearly three weeks. Can you remember anything at all?” I started to think about the accident. At first, I remembered the F-250 and the T-Bird. But slowly, that image faded, and a different and more horrifying image replaced it. I saw it first at real speed and then in slow motion. The Semi ran a stop sign and crashed into the car with my parents and me. My father was driving, and my mother was in the front passenger seat. The truck mangled the sizeable black sedan. I looked on as the truck’s momentum ripped the car in half. The car was struck on the passenger side. Mother never had a chance, and she never saw it coming. Father wasn’t much better off. He, too, died nearly instantly. Because I was in the back seat and wearing a seatbelt, I was spared, but still, I was severely injured. The truck driver survived.
This flash of memory was over in an instant. I answered the question. “I was in a car accident. I was with my parents, and a semi-truck hit us. And it must have been bad because I am here.” I knew the answer to the next question, but I had to ask, “How are my parents? Where are they? Are they ok?”
The look on his face said what he didn’t say, and confirmed the truth of my memory. Instead, he asked, “Can you tell me your name?”
“My name is Calvin Michael Johnson, but I prefer Michael,” I answered quickly. “You said I was in a coma for three weeks. Could you tell me today’s date?”
“Of course, Michael. Today is Wednesday, June 30, 1976.”
Wow, I thought. I am back in time. I really can have a do-over. But being black, that’s going to make everything different. And no parents, where am I going to live? Questions, many without answers, rushed through my mind.
“Ok, that means four days until I am sixteen. I was born on July 4, 1960. By the reaction to my question about my parents, I can only assume they didn’t survive the accident, or they succumbed to their injuries. I guess the first order of business is my physical assessment. I am in pain, lots of it. I assume there are extensive injuries. But what is the prognosis? Are any of them permanent? What about leaving this place? When and under what circumstances
will I be released from this hospital? And the biggest is, do I have an attorney to represent my needs? If not, I will need one.”
Doctor Albright clears his throat, “Ahem…” pauses for a second, and continues. “Well, your visible injuries include starting with a fractured skull and a deviated septum. Your left humerus, which was broken with a clean straight break, is next on the list. Your left ulna has a hairline fracture, which should heal well. You have three fractured ribs on the left side. The left tibia required surgery to repair, six pins currently holding it in place. They should be ready to come out in about six weeks. Your ankle is sprained, with some ligament damage. Also, you suffered from a concussion. Internally there are some significant injuries. First, you had a bruised spleen. Your liver has suffered damage, and we had to remove part of it. You should be fine. Your liver will regrow, so that should be encouraging. The other injuries you suffered are minor lacerations and contusions. Many were the result of the glass breakage or being thrown into the rear driver’s side passenger door and the seatback in front of you.
“We will prescribe some pain killers now that you are out of the coma. My professional opinion is you should have a full recovery, with some physical therapy and time. I would recommend taking things easy at the start. But by the end of summer, you should be ready for full activities. As for being released, I have to say it will be some time before that occurs. And there is an attorney outside waiting to speak with you. He has been working tirelessly on your behalf.”
While listening to this, I let out a yawn involuntarily. “I think it’s time we let you get some rest, young man. We should be getting to other patients on our rounds.”