I WAS A TEENAGE POPSICLE
By Bev Katz Rosenbaum
ISBN: 0425211800
Available NOW at: Amazon.com and other bookstores.

What the freakin' heck—

Oh, crap. Can't move that way. Hurts too much.

Nope, can't move that way, either. I'm almost as sore as I was after that marathon yoga-on-the-beach session with Tonya, the one where we raised money for the Venice Beach Veggie Hut when it was going out of business…

Where the heck am I, anyway? Everything looks so fuzzy…

Wait a minute. Things are getting clearer. Oh, great. Looks like I'm in a hospital. White walls, doctors, monitors, the whole bit.

Yikes! One of the doctors is leaning over me so intently, he's practically on top of me. Way to scare the crap out of a girl, doc. Especially since you're a freaking Einstein clone, complete with crazy hair and buggy eyes.

Omigod, his eyes are so wide, they look like they're going to explode. And he's holding his breath. What the heck is he so excited about?

“Where am I?” I manage to spit out.

Oh, jeez, now he's tearing up. Um, hello, I seem to be the injured and confused one here?

He swipes at his eyes. “You're in a safe place, Floe.” At least he doesn't have the scary German accent. Actually, he's less like Einstein, more like Christopher Lloyd in Back to the Future. “I'm Dr. Dixon.”

“This is a hospital, right?” I ask. God, I can hardly talk. My mouth is all weird. Feels like I haven't opened it in months.

“Sort of,” he says carefully (or evasively—I can't tell). “We've been…taking care of you. After some rehabilitation, you'll be ready to go home.”

“What's wrong with me?” I ask, even as vague memories come back to me. Other hospitals—less modern looking than this one. Doctors talking about stuff I don't understand—though I catch the most important point: I have lympaticotosis, a highly contagious respiratory disease...

“Was I in a coma?” I ask slowly. My tongue seems to be having trouble moving, and I'm totally parched.

“Uh, not exactly,” the doctor says (evasively again?). “But you have been unconscious for some time.”

“How long?” I choke out. “Are my parents here?” I add, starting to panic when he doesn't answer right away.

“No, Floe,” the doctor says softly, “they're not.”

I stiffen. Maybe I'm crazy, but suddenly I know I have been 'asleep' for a very long time. And I also know my parents aren't around any more.

“I'm one of those YA girls,” I whisper, “aren't I?”

“What?” the doctor asks, confused.

“You know, YA books? Young adult novels? I've read about a million books with girls in comas who wake up after, like, fifteen years and can't get used to the new time period.”

He smiles. “Oh, you haven't been in a coma, Floe.”

“So what's going on?” I ask suspiciously. This guy is definitely hiding something.

He looks at me straight on. Despite the scary hair, he seems nice, and suddenly I trust him to tell me the truth.

“You haven't been in a coma.” He pauses and takes a breath. “You've been frozen.”

I stare at him. “Excuse me?”

He smiles again. Apparently, my predicament, terrifying to me, is thrilling to him. “We have a lot to talk about, Floe.”

“Yeah, like that part about me being frozen. What the heck do you mean I've been frozen? And what about my lympaticotosis? Am I worse? Better? Dying?”

Now he looks even happier. “Good news on all counts. You're completely cured—definitely not dying.”

Holy cow! I'm not sick any more! “I'm…all better?” I say, just to confirm.

He smiles yet again. “Yup.”

“Wait a minute. You said something about rehabilitation.” I start to panic again. “Did I lose an important organ or something?” Instinctively, my hand goes to my throat, then my chest. Everything feels normal. Better than normal, in fact. My skin feels totally smooth.

Okaaay, I'm starting to get just the teensiest bit spooked, complete cure or not.

The doctor puts a hand on my shoulder. Cheerfully, as if I'm recovering from the flu, as opposed to a potentially fatal respiratory disease, he says, “Let's get you up so you can come into my office and we'll talk. Have some juice first.” He hands me a cup of orange juice on the night table beside my bed. “Take your time. Slow sips.”

I take a small sip and start coughing.

“You haven't used those muscles in a while,” he says, still smiling. That smile is definitely starting to get on my nerves.

“Or maybe you're poisoning me. I'm not supposed to accept drinks from strange men.” Too late, I remember this important bit of advice from my Women's Studies teacher at Venice Beach Alternative School. Which isn't really an alternative school, since in Venice Beach, 'alternative' is normal.

He nods slowly. “I understand. You're alone, you're afraid, you don't know what's going on.” He pauses. “There is someone here for you. I'll bring her in after we've talked.”

“My mother?” I say hopefully. Maybe my hunch was wrong.

He shakes his head. “No, I'm very sorry, Floe. Your parents are…gone.”

I knew it. One of my last memories is of my dad telling me my mother had also contracted lympaticotosis. “My dad, too?” I ask softly.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “It wasn't your fault, Floe. The Venice Beach outbreak was unexpected and highly contagious.” He smiles. “I have some good news, though. I can revive them as well.”

I look at him sharply. “What are you talking about? They're dead. What kind of doctor are you, anyway?” He's scaring me, and when I get scared, I get mouthy. More mouthy than usual, that is.

He perches at the side of my bed, studies at me even more intensely than before, and says, “Floe, have you ever heard of cryonics?”

And then I know.

You've been frozen.

“I…died…and they—froze me?”

Dr. Dixon nods. “You died so young. Your parents wanted to give you the gift of a second chance at life.”

“So they…froze me.” I can't seem to stop saying it.

“Well, yes and no,” he says. “That's the term people use—even I use it on occasion—but the process is really called vitrification. Freezing can preserve organs, but it also expands and destroys cells. Vitrification preserves the same way freezing does, without damaging cells. At least, the way we started doing it when you were brought in. We'd just discovered a wonderful new way to cryopreserve whole bodies. Before that--”

I cut him off. “But I was dead.”

Dr. Dixon nods. “Ever see the movie The Princess Bride?”

“Yeah, it's one of my favorites.” I'm even more confused than before. “Why?”

“Remember when Miracle Max said, 'There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead'?”

I can't help but laugh—Miracle Max cracked me up in that movie. Unfortunately, laughing leads to a major choking fit. Dr. Dixon hands me the juice, and I drink again without thinking. Damn!

“Yeah,” I sputter when I can talk again. “I remember.”

“Well, let's just say you weren't really dead.”

“Excuse me?” I say for the second time since waking up.

Naturally, the doctor smiles again. “It's semantics, really. You see, Floe, people are considered legally dead when their heart and breathing stops. But when you're declared legally dead, it doesn't mean all your cells, tissues and organs are dead.”

“I see,” I say faintly. I don't, really. I stink at science. And he's kind of freaking me out.

He perseveres. “In your case, there was a great standby team at the time of so-called death—my wife was working at the Marshland Lung Clinic in New York, where you'd been flown--and we were able to initiate cooling procedures precisely when you were declared legally dead, before the crucial five or ten minutes before your brain started decomposing.” Okay, this is all a bit much for me.

The doc doesn't seem to realize this. He's happily chattering on. “Then, once you were here at the Venice Beach Cryonics Center, we were able to preserve you in a vat of our groundbreaking new solution—a combination of liquid nitrogen and several newly discovered chemicals. Shortly after that, my wife figured out how to reverse the progress of your disease, and around the same time, I realized how I could efficiently de-vitrify people.”

“Wow,” I say, kind of stunned.

“After you were de-vitrified,” he continues happily, “we promptly got your heart started up again. There's been a lot of progress made in that department, too. And after we got your heart started, we administered the cure for your disease.”

“Oh…”

“It's a lot to take in.” Dr. Dixon says, finally reading my mind. He lets go of my shoulders and pats one. “That's why we're going to keep you here for a while.”

“Well,” I say, wanting, suddenly, to keep things normal, “that vitrification stuff really did wonders. I look—brand new.” I stare at my arm. “My skin looks like a baby's bum.”

Dr. Dixon's smile widens even more. (I didn't think it was possible.) “Wonderful, isn't it?” he says. That's the new liquid nitrogen solution—with some Z30 and F9B added into the mix to guard against damage. You were kept in a big vat of it. It's like you had a full-body chemical peel!”

I shudder and try to imagine how I'm gonna tell people I just emerged from a giant vat of liquid nitrogen. This is taking alternative to a whole new level.

I search my mind for something—anything—to distract myself from that wee problem. But all I can think of are new cryonics-related problems. Like what it will be like living in a world full of zombies.

“So now there are all these other thawed people roaming the earth?” I ask Dixon, not really wanting to know the answer.

He fairly beams this time. “Nope. Just you. You're the first.”

Oh, that's great. Even the alternative types in Venice Beach will think I'm a freak.

“But later today, we're going to be reviving another Venice Beach teen with lympaticotosis, so you'll have some company.”

I wonder distractedly if it will be anyone I know.

Once again, Dixon puts his hands on my shoulders and lays the intense look on me. “Your parents had a lot of foresight.”

“Speaking of my parents—you said they can be thawed, revived, cured, like me?”

“Technically, you weren't thawed—“

“Yeah, yeah, I wasn't frozen, I was vitrified, I know.”

“Yes,” he says quickly. “They can be thawed. And they will be. I'd like to observe you for a while first, though.”

“So where am I going to go in the meantime?” I ask, panicked again. “Who am I going to live with? Where's Sunny?” Sunny, short for Sunshine, is my kid sister. “She's still alive, right?” Please, God, let Sunny still be alive. I know I said she was a pain in the butt about ten million times, but I never wanted her dead…

Dr. Dixon pats my arm. “Sunny's just fine, and she's here, waiting to see you. You're going to go live with her.”

“Live with her?” Okay, this guy's really off his nut. “What do you mean live with her? She's like, thirteen. She's three years younger than me.”

Dr. Dixon gives me the hugest smile of the day and says, “Floe, you were vitrified for ten years.”

Before it sinks in that I'm really twenty-six even though I still look and feel like sixteen, Dr. Dixon gestures to one of the doctors standing on the other side of the room, who, in turn, gestures someone in from the hall.

And in walks this Valley-type chick who looks like Brittany Murphy.

Brittany comes closer. Strange. She's got Sunny's eyes. But this can't be my sister Sunny. Sunny used to look like Dakota Fanning.

“Floe?” the Valley girl/woman says excitedly. “Omigod, I can't believe it! This is soooo freaky!”

Okay, maybe it is Sunny. Clearly, only her body has matured. And I thought I was the one frozen in time.

I immediately feel bad thinking such mean thoughts. Poor Sunny. She had to endure three deaths in the family when she was just thirteen…

“Omigod,” Sunny says again, “how do you feel? Can I get you anything?”

“I'm…okay,” I say cautiously. Okay, steady now. She's your younger sister, but now she's your older sister.

Dr. Dixon looks at me intently for a moment, then puts a hand on Sunny's shoulder. “The re-integration process will be terribly stressful for her. As I told you, we'll be keeping her here for several days, for physical therapy, mental health counseling, and modern life lessons. Remember, she has ten years to catch up on. You'll be able to visit her during this process, but please, remember to take things very slowly.”

“Oh, sure, I get it, Doc. You're saying I shouldn't introduce her to my husband yet? Or my baby?”

I drop my glass of juice, and everything goes black again.

Available NOW at:
Amazon.com and other bookstores.

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