REGRESS 

BLISS -------------------------------- October 12, 2025

“Where are my keys?!”

Our green-eyed, black cat, Zoey, observes me from her tower as I frantically tear apart the living room. A common sight for her, I’m certain.

I swear I just saw them! Why am I always like this?

“Jack.”

“JACK!”

I spin to see my wife, Sarah, smirking with one hand on her hip and the other holding something by her side. “Heads up!” She tosses that something to me as I scramble to catch…my keys.

“Oh man, where were they?” I questioned.

“On your desk, dummy!” She said smugly. She ruffled my hair on her way to Zoey’s tower to say a quick goodbye.

I swear, I’d lose my head if I didn’t have her around. I joined her to give Zoey one last chin scratch before we left.

--------------------------------

The handbrake creaked in protest as I yanked upward and put the car in park.

“Ready?” I say to Sarah in the passenger seat, illuminated by the full moon shining through the window. “Ready-eady!” She chimed back to me. Armed with my homemade lasagna and a nice big bottle of cheap red, we hop out of the car and head to the front door.

I always loved Friends-giving. New and old friends to be with, all sorts of different dishes and foods to eat, and always great conversations about the past and future. Yet for some reason, I felt a little nervous that night. Most of these were new-to-us friends, but I reminded myself that branching out is important when you move to a new city.

“Are you sure they’ll like me?” I ask, incredulously. “Babe, of course, they’ll love you!”
She knocks on the deep reddish-brown wood door politely, but firmly enough to be heard.

“Heyyyyyy!” Sarah’s new work friend, Marie, I think, opens the door, boyfriend in tow, and welcomes us in.
“So lovely to finally meet you, Jack, I’ve heard so much about you!” “Only good things, I hope! Thanks for inviting us tonight.”

Down the hall, I can hear other attendees chatting away with soft, dinner party jazz playing in the background.

“Where should we put our lasagna?”

--------------------------------

“Okay, now go mingle. Marie and I have things covered in the kitchen”, Sarah said to me with a jokingly stern tone.

“Sir yes sir!” I pipe back. Despite the sarcasm, Sarah was right. I should make new friends.

Still feeling a bit nervous, I decided to start with familiar faces.

Marie’s boyfriend. What was his name again? That’s right! Egbert. What a weird name. No wonder he goes by Bert. He seems cool.

I spotted him in the crowd, talking to a few other attendees with my cheap red in hand.

Looks like they aren’t wine snobs, or if they are, at least they're being polite about it!

“Hey Bert, glad you like the wine!” I interject. I always felt super uneasy about interrupting conversations, but I eventually accepted that it’s just something you have to do from time to time.

“Guys, this is Jack, Sarah’s husband. He made the lasagna!” Bert exclaimed.

“Ohhh, so that’s what I’ve been smelling! I can’t wait, I’m starving,” said a woman in the group.

“Hey, starving, I’m Jack,” I reply coyly. The group chuckles.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself! You are?” I asked the woman whom I only knew as ‘starving’.

“Alice, great to meet you, Jack,” she clarified.

“Hey, I’m John!” the man next to Bert says proudly in a booming voice with an outstretched hand. I returned the gesture.

“Funny and a good cook. I guess Sarah picked pretty well, hey? What did you say you do for work again, Jack?” Bert inquired.

“I own a videography production company. I get contracted to fly camera drones for commercials and movies,” I informed the group. “Camera drone operator? Betcha that didn’t exist 10 years ago!” said John loudly. “Haha, try 20 years ago!” I replied.

“So I take it you all work with Sarah?”

--------------------------------

I wiped the cold water from my face and looked in the mirror.

I did pretty well tonight. Got some laughs, people liked my food, and Sarah’s work friends seem like cool people. More good things are on the horizon, Jack.

As my reflection gazes back at me, I realize there was something off about my expression. I look…concerned. I might’ve had more to drink than intended.

The wine always gets me, I rationalized.

I give myself one more splash, and check the mirror again.

All clear. Better head back out, it won’t be much longer before Sarah is ready to go.

Only a handful of people were left at the party; it was past 11 o’clock after all. Most sat in a circle in the living room, chatting. As I approach, I hear that man’s voice, John.

“I definitely would’ve bought Bitcoin,” John hollered. “I’d be a billionaire by now!”

“I’d bet on the Super Bowl!” another chimed in.

John spots me returning to the living room and calls out to me. “Hey drone pilot, what would you do if you woke up as a kid?”

“Like what do you mean, with my current memories?” I ask.

“Exactly! Think about it, you can fix any mistake you made, be way smarter than anyone else, make a TON of money,” John continued.

“Hmm… I wish I could go back to having no bills, no responsibilities, and only worrying about homework, and if people thought I was cool,” I remarked. “But I guess buying Bitcoin wouldn’t be a bad idea!” I felt my eyes drawn to the oven clock in the kitchen.

11:11. We should probably get home for Zoey.

“I don’t think I would change a thing,” piped up Sarah, saying with confidence. “I’ve made mistakes, and I definitely have regrets, but I’m happy with how things are.” I plunk down on the couch next to her. She looks at me, squeezes my leg, and smiles. I smile back and say, “Actually, I change my answer. I like what she said better.” I check the clock again.

11:12

“I’m so full I might explode. That dinner was awesome, guys, thank you for coming,” Bert said, standing up from his chair and stretching, all in one motion.

“Well, if you’re gonna explode, at least do it in the bathroom,” I joked to the group.

Some laughed, most importantly Bert, letting out a drunken full-belly howl. But Sarah didn’t. She gave me a side eye, more amused than annoyed, thankfully. I know her well enough that she’ll never laugh at my crappy jokes in public, but I’ll be damned if I don't try.

We all shuffle out of the living room, saying our goodbyes and thanking Bert and Marie for hosting.

On the ride home, Sarah mentioned she got Bert’s number for me. “You two should go get a beer together sometime,” Sarah said excitedly. “Marie and I were chatting, and it seemed like you were getting along, and I know you hate asking for people’s info.”

She’s a keeper. I think to myself. But I knew that already. I married her, after all.

Starting to feel the wine now more than ever, I slur out, “You’ressoo right. It’s the wosrthh…” trailing off as my tongue fails me.

We arrived at our place, with Sarah helping my drunken body to the door. As her key slides into the lock cylinder, we hear a familiar greeting from behind the door. ‘Mreow! Mreaaow!’

Zoey always meets us at the door, no matter what. Once we’re inside, I can’t help but scoop her up and stumble my way to the bed, where I promptly doze off with Zoey on my chest. Sarah eventually joins us, and our little family finally rests after a long day.

My mind thinks its final conscious thought: This is bliss…

MORNING --------------------------------

I start to rouse as the morning sun pierces my closed eyes, being careful not to open them and risk being fully awake.

No headache? I thought I’d be way more hungover today.

I reach to my left for Sarah. No flannel pjs to be felt.

She must be up already, making breakfast.

I listened for sounds in the kitchen.

*thdunk* *clang* *hkst hkst hkst hkst…*

Whisk? Must be making pancakes. Nice.

I warily move my legs around the end of the bed, feeling for Zoey but trying not to disturb her. No warm fuzzy lumps to be found.

She must be with Sarah.

Then, a forgotten thought seeps into the cracks of my semi-conscious state.

My Lasagna dish! It’s at Bert and Marie’s!

I bolt upright in a flurry. Heart thumping, my bloodshot eyes flutter open to reveal a familiar, yet nostalgic setting.

“What the fuck?!” I exclaim, my voice cracking with surprise.

I realize I’m in my childhood bedroom. But not as I’m recently familiar with it - missing furniture, boxes of old toys piled in corners, dusty trophies on shelves.

It was fresh. Recently cleaned. Mostly organized. And most curiously, not vacant. This room is lived in. MY room is lived in, and it’s how I remember it being when I was younger.

Tilting my head down, I see the silhouette of my body under my duvet, moving my feet to get a bearing on where I am under there.

I grew out of this bed ages ago. Why can’t I feel the footboard?

Looking around the room, everything appears bigger, taller, and more imposing.

My heart is pounding harder. I tear the duvet off and toss it to the side.

Why does the bed look so big? It’s a twin! Or am I just small?

I tilt my head all the way forward, revealing a bare, hairless chest and small, undeveloped body.

*ThumpThumpThumpThumpThumpThumpThumpThumpThump*

I leap out of bed and run for the door, crossing the hallway and entering my bathroom. All I feel is dread and panic.

Looking in the mirror, the first thing I notice is not my bare, beardless face. Instead, it’s my aquarium-themed shower curtain.

What is happening? Mom replaced that when I was a teenager….

I then turn my attention to my reflection, with the same scared and concerned expression I saw last night. The only difference was, I was younger. Much younger. Terror spreads from my eyes, down to my mouth, leaving it agape. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it could crack my ribs.

I started to retch. Side-stepping to the toilet on my left, I barely lifted the seat in time before spraying my stomach contents uncontrollably.

Zoey. Sarah. My Lasagna dish. What is happening? Is this a prank? A dream?

I start to sob in between retching. My burnt throat and the pressure points on my knees from the cheap linoleum floor aren’t registering. All I feel is overwhelming dread, guilt, and sorrow.

Wake up! WAKE UP!

I start to pinch myself, harder with each repetition. When that fails, I ball my fist and punch my leg. Again, harder and harder each time, trying to snap out of whatever this is, all the while still sobbing in between my retching, making a sound somewhere between screaming and vomiting.

*Tap tap*

“Jack? Bud? Are you alright in there?”

I nearly choke when I hear my mother’s voice call out to me from behind the door.

“I’ll just be a few min—,” I tried to eek out, cut short by another retch.

“Uh, don’t worry about going to school today, sweetie, you can stay home until you feel better,” she tenderly responds to my ‘scromit’.

School. Oh fuck.

NOSTALGIA --------------------------------

Having made my way downstairs, I stop before I round the corner to the kitchen. Favouring my leg from my futile attempts to end this nightmare, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

With my eyes closed, all I see is a memory -

Sarah, in front of the Christmas tree, is attempting to wrestle a Santa hat onto a disinterested Zoey for a photo.

Tears start to well up in my eyes. I exhale and force the tears to subside.

I step into the kitchen and see my Dad making coffee with his French press, and my Mom rifling through the tea cabinet.

They look so young. The house - it looks -

My thoughts trail as I look around and marvel at the lack of wear and tear that had slowly become familiar over time.

My Mom notices me standing there, presumably looking aghast at what felt like an illusion.

“Hey, bud, do you want tea to help calm your stomach?” She asks. “I made pancakes for you, but you should try a banana first and make sure you can keep it down.”

Before I could respond, the tears I had been struggling to hold back burst through like a failing dam.

DREAD --------------------------------

*I could really use a wish right now, wish right now, wish right now*

I stir to my radio alarm. Cracking one eye open, I see the blinking screen of my iHome showing 6:50 AM.

Why did I have it set to a top 40 radio station?

I lay there, pondering what kind of sick joke it was to play this song right now.

*Knock knock knock*

My Dad cautiously opened my door and peered through the crack.

“Hey Jack, are you feeling better? Your Mom and I were talking, and we don’t want you to miss school again today. You’ve been struggling with Algebra,” he said, words dripping with concern.

All I could muster out was an “mhm”, while ‘Airplanes’ continued to taunt my half-asleep brain.

My heart starts to race again.

Algebra? Did I just agree to go to school? What grade am I in again? Algebra means….

My heart dropped, and my eyes opened. Eighth grade. I was in Eighth grade.

“Fuck.”

Never in my life have I wanted to puke more. I stopped the previous day after running the tank dry, and my parents wrote it off as a 1 day stomach bug.

I tried and tried, but I could not get anything up.

ALIEN --------------------------------

My memory was still so fuzzy. I theorized my body was always here, but my mind….

Where was my homeroom again? And who was my teacher…

My mind raced to retrieve decade-old information as I wandered the halls. Hordes of tweens scurried about, moving from locker to classroom, donning backpacks with straps loosened to the max.

The sound was the most staggering. As an adult, I had obviously been in crowds and heard the rabble thousands of times. But tweens? The drama, the emotion, and the hormones were palpable in the hallways of my middle school, and the sound conveyed every bit.

A 28-year-old mind surrounded by tweens. I truly felt like a fish out of water. An alien on a different planet. My skinny jeans strangled my legs, and my neon yellow graphic tee amplified my discomfort. Surrounded by chaos, being in a different body, and trembling from all the emotions I felt, my mind finally dredged up the info I needed.

Ms. Mackenzie!

Ms. Mackenzie… Wasn’t she a new teacher?

PANIC --------------------------------

The chair-desk combos were small, way smaller than I remembered, even with my adolescent body. I looked on as one of my classmates, nearly six feet tall already, struggled into his seat. I kept my head down, hoping not to draw attention.

Ms. Mackenzie walked into the room. She looked younger than I was before the ‘Regress’ as I had come to call it. She was barely 21, if I had to guess.

“Okay, class, settle down and please bring your assignments up to the front.”

Assignment? There was homework?

One by one, kids got up and turned in their papers. Panic set in.

I didn’t have anything to turn in. I didn’t even know what the assignment was!

I sat, frozen. Paralyzed by fear, hormones coursed through my veins, amplifying every emotion, thought, and instinct.

After the Regress, it was like I dove headfirst into a glacial lake. Everything was immediately dialled up to 11. It was bizarre. At least growing up, the hormones had a gradual onset.

“Jack.”

“JACK!” Ms. Mackenzie called out to me.

“Sarah!” I called back, my mind flashing back to right before the dinner party.

The class cackled. “Jack’s slacking again! Who’s Sarah?” a boy teased. “OOooOoo,” the class responded in unison.

Cheeks flushed, and hands trembling, I retreated inward.

I am an adult! Why am I feeling like this? I shouldn’t be embarrassed by some dumb ki-

“Sarah is probably his fake girlfriend, haha. Does she go to a different school?” the boy badgered again.

I slouched further in my seat, head down with a thousand-yard stare, beaming straight through my desk.

“Kaden, shush. Jack, if you don’t have your assignment to hand in, you’ll be in detention with me during lunch. Again,” the teacher asserted.

At least detention is better than being outside during recess…

MOURNING --------------------------------

After school, I sat in my bed. Fetal position, no lights on, facing my nightstand. I stared, for what felt like hours, at the dim glow of my iHome, and my yet-to-be-cracked iPod touch docked on top.

WED OCT 13 2010 is what the antiquated LCD screen displayed.

5 years. We had been together for 5 years. And it was all gone, in a flash. Not only that, but the career I had worked so hard to build. The connections I had, the friends I made, the life that Sarah and I had built with each other, our future.

Before the ‘Regress’, we had just moved to a new city. I remembered feeling excitement, nervousness, hope, restlessness, all balled up into one.

Now, all I felt was sorrow. I was mourning a life I never got to finish. A vivid dream that spanned 15 years, rife with struggle, pain, success, pleasure, love, and wonder. I couldn’t even tell my parents what I was going through.

They would never believe me. What would I even say? That I lived an entire life past this point?

I could only wonder, as my iHome glowed back at me, almost taunting me with the date I refused to be true.

Tears started to well up again. All I could think of was going back to yesterday, being with my little family, searching for my keys.

I miss them so much.

LONGING -------------------------------- November 4th, 2010

I looked down at my algebra homework, 11/20 marked in red pen on the top right corner.

So much for being smarter than everyone, hey John?

His booming voice echoed through my mind as I sat on the bus, diverting my attention to the trees flashing past. I was barely holding myself together. I hadn’t had a real conversation in weeks, and so many of my foundational lived experiences had basically been erased. I missed Sarah. I missed Zoey.

Every day felt worse than the last. A new day meant a new humiliation, another concept I hardly remembered, and another day away from my people. Not to mention, tweens are annoying. Screetchy, dramatic, and entitled. It was torture being surrounded by people I was unable to relate to.

The hardest part was my memory. What happened in the world not a few months prior had been years for me. Current events, movies, music - all of my knowledge was out of date, or rather, yet to be useful.

But then, an idea struck me.

BITCOIN! John had a point. I could be a billionaire if I bought now and waited for a few…

*THWAP*

Dazed, I reached the back of my head and felt bits of something wet and sticky in my hair. I look down next to me and see what’s left of an apple scattered across the brown, faux-leather bench seat of the bus. I turn around to see kids laughing at the back of the bus.

“Daydreaming again, Jack? I didn’t want you to miss your stop!” Kaden barbed.

Fuck you, you little prick. I barbed back in my mind, as I spun to look back out the window.

What I did remember about Kaden is him crying in the office every recess after his parents divorced. I so desperately wanted to tell him about how his dad would eventually cheat and leave him and his mom for the other woman.

I know he’s acting out because of his home life, but I’m 28. I’ll be the bigger -
*THWAP*

Fuck it.

I shot up and stomped to the back row, where he was sitting with his group of little goons.

Grabbing him by the collar, I yanked him up out of his seat and brought his face barely an inch away from mine.
“You’re a pathetic loser, and your Dad doesn’t give a fuck about you. He’s cheating on your Mom, and he’s going to ditch you the first chance he gets,” I growled, shoving him back down in his seat, and making my way back up the bus aisle.

--------------------------------

I hadn't been home for more than an hour before Kaden’s mom called the house.

Sitting at the family computer, I had been trying to figure out how one would even buy Bitcoin. It was 2010, so trading apps and crypto wallets hardly existed, and finding any information on crypto was difficult.

30 cents US? One was worth almost $100,000 before the Regress.

Apparently, I could use PayPal, but I hadn’t set up my account yet. In fact, my parents still controlled what little money I had.

There’s no way they’re gonna let me buy ‘internet dollars’ with Grandma’s birthday money.

Right then, my Mom burst through the door. Fury on her face, bottom teeth bared, she roared, “ ANDREW JACK BOUCHARD, get to the living room THIS INSTANT!”

“Did Kaden’s Mom call?” I asked plainly.

Her face dropped, puzzled by my indifference.

“YES. Now turn that machine off. We’re having a family meeting.”

We made our way to the living room, where my Father sat with a look of concern and a steaming coffee in hand.

“Jack, bud, we’ve been worried about you. Ever since you got sick after Thanksgiving, you haven’t been the same,” he said gently.

My mom chimed in, having cooled a bit, “Your teacher called, you know. She’s concerned for you, too. She said you haven’t been paying attention in class, your grades are slipping, and she said it's like you don’t even remember these last few months.”

My Dad joined in again. “We spoke to Kaden’s mom, too. We heard what happened on the bus, you can’t be -”

“It’s true. His Dad is cheating. I didn’t want to say anything, but I was just so angry,” I interjected.

I felt my emotions overflowing inside me again. I forgot how big feelings can get and how hard they are to control as a kid.

“And how would you know that, Jack?” my parents questioned in unison.

The dam broke. I fell to the floor, sobbing.

--------------------------------

“In a few weeks, Sebastian Vettel will become the youngest Formula 1 World Champion. He’s actually going to win 4 championships in a row,” I insisted. “Qatar is going to win a World Cup bid!”

My parents look at each other, sorrow, concern, and disbelief spread across both their faces.

“And the Canucks are going to make the playoff finals next year! They’re going to play against Boston, but they’ll lose game 7, and there’s going to be riots!”

I had broken my silence. I had spilled everything. I had laid out the whole life I had lived. My jobs, my education, my failures, my wins. My marriage.

All my parents could do was stare.

I tried to give them more proof - election results, world events, wars, COVID even. Anything and everything I could think of. But it would be years before my predictions could ever be verified.

“Jack, you’re clearly going through something, but this is ridiculous! You’re going to school tomorrow, and we’re going to be finding someone to talk to about these- these- delusions!” my Mom said frantically with tears in her eyes.

I slumped in my chair.

Now they think I’ve lost it. Great.

HELPLESS -------------------------------- January 8th, 2011

Kaden didn’t come to school the next day or for the next week. Turns out my comment caused the other shoe to drop, and his Dad did actually leave. Despite Kaden being a little shit, he didn’t deserve it. I felt terrible. Not just for him and his mom, but also how my snap landed me under a microscope.

Sebastian Vettel did win the F1 Championship, but my parents explained that away as a lucky guess. Up to that point, I had never shown any interest in racing. But Qatar never got their World Cup bid; instead, it went to Australia. I wondered if telling Kaden about his dad early somehow created a butterfly effect.

Kids at school ostracized me. Called me ‘Nostradamus’, as I tried and failed to get anyone to believe me.

The Psychologist my parents found diagnosed me with Delusional Disorder, based on my 'delusions of grandeur'. They forced me to take medication that I didn't need, and the Psychologist worked to ‘deprogram’ me.

I couldn’t help but retreat inward.

In a desperate attempt to feel validated, I became a prisoner of my own mind. My actions as the architect, my loved ones as the guards, and my past life a waning apparition in the distance I could not reach.

NUMBNESS -------------------------------- OCTOBER 12TH, 2025

My life had not been the same.

I avoided meeting Sarah. I couldn’t bring myself to force that on her. I was not the same person she would grow to love. To many, I was a recluse with fantastical predictions to be cast aside. Others believed I was a messiah, a prophet to be worshipped. In turn, I kept to myself and did everything possible to maintain a low profile, numb to the world around me. I quickly learned that meddling and trying to change history, or rather, the future, would only lead to unintended consequences.

As the years went on, my parents began to come around. Never fully, as my actions altered outcomes, but I got enough right for them to doubt their initial position.

There she is.

I observed from a distance, hiding from the light of the full moon.

Sarah exited her car and knocked on Marie and Bert’s reddish-brown wood door.

Beers with Bert. Too bad I never got the chance.

Hours passed as I watched partygoers slowly trickle out of the front door, eyes heavy, waiting for the moment.

John’s booming laugh from inside startled me awake, prompting me to check my watch.

11:11