Reverse to Innocence Chapter 1/Prologue

Prologue / Chapter 1

Saturday is the sentimental day.

Or so I’ve found out. I’ve come to realize that I have a habit with Saturdays. Every Saturday it’s my day to review the previous week. I take time out of my schedule (some days it’s been harder than others) and think about the days that have gone by. It’s my way of not letting life pass me by too quickly, because heaven knows it has gotten crazy at times. It’s hard to believe that I’ve gone through so many Saturdays. I’m still amazed.
So here we are. The last day of the week. Time to muse about the previous six days. But before I begin, there is something I should tell you.

This Saturday isn’t any ordinary Saturday. Sure, everything around me is normal. It’s a picturesque morning in LA. These are the days that I make sure to get outside every few hours. The sky glimmers. Enormous palm trees sway in the soft breeze. The sun’s rays are intense, but I enjoy basking in the heat. It’s so different from the city that I’ve known most of my life. But I absolutely love that difference. I look out the window and see people on their weekly trip to the grocer’s. Grown children taking the little ones to the park. People swimming in their pools. To the average person, it looks like a typical day.
Not for me. I was curled up sleeping on my brand new chaise lounge this morning. Outside. An attempt to get some color. My fair skin absolutely refuses to tan. Burn? Yes of course, but it would never give me the satisfaction of possessing a healthy looking glow. Despite that, I still enjoy falling asleep outside, thinking I won’t be red when I wake up. That thought fails me every time.
But getting to the point. I was engaged in my usual Saturday morning thinking time when I fell asleep. I was tired and whenever I curl up on that comfy chaise lounge, I fall asleep. While I was sleeping, though, I had a dream. When I awoke from my dream, I went inside to check on the damage. Sure enough, I was fried. My brain apparently was too; I couldn’t seem to remember my dream.
I hate that, don’t you? You have an amazing dream. You remember how great it was. Then you can’t recall for a second what it was about. So as I was trying to fix my sunburned skin, I had an idea.
Write. Write down everything I remember. No, not about my dream. About my life. You could easily mistake me for a grandma if you couldn’t see my wrinkle-free complexion. Yes my memory is that bad. Over the past couple of years I’ve been through a lot. That statement doesn’t sound positive, but it was meant to be. So many amazing things have happened, and I would love to remember them all.
Eventually cloudy skies overtake the sunny days. Storms charge in and whisk the good memories away. It’s sure to happen sooner or later. It’s during these dreary nights that I’ve wished I could re-live all the joyous moments. I can’t experience those instances in time again, but I can write them down. And that’s what I am about to do.

In short, I’m writing about my years in LA and, before this, New York. Now you might ask why I plan on doing this.

There are times when I’ve wondered if this whole thing has been a dream. One long dream that I’ve had for years and always seem to remember in the morning. A fairy tale complete with princes and princesses. Monsters and dragons lurking around each corner.
I look at the nation and am relieved to see that we don’t live in a fantasy. The world does not smile back at me. That’s a relief. I thought for a second that I was going crazy.
Every day, every hour, I get older and my memories fade a little bit more. They get blurrier every time I try to recapture them. They act like butterflies fluttering around. One or two fly away and never come back. So when you ask me why in the world I am writing about all this, I can simply tell you this: I don’t want to dream about it one night and forget the whole thing the next morning.
Before I get started, we might as well get acquainted. This whole time you’ve probably been thinking ‘Who in the world is this girl and what is she talking about?’ True, I haven’t told you at all who I am and what my life is about. So how about you get to know me? Here are some fast facts. This should clear things up a little bit. Or confuse you even more. Either way, all the other information you need to know you’ll learn later on.

Name: Deborah O’Connell. Or Hardkaste. Age: 25. Or 26 according to some counts. Hair: Auburn. Naturally. No change there. Eyes: Hazel. Also no change. Birth date: July 17th, 1913. Or 1912. Birthplace: Brooklyn, New York. Or New York City. Occupation: Actress. Formerly chorus girl. I go by all of these statistics. The first responses compile what I like to call my “made-up life”. The second ones are the real deal.
That’s about all you need to know right now. With that, I’ll start my journey reminiscing now. That would be…1933. This will take a few Saturdays at that.