Lost in Time

I turned away and wandered into a gallery of old sepia photographs showing the construction of the Titanic, her departure from Southampton, and the passengers and crew during her ill-fated voyage. One group of photographs was on loan from a gallery in Dublin, and it depicted Irish immigrants who had just boarded the ship. I froze when I came face to face with a smiling family of four: father, mother, a baby in the father’s arms, and a little girl clinging to her mother’s coat. I stared at the little girl, not believing what I saw.

With trembling fingers, I opened my purse, and reached into my wallet for a creased photograph which I had carried with me for over fifteen years. It was taken that Halloween night when I was seven years old, and the little girl in the dress was me. I held it up next to the girl in the photograph. It was her.

In a daze, I looked through the exhibit program until I found the credits for the photographs on display. The picture I was staring at was taken by a lucky passenger who had disembarked at Queenstown. The family in the photograph was from his village of Dundalk. The Flynns: John, Mary, John Jr., and Irene.

* * *

I was beside myself when I returned to Dr. Elliott’s office at three o’clock. Breathless, I told him what I had discovered. Once again, we sat in silence after I finished. “It all fits,” he finally said.

“What do you mean?”

“My friend in London called me half an hour ago. Major Anthony Russell was reported missing in action in Normandy, after he parachuted behind enemy lines the night before the invasion. He was really a most extraordinary young man. Educated at Cambridge, he was making quite a name for himself on the West End stage when the war began. He was twenty-seven then, but he volunteered for the Royal Marines, and he was soon accepted by an elite intelligence unit because of his gift for foreign languages, as well as his obvious acting ability.

“His mission, which was top secret, required him to disguise himself as a beautiful woman in the hope that he could get close enough to key members of the German general staff to assassinate them before the invasion, to sow confusion and chaos at the most critical moment of the war. Unfortunately, his parachute was spotted by an alert German sentry, and he was captured and presumed to be executed.

“As I said, an extraordinary young man. I received a telefax of his service photograph a few minutes ago. Take a look.”

For the second time that afternoon, I was astonished by an old photograph of someone I had never met, someone who had lived long before I was even born. Anthony Russell was the spitting image of me. Or rather, of me before I began my transformation into Kristin. I stared at it in silence, trying to put the pieces together. “You said it all fit. What did you mean?” I asked.

“Anthony Russell was the son of a British civil servant and his wife. They had just completed a stint in New York when he was born, a month prematurely, while they were at sea on an English ship. The name of the ship was the Carpathia.”

“The Carpathia?”

“She was the first ship on the scene after the sinking of the Titanic. Anthony was born on April 15, 1912, at a few minutes past two o’clock in the morning.”

My mind reeled at the implication as Dr. Elliott pressed on. “Andrew was captured, and presumably killed by the Germans, the day before the Normandy invasion: June 5, 1944.”

My hands went to my face. “That’s the day Jacqueline Ethier was born!”

“That’s right. She was born in St. Lo, the little village where Anthony Russell was carrying out his undercover mission, disguised as a Frenchwoman.”

“And Jacqueline Ethier died the day I was born….”

“What hospital were you born at?”

“Elmhurst.”

“Of course.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s in Queens, across the street from the scene of the Ethier/Barrister murder.”

We sat and stared at one another for a long time. Dr. Elliott finally got up and began pacing around his office. “I have been practicing psychiatry for over twenty years. From time to time, patients have told me about their past lives, and I always dismissed it. How could I have been so blind? The entire profession of psychiatry may change when the world learns about this.”

That snapped me back to reality. “Wait a minute. I’m not sure I want the world to learn about me. I haven’t even told my co-workers, let alone my parents, that I’m living as a woman.”

“Of course, of course. We need to think this through carefully. But consider this, Kristin. When you first came to me, you told me you thought you might be a woman living in a man’s body. We now know that you were right. Think of what this discovery could mean to others out there who are experiencing the same feelings.”

* * *

I walked back to my apartment in a trance. After fixing myself dinner, I collapsed into bed, utterly drained, and I tossed and turned for hours as my mind played back what I had learned about myself. At least I knew that I had a soul! A well-traveled soul, if not a lucky one, having gone through some of the most awful moments of the past century. The sinking of the Titanic, the Normandy invasion, the Summer of Sam…what was coming up?

Sometime during that night, I came to a profound realization. For whatever reason, my soul seemed happiest when it was married to a woman’s body. That was why I was unhappy as a man in my current existence, why the little things a woman did were second-nature to me, and why I desperately yearned to become a woman once again. Should I just wait until my next life, or take destiny into my own hands?

Then and there, I decided to become the master of my fate. Tomorrow, I would march into my office, dressed from head to toe as a working woman, and take charge of my life. If Irene Flynn, Anthony Russell and Jacqueline Ethier could look death in the eye and embrace their fates, I could face Mr. Aldrich in Human Resources. And when I got home, I would hang out at the market until Jack Traynor came in, and I would invite him back to my apartment for dinner.

For the first time in memory, I slept soundly through the night.

* * *

The clock on the nightstand said six forty-five. It was already getting light outside, and it looked like it was going to be another beautiful September day. Once again, I had slept with the window open, despite the cacophony of New York street sounds. I walked over to the window and closed the blackout curtains before I switched on the lights.

I luxuriated in a long bubble bath, shaving my legs and underarms before I dried myself off and applied moisturizing crème to my trembling body. This time, I felt a rush of excitement as I selected my outfit for the day, one of the skirt suits I had bought on sale at Bloomingdale’s. Accessorized with black hose, some fashion jewelry, and a colorful scarf, I felt supremely confident as I stepped into my new boots and fussed with the contents of my purse. My hair was easy to take care of now, and I brushed it into place with a few practiced strokes. Too excited to make breakfast, I decided to eat at my desk, just like all the other guys and girls in my department.

I caught the subway downtown, and emerged into the cavernous lobby of the World Trade Center with a sudden attack of anxiety. As I waited for my elevator, I reminded myself that in a previous life, I had found the courage to protect the secret of the D-Day invasion, and gone bravely to my death disguised as a woman. Today would be so much easier. I glanced at my watch as the elevator raced towards the Sky Lobby of the North Tower. It was 8:46 am.

* * *

A yellowed newspaper clipping was folded into the pages of Mrs. Sather-Ridley’s diary:

MIRACLE AMIDST THE RUINS

New York – Amidst the horror and destruction yesterday at the World Trade Center, a small miracle cheered rescue workers who delivered a baby shortly after the collapse of the North Tower. Anne Sather was in a taxi en route from her home in Battery Park to St. Vincent’s Hospital when the streets became impassible, blocked by rescue vehicles and evacuating pedestrians. Aided by paramedic Jack Traynor, she gave birth to a baby girl moments after the North Tower collapsed a few hundred yards away. Mother and daughter are reported to be doing well, and Traynor credited the event with saving his life. “I was on my way to the North Tower when I stopped to help,” he said. “That little girl is something special. I could swear she smiled at me when she opened her eyes.”

By the author of The Jessica Project