"so sure we were on something your feet are finally on the ground he said so sure were on something your feet are just on the ground girl... ...I'm young again...it's you again it's you again somewhere someone must know the ending...."

Tori Amos

It started by accident and ended with a reversal of size. A turning of the body inside out.

It was a typical concert. Her voice, her piano, thousands of screaming young women, with an occasional slender young man thrown in for balance. She was singing one of the overlooked songs on her last album: UNDER THE PINK. The song "Space Dog". She came to the line about being young again and everything changed. She was thrown up into the air as thousands watched. Her equilibrium was suddenly useless as she began spinning in the air. Her legs useless, her eyes closed by themselves. The first thing to go was her memory. No longer able to remember who she was she screamed in surprise and fear. Then she lost her size. Coming together like a sectional telescope, her body quickly became smaller. Until it no longer was hers as it was in adulthood, but hers as it was when she was somewhere between two and three years old. Naked except for her lush red hair, which was a lot less red now, Tori continued to spin. Then slowly, as if someone had pushed the stop button on a carnival ride, she sank to the stage, curling into a fetal ball and fell asleep. The audience, to stunned to move or speak only stared.

Three months later. Little Tori has more or less adjusted to her new life. Her memory is gradually returning. She has abandoned her beloved piano in favor of something more her size, the guitar. Though, truth be told, she struggles even with the guitar and sadly is coming to realize that in her current state she might just have to take up the tambourine. She does get frustrated a lot though when she tries to read sheet music. Asking often: "Why can't Tori read?"

Author's note: The quotation which begins this short is from the song "Space Dog" from the album UNDER THE PINK and is copyright 1994 by Tori Amos. To her I send my apologies.


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