The Day Before Forever

by Anna Caltabiano

  “What was it like being married?” My question came out more abruptly than I had hoped.

  Henley looked a bit taken aback and then proceeded to wring his hands. “It wasn’t that different from not being married, truthfully. Part of the reason it felt like that was probably because Eliza was a friend from before, and I didn’t see her differently after we were married.”

  “I suppose it wasn’t a conventional marriage?” I only said this because it lasted so briefly.

  “No, not really,” he said. “But it was a good one. It worked.”

  I knew it had been dear, sweet Eliza, but the thought of Henley married to another person was . . . strange, to say the least. I couldn’t get it out of my head. “You two slept in the same bed.”

  Henley scratched his neck. “Well, yes, for a bit when we were first married . . . Don’t give me that look. Nothing went on! Eliza’s health was much too fragile for that.”

  I wasn’t aware I had been giving him a look.

  “And besides, like I said, I didn’t see her like that. She was like a younger sister. I married her to give her a home. To protect her . . . and also to save me from marrying her sister, of course.”

  Henley tried to make a joke out of that point, but I was far from laughing.

  “And what happened after that?”

  “Well, Eliza’s health declined.”

  “And?”

  “And she died,” he said bluntly.

  “And then?”

  “And then? Then I lived alone.”

  “In the rebuilt house in the country?” I asked.

  “No. In the house in the city.”

  I was confused. I remembered Henley telling me the house in the country was his favorite and that he had never cared for the house in the bustling city much.

  “The country home . . . had too many memories. Memories of you. Even when I had it rebuilt, your ghost was still there.”

  After he said that, I couldn’t ask any more questions. We sat in a comfortable silence until Henley felt ready to talk again.

  “What do you miss the most?” Henley said.

  There was a beat before I said, “Pardon?”

  “I’m sorry . . . It’s just that I’ve never really asked how it was where you came from. We always talk about my time, but I’ve never asked much about yours.”

  “Does it really matter?” My words came out more downhearted than I intended.

  “Yes. Yes, it does,” Henley said intensely. “I want to know. I want to know about you, where you came from . . . all of it. I want to understand the context you grew up in.”

  “I’ve changed since then.”

  “I still want to know.”

  “Okay then . . .” I didn’t know where to start. “The last time I remember it being my time was 1954 . . . I was eleven and still playing with dolls. That was the type of girl I was. I knew I was much too old for them, but I couldn’t let go. And . . . what else do you want to know?” I took a bite out of my hot dog. Somehow, after starting this conversation, the hot dog tasted less good to me.

  Henley was thoughtful. “Did you have any siblings?”

  “No,” I said. Then, more carefully, “Not that I remember.”

  Henley chewed on his corn dog. “What were your parents like? Was your father anything like mine?”

  “My father . . . ,” I began. In truth, when I said those words, a specific scene came to mind.

  It was dinnertime and my father came home—it must have been from work, though I couldn’t remember what work he did. My father would come in through the front door, take his hat off, hook it up, take his trench coat off, hook it up—in the winter it was a dark wool coat; black, maybe?—and come into the kitchen to kiss my mother.

  That was what I remembered when I spoke the words “my father.” Not a face. This man I remembered didn’t even feel like my father.

  “He loved my mother,” I said. It was as if I were sitting there, trying to deduce a stranger’s character by his actions. Only this wasn’t a stranger. It was my father.

  Henley let it go, choosing instead to finish the rest of his corn dog in one bite. “And your mother?”

  “She was beautiful,” I said. Not because I remembered her face, but because I remembered other women—many of them my mother’s friends from some club or other—telling me so.

  “Then that’s something you kept from them,” Henley said. “They must have been wonderful parents.”

  “I-I don’t remember.” It was strange. I didn’t feel any sort of love toward these shadow people in my—or more accurately, Cynthia’s—memories. I actually didn’t feel any sort of emotion toward them. I felt ambivalent.

  “It must be difficult,” Henley said. “Forgetting, I mean.”

  “It’s not really forgetting.” It was hard to explain. “Forgetting implies you knew it before. Me . . . Well, I feel like a completely different person. Cynthia isn’t me, so in a way, I feel completely fine not knowing her memories.”

  “Cynthia.” Henley breathed.

  It hit me that this was the first time Henley had heard my original name.

  “Yes, Cynthia.” It was silly, but I felt nervous. For some reason, though it wasn’t mine anymore, I wanted him to like the name.

  “Cynthia . . . Do you remember your last name?”

  I shook my head.

  “No matter,” Henley said. “Cynthia.” He was still trying it out on his tongue.

  I liked the way he said it. It sounded sweeter in his voice. Less uncertain than in mine.

  “I’m not sure it suits you, but I like the name,” he said.

  “A lot of things changed when Miss H—your mother—came.”

  “And yet you don’t speak of her in disgust.”

  I turned so I could better see Henley’s face and read his expression. “What do you mean?”

  “She pulled you out of your life and changed you forever so you couldn’t return to it. Most people would despise a person like that.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “She was my stability. The only person I had—”

  “Only because she made it that way. I don’t know why you don’t find that disgusting. She took everything you had—”

  “It’s different,” I said quietly. “She had her reasons too, you know. Everyone does.”

  “It must have been hellish to get used to that life.”

  “Miss Hatfield was one of the few comforts I had. She taught me everything I know now.” Even if I had no intention of passing on that knowledge, I thought. Still, I wished I could consult her on our current situation. I just had to hope that Miss Hatfield truly had taught me everything I needed to know. “Other things are much harder as an immortal.”

  “Such as?”

  My remaining hot dog had gone cold . . . not that I had any appetite left. I poked it once before wrapping it back up in the tinfoil to save for later.

  “Such as taking care not to form attachments,” I said. I sounded like Miss Hatfield.

  “Attachments? Like me?”

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

  “I’m glad it did, though.” Henley’s hand found its way toward mine and lingered atop my fingers. “You’ll never be alone anymore once I become an immortal. I’ll always be by your side like I am now.”

  There was a crash as one of the food carts near us fell over. The poor old man running it was yelling at someone in the crowd while he picked up packs of chips.

  I pulled my fingers away from Henley. “I-I don’t think I can stand by and watch that happen.”

  “What do you mean, Rebecca?”

  “I wouldn’t wish immortality on anyone. Least of all you,” I said. “Don’t you see? You of all people should know what it does. You can never stay. You can never build a life. You’re left without a time to belong to.”

  “And what of that? We can wander together then.”

  The thought of having Henley forever . . . I shook my head. I couldn’t
be blinded by that. He wasn’t getting it.

  “Your life loses meaning without death,” I said. “I don’t want that for you.”

  “And you’re also not understanding. I’m not going to lose you again. I’m not going to let you walk away from me again.”

  “Henley, I don’t want this for you.”

  “I’m not asking for permission anymore. You need someone. You can’t go on like this—even you know that. And I need you.”

  There was a break in our conversation, as I didn’t know what to say next.

  “What were you thinking of doing?” Henley asked. His voice was soft. “You know you have to leave this time period soon. Your body just can’t take it. Were you thinking of leaving me behind too?”

  “I-I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking that far.” And it was true. I had been so focused on the fact that I had finally gotten Henley back—with a body too—that the thought of me leaving hadn’t crossed my mind. “Maybe I could leave and come back . . .”

  “And what then? You’d keep doing that until my life in this body is over?” Henley tightly crumpled the trash in his lap. “People would notice you not aging.”

  “I don’t care—”

  “I care.” Henley’s gaze held my eyes. “You’ll be alone again after I’m gone. But this time, truly alone. No one deserves that.”

  The irony was that we were back to where we had started. In 1904, I had been forced to leave because I was immortal and Henley wasn’t. This wasn’t any different.

  “No one deserves giving up their life either,” I said.

  “This? You call this a life? I don’t exist to anyone in this time period except you. I’m the man everyone glimpses while passing on the street but never talks to. I might as well not be there.”

  “Turning you immortal won’t fix that . . . if anything it’ll only intensify it. You won’t be able to connect with anyone—”

  “As if I connect with people now,” Henley scoffed. “But at least we’ll have each other.”

  “You just . . . you don’t understand.” I stood up and Henley stood up with me.

  “You’re right. I don’t,” he said.

  “Being immortal is like . . . It’s like reliving a year of your life forever. You’re never going to change. Things only change around you, but you can’t even stay to watch that happen. You’re always leaving people behind.”

  I tucked the remainder of my hot dog into the backpack. It wouldn’t taste as good later, but it was a waste to throw it out when we were strapped for cash.

  Henley was stubborn. I knew that well. But he was wanting something he didn’t fully understand—and how could anyone fully understand a concept so vague and weighty as immortality without going through it first? He had some understanding, but even that was limited. I was only protecting him. He had to see that.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Rebecca—”

  “No, stop.”

  And just like that, our first date was over. We started to walk back to the hostel in silence.

  Henley started the walk beside me, but little by little, he fell into step behind me. I didn’t know if it was because I was walking faster, or if he had slowed down, but I did know that all I wanted was to be alone. I knew going back to the room wouldn’t give me that, but my feet were traveling fast, trying to get me there.

  We turned our last corner, and I could see the hostel ahead. The door was swinging shut, as if someone had just walked in or out.

  I jogged the last few steps between me and the building, and hopped up the one step to the door. Let Henley follow if he wanted to.

  I went through the door to find the small lobby now packed with people.

  “Rebecca!”

  I looked up to see Aaron, but it wasn’t him who had called my name.

  “I’m so glad we ran into you!” It was Alanna, and she rushed up to give me a hug.

  I wasn’t prepared and my arms were awkwardly trapped by my sides as she pinned me to her.

  “We thought you two might have left. We haven’t seen you in a while.” Peter was there too. Today his shoulder-length dreadlocks were held back by an orange headband. Luckily he made no move to ensnare me in a hug.

  “Speaking of which, where’s that Henley of yours?”

  That “Henley of mine” was being a bit of a stubborn jerk.

  I smiled. “He’s probably right behind me.”

  “That’s perfect,” Alanna said. “Peter and I were about to go out for some late afternoon ice cream. You both should come with us!”

  “Uh, I don’t know about that . . . ,” I began to say.

  Alanna looked panic stricken. “Why? Are you lactose-intolerant? Because we could—”

  “Oh no. Not that. It’s just that—”

  Henley walked in through the door behind Alanna and Peter.

  “Hey, there.” Peter took Henley’s hand and initiated what I could only call a one-armed hug.

  “We were just talking about you!” Alanna said.

  “Oh, were you?” Henley raised an eyebrow at me.

  No, I didn’t tell them about us, I wanted to tell him, but Alanna spoke before I could open my mouth.

  “We were just saying that it would be a great idea if we all went out for ice cream.”

  “You were, were you?” Henley said, looking directly at me.

  Not me, I wanted to say.

  “It’s the perfect treat for a nice hot day like today, and Peter and I were already going out to get some.” Alanna was talking fast.

  When Henley and I didn’t say anything, she prompted us with a “Now doesn’t that sound great?”

  Henley’s eyes never left mine. We were both hung up on our conversation from before—a conversation that Alanna certainly didn’t know we’d had.

  Unfortunately, Alanna took our silence for agreement. “Then it’s settled!” she said and pulled me by my hand out the door.

  She took off down the street with me in tow. I guess Henley and Peter were following, but Alanna didn’t give me a moment to turn and check.

  “Aaron gave us this gelato specialty store recommendation,” Alanna said. “He said it has the best gelato around. Just like Italy.”

  I wondered if she realized I was only half listening, because she abruptly changed the subject.

  “So what have you and Henley been up to?”

  The first thing I thought of was our meeting with the auction house. “We’ve been taking care of a few things . . . after Henley’s grandmother passed.”

  I bit my lip, remembering Alanna’s original reaction to Henley’s lie about his grandmother passing. I shouldn’t have mentioned it again. It was such a raw topic for her. I held my breath, waiting for her response.

  “Anything Peter or I could help with?” she said.

  I breathed out. “No, thank you, though. It’s just a few minor details here and there.”

  “I can imagine Henley wants to move on,” she said.

  And though it had nothing to do with the current conversation at hand, Alanna’s comment made me think of Henley wanting to be immortal. He thought it was easy to simply “move on” and reinvent an identity and a new life every time a new period required it. It wasn’t. More than the difficult logistics, it was emotionally hard. Becoming an immortal meant losing a lot more than the promise of death. He didn’t understand.

  “It can be very difficult to understand the passing of a loved one,” Alanna said.

  I froze, realizing I had just said at least part of my thoughts aloud.

  “We still have a little way to go,” Alanna said, ushering me along.

  I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to take a peek. It couldn’t have been Henley or Peter, as they were much farther away. Henley wasn’t looking my way for once. His gaze was on the ground in front of him as he talked and laughed with Peter. I wondered what they were discussing . . . It certainly wasn’t what was on my mind.

  Remembering the footsteps I had h
eard, I quickened my steps.

  “What else did you two do these past couple of days?”

  “Um . . . we went to a street fair today,” I volunteered.

  “There was a street fair?”

  “A carnival of sorts, back that way.” I pointed in a general direction behind us.

  “And we missed it?” Alanna looked heartbroken.

  I chuckled. “I’m sure there’ll be other times.”

  “Peter wants to continue into Scotland soon, so we’ll see.”

  “How long have you been traveling?”

  “A few years. Maybe three?”

  My eyes widened. I was thinking she would say a few months at the most.

  Alanna saw the look of astonishment I wore and laughed. “That tends to be the response we get from people. I’m used to it by now.”

  “But . . . why?”

  “Why do we travel, you mean?”

  “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  It was a blunt question, but there was no other way of putting it.

  Luckily, Alanna smiled. “Life at home doesn’t really suit me,” she said. “And Peter’s nice enough to let me drag him around the world.”

  I had so many questions, like how they were able to afford all the traveling without holding down a job, but I made sure to take it slow.

  “You’re probably going to ask, ‘But what about your families?’” she said.

  That thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but I nodded.

  “Peter makes sure to visit his every once in a while. He’ll take off to go to Ohio for about a week.”

  I was taken aback. “That’s where he’s from?” Peter looked too alternative to be from somewhere as “normal” as Ohio.

  “It’s the dreadlocks, isn’t it?” Alanna laughed, mindlessly patting her own platinum blond hair into place. “He’s worn those dreadlocks from before I met him. Hard to imagine that long ago Peter was a middle-America boy eating things like processed foods.” She wrinkled her little nose at the word “processed.”

  “I guess people change,” I said. I took a peek over my shoulder back at Peter.

  He was wearing a tie-dyed shirt with cut armholes today. Definitely not what I thought of when I thought about Ohio.