Then Again

by Rick Boling

  The only thing I bent the truth on a little was Aurie, whom I decided not to mention at all. Instead, I put Fred in her place as the person who’d been in charge of taking care of me. I justified this minor falsehood by telling myself that admitting I’d fallen in love would only lead to a lot of personal questions, the answers to which were irrelevant to the story.

  I ended my chronicle with the harrowing scene under the accelerator, describing the intense cold and how unbearable the noise had been. When I finished, exhausted from reliving those months, I leaned back against the bench and closed my eyes, hoping she wouldn’t run away screaming.

  A long period of silence ensued, during which she continued to hold my hand. And when she gave it another squeeze, I opened my eyes to see her smiling at me. “I believe you,” she said in a near whisper. “No one could make all that up on the spur of the moment. Plus there’s the Platters and the hula hoop and the thing with your Dad. I don’t understand it, but then again, neither do you, so I guess we’re even on that point. My only question is, why me? Why did you choose me to confide in?”

  “I’m not sure I did choose you,” I said. “I think it was more a matter of opportunity than choice. That and the fact that you were always nice to me and I felt I could trust you.” Not to mention that I found you attractive and would love to take you to bed, I thought, though I managed to keep those words from reaching my lips.

  “Thanks for being honest with me,” she said. “I was hoping there might have been some preordained connection between us, but I guess not. So, what do we do now?”

  “I don’t know that we should do anything, really. Stay in touch, I guess. Maybe, if you’re up to it, you could act as a sort of sounding board for me. I’ve been so confused about things, wondering if what I do might cause some major catastrophe or alter the course of history in a negative way, so I could really use someone to talk to. You’re intelligent and clever and you live in this era, where I’ve only lived for five years. I don’t mean to put you on the spot or anything, but since we’ve come this far, I thought I would at least ask.”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I want to stay in touch. This is like being offered a chance to visit another planet, or see the future of this one. I’m not sure how much help I can be, but I’d be an idiot to pass up the opportunity.”

  “Great!” I said. “Now, there’s just one other thing.”

  “Uh, oh, here it comes,” she groaned. “You want to have sex with me, right?”

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say, but since you mention it …”

  I could feel her tremble as she turned away and looked up into the trees. I knew it was too quick, that she hadn’t had enough time to absorb everything, let alone sort out her feelings. I was about to let her off the hook and say I was kidding, when she shook her head and said, “You have to understand that things are a little out of focus for me right now. I’m attracted to you, there’s no getting around it. But that attraction might only be because this is all so fascinating, because you’re like an alien being with super powers, or the second coming of Christ. I don’t know if I’m being seduced by an over-romanticized fantasy or if there’s something more meaningful going on here. And even if there is more to it than a starry-eyed reaction to who and what you are, the first thing I’d have to ask myself is would I be committing a crime against nature by having sexual relations with a teenager eight years my junior? I’m not going to say no, Ricky, but right now, I’m not going to say yes either.”

  “I do understand,” I said. “I’ve had the same problem with a girl I know. She’s older than me by a couple of years in this life, but younger than me by decades in my other one. And every time I think about calling on my many years of experience to seduce her, I start feeling like a pedophile, wondering if I have the right to prey on her innocence when it’s clear I would have the upper hand.”

  “So, have you …?”

  “No, I haven’t. In fact, I recently pawned her off on a friend of mine. Actually, I haven’t had sex—intercourse, that is—with anyone since I got back. And that’s been a conscious choice.”

  “Well,” she said, “I don’t know what things are like where you come from, but that isn’t unusual for a sixteen-year-old in this era.”

  “I know that, Doris. But what you’re forgetting is that, in my mind, I’m not really sixteen—I’m about to turn seventeen in this life, by the way. Nor am I immune to the sexual desires any man of my mental age would feel toward an attractive younger woman. I’ve been able to deal with those desires, but only by constantly reminding myself I have no right to take advantage of someone young enough to be my great granddaughter.”

  “What about someone only young enough to be your granddaughter? Apparently that’s not a problem for you.”

  “Look, I don’t want to argue with you about this. I will say, however, that I don’t find it abhorrent to think of making love to someone with experience, especially since I am actually younger than you from a chronological—or I guess I should say a physical standpoint. I would not be robbing you of your innocence, nor would I be conning you into anything. I’ve been completely honest with you, and I will continue to be so no matter what you decide. But I cannot—will not—deny my feelings. The decision, however, will be yours and yours alone.”

  “That’s funny,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Your naiveté in assuming I’m not a virgin.”

  “Oh, right. I didn’t mean to be presumptuous, but where I come from, the only beautiful adult virgins left are kept in museums. You’re not seriously telling me you’ve never had sex, are you?”

  “Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know? I refuse to answer that extremely personal question, other than to say you’re forgetting where you are again. Twenty-four-year-old virgins in this day and age are not all that hard to find, and they certainly wouldn’t be candidates for museum displays.”

  “Touché,” I said. “Sorry I asked.”

  “Consider yourself forgiven. Now what I’d really like to do is spend some time with you and ask about a million questions.”

  “I thought your only question was—”

  “Cut the literal interpretations, will you? I’m serious. So, what did you have planned for the rest of the day?”

  “I did have some plans with my friend, Sam, but I can call and cancel. Exactly what did you have in—oops, there I go again. Let me rephrase: uh, how should we work this out?”

  “I guess you could come over to my apartment,” she said. “But we’ll need to be careful. We don’t want to start any rumors. Carol usually grocery shops on Saturday morning, so let me go first and make sure the coast is clear. You drive by and if you see my porch light on you’ll know it’s okay to come up. On second thought, maybe you should walk over and come in from the alley. That way there’ll be less chance any of the neighbors will see you and you won’t have to worry about hiding your car.”

  After walking by in front to make sure the light was on, I snuck in from the alley and climbed the stairs to Doris’s apartment. As a precaution, I carried an empty box I’d taped shut, to make it look as if I were a delivery boy. The only person I saw was a neighbor mowing his lawn with a push mower, but he didn’t seem to notice me.

  Safely inside, I followed her to the couch, where we sat side-by-side. She handed me a glass of tea and pointed at a plate of brownies on the coffee table, so I picked one up and took a bite, chewing slowly while I waited for her to break the ice. She fiddled around for a while, straightening the magazines on the table, then sipping her tea and nibbling at the corner of a brownie. Finally, she leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes.

  “There’s so much I want to know,” she said. “But I can’t figure out where to start. Maybe you could tell me about your first life, what college you went to, what you did for a living, that kind of thing.”

  “Sure,” I said, “but you’re probably going to be disappointed.”

/>   “Why so?”

  “Well, for one thing, I didn’t go to college. In fact, I never even graduated from high school.”

  “You have to be kidding. Someone as bright as you? What did your dad have to say about your dropping out?”

  “My dad wasn’t around to say anything,” I said. “I was a teenager when he and Mom got divorced, and after that Mom couldn’t control me. And Dad was too preoccupied with Charlotte to worry much about what was going on in my life. After they were married, she led him down a completely different road, one paved with booze and cigarettes and bar hopping, and obviously involving some pretty outrageous sexual activity for a man of his age. His health started to decline, but he wouldn’t slow down or treat his high blood pressure, which was getting out of control. Mom and I talked about it years later, and we both agreed he was intentionally committing a slow act of suicide because he couldn’t handle the conflict between his immoral behavior and his religious beliefs.”

  “I’m sorry, Ricky. That must have been devastating.”

  “It was,” I said, “but hopefully we’ve stopped it from happening in this dimension. Anyway, it wasn’t long after the divorce before I had my own career, one that did not require higher learning.”

  “What kind of career?”

  “I was a musician. A singer mainly. I worked with several rock bands in my teens and twenties, and then went on to develop a solo act.”

  “Were you famous?”

  “Not really. I was a singer-songwriter, playing guitar and singing my own compositions. I had a couple of top-forty hits and released three albums, but I never was what you’d call famous. Then, after the last album flopped, everything went downhill. In fact, I fucked up pretty bad in that life.”

  “Language!” she growled.

  “Listen,” I said, “we need to lay down some ground rules here. I understand your objection to certain words, but if you want to hear the story of my first life there’s an awful lot you’re going find hard to listen to. And I don’t mean only bad language. Like I said, things were different where I came from, just as things will be different here in the future. If I’m going to be honest about everything—as I fully intend to be—you’re not only going to have to deal with words you’re not used to hearing, you’re going to learn some things about me that aren’t very pretty. So please try to set aside your conservative idealism and keep an open mind. Things change, Doris. Society evolves. What’s considered unspeakable or immoral in this era will be accepted as commonplace in the future.”

  She looked crestfallen, as if she’d been scolded by a parent, and I realized we had switched roles; that now she was accepting me as the adult—the teacher—and she was assuming the role of student.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” I said, hoping the endearment wasn’t too presumptuous. “I didn’t mean to shout, and I’m not angry. But if I’m going to tell you my life story, I’ll have to talk about a lot of things you might find uncomfortable, including sex and illegal drugs and selfishness and alcohol abuse, and a host of other crap that screwed up my first life and caused me all kinds of pain and regret. If you don’t want to hear the details, then say so, and we’ll move on to some other subject. But if you do, I’m not going to candy coat it or pretend I was anything but an egotistical, amoral bad guy.”

  “I can’t imagine you being a bad guy,” she said. “And I do want to hear the whole story. I’m not really a prude, you know? It’s just that it’s hard for me not to feel as if it’s my ethical responsibility to admonish someone your age when he says something that’s considered obscene in today’s society. And when I hear things like … like that f-word coming from the mouth of a teenager, it’s difficult not to react negatively.”

  “Oh, man, would you be lost in my world. The f-word, as you call it, will become so common in the future you wouldn’t believe it. Women and teens will use it liberally. You’ll read it in books, hear it in movies and plays. Couples will say it—scream it even—while they’re making love. It will essentially become a standard part of everyday language in the early 21st century, as will dozens of other words and phrases considered to be taboo today, words that describe genitals or acts of perversion, phrases that insult or degrade, novels and films that depict intimate sex acts in graphic detail. What you have to try and understand is that they’re only words, words used to express emotion, to emphasize things like anger, lust, humor, disgust, happiness, and even joy.

  “Anyway, I don’t mean to lecture you, and this is all beside the point. What I’m trying to get across is that if I censure myself, you won’t get the true story in all its lurid, yet authentic detail, which I’m assuming is what you want.”

  “Boy,” she said. “That’s a lot to think about. But I guess I can handle it. Just don’t be surprised if I jerk a little now and then. So tell me about this long career as a singer. When did it begin?”

  “It began much as it has in this dimension. I only started over when I was twelve, so what came before was identical to my first life. Carol was the person who first introduced me to music, right here in this room.”

  I went on to relate my entire history, from my early classical training, to my life as a rock singer and my transition to a single. I spared no details, telling her about my sexual debauchery and exploitation of young female fans, my three botched marriages, and my drug and alcohol abuse. By the time I finished, she was leaning against my shoulder, holding my arm and blinking back tears.

  I looked at her and grinned sheepishly. “I told you it wasn’t going to be pretty. The only positive thing I can say is that I seem to be moving in another direction in this life. It’s like I wore out the selfish asshole persona and now I want to do something entirely different. In a way, I guess I’m trying to make amends for all my bad behavior before, though that’s not really possible because I’m doing it in a different dimension, and all the people I hurt in the other one are still hurt, still living with the repercussions of what I did or didn’t do.”

  “But you did do some good things, Ricky. Or should I call you Rix?”

  “Rix is over with. I’m not sure I like Ricky, so maybe I’ll start going by Rich. But Rix is no longer an option: too many bad memories.”

  “Okay, Ricky—uh, Rich. But like I said, you did do some good things. You brought joy into people’s lives with your music. You helped friends along the way, like Carol and Harley and those guys in The Madisons. You gave many women and girls the thrill of a lifetime by taking them as lovers, even though it might have been only temporary. You took care of your Mom later in her life. Maybe the bad outweighed the good, but that doesn’t mean your life was a total waste. At least you were willing to take a chance on righting some of those wrongs by giving it another try.”

  “That’s a nice whitewash job,” I said, ‘But it won’t cut it. I know what I did, and there wasn’t much of anything to be proud of. Maybe I never killed anybody or stole money or did anything fraudulent—though there are a few girls who might dispute that last statement. But I did spend my life as an egotistical, self-centered, ass, drugged out and drunk, thinking I was God’s gift to women, and being irresponsible when it came to the possible harm I might cause by my thoughtless actions. No, kiddo, this is not a nice guy you’re looking at. Or at least it wasn’t. Far from it.”

  “God’s gift to women, huh? I wonder. Are you saying you were abusive or uncaring? Did you rape anyone or lie or use violence?”

  I thought about that for a moment, but I couldn’t recall ever doing any of those things. “I don’t think so,” I said, still trying to remember. “In the first place, I’m not capable of committing rape. Not only would I never consciously force a woman to have sex, it wasn’t necessary: women came to me. It was an occupational hazard—a perk, some might say—of being on stage. As for lying, I did my share of that, but only to feed my ego, not to get into any girl’s pants. And violence? Other than destroying a few pieces of furniture, or maybe making a threat or two when I was drunk or stoned, no. I�
��m not the violent type. Never have been. But that doesn’t mean—“

  “Rich! Shut up! I’m tired of hearing you degrade yourself. What I see is a kid who never grew up, a kid whose ego got in the way of common sense. I’m sure your behavior was influenced by drugs and alcohol, but I think even that was part of your struggle for recognition. A lot of your conduct most likely had to do with your relationship with your father, who we both know is a fairly stolid, unapproachable man, a man who can’t show love except by throwing money around. The lack of an emotional connection with him probably led to your trying to prove yourself valuable by becoming successful, not only musically, but with women who would show you the kind of respect you couldn’t get from your Dad. Everything has a cause, Rich, even those things we think of as our worst sins.”

  “Interesting analysis,” I said. “Are you studying to be a psychiatrist or something?”

  “Believe it or not, I’ve thought about it. I took a few courses in psychology and counseling while I was in nursing school. But there’s a lot of resistance to women becoming MDs, so that’s probably out of the question.”

  “You’ll be happy to know that’s going to change soon. In fact, there will be many positive changes for women in the future. When I left, there was actually a woman running for President of the United States, and it looked like she might win. So don’t sell yourself short.”

  “This is so cool,” she said, laying her head on my shoulder. “It’s like having a time machine. Tell me, what was our relationship like in your other life? I can’t imagine we would ever have gotten together like this without your being, you know, who you are now.”

  “Actually, we did,” I lied. “You fell in love with me after I took you to bed and ended your virginity. Then we got married and had four kids, and—”