Force

by A.R. Rivera

  Another Life

  A version of me that looks a little more like my father in his thirties—maybe the version that was the inspired design for Doyen’s androids. But what are these photos doing here?

  The only thing that could pull my attention from the images on wall appears at the end of the hallway. Abi. I hear her gasping breath and turn to look.

  Her hair is different—a little shorter and darker, with cascading waves instead of the usual straight locks. It looks really good—brings out the gold flecks in her bright eyes. She’s wearing a loose fitting t-shirt and tight jeans.

  I hear her breath again as she drops the laundry basket, and then she blurs. I feel her hot tears on my neck and know by the sound, they’re happy tears. She was worried. Either that or she knows that I’m not the one she’s been waiting for.

  When her lips mold to mine, I don’t even care that I’m covered in sweat and an overgrown beard that I know she hates. It’s too late when our mouths collide.

  Her skin is soft. She smells like honeysuckle, tastes like mint.

  This isn’t where I thought I’d land. But I can’t deny that thoughts of this moment have been weaving through every thought these last weeks. Every day I’ve spent away from her made me want her more.

  Maybe that’s why the stones have brought me to a dimension like mine, but better. In this one, I did the right thing and stayed with Abi. I know I’m not her husband, but I’ve always wanted her to be my wife.

  So, when she leads down the hall into the room she appeared from, I don’t hesitate.

  She moves in that way of hers, that familiar and unknowable way. This is how it’s always been with her. I know her, yet there’s so much more.

  “Let’s clean you up.”

  She moves quickly, grabbing my hand to lead through the doorway, into a blur of a room, past a bed, and into the bathroom. There, I’m standing long enough to focus on a marble vanity and the gorilla peeking back from the mirror. Before I’m able to think of sitting, I am. And Abi’s talking but I can’t understand her. The words pour out too fast.

  I watch her arms fly, feel the mist and her fingers in my hair.

  Everything is coming at once—her voice, the lights, the fan, that dog—each claw scratching the tile floor. His whine and barking—

  “Abi,” raising both hands, I plead. “I need a minute.”

  Using my chin as a handle, she adjusts my head. When our eyes meet, peace sails through me. She takes my raised hands and sets one on either side of her face. I hold her and feel the calm wash through me.

  She smiles gently and shoos the dog away. Quickly she turns back to me and orders, “Strip.”

  The window’s open. Sounds of passing cars seem to blare. The exhaust fan raises a racket. Mist of running water fogs the mirror in no time at all.

  Try as I might to make a move, Abi remains too quick and fully clothed. From outside the shower, she scrubs my back and shampoos my hair. She tosses benign instructions in between observations. Her words are low and quick.

  “The body wash is on the shelf behind you.”

  “We’ll have you clean in no time,”

  “I’ll make you something to eat.”

  “—Must have been near water.”

  It’s basically all a blur until she takes her clothes off and finally stills. Her long, slender neck leads to that sweet collar bone and bare shoulders. Her breasts are perky and pink.

  I’m speechless, elated and utterly disappointed as she says, “Take it easy Romeo. I’m only helping you clean up. At this rate, the fish will die before you’re done.”

  And way too soon, I’m back on the chair at her vanity, wrapped in the softest purple terrycloth in the world.

  Her index finger and thumb are tucked through a pair of scissors. “If I mess up, we’ll go to the Barber.”

  Her reflection in the long bathroom mirror stares at mine. And though her words sound like a warning, she smiles.

  I smile, too, staring at her pink cotton panties and plain white t-shirt.

  She takes a shock of hair, combs it out and starts to cut. Around the pencil-like comb in her mouth she asks, “What was it like?”

  She stops snipping when our eyes meet.

  My hand reaches back, grasps the flesh of her calf. Her skin is silky smooth. “Lonely.”

  “Future or past?” She starts snipping again.

  “Pre-industrial revolution.”

  “What year?”

  I shake my head and she stops me with two hands on either side of my face. “You want me to use the clippers?”

  “Sorry.” I still myself and continue. “I saw four other people. Three were Natives. White skin, black hair. One was dead when I found him.”

  Her hands freeze. “Did you meet the boy? The one from your dreams?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Baby, you tell me your dreams so I can repeat them to you. You know, because of the travelling.” She combs through the last section of hair, stroking up to cut. “Do we need to go through this again?”

  I don’t think she realizes... or maybe I haven’t actually said aloud, Abi, this isn’t my house. My lips press together at the thought of her reaction.

  There’s a worried look on her face. “You’ve been gone too long. That place made you slow. Your reactions are delayed by a solid twenty-three seconds.”

  I shake my head as she removes the towel from my shoulders and moves to sit nearby. “No, you’re talking a mile a minute.”

  “I am speaking slowly. Where did Bear find you?”

  “Bus stop.” I relay, trying to pay close attention to the sound of my voice.

  She shakes her head, mumbling something I don’t catch.

  I stand from the wrought iron chair. “Do you mind?” I ask, gesturing at the toilet she’s sitting on.

  She leaps up and swipes the iron stool in one motion, gone from the bathroom so fast, I’m not sure if she’s angry or if I really am as slow as she says.

  Placing myself atop the smooth porcelain ring, I feel like I can finally relax. Like, I’m home. And then my eyes fall onto the white roll of heaven sitting in the wall dispenser.

  Suddenly, I can’t control myself. Just like a little girl that’s found her favorite lost dolly, I am overjoyed, bawling at the sight of my dear long-lost friend, toilet paper.