[2013] Life II

by Scott Spotson

  He rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment and thought things through.

  I want to go through the big Western Red cedars in Stanley Park before I die. I want to be surrounded by beauty. Then I want to go to the Lions Gate Bridge, the most majestic bridge in Vancouver.

  Stiff with resolve, he backed the car up onto the road. A middle-aged woman raced out of the house, and ran over to him with an utterly shocked look on her face. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

  Without saying a word, he shifted into forward and drove off, in a black cloud of exhaust, leaving the stunned woman behind. She could not interfere with his destiny.

  Max drove through the West End of Vancouver, which skirted the tall skyscrapers of downtown. This is the last I am seeing of my hometown, the only hometown I have ever lived in during Life I. I am coming home. Tears kept on running down his cheeks. His eyes burned with tears, as he squeezed them out of their sockets. He didn’t bother wiping his eyes anymore.

  He drove fast through the surrounding city, racing through the empty streets and past the lonely buildings, then turned on to Stanley Park Drive, which hugged the ocean on his left. To his right he could see the Coastal Mountains. He had memories of playing at the beach by the ocean in the summer and of skiing in the mountains in the winter.

  The ocean was incredibly beautiful as he drove by. Water, he thought. Water is a good place to die. Endless depth. To the bottom of the Earth.

  His mind stabbed him with thoughts.

  Garfield.

  Angela.

  Brandon.

  He jammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

  Abby.

  Mabel.

  Bill.

  His hands gripped and strangled the steering wheel.

  Jenny.

  Kyle.

  Peter.

  He opened the window, the wind blasting him in the face.

  Pamela.

  Nathan.

  He wiped his eyes again. Maybe he should turn around, or at least walk among the giant trees, and visit the Hollow Tree in the park. Just kick the trunks to see that the trees were real, and to look up at the sky. It was cloudy today, almost drizzling, but it would still be nice to see the sky one more time.

  The voice inside rang out loud and clear.

  No. Once you get out to enjoy nature, you’ll chicken out. You’ll change your mind. Don’t. Drive on. See, the road takes you there. It goes straight ahead, doesn’t it? Detours are so time-wasting. There’s a car behind you. Don’t irritate the driver behind you. Just keep on driving.

  He nodded and kept driving. Minutes later, he looked up ahead to see the entire span of the Lions Gate Bridge at the end of Stanley Park. It looked too beautiful to find a jumping place just right now. Better continue driving over the bridge. At the other side of the Lions Gate Bridge was all urban development—concrete and asphalt. He was secretly relieved he had added a few more minutes to his life by traveling the full length of the bridge.

  Max quickly realized the bridge was narrow, only two lanes in either direction, and there wasn’t even a shoulder to allow him to pull over. Well, he thought, he’d just have to park as close as possible to the railing, and the ongoing traffic be damned. He saw a post, then an observation platform in front of the post. He pulled over his car, so close to the concrete siding that he scraped the side of his car. He shrugged. They’ll find a way to scrap the car, he thought.

  Cars behind him furiously beeped their horns as he opened his door. He didn’t even look at the enraged drivers, who aggressively attempted to detour around his car, but nonchalantly walked up to the observation deck. He quickly sized up the green railing in front of him. It was only about up to his waist. Easy to take a quick jump, then that was it.

  Max looked down. Still the ocean there. Jumping into the ocean would just be a stunt that he’d easily survive. He needed the cold reality of concrete. A final splat. His skull exploding against the ground. Leaving the observation deck, he strolled along the railing, past his car, closer to the industrial flats ahead.

  Cars whizzed past him. No one honked their horns at him. No one shouted at him. He casually walked on.

  Finally, looking over the railing, he saw a flat industrial lot just below. Perfect. He looked up and saw there was the end of the main cable, which outlined the entire suspension bridge. The cable, one foot wide and gradually descending to the platform, was still too high for him to reach, but it bore hundreds of suspension cables streaming downwards to the bridge, taut and stiff.

  He could clasp a suspension cable, and climb up onto the railing.

  Max hesitated for one second and then grabbed a suspension cable with his right hand and stepped up onto the railing. For once, he thought about his safety, as he imagined himself slipping off the top rail of his perch.

  It’s just two or three seconds to the ground. All you have to do is lurch forward. Curl your arms around your body and cannonball down. Or spread your arms wide and celebrate your deathday.

  Nothing was blocking his way now. All he had to do was release his right hand grip and step forward.

  He looked down and became dizzy from the height at least ten stories down to the ground below.

  His hands were trembling badly. For some reason, his feet refused to budge. Gasping, as his survival instinct kicked him in the hypothalamus part of his brain, he moved his left hand to the cable, just above his white-knuckled right hand. Both palms were sweating, loosening his iron grip. Because his arms were on one side of his body, while his feet remained firmly apart, his torso twisted, causing his entire body to fight for balance.

  His mouth let forth a thunderous scream. His knees started to buckle.

  Summoning all his courage, he glanced around for any sign of divine intervention. He listened for Garfield’s voice, telling him not to do it. There was still nothing but the incessant noise of ongoing traffic. He peered ahead at the skyline of Vancouver and wondered if, out of thin air, directly in front of him, Dr. Time would appear in luminescent form and tell him to step forward into Heaven.

  He visualized his 42-year-old Life I self, standing behind him on the bridge, tapping him on the back of his legs, and offering sage advice about how Life II tested the new Max, and declaring that he’d accomplished catharsis. The older Max would extend his hand, speak kind words of encouragement, and pull the new Max to safety. Then, miraculously, they’d become one soul.

  Life I would start again.

  Life II would disappear into nothingness.

  None of Max’s fantasies materialized. Air whistled all around him, whipping through his hair. He was scared. He looked down at the sheer rock below him. He knew.

  I don’t want to die. Not now.

  His entire body was shaking. Quick! He had to get to safety! Oh my God, what did I get myself into?

  He couldn’t move. His feet were still unsure. His knees were no longer able to support him. Slowly, excruciatingly, his hands were sliding down the cable and his back was bending over at a precipitous angle. His head was sinking forward bit by bit. Eventually he was going to torque away from the bridge and lose control.

  Here I go… he whispered.

  Oh God oh God oh God...

  The next moment, he felt a pair of arms grab his waist. At first, he panicked, and for the first time, he let go of the cable, expecting to feel the air ripping by his face as he fell to his death. Instead, dazed, he found himself lying on his back, on top of what felt like someone’s arm, on solid ground.

  He rolled off the other person, not even seeing him or her. He saw the railing above his head. He knew.

  I am alive.

  I’m not dead.

  Several loud voices echoed around Max. He couldn’t make sense of them. He finally pushed himself up, but his arms and legs were too weak. He lifted his head and saw several people standing around him. They all looked at Max—talking among themselves—staring at him with intense, distressed expressions on their faces.

  A midd
le-aged woman came to Max, sat down beside him, and held up his head while still looking at him. “Are you okay?”

  Max was too shaken to answer. He nodded.

  An older man bent down to bring his head as near as possible to Max’s. “You are very, very, very lucky, young man,” he said slowly, punctuating each utterance of very.

  The first woman spoke rapidly. “I thought he was going to fall.”

  A middle-aged, obese man bent down on one knee near Max. “It’s okay, an ambulance’s coming.”

  Ambulance? Max felt a jolt of energy. He felt that he had to get out—now. He didn’t want any more complications in his life.

  He felt his stomach knotting. He jumped to his feet. He fell. He stood up again. His knees were buckling. He shouted around, “Thank you very much, thank you very much. But, I’m, um, I’m okay! Really! I’ll never do this again!”

  He looked at the people, straining to force breath through his rapidly constricting bronchial tubes. And then, running, he broke through the ring of observers and ran back to his car. He almost stumbled on the way; so weak were his knees. He jumped into the driver’s seat. Stabbing the keys into the ignition, he revved up the car, and then drove straight ahead, swerving around the crowd that had saved his life. He wished he knew who his savior was. Someday he’d have to find him—or her—and give whatever he could that was worth precious life.

  He drove like any other driver now, only focused on the road, the traffic signs, the traffic lights, the city speeding past him in a blur, and the cars immediately ahead of him. The only priority was going home—to Garfield’s house. Terrified, he also glanced back, using his rearview window, to see if any witness who recognized him as a former suicidal crackpot case would yell out to him, or worse—a police car called in to track him down.

  Parking on Garfield’s driveway, he staggered into the house. His heart was thudding. How much, if any, did Garfield know? Had he even returned home yet? Damn. He should’ve checked the garage to look for Garfield’s car.

  Max walked into the house, as silently as he could. No Garfield in the main floor office. Not in the living room either. Great. Awesome. He entered the kitchen. His nerves tightened. He found no trace of the burned papers he had carelessly left behind. At the same time, he was relieved that nothing else had burned.

  “Garfield!” Max yelled softly to the house. No response. He checked the garage. Garfield’s car was gone.

  Garfield must have had returned home. How else to explain the missing ashes? He checked the garbage. Yes, ashes were in there... but not any of the blue birthday card that he’d burned. He deduced that the police must have taken the evidence—if the police were involved.

  Max felt the cracks showing in his sense of reality. A tingle ran up his spine. He needed time to relax and to think. He sat down on the sofa in Garfield’s living room and recalled the events of the day over and over—how he had stepped on top of the railing and looked down at certain death. Ten minutes passed by, but to Max it was all just one blur.

  He heard the door open. When Garfield saw Max, he raised his hands and ran to him. “Max! Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was worried about you. I drove up and down, looking around for you. I wasn’t sure if I should call the police. Maybe I was over-reacting, but...”

  Max’s words rushed out. “You weren’t, Garfield. I nearly jumped off the Lions Gate Bridge this afternoon.”

  “You what??”

  “Don’t worry. I’m okay now. I’ll never do anything like that again.”

  Garfield’s face was plastered with complete shock. For a few moments, his mind couldn’t process the information. “You... how... what....??” Garfield shook his head and started again, in a low voice. “You attempted suicide today?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Oh my God, Max!” Garfield grasped both of Max’s arms. He stammered, “I need a drink... I need to sit down.” He started walking in the wrong direction, then held up his finger, nodded to himself, and walked toward the kitchen. Max heard the water running, then splashing. Garfield seemed to be taking a long time. Max, feeling guilty, walked into the kitchen. Garfield was bracing himself against the kitchen counter, staring straight into the sink.

  “I’m sorry, man.” Max gently approached him.

  “I knew this was going to happen…”

  “How did you know?”

  Garfield found his normal voice, although it was still shaky. “When I came home for lunch. I found my note all burned on the floor. And then this.” He removed from his jacket pocket a half-burned blue envelope, with a correspondingly decimated birthday card inside. “I knew you didn’t even open it.”

  Garfield stared at Max. “But the real clincher was when my neighbor came to my door. Said she saw you ram your car into her tree.”

  Holy shit. “That was your neighbor?” Max clamped his lips together, certain he’d driven miles away from home to smash into that tree.

  “Yes. At first, she thought you had an accident. But then you drove off without acknowledging her. She had asked you if you were okay. You didn’t even answer her. She said that she thought you crashed on purpose because of the way you were driving.”

  Max stood there, trying to answer. The sounds of the car slamming into the tree pierced his head. Here it is. You knew it had to come to this eventually. The everpresent terror of all these past lives converging on you. And the one thing you can’t stop—death—calling you on and on.

  His eyes drifted toward the ceiling and lost focus, then they dropped and met Garfield’s. “I’m real sorry, man.”

  “Max,” Garfield said, putting a hand on his back, “we need to talk. But your family and friends are coming here to a surprise party for you. Given the circumstances, I think we should cancel.”

  “No, no. I need this. Go ahead with the party.”

  “Are you sure it won’t depress you even more?”

  Max let out a long, pent-up breath. “Dude, nothing will depress me further today.”

  “We have a lot to talk about.”

  Max nodded. “Yeah. After the party.”

  Garfield put his arm around Max’s shoulder, “I really want to hear what you have to say. You’re my best friend and I want you to totally open up to me. We’ll fight this together.”

  Max smiled at him, forcefully. He nodded. “Yes, Garfield. We’ll fight this.” In his mind he thought, I almost believe that. Oh God, please let me believe that.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  July 6, 1999 at 3:25 a.m.

  The “surprise” party for Max went on until midnight. All the way through it Max smiled, and tried not to squirm. His brain pounded him with thoughts. He buried them, waiting until everybody had gone home. As soon as the door had shut for the last time, he grabbed Garfield, shoved him down on the couch, and cut straight to the chase.

  He told Garfield everything.

  How he’d found the time travel book.

  How he’d consulted with the Garfield of Life I in solving the mystery.

  How he’d met a female Dr. Time and returned twenty-six years into the past.

  He spilled everything. Every detail. Every nuance. The friendships, the girlfriends, his kids, his career, his mother’s death and non-death, his exhaustion, and overall feeling of being demoralized and eviscerated by the alternate timeline. All of it combined led to what had happened earlier on the bridge.

  Garfield listened intently, seeming fascinated. He interrupted several times. At other times, he listened quietly, trying to peel back the layers of Max’s wild claims.

  Letting it all soak in, Garfield finally asked him, “Okay, so I was a journalist in the other life?”

  “Yeah. You wrote a blog.”

  “What’s a blog?”

  “It’s like a diary, day by day, or week by week, but you post new information about yourself or about current events on a website.”

  “What’s a website?”

  “It’s like a page on
a computer. There’s no print, it’s all electronic for everyone to see through his own computer from home.”

  “Right.” Garfield nodded. He kept shaking his head. “Wow. University degree and working in journalism. That’s so cool.” He quickly turned to Max. “Did I nearly go bankrupt in the original timeline?”

  “No.”

  “Was I making good money?”

  Max made a motion with his hand that meant so-so.

  Garfield nodded. “I better stay in real estate then. Much better money.”

  Max confirmed everything for him. And when he spoke of his family from Life I, and how he kept thinking of Angela and Brandon once he arrived in Life II, Garfield smacked his head. “Duuude! How could you do that?”

  “I didn’t mean to do it. Dr. Time lied to me. She said I could go back.”

  “You had two children and you left them behind?!”

  “I didn’t know it was permanent! I thought it would just be a small re-do, and then I could return. Had I known I couldn’t go back, I wouldn’t have toyed with the time travel at all no matter how miserable I was in my marriage. That could be rectified, but my kids… my kids...”

  “Why didn’t you at least go back in time after Brandon was born? That way, you could do whatever you wanted, but at least keep your children alive.”

  Max grumbled. “Dr. Time didn’t tell me everything. But going back nine years wouldn’t have changed anything in my life. I was already an auditor, Abby was my wife, and everything was pretty much set.”

  Garfield looked at him miserably, but didn’t say anything.

  “I thought I’d re-unite with them at some point,” Max said. Then he stopped and hung his head. “Now I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure of anything. Of who I am or what I’m supposed to do. I’ve screwed up and failed so many people.”