Keen applause broke out.
“Right on, Max!” Jenny shouted out.
“Do we need a reason?” asked Max rhetorically, gazing in wonder at all the faces he’d known.
“No!” Selwyn yelled in support.
Max ended his very short speech with his arms above his head. “So, let’s get to it, let’s have fun, and get to know each other better.”
There were cheers; a few in the room pumped their fists in the air.
Just then, a mischievous Garfield hopped onto the chair, nearly knocking Max off his perch. With a wicked smile, Garfield shouted, “Come on!”, clapping his hands exactly once. He belted out a tune, singing badly, “For he’s a jolly good fellow…”
He then paused, and pointed to the crowd, indicating he wanted a volunteer.
With the widest of grins, Nathan briskly walked up in front of the twosome, and in dramatic fashion held his arms out wide. Swaying his head in a mocking way, Nathan sang at full-throated pitch, “For he’s a jolly good fellow…”
Whoa, Max thought, his smile frozen. Nathan can sure sing!
What other secrets has he been hiding from me? Max looked on as Nathan sang, once more drifting into the familiar feeling of envy at everything Nathan could do.
Inspired by the rich tenor of Nathan’s singing, the crowd joined in:
“For he’s a jolly good fellow… which no one can deny…”
Max’s face grew a bright beet red as the boisterous circle sang together. Stone-faced, he nodded as the living room reverberated with the sound of people in melody.
The song ended, and Max flashed his most awkward grin as he thanked everyone and stepped off his chair. He glanced aside at Margaret, who understood, and clasped hands with her. He looked down to the other end of the room, and saw something that he could only conjure in his imagination: Nathan and Garfield chatting with each other.
As Max let go of Margaret’s hand and waded into the conversation between the two former adversaries, he could barely repress his smile. This is a Kodak photo moment!
“Hey dude,” said Garfield as he playfully pressed on the lapel of Nathan’s dress suit jacket, “I heard about your marriage to Martin. Congratulations.” Five years ago, Nathan had married a stockbroker, a man named Martin Lebrun who participated in Calgary’s oil and gas industry by trading stock in energy-heavy commodities. The marriage laws had been relaxed and reformed in Canada in recent years, so now gays could marry. Max’d attended the wedding with Margaret, flying out to Calgary for that purpose. As he sat in the third row, he felt queasy as he saw the two new grooms kiss as the rings were exchanged. But he saw how happy Nathan was, and in turn, he was happy for his marriage.
Nathan flashed the same cocky smile he’d perfected back in his youth. “Thanks, man. You know, if you were a journalist, you’d write about it. Big news for the gossip column!—a gay doctor marrying a gay stockbroker! I’m gonna miss it.” He pretended to be downcast.
“Hey, it’s no Brokeback Mountain material,” Garfield said in a funny, goofy voice. As Max and Nathan chuckled, Garfield appeared to reminisce. “Boy, when I remember you from high school, I figured you’d end up with Miss Universe herself. What happened, bud?” He laughed.
Nathan showed that he’d become used to the gentle ribbing from others concerning his playboy past. “Oh, I changed. Happens to everyone, right?”
Max was amazed. He went up to his two best friends—okay, Garfield had the edge there, but Nathan was a close second—and placed hands on one shoulder for each of them. “Hey, guys,” he said shaking his head in mock disbelief, “what the hell’s going on? You’ve spent two minutes together so far, and you’re not fighting yet?”
“Hey, Max,” Nathan said in a tut-tut voice, “that was over twenty years ago. People change, okay?”
They sure do, Max thought, infused with wonder at irony of the human condition.
Chapter Eighty-Six
October 27, 2013 at 1:30 p.m.
Max looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He raised his eyebrows, staring intently at the reflection. He was looking at himself as a 42-year-old man. Wrinkles and all. A little bit of a rounded belly. A little less hair. Not too bad though, he thought.
He glanced at his watch. He hadn’t worn the watch for several years now, but today was a special anniversary for him.
It was the day he would finally be free of Life II, and make the transition back to Life I.
He had counted the days remaining. The anticipation, the excitement, had built up. He was like a little kid again, waiting for Christmas morning to come.
He’d decided that at 2:20 p.m., right on the dot, he would mark the time he had left Life I. The last time he remembered from Life I was 2:01 p.m., when he’d checked his pager before stepping into the Time Weaver, on the cusp of his fateful decision. Afterwards, he had tried several times in the Time Weaver to go back into the past. So he picked 2:20 p.m. to be safe.
He looked at himself again in the mirror. Surrounding the perimeter of the mirror were twenty-six photos of him, all stuck with tape to the wall. They were taken on his birthday, July 5th, every year. For a moment Max shuddered at the thought of the worst day in his life—yet it was the day that actually saved his life.
He glanced at the first photo, which was taken July 5, 1988—in the second timeline, that is. He marveled at how young he had looked, full of boyish optimism. The next series of photos—in the 1990s—showed him with very somber expressions, when he was friends and roommates with Nathan Symes, and dedicated to excelling in medical school. Max grimaced. Oh Jesus, Nathan and I were so dead serious about our careers, before we started to lighten up and enjoy each other’s company, he thought, his hand trembling as he reached out and touched the next photograph. At least he was so glad that he kept in touch with Nathan over the years since leaving medical school, and Nathan sure looked happy last night.
He’d phoned Nathan on September seventeenth, remembering his untimely death—was it twenty-six years ago in his head he saw that headline announcing his suicide, but was actually September 30, 2013 in his original timeline? Max’d casually asked on the phone how Nathan was doing, right on the spot. And Nathan’s cheery answer left no doubt in Max’s mind that he—or perhaps Nathan himself—or perhaps fate—had averted his suicide which had tragically ended the promising doctor’s life in the original timeline. Last night left no doubt that Nathan was very much alive and well—for now.
He glanced again at the photos.
It was amazing how much he’d changed over the years. The photos of him from the early 2000s showed him with a sad, wistful look. However, over the last several years, the photos gradually seemed to show him more and more hopeful. The last photo was taken July 5th, 2013, only three month ago. He decided he’d stop taking photos in this manner, as all these photos showed his progression through Life II.
Life II would end within minutes, and the dream that had taken over control of his life would be over. Seeing the photographs Max felt sad, a sadness that pressed against the back of his throat. He decided he would eventually transfer these photos to a laminated board, and preserve these memories forever.
As he stood there with swollen eyes, Margaret joined him, wearing a stunning blue dress. She massaged his shoulder. “Excited about your big day?”
“My God,” Max sighed, “you won’t believe how much I’m looking forward to this. No more repeating time. In a few minutes, I’ll be living life fresh. Unchained. Free as a hawk.”
She gazed at Max with radiant love in her eyes. “You’ve been through an ordeal that very few men and women could have ever survived. Twenty-six years of living your life over again. I know I’d have jumped off a cliff within one year.”
“No way.” Max returned her loving gaze. “You’re tough, Margaret. You could do it.”
“I wouldn’t want to, Max. I would never ask anyone to do it.”
Max embraced her. “Remember that discussion we had about saving Derek?”
“Yes.”
“You told me you’d never go back in Time to rescue him. You felt that what was meant to be, is meant to be.”
“Yes. Even saving him would not resolve everything. I’d still feel separated from my husband, as I saw how he walked away from me at my time of need. And if Derek didn’t want to be saved...” Margaret started crying. Max held her weeping face between his hands as she wailed. “What if… my God, what if Derek—what if he didn’t...” She broke down into a fresh round of sobs.
Max hugged her closer, feeling another teardrop slide down her cheek. Margaret composed herself. She leaned onto Max from behind and admired the photos placed around the mirror.
“Such a handsome man.”
“Isn’t he though?”
“Too bad he looks so tortured in about half of these photos.”
Max nodded. The two lovers stood in front of the mirror some more, absorbing the reality of the special day.
“When will you tell Kyle and Peter?”
“Never.”
“Never?”
“My past is not their timeline. They have a right to enjoy the one in which they were born.”
“So they can never know about their half-brother and half-sister?”
“No.” Max was certain. “It’s my burden. Not theirs.”
Margaret joined their hands together. “I want to share the burden with you, Max Thorning. Always.”
A tear escaped Max’s eye. “Thank you, Margaret.” He looked at his watch again. “Well. About forty-five more minutes to the countdown. Shall we drive to the cemetery?”
“Let’s.”
Dark clouds rolled by as they drove. As he steered the car, Max looked over at his wife, feeling the tenderest of aches in her eyes. Max knew he was a good man, in her eyes. She loved him, and if she loved him he was good—which Max would never have thought possible, when he married Abby. He didn’t need to torture himself with thoughts about his wife in Life I, and whether he’d failed her. He saw Margaret sitting beside him in their car, her chin trembling trying to hold back the tears, and that said it all.
Max parked his car at the far side of the cemetery. It took them five minutes to walk to the two locations they were looking for.
Their focus was on three tombstones. One was made over ten years ago, and stood under a leafy sycamore tree in the west corner. The other two, side by side in another location, were made yesterday. They found they could step back and see all three tombstones at the same time.
The first tombstone read:
Xiao (“Derek”) Chong
March 13, 1982 – September 1, 1999
Rest in Peace
The twinned tombstones read:
Angela Emilia Thorning
January 21, 2001 –
Brandon Thomas Thorning
December 4, 2003 –
Max’s hand tightened around Margaret’s, as they stood in the empty cemetery. Finally Max felt the grief worming its way through his chest, and broke down crying. He sobbed and sobbed. Margaret cuddled him, comforting him.
“I can’t bear this!” Max wailed to the sky. “What have I done?”
“It’s okay, Max. Let it go.”
The couple held each other, neither one wanting to let go. Max tried to find the words, finally having no idea where they came from.
“Margaret?”
“Yes?”
“When I first told you I was from the future, how is it that you believed me?”
“I confess I wasn’t ready to believe all of it.”
“Really?”
“I needed time. It took me a few years to get the whole picture, but I fully believe you now.”
“Will you visit Dr. Time with me?”
“I’d love to.”
“Thank you, Margaret,” Max sniffled. They looked at the tombstones again, absorbing the enormity of their future together.
“Next month I’ll put in the dates,” Max said, nodding at the unfinished graves of Brandon and Angela.
Margaret nodded. They’d already discussed putting “October 27, 2013” on both tombstones, thus indicating the end of both his children’s lifespans, but agreed that doing it too soon would arouse suspicion. Next month would be fine.
Max turned from the graves to the grassy hillside. Sometimes when they’d come Max had wanted to stay here all night. He felt a hush fall over the cemetery, a rumbling stillness that left him feeling more clearheaded. He kissed Margaret on the forehead and said, “I think I need to be alone.”
Margaret nodded. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait by the car.”
Max paced around the graveyard and then down the street to a city park. Along the way, he reflected on his experiences in Life II.
He had already computed the calculations at least twenty-five times throughout his lifetime. He knew the numbers would never change, as long as he stayed away from the Time Weaver.
He had lived forty-two years and one hundred and fourteen days during Life I, from the date of his birth, July 5, 1971, to the day he left his original life, today, October 27, 2013.
He’d lived twenty-six years and forty-one days during Life II, from September 16, 1987, to October 27, 2013.
He’d lived five days during Life III, from April 26, 1997, to May 1, 1997. That short detour was weird. During these five days, he’d been walking through a daze, and had huge fights with Pamela and Nathan; these squabbles irrevocably altered his resumption of Life II. Still, he didn’t regret the turn of events that had transpired in that brutal, truncated timeline.
Imagine living through Life IV. Shit. Never.
Totaling all that together meant he’d lived a cumulative life of 68 years and 160 days. Many men that age would already be dead. And yet, people would look at him and consider him middle-aged and in the prime of his life. On the inside, mentally, he felt like a 68-year-old. He had to constantly fight the ravages on his mind, and keep looking forward to a new day.
He had Margaret and Garfield, who believed in him, and supported him.
Without them, I would be dead by now.
And yes, his mom still had that tombstone in that Vancouver cemetery, diligently awaiting news of her future death. No one expected it to be anytime soon. Max and his mother were still very close.
As of October 27, 2013, Max has not seen—to his memory—the female Dr. Time again since his first departure from Time.
His dreams were no longer bad.
Max strolled around a playground at the other end of the city park. Even before he approached the playground, he heard the laughs and shouts of small children running around. He came into view, and saw the kids jumping and crawling and swinging and climbing. His chest fluttering, Max temporarily blocked the pain of remembering the past and instead thought about the four words that had been revolving around in his head since birth.
Death. Renewal. Hope. Suicide.
Suicide…
Max suddenly felt the weight of that word sink in deep. He’d been devastated by his suicide attempt over the years. He’d lived three lives, and still been this dupe, this dope, who kept making the same mistakes over and over. But he smartened up, and started spinning the virtuous cycle of hope and strength years ago. Alone, he wasn’t enough. There were so many victims out there, who were without that spark of hope, impaired by the soul-sucking void of mental illness. So many people suffering from depression and mental illness had lost their homes, had walked out of their families, and had committed the ultimate surrender—suicide.
He’d used his future knowledge to fork over money to that college kid, Mark Zuckerberg, back in September 2004. He’d made nearly ten million from selling his shares in the kid’s company a year ago, when Mark’s little venture called Facebook went public. That’s when Max vowed to put the money into mental illness, funneling it all into a trust account, ready for a yet-to-be-established charitable foundation, one that would be devoted to battling suicide.
As somebody thankful for second
chances, it seemed like the right thing to do.
He’d been waiting for the right time to tell Margaret. Maybe he should have told her, from the start. She had so much faith in him.
It’s not too late, Max thought, as he leaned back against the brick park wall, a steady stream of people passing by him on the sidewalk. His eyes swept by the coolers and the picnic baskets and the laughing children. Suddenly it hit him—he’d forgotten to check his watch! It now read 2:34 p.m. He had missed observing his own appointed anniversary. He shrugged.
A harried young, bespectacled father in the playground saw Max looking at his watch. “Excuse me,” he said to Max, “Do you have the time?”
Max laughed out loud, startling the man. “Do I have the time?” he asked. “I’ve got lots of time.” He told the man that it was thirty-five minutes after two, and the man thanked him.
Max smiled. His smile broadened. He started to retrace his steps up the hill, back to the waiting Margaret. He saw her standing and waving to him from the parking lot. Max started to run a little faster. He’d tell Margaret now, he decided, looking back at the tombstones of their three children as he raced past. He’d say it like, “It’s all for them, for you, for me, all in the memory of Angela and Brandon and Derek.” He’d name it the Angela and Brandon Foundation. Man, won’t Margaret be surprised! Max realized as he raced out of the cemetery, scurrying past the other people up to his wife. He felt at peace, realizing there was no more reason to wait, that tonight’s the night, he’d tell her. Tonight, Max thought, smiling like mad, I’ll tell my baby tonight. While there was still time.
If you enjoyed this book, you may like the sequel...
Bridge Through Time
Bridge Through Time is the sequel to Spotson's successful debut novel, Life II. Max's son, Dr. Kyle Thorning, is now a high particle physicist at CERN in Switzerland. Meanwhile, after First Contact, powerful aliens with four arms and four legs, named Darsians, are taking control of the planet, with the muted subservience of its human population due to the astounding technological advances that the aliens introduce. Kyle has a powerful weapon—a new Time Travel machine—and must decide to travel to his father's old parallel universe, where he doesn't even exist, or confront the aliens in his home universe.
[2013] Life II Page 33