by Linda Bleser
The room dissolved around me, as if the very walls were made of tears.
15
I fought the rise to consciousness, drifting in and out, blissfully unaware of my surroundings. I dreamed of many paths, many lives. Familiar faces wove in and out of my dreams, turning strangers to friends and friends to strangers. I dreamed of joy and sorrow, births and deaths, of loves lost and lovers found over and over and over again.
I was afraid to open my eyes. As long as I kept them closed, I could pretend that Bob was in the bed beside me, that everything else was just a dream. I could feel the wedding ring on my finger. Surely that was all the proof I needed that I was still Mrs. Robert Hartwood, wasn’t it?
As hard as I tried, a part of me knew that I was fooling myself. Bob was gone, everything was gone. The ring, like the poem and pin, had simply followed me to a new reality. For a moment I was insanely jealous of the version of myself that this ring actually belonged to. I thought of the engraving inside—Everwhen. Which everwhen had I found myself in this time?
“Open your eyes, Jenna. I know you’re awake.”
“No,” I whimpered.
“Jenna.” It was Maya’s voice, coaxing me gently into this reality, like a midwife ushering a new life into the world.
“I don’t want to, Maya. I want to go back.”
She took my hand, her fingers warm and comforting around mine. “I’m sorry. You can’t go back, child.”
I let out a long, mournful sigh, then opened my eyes. My first thought was that I was back in the hospital. The room around me had that same sterile atmosphere, with walls painted an institutional shade of gray. I heard the rise and fall of voices outside the door. Many voices. “Where am I?”
“You’re in a safe place,” Maya said. “A place where you can’t hurt yourself.”
“Hurt myself. Why would I … ?” That’s when I noticed the bandages wrapped with care around my wrists. I didn’t have to ask what was hidden beneath the bandages. “My birthday, right?”
Maya nodded. She seemed distant, as if I’d let her down. And I had, hadn’t I? I knew what was hidden beneath the stark white bandages. It was the truth I’d been avoiding all along.
Death.
I thought back to my birthday. The memory was vivid. I’d walked all alone to the cemetery and stood over my mother’s grave. I’d held the razor against my wrist, visualizing how it would feel to push the cool metal deep into the skin. I could almost smell the copper tang of blood, feel the pain slicing my skin, and imagine the serene peace of letting go and floating into the great nowhere.
But I hadn’t done it. At the last second I’d stopped myself, remembering my promise to Cassie. I’d flung away the unused razor and faced the prospect of another lonely birthday. It wasn’t the first time I’d stared death in the face only to hear the ghostly echo of laughter mocking me. I’d escaped this time, but death always wins in the end.
Cassie had found me there at the cemetery and taken me to see the House of Cry. I remember the way she’d watched me carefully, as if sensing how close I’d come to the edge. It all seemed so long ago. I didn’t even feel like the same person anymore.
“I didn’t do it,” I said. But that didn’t matter, did it? The fact that I’d chosen not to kill myself only meant that reality had split in two that day and the opposite choice existed in another timeline. This timeline.
With brilliant clarity I realized that there were no right choices and no wrong choices. All of our choices are played out somewhere, somehow. Here I was on the other side of that choice, my wrists scarred, my relationships destroyed. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve let a lot of people down,” Maya said sadly. “Including yourself.”
I rubbed the bandages, feeling the still raw wounds beneath the gauze. “Is this a hospital then?”
“It’s a recovery center. Your sister had you admitted for your own safety.”
A recovery center? Was that a fancy name for a psychiatric ward? I almost felt relieved. Hadn’t I always worried that this was exactly where I’d end up one day? My worst fear had come true. And only now, for the first time in my life, was I one hundred percent sure that I didn’t want to die.
I was almost afraid to ask the next question: “Did Cassie find me that morning?”
Maya nodded. “When you didn’t answer the phone, she came looking for you. She found you lying on the ground, your lifeblood seeping into the dirt of your mother’s grave.” Maya made a disapproving sound. “It broke her heart.”
My chest tightened, as if my own heart were breaking. How could I have done that to Cassie? I was no better than our mother. I had to make it up to her somehow.
I tried to get out of bed, but Maya stopped me. “You can’t leave,” she said. “Not until someone signs your release.”
“But I’m fine.” I held up my arms. “It wasn’t me who did this.”
“Of course it was,” Maya chided. “And now you have to learn to deal with the consequences.”
She was right. I hadn’t slashed my wrists, but the person who had needed to be here in this safe place. “Okay.”
I could do this. After all, I was a seasoned traveler by now. I knew the ropes, which pitfalls to avoid. I’d find my way out of this reality and back to where I belonged. There had to be a way for me to get back to my own world without leaving my alter ego vulnerable.
“Maya,” I said. “I figured it out. You know, about how the choices we make split into separate realities.”
She patted my hand. “I knew you would.”
“But one thing puzzles me,” I said. “If we live all these different possible life lines, then which one counts?”
“They all do. Every outcome exists simultaneously. You need each branch to form a whole life.”
“So it’s not just about making the right choice every step of the way, is it? It’s what we learn from the wrong ones, too.”
She gave me a smile of approval, like a teacher rewarding a gifted student. “There is no right or wrong, no good or bad. There are only endless possibilities.”
I frowned. “Then what’s the point?”
She ran a fingertip over my furrowed brow. “Oh, child. The point is to experience every facet of life to its fullest. It all matters. Every choice, every thought, every dream.”
“Even the pain and suffering?”
“Yes, even the pain and suffering. And the love and joy and moments of divine inspiration. Each separate branch is necessary to accumulate the knowledge and skills needed to move on.”
I settled into the bed, feeling disjointed. “I’m sleepy.”
“That’s the medication they gave you. Rest now, child.”
I grew drowsier but had one last question to ask Maya before she disappeared again. “Why doesn’t everyone get to see their lives this way?”
Maya tilted her head and gave me an enigmatic smile. “What makes you think they don’t?”
*
The next morning Maya was gone. It didn’t surprise me. I’d grown used to her disappearances.
A bright-eyed young woman entered the room carrying medications in a small paper cup in one hand and a plastic glass of water in the other. She reminded me of Cassie, sending a wave of longing through me. I needed to talk to my sister. I had to tell her how sorry I was and promise I’d never do anything so foolish again. But would she believe my promises?
“Is there a phone I can use?” I asked the woman. She wore light-blue hospital scrubs, but I wasn’t sure if she was a doctor, nurse, or orderly. “There’s a public phone at the end of the hall and a sign-up sheet at the front desk.” She handed me the water and pills.
“Do I have to take these?” I couldn’t tell her that I had no need for antidepressants or antipsychotics or whatever these pills might be.
“Doctor’s orders,” she said. “You’re scheduled for a consultation at ten o’clock,” she informed me. “If he doesn’t think you need the medication anymore, he can update your chart, okay?�
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I didn’t want to upset her, but I didn’t want to take the pills either. I’d need a clear head to convince everyone I was fine now. I put the pills in my mouth and held them under my tongue while swallowing a sip of water. I waited a reasonable amount of time, then quietly coughed the pills into my palm and slipped them between the sheets without any guilt. I was no danger to myself, so the medication was unnecessary.
Once I was alone again, I explored the room. It was a private room, more spacious than the hospital room I’d been in before. I found my clothes hanging neatly in a small closet. I cleaned myself up in the bathroom and did my best to make myself presentable. I knew that appearances were half the battle, and I wanted to look as sane as I felt.
I made my way to the front desk first, pleased to discover there was a nine o’clock slot open on the telephone sign-up sheet. I wrote my name down, then walked around to get my bearings. There were no bars on the windows or doors. I could see well-manicured grounds outside with winding walking paths. Visitors came and went, signing in at the desk. There was a community room with a television and game tables set up. This was obviously a high-end recovery center and had to be costing my sister more than she could afford. Even more reason for me to talk my way out of here.
When it came time to make my call, I was relieved to see a telephone book nearby. Just to be safe, I double-checked Cassie’s number. It was the same one I remembered, which was a good sign that I was getting closer to the timeline from which I’d started.
I held my breath, waiting through one ring. Two. Three. When Cassie finally answered, I released the breath I’d been holding and let out a long, grateful sigh. “It’s me,” I said.
“Jenna?” Cassie sounded guarded, but it was good to hear her voice.
“I’m sorry,” I said, although I was sure I’d probably said it a thousand times already.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, ignoring my apology.
“Better.” That, at least, was the truth. “You don’t have to worry anymore. I promise.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it was the wrong thing to say.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said. I could hear the hurt and betrayal in her voice, and it broke my heart. “How could you do this, Jenna?” Cassie asked. “You of all people. You know what suicide does to the people left behind.”
I wanted to shout to her that yes, I knew, and that’s what ultimately had saved me. I’d remembered my promise never to leave Cassie all alonely and had kept that promise. I’d made the right choice to save my own life. This one was the mistake. “I’m sorry.” That was all I could manage to say.
“I’ll come by to see you tomorrow, okay?”
I knew that despite everything she still loved me. It was a start. “Okay. But I just have to ask one thing. I know this is going to sound crazy, but do you remember the day Diane got married?”
“Huh? Yeah, of course I remember. You stayed home with me because I was sick that day. Boy, was Diane pissed.” I could hear the puzzlement in her voice. “Why?”
“Nothing,” I said. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. This was another sign that I was closer to my real world. But I wasn’t there yet. I still had to get back to the secret room. One more jump should bring me home. But a shadow crossed over my heart. That meant I hadn’t yet met Bob. “I love you, Cassie.”
It hurt to hear the hesitation in her voice. Finally she answered, “I love you too, Sis. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. I have a consultation with the doctor in about an hour. I’m sure he’ll have good news for both of us.”
At least I hoped so. I had a good feeling that once I resolved whatever problems I had to conquer in this timeline, my next shift would take me back where I belonged. And when I did, I’d arrive with a changed attitude and a renewed sense of purpose. I just had to get there.
*
I sat in the waiting area trying to convince myself that I would be able to talk my way out of here. I wasn’t crazy. Depressed, maybe. But even that seemed to belong to a long-ago life. It usually started in the months leading up to my birthday, the anniversary of my mother’s death. Depression would creep in slyly. One day I’d realize that I hadn’t shaved my legs in a few weeks. The dishes would start stacking up in the sink. Bills piled up, unopened and unpaid. I simply stopped caring. Every little thing took too much effort. Being around people was exhausting, and I couldn’t wait to be alone again to drop the charade.
But that was then, not now. And I certainly wasn’t crazy. Did anyone even use the word “crazy” anymore? There were a million different labels, letters strung together like pearls on a string to describe the many forms of mental illness. Not me, though. I was fine. I just had to convince everyone else. Once I was free, I could find my way back to the House of Cry and the secret room that would lead me home.
“Dr. Cody will see you now.”
I should have recognized the name right away, but it didn’t click. Not until I opened the door and saw a familiar face. “Parker?”
He looked up. “I beg your pardon?”
I shook my head. I’d been down this route before. “Nothing,” I said, taking a seat across the desk. The name plate said Daniel Cody, M.D. I should have been surprised, but I wasn’t. Somehow in all these divergent paths there remains a pattern. There are sacred places, people who are important in all of your journeys, and lessons learned despite yourself. Everything circles back—the right and wrong, the real and false. It all circles back.
I studied the man behind the desk. His hair was the same color as mine, but he had Cassie’s eyes. I could see my mother in his face as well. Why hadn’t I noticed before? I knew the answer. I hadn’t really looked at him. As usual I’d been too caught up in my own private drama to be aware of anything or anyone else.
He opened a folder on his desk. “So, how are you feeling today, Jenna?”
“Good,” I said. “Really good. Better than ever.”
He looked up and held my gaze. Maybe I had come off as a little too manic in my effort to sound sane.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?”
I could, couldn’t I? It was his job to listen to me, no matter how delusional I sounded. That gave me an idea. What was the harm? I was already locked up.
I leaned forward. “This is going to sound really off the wall, but there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”
He nodded, giving me permission to continue. “Go ahead.”
“Imagine if every time you made a choice it changed reality. If you go left, another version of you goes right. Imagine that all these different realities existed simultaneously.”
“The Many-Worlds Theory.”
This time I was the one taken by surprise. “There’s a theory? A scientific theory?” And here I was so proud of myself for figuring it out.
“Well, quantum physics. That’s not exactly the same thing. Isn’t that what you’re referring to?”
“Um, yes. Of course.” Maybe this wasn’t going to be as hard as I thought. At least I didn’t have to explain what I was talking about. I just had to convince him that it was true. “So imagine that every choice you make splits off into one of these many worlds. Then you’d be living different versions of your life simultaneously.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“So, hypothetically speaking, what if you were able to cross over into one of these parallel lives and see people you thought were dead, or discover relatives you didn’t know you had?”
His face gave nothing away, but I recognized the look in his eyes. I’d seen that same look in Parker’s eyes when I’d messed up the job interview he’d arranged for me.
“Oh, fuck it,” I said. If Parker/Dan was my psychiatrist, then he was obligated to listen to me whether he wanted to or not. I might as well get it all out. “Here’s the thing. About a week ago, I woke up in an alternate reality where my dead mother was alive, and I had a brother I’d never met before.�
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His eyes widened, but that was the only emotion he allowed to slip out. He was as stoic as his parallel counterpart.
“You were that brother,” I said, leaning forward. “In this alternate reality, we’d grown up together even though I didn’t recognize you then. I found out later that my mother had given you up for adoption in my own timeline. You were adopted, weren’t you?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “This is about you, not me.”
I knew I’d struck a nerve, however. “Look at me. Can’t you see the family resemblance?”
I tried a different tactic. “How many patients have you interviewed? Hundreds? Thousands? I’m sure you can tell the difference between a patient who’s delusional and one who is telling the truth, no matter how outrageous it sounds.”
He avoided my gaze. “I’ve also spoken to patients who invented elaborate fantasies to justify their behavior.”
“Well, that’s not the case here. I’m not delusional. I’m telling you the truth.”
“The truth is you’re here because you attempted suicide.”
I shook my head. “Suicide is the last thing on my mind. You know that my mother committed suicide, don’t you?”
I answered my own question. “Of course you do. It’s right there in my file.” I gave a little snort. “In my own world I always worried that I’d end up just like my mother. Turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, huh?”
He made no move to agree or disagree.
“But only in this world,” I continued. “In my real world I chose not to commit suicide. I kept my promise to my sister that I’d never leave her, never do what our mother did. That’s the world I’m trying to get back to.”
He leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin with the eraser end of his pencil. “So what you’re saying is that you want to go back to a time before you attempted suicide.”