The Road of Life

by Lorena Franco

  “Hello!Howaremytwofavoritegirls?”Ajovialandhappymasculinevoicesaid.

  “HelloFrank”Mymothergreeted,puttingherwigbackon.

  Supposedly, I knew Frank. I knew him very well. But for me, eighteen years had passed sincethelasttimeIhadseenhim.AndhewasnotatalllikeIremembered...

  LADYBONNIE

  ThefirstthingBonnieLarsondidwhenshewokeupontheeighthofNovember20121,was checkherbankaccount.Justasshehadexpected,asifbymagic,themanyzerosthatpoorNora Claytonwasnowmissinginheraccounthadappeared.Shesmiledtoherselfandgotdressed with a tight black suit that she had kept in her wardrobe for quite some time. Carefully, she walked around in her brand new high heeled shoes, through the narrow corridor of her apartment.Shelookedlikeadeerlearningtowalk.Aftertwistingherankleseveraltimes,she managedtoleaveherhouse,butnotbeforeputtingonsomemake-upanddecidingtoleaveher thickglassesbehind.SheclimbedintohermarvelousandshinypearlwhitePorscheCayman, enjoyingthesmellthatthewhiteleatherhadfromitsnewseats.Sheturnedontheengineand thePorschebegantoroarferociously.Thefeelingwasverydifferentfromthatoftravelingby train,filledwithpeoplewhodidnotknowthemeaningofthewords“Personalhygiene”.When shereachedthecompany,thetwosecuritygorillaswhohadalwaysignoredher,letherpass while honoring her. She parked the car and walked up to her new office with a determined pace,fromwhereshecouldseealloftheworkersworkingefficiently.Justafewhoursbefore, she had been one of them. But nobody knew that. Nobody remembered. Bonnie Larson had disappearedforever.Thosetimes,inthisparallelworld,nolongerexisted.Fornobody.Inthis world,BonnieLarsonwasaveryfortunatewoman.

  “Good morning Bonnie.” Virginia greeted her happily. Bonnie ignored her, remembering howbadshehadtreatedherthedaybeforewhenshewasstillanobodyandwalkedintothe insideofhernewofficefeelingverysuperior.

  TheofficewasexactlythesameashowNorahadleftit,althoughhertouchingandhappy familyphotowasmissingfromthedesk.Inthephoto,therehadbeenStuartandNorastaring downatalittleMattoftwoandahalfyearsofage.ThefamilythatBonniehaddestroyed,the family that would never exist in this new world... although somewhere, Nora would still remember everything as if it had existed always. She wondered where Nora was, what decision she had taken after realizing that her husband and son did not know her as the wife and mother she had decided to be. She laughed to herself and turned on the computer. The moment in which Nora Clayton had informed them that ten thousand workers would be fired fromthecompanyneverhappened.Allofthemweresafeandsoundattheirposts,giventhat, in this new parallel world, the only people aware of the change were Bonnie and Nora; the previous executive vice president had never been there before. Suddenly, Stuart walked into theoffice.Bonnielookedupathimand,upuntilthatverymoment,shehadneverrealizedjust howattractivetheboss’ssonactuallywas.

  “Bonnie,howareyou?”

  “Verywell,Stuart...”Bonniereplied.Shedidn’tevenseemtobethesameshyandinsecure personthatshehadbeenforsomanyyears,eventoherself.

  “Ihavecometoproposesomething.”Stuartsaid,standinginfrontofBonnieandrubbing his hands together nervously. Bonnie raised her eyebrows and looked at him with her best smile,eventhoughherteethwereunevenandyellow.“Adinnerdate.”

  Inthisparallelworld,Stuartwasawidow.Hehadmarriedabeautifulmodelbythename ofLucilleSpencerwhohaddiedthreeyearsbeforeinacaraccident,attheyoungageofthirty-two. Widowing Stuart and leaving little three year old John, identical to his father and, therefore, identical to Matt, the son that Nora Clayton had in that world that had ceased to exist,allbecauseofBonnie’scurse.

  “Doyouwanttopickmeupatseven?”Bonnieasked,flirting.

  “Ofcourse.Ihaveyouraddressonfile,Ilookitupnow.”

  Bonnienodded,satisfied.

  “Ilookforwardtoit.”

  “Metoo,Bonnie.Metoo.Haveaniceday!”

  StuartwasnotthemanthatNorahadknown.Hiscareerasamodelhadbeeneclipsedby hisfamouswife,somethingthatturnedhimintoamuchhumblermanthantheonehehadbeen inthatother,forgottenworld.Helivedandbreathedforhisson,John,whowastheonlything hehadleftandhealsoworkedashardashecouldonadailybasis.Hewantedhisfather,who wasonvacationinRomewithhisnew,twenty-fiveyearoldgirlfriend,Jennifer,tobeproudof him.Tobeabletobelongtotheboardofdirectorsoneday,insteadofjustbeingtheheadofthe administrationoffice.Healsowantedtofallinloveagain.Bonniewastheperfectcandidate for that and for him. Kind, efficient at her job, attractive and elegant... Since she had started workingthere,hecouldnotstopthinkingabouther.Andithadbeenthreeyearssincehiswife haddied.Hedeservedanotherchance.BonniewouldbeawonderfulmotherforJohn.

  PARALLELWORLDS

  TheyearshadnotbeengoodtopoorFrank.TheBrownhairthathehadoncehadyearsbefore hadturnedwhiteand,eventhoughIalwaysthoughtthatgreyhairmadeamanattractive,Ihad toadmitthatFrankwasnoGeorgeClooney...Workingoutsidehadprematurelyagedhisskin, makinghimlookmucholderthanwhatheactuallywas...andnotpreciselysophisticated.He wastootanned,toowrinkledandtooworn.Histonedadolescentfigurehaddeformed,turning intoaprominentbeer-bellyandwithflaccidarmsbehindhisugly,wornanddirtysquaredshirt thathewaswearingandwithahunchbackthatdidnotsuithimatall.Supposedly,IsawFrank onadailybasis,andsoitmadenosensetogreethimwithahugthewayfriendswhohadn’t seeneachotherforalongtimewoulddo.Isimplysmiledathim,butnoteventhatfeltright.I wasinshock.

  “Nora,shallwegoandhaveafewbeerslater?”

  “Beer?”Ihatedbeer.“Where?”

  Franklookedconfused.

  “Don’ttakeanynotice,she’sactingstrange.”Momsaid,shakingherheadandputtingher handonmyforeheadagain.

  “Inthepub,asalways.”Franksuggested.

  “Well...okay.”

  “Was that my life now? Going out for beers with Frank in the pub, looking after my sick motherandpainting?Iwantedtocryagain.AllIcouldthinkaboutwasMatt.Aboutmyson...

  aboutmylife.

  “Ifyou’llexcusemeforamoment...”Isaid,walkingawayfromthem.

  I ran toward the forest and stopped in front of an organized and perfect row of trees. In frontofme,therewasastraight,darkpathsurroundedbythicktrees.Iwalkedtowarditand stopped.Ithoughtaboutthatemployeewhohadpulledtwoofmyhairsoutagain,butashardas I tried, I couldn’t remember her name. What had that goddamn witch done to me? What was happening? Returning to New York would be madness. Stuart and Matt would just close the dooronmeagain.ThepersonwhoIconsideredtobemyhusbandwouldthreateningtocallthe policeagain...Thesecurityguardsatthecompanyentrancewouldjustlaughatmeagain.AndI wasn’tevensureifmyworndownFiatcouldmakethetwohourdrivetoNewYork.

  “It’s a nightmare, Nora. This is a nightmare... On the count of one... two... three... wake up!”IclosedmyeyesashardasIcouldbut,whenIopenedthem,theforestwasstilltherein frontofme.AndIcouldstillhearmomandFrankbehindme.

  Maybeitwasatthatmoment,inwhichthebirds,completelyunawareofeverybodyelse’s problems, sang for me, when I realized that was going on around me. It wasn’t a television show,norwasitajokeoranightmare.Itwasreal.Strangebutreal.IwaslivingalifeIhad neverchosen.InsometypeofparallelworldinwhichIhadnevergottenmarried,Ihadnever hadchildren,
Ididn’tliveinNewYork,norhadIstudiedjournalismandeconomics.Ihadnot

  stoppedsmokingeither,IlikedbeerandFrankwasmybestfriend.MymotherhadcancerandI stilllivedinKutztown,theplacethatIhadranawayfromeighteenyearsagointhatotherlife that,bythelooksofthings,hadceasedtoexist.Ibutstillrememberedit...Iwouldfigureout therestofthedetailsastheycametome,buttheworstpartwasrememberingwhoIhadbeen, ofhavingchosensuchadifferentpaththantheoneIwascurrentlywalkingon.Wasitpossible that there was another ME living in my world? I shook my head at the thought... that was madness and way too complicated. I would never have named my son John... Why was he identical to Matt? That question would become my daily obsession, until I could figure out howtofixthematter.BecauseIwouldfixitand,todoso,Ihadtospeaktothewomanwho pulled the two hairs from my head... which was going to be hard because I couldn’t even rememberhername...Ididn’thaveanyideaofwheretostart.Iturnedaroundandwentbackto momandFrank.

  “I’mgoingtostayintheworkshop.”Isaid,lookingatthetime.

  Fouro’clockintheafternoon.Ihadn’tevenrememberedtohavelunchandIstillhadthe disgustingtasteofmom’steainmymouth.

  “Youhaveonehour!Beforewegoandhaveourbeers.”Franksaid,walkingawayfromus towardthecowsthatweregrazingfreelyintheclosedofffarm.

  “I’mgoinghome.Ifeeltired...”

  “Tired?Areyouokay?Doyouwantmetodriveyouhome?”Iaskedmymom,alarmed.

  “No, sweetheart... you work for a while. I’m fine and I feel like taking a walk...” Mom said,kissingmeonthecheekandslowlywalkedawayasifshewerecarryingalloftheweight oftheworldonhershoulders.

  Itouchedmycheekinshock.MomhadnotkissedmesinceIwassevenyearsoldandhad fallenoffofmybike...Inthisparallelworld,thiswashowIdecidedtocalliteventhoughI had absolutely no idea if that was what it was, my mom was lovely. We got on well... I had chosentostaywithherinsteadoflivingmylifeinthecitythatneversleepsandIimaginedthat shelikedthat.Thequestionwas...didIlikeit?WasthereanythingIregretted?

  Ilookedaroundtheworkshop.Themesswasterriblebutthepaintingsweremarvelous.I ranmyfingersalongthewell-definedtracesofeachoneofthepaintings,organizedbycolor.

  Greenandotherbrightcolorsstoodoutamongtherest...Eachworkwaslikelookingintoan enigmaticandmagicworldfullofcolor.Iimaginedthatthewindowthatlookedoutoverthe forest was great inspiration. A breath of fresh air that ran through my veins and caused my handstomakemagic.Iwasusedtotypingwhilelookingatacomputerscreenfullofnumbers, not this. I couldn’t even remember having studied Art but I did remember the fascinating journalism career that had opened doors to me meeting Stuart, and the boring and stressful economics career that had pulled me down for a few years, but that had later opened the highest doors to my father-in-law’s company. Now all of that was useless... it no longer existed.Ipickedupapaintbrushand,notreallysureofwhatIwasdoing,Ipaintedafewlimes onapaintingthatwasalreadystarted.Quitearisk,Imustadmit...Isteppedbackandlookedat it,surprisedatmyinnatetalentandnotreallybelievingthatIhadcreatedthatworkofart.How muchmoneyIcouldhavesavedifIhaddiscoveredthisgiftearlier!Icontinuedtopaint,losing allnotionoftimeandspace.Paintingmademefeelclam,peaceful...ithelpedmetoforgetthe worst hours of my life. One hour later, just as he had promised, Frank walked into the

  workshop.Hehadshowered,changedhisclothesandputonsomecologne,andsoIgathered thathelivedonthefarm,inthesmallcabinthatmyfatherhadbuiltmanyyearsbefore.

  “Ready? I have to give you some important news.” He said, I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and began to tremble. Oh my God... what if it was true? What if we were together?Ilookedathimfromheadtotoe.IwasnotattractedtoFrankintheslightest,noteven hisblueeyessuitedhim,andblueeyessuitedeverybody.ButnotFrank...Icouldn’tbe...Frank andI?No,no,no,no...

  “Whatnews?I’vehadenoughforoneday,Idon’twantanymore.”Ireplieddrily.

  “Hey! You’re gonna like this news... You’ve been waiting for it for years!” He said happily.Ilookedathimagain.Hewasn’tgoingtoaskmetomarryhim,washe?OnlyFrank wouldthinkitwasagoodideatoaskagirltomarryhiminapubonMainstreet.

  “Yougotothepub...I’lljustfinishuphereandmeetyouthere.”

  Franknodded,surprisedandobedientlyleft.Iwassousedtogivingordersthat,forsome strangereason,peoplecontinuedtolistentome.AtleastinKutztown,becauseinNewYork, well,Ihadbecomethenewlaughingstock.

  Ifinishedmypaintingfifteenminuteslaterand,outofhabit,Ipickedupacigaretteandlit it.Thefirsttokealmostknockedmeover,butthesecondandthethirdhookedmebackontothe evilviceofthenicotine.IsawthatIhadalaptoponasmallandantiquetablethathadonce beenofmyfamily’streasures.Mygreat-grandfatherhadcrafteditbyhand,whichmeantitwas olderthantimeitself.Thelaptopwasalsoold...simple,desperatelyslowandancient,Ihadto adapttoitand,inseconds,learnhowWindowsworkedagainafteryearsofhavingbeenused totheelegantandfastMac’s.Lookingthroughthefilesthatweresavedonthecomputer,ina foldertitled“ACCOUNTS”,Isawthatthesalesofmypaintingsweregoingreallywelland that,withtheyears,theirvaluewouldincreasenotably.Ihadseveralorders,toomany...there wasnowayIcouldmeetthemallatthatmomentintime,unless...Ilookedaroundme.Abitof organizationwouldhavedomemewellinthisotherworld...maybetheorderswerealready finishedandjusthadtobedelivered.Isighedanddecidedtogothroughitallcalmlythenext day.Ihadbeenthroughtoomuch,myheadwasgoingtoexplode.

  WhenIreachedthepub,Frankhadalreadyfinishedoffacoupleofbeersandasaboutto startthethird.Alongwithhim,Lisa,hertwinsisterJuliaandMatthewwerealsodrinkingand laughing.Theyhadalsochangedalot,andnotinagoodway.Whatwaswrongwiththepeople in Kutztown? Was having grey hair fashionable? Lisa and Julia had gone to school with me and, by the looks of things, they had no idea what hair-dye was. They had been beautiful as teenagersand,eventhoughtheystillhadtheirbrighteyesandperfectsmiles,theirfacesneeds agoodandintensefacialdesperately.ByhowMatthewhadhishandonJulia’sleg,Iimagined thattheyweredatingorhadgottenmarried.AndIsawthatLisapaidalotofattentiontoFrank andviceversa.Withahardsmile,IgreetedthemandwalkedovertothebarwhereKarlwas staringatme.

  “HowareyouKarl?”Iasked.

  “Beer?”Hesaid,I’dprobablythrowup.

  “Doyouhaveanypineapplejuice?”

  “Juice?Seriously?”

  Old Karl rolled his eyes and headed out to the storeroom, from where he brought me a pineapplejuicethatwasmostprobablyoutofdate.Angry,InoddedasIbrushedthedustoffof thebottleand,fillingmyselfwithcourage,IwalkedovertothetablewhereFrankandtherest werewaitingforme.

  “So...”HowcouldItellthemthatIwashappytoseethemaftersolong?Icouldn’t.“Frank, whatdidyouwanttotellme?”

  I knew straight away that him proposing to me was just something made up by my imaginationbroughtonbymom.LisastrokedFrank’scheeklovinglyandhekissedherquickly onthelipsbeforeturninghisattentiontome.IhadtoadmitthatitwasoneofthefewthingsI washappyaboutoverthepastfewhoursofmylife.

  “Mark’scomingbacktotown!”Heexclaimedwithasmile.

  “AndwhatdoIcare?”Iaskedinstinctively.Allofthemchangedtheexpressionsontheir faces. They wrinkled,
even more, their wide foreheads that they had inherited from their Germanancestorsand,withouttheneedoftalking,Iknewthatmyresponsewasnotwhatthey had been expecting. What had happened with Mark in this parallel world that I was just beginningtodiscover?

  ThelastthingIhadheardofMarkwasthathehadpublishedabook,andthatwasjustout ofcoincidence.IhadbeenwalkingalongFifthAvenueinNewYorkwithMattandIhadseena large sign in a bookshop that was promoting the new book written by Mark Ludwig. I could stillrememberthetitleandcoverdesign.Thebookwascalled ForgettingthatIForgotYou andIhadthoughtthatitwasoneofthestupidesttitlesthatIhadeverseen.Onthecover,there were two smiling children. The boy was holding a basketball in his hands and they both glowedunderaspectacularrayoflight.Inthephotopromotingthebook,therewasMark,of aboutfortyyearsofagewithanposingwithanintensestaretowardthehorizon.Onmorethan oneoccasion,IhadseenhimonthestreetsofNewYorkand,withabitofluck,Ihadalways managed to pass by unnoticed to not have the obligation of saying hello to him. I hated that man...IhadhatedhimeversincethemomenthehadthrownabasketballatmyfacewhenIwas abouttenyearsoldandhewasaboutfourteen.Evenbackthenhehadbeenanidiot...hehadn’t evensaidsorry,hehadjustlaughedwithhisfriendsandIhadgonehomewithaterriblebruise onmyeyethatlastedfordays,andableedingnose.Thenwegrewup,Irememberhavingleft forNewYorkand,bywhatIhadheard,hehadfollowedinmyfootsteps.Butinourhometown, we had never said more than five words to each other in the same sentence. We used to hatefully look at each other from a distance, completely ignoring each other. By the looks of things, the story in this parallel world had been very different and, even though I wanted to avoidhimatallcosts,Iwasdyingwithcuriositytoknowallofthedetails.