Again
A brief story about love, time, and the universe.
Being one of many, yet one of a few in the grand scope of the world, who are from the first and last generation, my perspective is unique. As someone who was once moving in the traditional sense of forward, I witnessed the halt of the universe’s expansion, and now live my life in reverse. I am one of 8.3 billion people who exist during this particular timeline, and have a memory before the universe began its slow collapse.
We have been adjusting to this new normal for a mere six months. During this short increment, we’ve learned that those who come to life after dying have no memory of their previous existence as they stumble into their routines backwards, blissfully unaware that life was always and never like this.
It is only the people who were around for the exact moment the universe started shrinking who can recall their previous lives, which will be relived again to either one’s delight or horror. We mourn the offspring who take their last breaths while they disappear into their mothers. We stand powerless as past tragedies occur again and horrible mistakes are remade. Our knowledge dwindles with our age, but the memory of a half-life lived remains sharp.
•
I am falling in love with him again, and as he appears at the door he once swore he would never re-enter, the pain of heartbreak encompasses my being. This day will be excruciating, ending with an anticipated anxious conversation and beginning many nights of missed sleep. When he tells me he’s leaving, I see myself inhaling the spit away from his face as my words escape me, and I’m Neanderthal-like and beastly. Out of control, I brace myself as he says her name. I swallow my own vomit as I hear the words “We need to talk.”
As I powerlessly beg him to reconsider, trying desperately to stop the affair, I know it is for nothing. It will continue. I see my reflection in his glasses, noticing the dark circles under my eyes. I will suffer until their introduction, when he meets her at a bar, and then it will be over. He says her name, Bree, and the sound of it sticks like snot to the edge of my eardrum like the first time, though, in this reality, I have heard it over and over again.
It took time for us to fall apart, and it will take as long to put us together. Knowing about the affair and having to live with it for four and a half years seems insurmountable, and I comfort myself with the anticipation of our early relationship. The middle was not so terrible either, though I will still embarrass him at his office holiday party and back the car into the tree in the yard, despite my fruitless efforts. My inner optimist hopes that, since we already know each other, it will feel kinder this time around. I cry in preparation for the last time I will see him- a handsome stranger at the coffee shop asking me to pass the sugar.
•
There are moments I will have forgotten about, and life will somehow continue to surprise me. I eagerly await my parents, both near on the horizon. On sleepless nights, I ruminate on their deaths without the sorrow, for I will see them blossom into old age and grow into my youthful mother and father, adventurous and kind. I wonder if our relationship will be different, with the child holding more knowledge than the parents, but seeing similar situations since time’s reversal, it’s evident that events fall into place. We cannot change the past, after all.
I am wrapping my head around knowing the exact moment I will no longer be alive, and I like the idea of being a toddler with an undeveloped brain, ignorant and happy. Time has protected us from being too aware of the end, with babies’ brains running on instinct, animalistic in infancy.
I am worried about being under the age of ten again, that this childhood will be dark. It may be difficult to see my mother preparing to end my life in her body. I can’t imagine her taking me from her breast, the trip to the midwife and doula, and then her belly shrinking as I’m engulfed within her, month by month. My solace is the fact that my childhood will be a joyful one, and that love will help guide and lighten my passing for my parents.
•
Because it is impossible to erase my love for him, our relationship will envelop me until the day we meet. Each night, I will lie with him, despite what I know, until the sun goes down and the evening begins. I have managed to become numb. I have insomnia, and it won’t stop until I am no longer suspicious. I eagerly await the afternoon when I hear her voice in the background on the phone. He will actually have the gall to shush her and deny that he is with anyone at all, let alone another woman. Once this happens, I can be happy again.
This is what life has in store for me and my generation. I am luckier than others. The universe’s collapse, coinciding with my forty-fifth year, guarantees me a ninety-year-long life. Knowing nothing changes, I want to take good advice. I don’t want to worry about the future or obsess about the past. I want to pay more attention in college this time. And I hope I can somehow find a way to stand up to the bullies in middle school.
Truthfully, I flinch at the thought of this elderly puberty, and am extraordinarily thankful for what lies at the very end. During my final years, I will feel the warmth, safety, and love of my mother and father. I will sleep in my childhood bed smelling of clean sheets in a cozy house. Even with the heartache that awaits, I cannot fathom a more peaceful ending to such a uniquely timed life.