[2013] Life II Page 25

  Garfield walked closer, waiting for Max to reply. Nothing. “Max?”

  “What? Oh, hey,” Max waved at him, and then turned his attention back to the soap opera.

  Garfield sighed. He took the remote, turned the TV off, and sat down beside Max. “How’d things with the attorney go this morning?”

  “I filed for bankruptcy. It’s over. They’ll start the process very soon.” Max waved away his own words dismissively.

  Garfield sighed. “I wish you’d taken me up on my offer instead of going bankrupt, Max. You know you can always pay me back. Remember what Nathan did for me.”

  Max looked at Garfield for a second. He sighed. “Yeah, but Nathan was sneaky enough not to give you a choice. Smart guy. Sorry, pal. I can’t take your money. It’s done. It’s over. I need to accept full responsibility for my decision to quit medicine.”

  ‘Kay,” said Garfield, cocking his right eyebrow. “You know, your mom’s still upset that the deadline to finish your residency at the hospital has passed.”

  Max grinned and made a swirling motion with his index finger. “Whoop-de-do!”

  Appearing deeply troubled, Garfield stared at Max.

  “Hey, Garfield?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you know why I like this soap opera?”

  “No, Max, why?”

  A wide smile crossed his face. “Because I’ve never seen it before. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  Garfield extended his arms in front of him, exasperated. “It’s a soap opera. It’s always new every day.”

  “Right.” Max got up, moved away from the couch, and stood next to a clock on the wall and pointed to it. “Isn’t time amazing?” He grinned. “Sixty seconds in a minute. Garfield, stay here for sixty seconds. Just watch.”

  Max enthusiastically counted with his hands, briefly from time to time appearing as if he was conducting an orchestra, swaying his hips every few seconds or so. He stopped at twenty, out of respect for Garfield, who was staring at him with an expression of impatience. “Sixty!” he said. “Sixty seconds in a minute. Ever wonder why there are sixty seconds in a minute?”

  “Uh. No.”

  “Why not fifty? Or eighty?” Max started going tick, tick with his tongue very slowly, then stopped. “Or if it was a hundred—” He started vocalizing the ticking sounds very fast and consistently. “It would be so much easier to divide and multiply.”

  “Never thought of that,” Garfield admitted. He frowned. “Max, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, bro.”

  “Don’t you miss your kids? You haven’t seen them since Christmas.”

  Max smiled as if he had all the joy in the world. “I was with my kids every day for almost a year. I got to see the world from a kid’s perspective. When Kyle fell asleep on the floor, I would lay down close to him and just watch. I’d listen to the sound of each breath leaving him, and each new breath coming in. It was a great feeling. We played the swinging monkeys game together. And I spent hours holding Peter in my arms. It’s incredible how much babies trust you. They have nothing but love in their eyes.” Max began to tear up. “Oh man, it’s an awesome feeling.”

  Garfield nodded and then patted him on the shoulder. “You must miss them.”

  “Not yet. That year was all I really needed. I took hours of videotape of them playing. I could see how they smile when they see their favorite toys. I have video of them kissing me, while I’m holding the camera. I have video of them watching the rain. And Peter… Peter was learning to stand up, and walk. And I’ve recorded it all.” He said proudly, “I also have them throwing food on the floor during their snacks.”

  “That’s wonderful, Max.”

  Suddenly Max brightened. I am with my kids again, he thought, right now, in my memory. It’s not a dream, or just another rerun on TV. It’s clarity. When my mind drifts to my past lives, I embrace these memories of Kyle and Peter, and hold them tight. “Hey, Garfield,” he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about this.”

  “About what?”

  “The grandfather paradox. Do you know it?”

  “Nope.”

  “If you go back in time, before your own father was born, and kill your grandfather, how could you be born and then go back in time?”

  “Oh yeah.” Garfield nodded. “I’ve heard of that.”

  “Actually, it doesn’t make sense for you to kill your own grandfather. Let’s say you went back in time before your father was born and heard the same day that your grandfather just stepped in front of a train by accident. And boom! He’s gone. Dead. Erased.”

  “Yeah, how would you hear the news about the death of your grandfather as a young man, like it was live, and still be there?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Umm,” Garfield said, “I can think of two possibilities. One, time travel is impossible, so this scenario would never happen.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.”

  “Two, when you go back in time, you alter the original timeline. Which means you start time over again, but you’re almost as old as your grandfather. You continue. Your father is never born. Your grandfather is now dead, having died young. You just go on with life.”

  “Yeah, but… how would you be born, so you can go back in time?”

  “You were,” Garfield insisted. “The original timeline came first, when all three generations were accounted for…”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Then you go back to the second timeline. I guess you’d say time isn’t absolute, but can be manipulated.”

  “But wouldn’t that fly in the face of all logic?”

  “True. Which is why I don’t think time travel is possible.”

  “But suppose it is!” Max grew even more excited. “Let’s suppose you could only go back into your lifetime! Which means after World War II, Neville Chamberlain could go back to his youth, while he could still remember the aftermath of World War II, and then seek and kill Adolf Hitler long before he became powerful...”

  Garfield shook his head, avoiding Max’s gaze. “Hey Max? Where are you going with all this?”

  Max looked at Garfield uneasily. He grinned. The truth was gnashing at his brain, trying to get out.

  “I’m just having fun, that’s all.”

  Garfield turned serious. “That’s all fine and good, but Max, you’ve got to do something about your future.”

  Max laughed out loud. “My future? Garfield, there’s only one outcome in my future. Or in your future. Or in anybody’s future.”

  “And that is…?”

  “Death.” Max’s eyes flashed up. His eyes locked with Garfield’s, and there was a feverish intensity in them. What Garfield saw made his guts twist.

  “We’re in this together,” Max said, and grabbed Garfield’s shoulder. “We’re fighting the same war. And we’re all gonna lose.” Then he gave Garfield a hearty slap on the shoulder.

  “Max?” Garfield said, his eyes narrowed, all playfulness gone. “You’re creeping me out now.”

  He waited for Max to crack wise, to turn it all into a joke. But Max stayed eerily silent. All he saw in Max’s face was a muddled mix of confusion, fear, and something else that scared Garfield even more.

  Anticipation.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  May 27, 1999 at 3:12 p.m.

  Max was watching TV again when Garfield returned home from a real estate showing. Garfield could hear the sound blaring all the way down the block, and when he opened the front door it exploded in his face. He set down his briefcase and glared over at Max on the couch. “What movie’s that?” Garfield yelled over the din. He picked up the remote, and brought down the volume several notches.

  “Groundhog Day.”

  “Oh yeah.” Garfield frowned. “I remember that movie.”

  “I’ve seen it five times this week, and I’m studying the days in the movie where Bill Murray’s living time over and over again.” Max pointed to the screen, “Look! Bill Murray is
about to predict the plates in the restaurant falling on the floor.”

  Both men heard a loud crash from the movie.

  “There,” Max said. “He knows exactly what is happening during the day. Time just repeats itself over and over again for him.”

  “Sounds like a nightmare,” Garfield muttered. “Max, can you pause the movie for a while?”

  “Sure.” The movie was paused. “What’s up?”

  Garfield hesitated. He shook his head, swallowing back a sudden reflux of emotions. Max was sitting up, a reheated frozen pizza in his lap, the blankets piled high around him.

  “What did you do today?” Garfield asked.

  “Today?” Max glanced up to the ceiling to recall his day. “Well, I had five cups of coffee at the local café…”

  “Five cups of coffee?”

  “Yup. Just watching people. Letting time pass by. Letting time just pass demands sacrifice, did you know that?” He looked at Garfield blankly. “I watched a baby, curled up in his stroller, sound asleep. And I watched an old lady crossing the street. She had severe arthritis or something. She moved so slowly that the lights changed three times before she finally crossed.”

  Max watched Garfield’s eyes slide open a crack. He continued.

  “Then I went to the library. Do you realize I can get any book I want? I can read Moby Dick, or War and Peace, or Wuthering Heights, you know, all these books that mankind has always dictated should be read before you die.”

  Garfield just stared at him a moment. He lowered his head. “Did you look for jobs today?”

  Max ignored his question. “And then I slept on the beach for, like, an hour. Just savoring the smell of the beach. Hey, you know what? I think I should take up drawing again. I can be one of those artists who are always studying the scenery, you know, always painting what they see.”

  Garfield sighed. “Max, you said the same thing three months ago. But you don’t follow up.”

  Max thought it over. “True.”

  “I’m worried about how much you sleep during the day. You don’t seem to be working hard at all to find a job.”

  Max stared at him blankly. His bewildered gaze followed Garfield as he squatted down in front of Max.

  “Max?” Garfield looked him in the eyes. “Are you suicidal?”

  Max felt a rush of emotion that turned into hysterical laughter. “Suicidal?” he burst out. He stared at Garfield, whose lips were tight and pale. “No, no!”

  “Just checking,” Garfield said solemnly. He squeezed Max’s thigh. “Any time you feel you’re close to being desperate, or like you’re going to panic, just talk to me. Even in the middle of the night, just come wake me up. Anytime, dude. I’m here for you.”

  Max smiled at him. “Thanks, Garfield.” A peculiar little half-smile twitched on his face.

  “Max?”

  “I’m okay, you know,” Max said, frowning in concentration, thinking back. He looked at Garfield and Garfield could almost sense his neck hairs standing on end. “I’m just… changing.”

  Changing? More like running. Max took a deep breath. Running away from Life I. That’s all I’ve been doing. Trying to find a safe place, where everything doesn’t feel like a tragedy. Where I don’t feel hemmed in by the walls and my past. Where I don’t feel like a little boy poking his head up out of a bomb shelter after years of living in the dark. Max nodded, his eyes distant and lost. “I need to be alone.”

  Silently, he went slowly up the stairs to his bedroom and lay down on his bed. He tried to compose his thoughts. But his thoughts made him quiver with tight-leashed fear.

  This was your plan, Max, he thought. I wanted Garfield to check on me. To figure me out.

  No. Oh, God, he realized. That’s not what I wanted. I want to be sixteen-year-old Max again, growing up without worries. I want to be nine-year-old Max, riding my bike in the summer, feeling the sun blaze down and broil my skin. I want to be eleven years old, and trying not to stare at the beautiful blond girl sitting next to me in class, my palms sweating.

  I want to be fifteen-year-old Max.

  I want to be baby Max.

  I want to be all of these Maxes again.

  But I am doomed. I stuck here, in shit, and Garfield can’t help. I lack the essential belief in myself that I am all I can be. I’ve always been hiding, either by letting other people tell me what to do, or by changing paths.

  Truth is, I’m a coward.

  I’m so screwed-up that I barely know where I am.

  I have nothing—no career, no money, no marriage, no hope. I’m defeated in my quest for a better life in Life II. I have completely compromised my soul. I lied to Pamela. I lied to Garfield. I’m not worthy to be the father of Kyle and Peter. I caused my mom to die. I betrayed Angela and Brandon—two perfectly innocent children who deserved nothing less than the right to exist.

  I don’t deserve to be here.

  That night Max dreamed he was home in his old bed again, cradling Abby and his two children, humming a lullaby to them as they drifted to sleep. He woke in the middle of the night to find the room a blurring fog, and the shadows appearing frightful beyond telling—like somebody crouching in the corner of his consciousness, holding the body of a child in its arms.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  July 5, 1999 at 11:16 a.m.

  Today was July 5, 1999. It was Max’s twenty-eighth birthday.

  Staring out the window at his car, Max found himself perversely wondering what it would be like, if this was his last day on Earth. He imagined what would happen if he ever drove his car into a billboard. He was curious. Would the sign come tumbling down on him, smashing the roof of his car? Would it smash his skull in? What if he drove off a cliff? Could he build up enough speed to go flying off, into the great unknown?

  His current life felt like a cancer, and he didn’t want to survive.

  He walked into the kitchen. On the table was a note from Garfield. Next to it was a blue envelope enclosing what was very likely a birthday card. Max picked up the note, staring at it through bloodshot eyes. The note read:

  Happy Birthday! We’re going to celebrate tonight. Be ready to go at five p.m., buddy. I’ve invited some people to come (hint, hint).

  Yer friend,

  Garfield

  Max groaned. He thought for a few seconds, absorbing it in. Oh God, I do not want to take stock of my life. Facing people who have been disappointed in me, who believed in me but... He was so depressed. Garfield must’ve rounded up people who hadn’t talked to Max for years. Like Stan. Graham. David. Oh God, no. I can’t face them today. What if Garfield had invited my parents too?

  No, no. He was not going to face these people tonight. Nobody deserved the responsibility to cheer him up. He’d turned down Stan many times when he asked to see Max. The unthinkable, which had brimmed at the surface for months now, suddenly crept into his thoughts.

  The world would be better off without me. I don’t want to be a burden. I want to be erased. I have failed. I’m nothing now. I was this close to being a doctor, and I threw it away. I was too weak. There has to be a way to stop this pain…

  Suddenly, he broke into song. “Happy birthday to me....”

  Max chuckled. The thought of the song tickled him. Almost dancing when he walked through the kitchen, swaying from side to side, he picked up a barbeque lighter and flicked it on. “Happy birthday to meee...”

  He held up the note and the birthday card above the flame. The flame soon engulfed both the note and the birthday card, which he never opened. “Happy birthday, dear Max...” he was practically sing-shouting at the top of his lungs, as the note and the birthday card were ignited into leaping flames.

  He threw the flaming paper over his shoulder, not looking back. “Happy birthday to meee!” Imagining applause in his head, he took an exaggerated bow.

  “Thank you, thank you,” he said to no one in particular.

  He walked out the door with car keys in his hand. No, I can’t face my past tonight
. I can’t banter and chit-chat and bullshit with people, not in the shape I’m in. I need a break.

  He revved up his car. For a moment, he knew that he was going to do something awful today and part of his mind urged him:

  Get out of the car. Now. Get out, Max.

  His heart was beating very fast. Underneath him the automobile thundered, the motor racing. Max stared through the windshield with grim amusement, then shrugged. He shifted the car into reverse and drove down the driveway recklessly, narrowing missing Garfield’s lamppost.

  Whoa! That was fun!

  He whipped the car into traffic, and sped down the street. As he steered he looked around for a billboard. Something preferably with old-fashioned wood posts that he could knock over. He saw no billboards on his street. Aw, to hell with this, who needs a damn billboard? Why not that tree over there? There was a suburban home up ahead, with a plush green lawn and no cars in the driveway. There was a single large oak halfway down the lawn. The tree beckoned to Max. It spoke to him. It called out:

  Come hit me. I’m big enough to take you on.

  Why not? Max shrugged. He rammed his foot down on the gas, and kept it there. The tree zoomed up quickly to him, looming larger and larger. Max stared through the windshield, his eyes steady. At the last moment, he jerked his head back, closed his eyes, let go of the steering wheel, and crouched sideways even as he was driving.

  There was no crash. Not the crash one would mentally imagine in a movie. It was more like an enormous thud. Max couldn’t believe how much it hurt. His chest was in severe pain. Agony. His neck was stiff and sore. He rubbed his neck and realized that after the initial shock, he was still in full command of his mind and his body. The sharp pain went away and was replaced by a throbbing, dull ache.

  I survived the crash. I am invincible!

  Through the cracked glass Max looked up at the tree. He could see the trunk shudder still from the impact, the uppermost branches groaning, leaves tumbling down over him in eerie slow-motion. The sun was high overhead and it stabbed down into Max’s eyes, and his vision burned red. Max shielded his eyes, wiping the tangled hair out of his face. Then he spoke out loud… to himself… to no one. “I want to do it right. I want to go out in style.” The tears fell instantly as if triggered on cue. “What’s wrong with me? Why am I doing this? Am I insane?”