This Infinity

A few grains of sand weigh nothing in the hourglass of eternity.

But these hoarded fistfuls burden me. I cannot put down a single grain of you. Of what I have left.

I cannot bear to forget.

I press them into my eyes at night to see you. I beg to dream of you, even knowing I will wake without you. Even knowing my request will go unanswered by the fate that made it so. I would do anything to hold you again.

That’s why, tomorrow love, I’ll be the first human they send back in time. I volunteered. It’s risky, I know. But, no matter how things turn out, tomorrow I will definitely see you again. That’s why, please wait for me. I will make the world right again. Our world.

Do you remember, love, that last morning? I do.

You kissed me goodbye as you ran out the door. You were late; you were always late. That day too, but being late didn’t spare you, did it? It should have. I should have. I should’ve driven you to work like I usually did.

Can you imagine it? Me, on that beat up leather couch you insisted we rescue from that secondhand store in the middle of nowhere, and that TV—can you believe it still has those googly eyes on it? Hah. The news was so mundane that morning.

Well, it was.

And then it wasn’t.

And then you were gone.

“An unpredictable tragedy.” They called it. Who could’ve known the train would derail like that? All the hospitals within a ten mile radius were overflowing with “casualties”. Some of the bodies were so mangled they had to be identified with dental records. Including yours.

All I had left of you was that shredded bloody lump. The desecrated vessel that use to contain your life. And then I went home with a jar of ashes.

Of course, they wouldn’t figure out the tracks were damaged until after it killed people. Killed you. Of course.

But not this time.

Not this time.

~

“Alrighty, if you’re ready, we’ll commence the first human test of consciousness transfer across time. Remember, you’ll only have a few hours; likely four or five.” Assuming you make it, goes unsaid.

“Right, four or five hours, got it.” The chair is cold, even though I’ve been sitting in it for the last two hours. “I’m ready.” I don’t focus on what happens if this doesn’t work. I won’t.

The lab clears out as the various scientists and assistants head behind the protective glass of the observation area. They jitter, far more nervous than I am. Then the countdown begins.

At zero, tiny pulses shoot across my nerves, quick and chilling. All at once, it feels like I’ve been peeled from inside myself and scooped up; a weightless euphoria. I don’t know how long it takes, but suddenly I feel heavy again. Heavy, but younger, stronger than I am. The way I felt with you.

This place too, with morning sunlight pouring in, could be heaven.

And beside me, still asleep, is you.

You.

After all this time, more beautiful than you ever were in my dreams. In ways that time would not let me remember.

Tears smear the light and burn holes in my throat.

Even so, this miracle does not make me forget. I have work to do. You’ll be safe as long as I don’t let you leave today, but what about everyone else? And you, I know you would never forgive me if I left everyone else to die.

When I make an anonymous report to the police, the details I give are suspicious in their accuracy. It can’t be helped. How could I not know every detail of every failure that lead to your death? How could I let it go?

The train, the line, the exact location of the track damage, the kind of damage, the time the accident occurred, the number of people that died with you, the road you spilled out on, the weather that day, all of it…forever unforgettable.

Written into my bones, this misery.

And when you wake a few hours later to the smell of breakfast and the sound of the morning news, everything is as mundane as it should be. The reports are about a crisis averted. You’re relieved no one got hurt.

“Yeah. Me too.”

We smile at each other. I reach out to touch you, finally—

The lab chair is cold and uncomfortable.

This reality swallows the golden warmth of that morning. Machines beep distantly, recording data. Scientists approach from around the glass. Perhaps I would have laughed at them treating me like I might explode if I didn’t feel so utterly hollow.

They make sounds that are probably questions at me. I mumble noises that are probably answers back. Is it minutes or hours? Or days?

I don’t know.

Eventually I go home. To the place where you aren’t, but you always should have been.

Except.

This time you are there.

Exactly where you should be.

I reach out. You don’t disappear under the weight of my hands anymore. You don’t understand the emotions behind my smile, but you return it as softly as you ever did.

In my arms again.