CHOICES

The rain pressed down on the car, the road was dark, and the headlights barely pierced through more than a few feet of the murky wall before her.

The windshield wipers rocked back and forth rhythmically, drumming a regular hypnotic beat…thwwwwack, thwack, thwwwack, thwack, thwwwack, thwack…..

“Where you going?”

“To a friend’s.”

“When you coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about dinner?”

“Get your own.”

“Sure.”

She’d been just a bit sharper than usual, just a bit touchier; not that he seemed to notice. Their conversations lately were flat, colorless, minimal exchanges of information. Their lifestyles were respectable affluent, neatly organized, and boring. She had come to hate the routine, the predictability of each day – week – year.

It had been exciting once – marrying the handsome articling lawyer. They had planned and scraped and experienced and complained and had fun. They had laughed a lot and dreamed. Some day, he would be a politician championing the social causes they believed in. She would be doing something or other but most of all standing at his side, fighting for the causes with him.

The early years flew by in a blur. The children, his law career, the success, her career, and finally the politics. Everything they had planned had come true. Oh perhaps, the causes had changed a bit – but that was to be expected wasn’t it? After all, they weren’t back in their dope-smoking idealized days.

And somewhere along the line, she had begun to dread the dinners and speeches; the campaigns and traveling. She saw more of his manager than him and had recently realized she didn’t care. She wanted out without the tawdriness of a divorce. In fact, there was nothing wrong with him or the marriage per se. Maybe it was her – he deserved someone more committed to all those committees and luncheons, who would really care whether the pleats in her blouse lay correctly, and the jacket was the fashionable length.

The brake lights of the car ahead were coming up rapidly. Gently she pumped the pedal, the car fishtailed slightly then straightened. Slippery road – she glanced at her speedometer. She was well below the speed limit but was getting low on gas. There was enough to get her home, but she would stop at a gas station a couple of miles up ahead, just in case. The car passing was going faster than necessary in this kind of weather. The rain was no longer a bucket wash but still came down steadily. Kids in a rush to get nowhere.

Thwwwack, thwack, thwwwack, thwack, thwwwack, thwack……...

“Mom, can I go to the Club this Friday?”

It wasn’t a question; it was a foregone conclusion. What on earth was ‘the Club’! Never mind, she didn’t feel like going through the harangue, only to find out she was horribly outdated and uninformed for a really concerned parent.

The million-dollar family – a girl, a boy, and a cat and dog to round it out. She should be happy – at least satisfied. Both were handsome and intelligent in a stereotypical, hollow way. He was starting university, planning on law. At one time he had considered architecture and secretly she had hoped. He had a creative flair. Her daughter was finishing high school – cheerleader, A student – all the things she had wanted but never managed to be.

Yet there was no challenge or adventure in them.

“Why do you want to be a lawyer?”

“It’s a good profession and a secure future.”

Secure! Who cares about secure at nineteen! There was a vacuum between her and them larger than the generation gap. They were alien to her. She no longer felt like their mother but an interloper in their lives.

Something dark – she slammed on the brake. The car swerved to the left, she swung the wheel to the right, the left, then steadied and slowed. She had missed whatever it was but needed to stop soon. Driving through this storm was dulling her reflexes.

The gas station was up a bit further. She would stop – maybe get a coffee from the machine and fill up the tank. Strange, it was down more than she had thought. There it was – the station – closed! DAMN! She had forgotten it was Sunday night. Nothing for it but to keep driving.

Thwwwack, thwack, thwwwack, thwack, thwwwack, thwack, thwwwack, thwack….

Peter. She hadn’t thought of him for a long time. She had last heard from him – oh – well over a year ago. They had been friends all through university; had taken the same odd courses together – religious studies, philosophy, logic – though their majors had differed. And argued! They had argued with their profs, with other students and with each other in the classroom, in the pub and through all nighters in their dorms. They had dissected Nietzsche, Rousseau, and Machiavelli; examined the meaning and origins of life and redefined God a thousand different ways. How does a finite being comprehend infinity? If there is life after death, then what is death? What in fact is life?

They had asked the questions and grappled with the answers and written essays and asked more questions, though not necessarily in a progressive, logical, or even related manner. The only thing they had not done is have an affair. She was never really sure why not. Perhaps because she had also met Harry and was ‘dating’ him. Certainly, Harry always believed they had and probably still did despite twenty-two years of denial.

They had kept in touch by letter or phone or card. Every few months he or she would initiate contact until the year before last. He had disappeared. Technically she was sure he had not ‘disappeared’ but had moved without telling her. He had never done that before, but maybe he got tired of the twenty-two-year non-affair. They had toyed with the idea but never acted on it. Recently she wondered more and more often why they had not married. Probably because he had not asked……

Gas station ahead – open. She didn’t remember a station at this point in the road although she thought she knew the route perfectly. Maybe it was a new one. Didn’t matter, her eyes needed a stop and her tank was empty. As she pulled in, she noticed the coffee shop. A short rest, a hot coffee and she could handle the remaining stretch of road.

Inside the jukebox was playing. Hadn’t heard that piece for over twenty years. The rain dripped off her coat, though it had been a short dash from the car. Draping it across the next seat, she wrapped her hands around the mug of coffee before her and began to sink back into her self-absorbed semitrance. Her mind registered slight annoyance as the stranger sat down beside her – there were at least four other stools!

The curt glance froze.

“Peter! What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Wha…. I didn’t know I would be here – now!”

“Sure you did – you just didn’t know you knew.”

His lop-sided grin suddenly released her tension and swept away the confusion. A muffled gurgle of laughter erupted and erased twenty-three years of her life. She was back at university and they were having one of their never-ending circular debates and he was using his ridiculous smile to catch her off guard. They hugged, she wiped away some tears and stared at him.

“You’re just what I needed to see right now.”

“I know. You’re fed up with your life and want out.”

“Well. I hadn’t thought of it in exactly those terms. How the hell did you manage to appear out of the blue?”

“Same way this gas station did.”

She felt a tingly chill. The empty tank, the gas station, Peter, and his apparent ability to read her mind. This couldn’t be real. Had she wiped out? Was this the afterlife? She looked around – no lights, no tunnels, not even any angels or choirs…pretty second rate.

“Peter – what’s going on?”

“You want out of your rat race?”

“Yes – but….”

“Then, that’s what’s happening.”

“Peter!”

He held up his hand.

“Whoa…Remember those talks we had at university? God - life – death – all that? At some point we discussed the possibility that we – each of us – embodies our own universe; creates our own reality. According to this idea, we manipulate people, events around us so that rather than each of us being a minute part of the universe, the universe is part of us. About a year ago, I found this is not a theory but a fact. I’ve been waiting for you to catch up – and here you are.”

Her head spun wildly, and a crush of air exploded from her lungs. That did it. She had finally gone over the edge and was past depression into full-blown hallucinations. She was probably in a rubber room with a straight jacket and didn’t even realize it.

“You’re not going crazy. This place, me and now is just as real as what you just left – the husband, kids, and upwardly mobile suburban ghetto. You just have to decide which ‘real’ you want to live in.”

“Just like that huh! I snap my fingers and bingo I’m into utopia.”

“Something like that.”

“Look, we are not freaked out hippie students anymore who believe you can change the world with flowers…or a snap of the fingers.”

She clicked her fingers together to emphasize the last point then lunged forward to grab the counter. The entire world had suddenly tilted, whirled then re-solidified into a tableau out of a western movie. She was dressed in a full-length homespun dress; her hair neatly tucked under her bonnet.

Peter chuckled beside her. His rough trousers and wool shirt a marked contrast to the polyester and denim of a few seconds before.

“Not bad for a first try. I believe we used to talk about the advantages of pioneering. Breaking new ground, building new worlds without a government to throttle you at every step with its laws and taxes. Remember this one?”

He clicked his fingers and the world reeled again. The scene stabilized into ‘Star Trek’. They stood in their futuristic fabric extra skin suits. Through a view, the screen loomed the universe. She ‘knew’ they were on an enormous exploration ship. Somewhere in its depths, two other couples hibernated, waiting to take their six-month stint at the controls.

“Similar idea – different scenario. Which do you prefer?”

“Prefer!? I’m still waiting for the electroshock treatments to bring me out of this delusion!”

“I keep telling you,” he cooed reassuringly, “Reality is what you make it.” At this, he lifted his hand to snap his fingers again.

“Stop! If you’re going to mess around with my hallucinations, then take me back to the coffee shop and let me think.”

“Done.” His fingers snapped and, in a few seconds, they were back at the roadside gas station and coffee shop.

“If people go around jumping worlds like that, then what becomes real?”

“Maybe it’s like buying a hat. You try on several but choose one…. or something like that. You know what I mean. Hey what’s it going to be – us or your rat race” for the first time his face became intense, he leaned forward and took her hand. Her stomach somersaulted and she shivered slightly – not from the cold. If this was a hallucination, it was awfully damn real. She wanted to hold him and melt into oblivion. There had never been a time she had felt less like making a decision.

“What about them? They’re real – they exist, don’t they? I mean they’re not just figments of my imagination – are they?” As the impact of this thought hit her, she felt suddenly overwhelmingly alone. What if ‘reality’ was nothing more than a series of dreams by some monstrous solitary infinite being? What if….

Peter’s hand squeezed hers softening the panic. “I don’t know but I prefer to think that each person carries his or her own universe with them. When we come together, we mesh our separate realities to form a whole. Inevitably, unless there is perfect symmetry of the individual ‘souls’ one of the worlds will come to predominate. That’s what happened to you. Your world has been subsumed into his and now even your children’s. You’ve lost control over your reality. Time to pull out and try again.”

“Are you suggesting we’re symmetrical?” she grinned.

“Mmmmmmm…. could be.” The moment lingered, she began to drift into it, beyond it to another plane. No sudden lurching or reeling – just softly floating….

“Wait!” she pulled back reluctantly. “What about them? I can’t just disappear!”

“Why not?” You can do anything you want. Disappear and their realities will adjust. It won’t be the first time. Or if you want, create a substitute. Whatever you prefer.”

“Do we only exist on one plane? What if I did both?” she pondered lazily. “Hey what about me? I don’t want to be forty and I don’t want to start from scratch.”

“So, try eighteen. You’ll have a memory of your past without actually going through it. And this process will melt back into your subconscious, so you won’t feel constantly disjointed or on a merry to round. Come on.”

He took her hand and stepped onto the boardwalk in front of the General Store. She glanced up at her new husband and blushed. The shy, young bride looked away, back at the store, and for a second – just one moment out of time, though she saw a strange building with circular seats on shiny posts beside a long counter made from an odd material. In front of the building stood two peculiar cylindrical contraptions and beside them a completely enclosed shiny carriage on wheels like she had never seen before…. Just for one moment out of time.

***

The police officer rang the bell and waited. He was shown into a small family room, where a tense trio sat. The man rose and stepped forward. He looked at the officer expectantly.

“We’ve found her car. It was abandoned behind some bushes off the shoulder of a side road. There’s no trace of her…. nothing. Any tracks have been washed away by the rain. We’ll keep looking…”

“But you’re not optimistic of finding anything” the man completed flatly.

“I realize how difficult this is for you and your family. You fear the worst. But we get hundreds of these each year. Most show up.” Then he continued, “Some never do. Sometimes – rarely there’s foul play. Often, we find the spouse who leaves has been unhappy for some time. They don’t want to go through the normal channels – separation, divorce, so they disappear. When we check into their accounts, we find they’ve been salting money away for years – carefully mind you so no one knows – not even their husband or wife.”

“I see.” The touch of red in his cheeks was the only sign of his tightly controlled anger. “I don’t believe that’s the case here. Keep looking.”

The officer left. He stared back at the house and shook his head. They had to keep digging but this one … somehow it had the smell of one of those. She would never turn up.

***

“Mom, I’m off to the Club.”

“Mm, oh yes dear, that new place that just opened – dancing till two but no alcohol. Don’t’ stay too long. Remember you need to get rested for your midterms.” She examined herself in the mirror. An imaginary stray hair in her perfectly combed ‘causal’ hairdo was tucked back into place. She adjusted her jacket – just the right length for the season and tucked in the box pleats of her silk blouse. Co-ordinated, made-up, and composed she set out for her women’s committee luncheon. It was the first of many speeches for the candidate’s wife. She must present the right image.

Her husband was delighted with her recent renewed enthusiasm for her role. She went willingly with him to endless boring dinners and always looked exactly right for the occasion. If she seemed somewhat shallow at moments; if a certain spark of her personality seemed missing, he didn’t dwell on it. His agenda didn’t permit him the time for fanciful musings about his world and his life. He was too busy dealing with reality.