“I see.”
“You don’t seem shocked.”
“No. I’m not.” The professor waved his hand above his head. “The world of dreams is an unexplored territory. And anyone claiming to understand God and what he’s capable of doing has not even begun to know him. Dreams plus God can equal a potent combination for conjuring up the unexplained.”
“Then perhaps we were supposed to meet.”
“I believe that is highly likely.” The professor extended his hand. “I’m Thomas Shagull.”
“Brock Matthews.” Brock shook the professor’s hand firmly.
“Is that why you’re up here, Brock? To figure out what you believe about this man from the future?”
“No.” Brock shook his head and gave a resigned smile. “I don’t know if I’ll ever figure that out.”
“So what is the reason?”
Brock stared at the professor and tried to decide how much to tell.
“I came up here to leave a message for my future self. I have no idea if he’ll ever get that message, but I’m going to leave it anyway. Because the part of me that believes he was who he said he was wants to tell him the most important thing I learned from our talks, and remind him of that lesson. Because whether he was me or he wasn’t me, he changed my life.”
The professor studied Brock before responding. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, Brock Matthews.”
“Yeah, maybe we will.”
Chapter 37
MAY 29, 2015
Brock leaned against a maple tree on the campus of Seattle University. The sun was warm, but not hot, and he couldn’t ignore his longing for summer the way it used to be—with Karissa and Tyson.
What if Beth was right, and he had to stay in this time line for the rest of his life? Or worse, what if all his encounters with his younger self had all been in his head? Not only did that mean he was going insane, but he’d have to live with what he’d done to Karissa, Tyson, Sheila, and Ron. No, he refused to believe that there wasn’t a way to change things. But he instinctively knew that chance wouldn’t come till he talked to Shagull again. So in the meantime, he’d try to change the world he might be stuck in. And that meant somehow winning back Karissa’s heart.
He glanced at his watch. Karissa’s class would get out in five minutes. He tried to think of a line that would break the wall of ice sure to be surrounding her, but anything more than a cliché wouldn’t surface.
A few minutes later the door of the building opened and his stomach clenched in anticipation. But she wasn’t there. Just a few students signing to each other as they clambered down the concrete steps to the walkway in front of the building. Then more students in bunches. And finally, Karissa.
She pushed through the door, her concentration on a woman with her who looked to be in her midtwenties. Not talking with her voice. Signing. Strange to see a woman he’d known the majority of his life communicating in a language he didn’t even know she spoke until days ago.
As they reached the bottom step, whatever they communicated sent laughter through both women, and they looked at each other like old friends. Not surprising. Karissa was one of those magnet people everyone was immediately drawn to, and no doubt her students would be in love with her.
She wore tan boots with her blue jeans tucked in, and a light coat that flowed out behind her like water. There was a lightness to her he’d never seen.
Before he could approach, she turned and spotted him, as if some kind of radar inside her warned he was there. The lightness in her step vanished. She fixed her gaze on him, shook her head no, and strode off down the concrete pathway with her friend beside her. As they clipped along she pulled out sunglasses and slid them on.
Brock pushed off the tree and jogged after her. As he approached, Karissa picked up her pace. When he reached her, she took her friend by the arm and took a sharp right away from him.
“Karissa.”
“Stay away from me, Brock.”
“I saw Tyson.”
“Good for you, but that has nothing to do with me.”
“I just need a minute.”
She continued toward the center of the campus along with her friend at a fast clip.
“Just sixty seconds, Karissa.”
Karissa stopped but didn’t turn, her profile to him, and stared into the cotton white clouds overhead. Her friend lifted her hands and signed. Brock didn’t need to understand sign language to know the woman had just asked if Karissa was okay. Karissa nodded and made a quick sign back. The woman looked back and glanced at Brock, then concentrated on Karissa again. Another sign, another response from Karissa. The woman took one more concerned look in Brock’s direction, then walked away. Karissa turned and strode off, if possible, faster than her former march.
A few seconds later he fell into stride beside her. “Hey, can you slow down a minute?”
“What are you doing here?” She moved to the right to create more space between them. “You better have a reason. One that’s really, really compelling.”
“Can we have a cup of coffee? Just a few minutes.”
“What?” She stopped and whirled on him. “A cup of coffee? Why would I have a cup of coffee with you? Reminisce about all the good ol’ times?”
“Just to talk.”
“About what, Brock?” Karissa pulled her arms tight across her chest and glanced around the campus as if students or fellow teachers might be watching.
“Anything. Everything. No agenda.”
“If there’s no agenda, then you don’t need to talk to me.” Her foot tapped the sidewalk double time. “I don’t know why you keep pressing this. There’s no going back, ever. It’s over between us. It has been for nearly eight years. Why do you keep trying to resurrect it?”
“Because we were made for each other. I want to know what happened to us.”
Karissa coughed out a laugh. “Let me ask, do you think people ‘made for each other’ are supposed to stick together no matter what? Fight for their marriage? Thick and thin? Sickness and health? Or were those just lines on our wedding day?”
“Yes, they are, that’s why I’m here right n—”
“Really? Is that why you took that trip with Sheila to the coast while I still thought we were figuring things out, working to make things work? Before we even filed?”
The air was sucked out of his lungs as if he’d been punched. No. Impossible. He’d never have done that to her.
“I can’t explain this, but I didn’t do that. It wasn’t me.”
“This is going to be good.” She yanked her arms across her chest. “Let’s hear it.”
“That was a different Brock. I wouldn’t ever have done that.”
“Oh, your clone slept with her?”
“It happened in another time line.”
“Another what?” Karissa frowned and squinted at him, eyes on fire.
“Another time line. This isn’t my time line.”
“What are you babbling about?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but this isn’t my life. I’ve been shoved into this time line, but I don’t remember any of it because I didn’t live it.”
He stepped toward her but she raised a palm and he stopped.
“Good one.” Karissa shook her head. “Next you’ll be telling me that we’re not really alive, that we’re all just brains in a laboratory hooked up to wires that are stimulating our nervous systems.”
She whirled and marched away. Brock caught up to her in three strides.
“I just want to talk. Ten minutes.”
“No.”
“Five.”
“No.” Karissa stopped and spun toward him. “Not four, not three, not two, not one.”
“I need to try to explain what has been happening, even if it sounds like science fiction.”
Karissa frowned and pointed at Brock. “On second thought, I think you’re right. Let’s do it. It’ll be so fun. Should we invite Sheila and my boyfriend to join us, or just record the conversati
on so they can enjoy it on their own time? No wait, I have an even better idea. Maybe we can double date. Sheila and Rex can hang out at the other end of the coffee shop while you and I have our little rendezvous, then the four of us can go have dinner. Maybe catch a play at the 5th Avenue afterwards. It’ll be really special.” She reached in her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “Let’s give them a call.”
“My heart is still yours, Karissa. Always will be.”
Karissa jerked her head back and she blinked. “Shut up, Brock.”
“I never saw it. Maybe glimpses of what we had, but not like I do now. And I never saw you like I should.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” She pulled on her ear. “I said shut up.”
“And even though you’re fighting it hard, I can see it in the back of your eyes. The fire might be almost out, but not completely.”
“Then you’re blind.” Karissa pointed a finger at him. “Don’t follow me.”
She turned and walked away. Brock watched her till she turned the corner half a block ahead. She didn’t turn back.
He didn’t believe her. There was a spark, maybe dull, but he saw it. He had to find a way to dream again. Find himself again. Stop this insanity from destroying everything. A bitter laugh poured out of him. Stop the destruction? It had already happened.
Chapter 38
JUNE 8, 2015
Ten days of despair passed by accompanied by ten nights without dreams. What was wrong with him? Why was his subconscious world shutting him out? Brock sat in his houseboat on Monday evening trying to ignore the hunger in his stomach, not wanting to cook anything, not wanting to make the effort to go get food. Finally his stomach won out, and he drove to a Thai restaurant he’d found right after waking up on Lake Union. He had visited almost daily since then.
“Hello, Mr. Brock. The usual?”
Thai Won On had one of the cheesier restaurant names Brock had seen, but the food was far better than average. Plus, Aroon, who owned the place, clapped his hands and yelled, “Whoop, whoop!” every time a customer placed an order. That was strange enough to distract Brock from his current world if only for a few seconds. It even made him smile once or twice.
“Sure, the usual. Why not?” Brock set a ten-dollar bill on the counter.
Aroon spun on his heel, clapped three times, and shouted, “Mr. Brock takes a number seven, yah, that’s the scoop, everybody say it with me now, a big whoop, whoop!”
Aroon’s wife and their two sons joined in on the whoop-whoop part, and indeed, Brock smiled. Aroon handed Brock his change and then leaned in close to Brock’s ear. “You smile when we put in order, but never smile when you step inside. Sadness is on you, no?”
“It is.” Brock tried to smile again, but if he succeeded it had to be weak. “It’s going to work out though.”
“How do you know?”
Brock shrugged in response, which was no response, eased over to a chair along the side wall, and sat. He tried not to think about his fractured life and how it would work out, but it wasn’t possible. He picked up a year-old copy of People magazine and stared at Robin Williams on the cover. It didn’t exactly work out for Robin. What made Brock think things would work out for him? Because God was on his side? Right. Not anymore. Every trip he took to converse with his younger self had made things worse. These days he couldn’t even try. And making things better here in this time line was proving impossible.
Ten minutes later he pushed into the street door accompanied by the jangle of bells at the top of the door. Exhaustion hit him even though he shouldn’t be tired. Actually he had every reason in the world to be tired. He slogged down the street toward his car, eyes on the concrete in front of his feet. But a few seconds later his gaze was pulled up by a voice he felt he should know.
“Brock?”
The call came from an unfamiliar face, but the man’s countenance said they knew each other. The man was over six feet and wore his brown curly hair long. His eyes were bright and his flowing clothes looked like they came straight out of the Summer of Love. The man loped toward Brock with a wide smile and open arms.
“Yes.”
Should he fake it? Pretend to know the guy? Probably. It would avoid a lot of questions and get him home much quicker.
“How are you?” Brock shifted his meal and offered his hand.
“Well beyond what I should be allowed to enjoy.” He pointed at Brock’s bag and frowned. “What is that?”
“Takeout. Thai.”
“No! No! This can’t be.” The man closed his eyes, leaned back, and drew in a long smell through his nose. “Ah, just kidding. Aroon cooks a mean Thai dish.”
“He does indeed.”
“But you?” The man opened his eyes and frowned. “Takeout?”
“Yeah. Rough day.”
“Why not whip it up yourself? Twenty minutes, max. It would be better than this, I mean, it smells wonderful, but with your skill—”
So the man knew he cooked?
“I’m not cooking much these days.”
“Sorry to hear that. Any particular reason?”
“A number of different factors. Mostly just life, you know?”
“No, I don’t know.”
Brock let out a surprised snort. “The cordial thing when someone says something like that is to nod and agree.”
The man laughed loudly. “Do you recall that you and I got to know each other a few paces beyond the student-teacher relationship?”
“Um, sure.”
Had he taken cooking classes from the guy?
“Do you recall I’m not the best poser in the world?”
Brock nodded.
“Can you handle a serious moment?”
“Sure.” Brock shifted his weight and looked deep into the man’s eyes.
“You have real talent.”
“Thanks.” Brock looked down and tried to focus on the pavement, but he felt the man’s gaze boring into his skull. He pulled his head up and looked into the man’s eyes again.
“I’m serious. The majority of the folks who come through my classes are hobbyists, and some have true skill, but you? You’re a cut above. A few cuts above. I would write a recommendation to any restaurant for you. Don’t give it up.”
The man stared at him as if waiting for an answer.
“Life has gotten complicated.”
“Life is a tapestry of complications.” The man swirled his hand through the air. “You’re no different from anyone else. And the only failures in life are the men and women who stop weaving.”
“Good to see you again.” Brock shifted his meal back to his right hand and nodded. “I appreciate the thoughts.”
The man nodded back and walked off without another word.
Brock ate his meal while he stared at the ripples on Lake Union and waited for another dreamless night to take him. His next meeting with Shagull was still days off, and he fought to believe this would not be his existence for the rest of his life.
Each day that passed without dreaming was another nail in the coffin. His mind filled with the possibility that he’d never win Karissa back, but he refused to let the thought attach itself to his heart. He would win her back. He had to.
Moments later, as if on cue, the memory of how they met surfaced, and he relived that day back in ’85 when she’d stolen his heart forever.
Chapter 39
AUGUST 13, 1985
What are you doing on Saturday?”
The sun had just reached the midpoint in its arc across the sky. Morgan and Brock hoisted cans of paint up their ladders propped against the Quail Run apartments in north Kirkland. It wasn’t a bad way to make money for grad school, and working with Morgan made the days move faster. Morgan’s dad wanted him to work more than just at the coffee shop to understand what working for someone else was like.
Saturday? Brock had nothing planned. But the way Morgan asked told Brock it wasn’t a casual question.
“Going somewhere with you?”
“I hope so. I need a wingman.”
“For?”
“I have a date.” Morgan glanced at Brock before turning back to the apartment building. He pulled his paintbrush back and forth across the tan siding, turning it white. “Kind of.”
“I love ‘kind of’ dates.”
“It’s casual, not sure if I want to take it to the next level, not sure if she wants to, but it’s time to find out.”
“What’s her name?”
“Can’t tell you. Don’t want to jinx it.”
“How is telling me her name going to jinx it?”
Morgan appeared to concentrate on the wall in front of him and worked on it with broad strokes. “I met her up at Western. She broke up with this jerk in April that treated her like dirt, and we’ve spent some time together. Just friends, but I think there might be something there. We’ve been writing letters since school got out, and last time I wrote I asked her to go to the waterslides and she said yes.”
“Is that supposed to explain why you won’t tell me her name?”
“I told you, not going to jinx it.”
“Where is this Romeo and Juliet slip-and-slide encounter supposed to take place?”
“Up north. The Birch Bay Waterslides six miles south of the Canadian border.”
“And you think you need a chaperone?”
“Nah.” Morgan sighed. “I just don’t want to be the only guy there, that’s way awkward. She’s bringing two of her roommates. Three against one. I need to you there to balance things out.”
Brock dipped his brush in the can of white paint sitting on his aluminum ladder and worked on the drainpipe that ran up the wall for three stories. He’d be climbing to the top of the building before six o’clock rolled around. College kid dies falling off a ladder three stories up. Film at eleven.
He sighed and looked at Morg. Brock didn’t want to take an entire day to drive to Bellingham and back, or pretend to be interested in two girls just so Morgan could make his move on one of his classmates. He’d just broken up with Sheila and didn’t want anything to do with the opposite sex for at least twenty years. On the other hand, Morgan had traipsed along on Brock’s numerous female adventures over the years.
The Five Times I Met Myself Page 20
