Conclusion: So what does Denise want?
(Do not read this until you have read Part 8, which you can do by clicking here. To read from the beginning, click here.)
“I don’t understand,” I say, which is the understatement of the century.
“It occurred to me that the yearbook was besides the point,” Denise says. “What I really wanted, as demented as this may sound, was to find another Mitch. But it couldn’t be just any Mitch.”
“Of course not,” I comment sarcastically. “It had to be a … a special Mitch.”
“You have his sense of humor,” she says fondly. “I had to find a Mitch who wasn’t … well, let’s just say one whose life wouldn’t be completely upended by my arrival.”
A realization strikes me. “Jeez, some of them might’ve been married to another you.”
“Even if they were married to someone else, I didn’t want to destroy anything. You were the first, um, qualified Mitch they found. A bit of further investigation revealed that I never existed on your world. So I figured this is where the yearbook came from, which made sense, because your universe is so close to mine spatially.”
I watch as an elderly couple walks by holding hands. It’s as much to provide physical support for each other as to show affection. “Tell me about him,” I say. “Tell me about your Mitch.”
“Well,” she begins, “he was a writer …”
The Mitch Halloran of Denise Myers’s world was everything I was supposed to be. He was a highly successful writer, first of novels, then of children’s books. The latter made him globally beloved by kids and their parents. His books were translated into seventeen languages and adapted into movies, TV series and interactive games. He spent the later years of his life traveling to elementary schools to do readings.
“He loved being around kids,” Denise tells me. “He described it as symbiosis: the children learned to love reading and he, in turn, by listening to them, got inspiration for more stories.”
“You never had children of your own?” I ask.
“Couldn’t. There was a problem with his … “ She sighs before continuing. “Anyway, he liked to say all the children in the world were his.”
I ask the question that hangs heavily between us, but for different reasons. “How did he die?” I hate to bring up the sorrowful topic, and I dread hearing about some horrible genetic disease that will likely strike me, too.
She seemingly reads my mind. “Nothing to worry about,” she says with a wan smile. “I don’t suppose this world has such a thing as mass shootings in schools?”
I actually laugh, out loud and so uproariously that passers-by turn in my direction. Denise appears to be rethinking her decision to contact someone who would get amusement from such a horrible subject. “Sorry,” I reply. “That was ironic laughter. We have school shootings on a weekly basis, or so it seems.”
She shakes her head, bewildered, I suppose, that such lunacy could be common in multiple Americas. “He died shielding three eight-year-olds,” she says. “The memorial park they’re installing where the school used to be will include a statue of him.”
“Jesus.” And then a bleak thought occurs to me. “What you wrote in the yearbook. You never actually got to see him in 50 years.”
She leans against me and I respond with an arm around her shoulder. It seems very natural. “No. But we had so many wonderful years in between.”
We stay like that in silence for a few minutes. To the citizens walking past us, we must look like an old married couple.
“I know I should accept what happened like anyone else would have to,” she says after awhile. “All things end. But …” The dam finally breaks, and she takes off her glasses to let the tears flow, her face pressed against my chest. “It was so sudden. We never got the chance to say goodbye, to look in each other’s eyes one last time, so say … what we needed to say.”
The intent underlying her words was becoming apparent, but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t misinterpreting anything. “So one of your scouts found me,” I say. “And now you’re here. What’s next? How long are you here for?”
“A few more hours. Then I’m scheduled for retrieval. But I can be right back. Literally. If you want me to be.”
“Permanently?”
“Or not. We can schedule retrievals at any duration, or not at all. But it has to be decided and set beforehand.”
I am not accustomed to trying new things, and she seems to be proposing an arrangement that has never before occurred in the history of, well, everything. I need her to spell out her wishes to make sure I understand them. “No offense,” I say, “but this is sounding like the weirdest rebound relationship in the history of the world.” I withdraw my arm from her shoulder and turn to face her. “Worlds.”
“If that were the case,” she says, “would you have a problem with it?” I hesitate; is she asking for some sort of commitment? She seems to read my mind again. “This isn’t a marriage proposal or anything. But I’m convinced that we would have found each other in high school if I had been here.”
Destiny, in other words. I remember how I felt when I first saw her photo in the yearbook. How I found it compelling. I tell her, “I’m not him, you know. I’m not beloved by anyone. I might even be hated by some.”
She touches my cheek and may be surprised to find it moist. “I promise I won’t try to change you. But I’d like to see what happens if I’m … if I’m with you. If Mitch and I don’t end.”
I sit there looking into the dark eyes of a woman who has altered my existence, who has given me a better life and made me a better person, even though I just met her. How could I say no?
What the hell, I think. I’m 68 years old. Time for an adventure.
THE END
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“The Concierge”–In Year 34 of the pandemic, a father and his teenage daughter wonder what life is like outside of the converted Stamford mall in which their community has isolated itself.
“Out of Time”–Can time travelers save the internet? Should they?
“Promise Day”–You can get great benefits from the government if you promise to die on your 85th birthday. Would you do it?
“Killer App”– The new app gives a whole new meaning to “point and shoot.”
“An Alien on Manor Road”–An otherworldly comedy.
“Anger”–What can one old man do to save America?
“Not Quite Dead”–Was dying just a dream?
“The Domino Theory”– A unique love story.
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The Upsizers 