Chapter 15
The bimonthly Second Take Anonymous meetings in LA take place just off the Walk of Fame in a Hollywood strip mall, which makes this the second strip mall I’ve been to in the past week.
By the time I’ve parked and walked inside, I’m so annoyed with pedestrians—twice, people walked into the street in front of my car even though I had a green light—that my nerves about the meeting are almost forgotten.
It’s only as I step through the door and into the sparsely decorated, dimly lit space that I remember I’m in a random strip mall, and I was led here by a stranger on the internet.
“Joey?”
I’m greeted by a short, squat man with dark-brown skin and a shaved head who looks to be somewhere near middle age. He peers at me with a curious, cautious gaze, as if he knows he needs to tread carefully lest I tuck tail and run.
“Richard?” I say.
He smiles, his eyes warm, and responds, “That’s me. It’s nice to meet you and put a face to a name. It’s not every day we have a new attendee.”
I nod, a stilted motion, and look around the room. There are a couple people standing near the pitiful refreshments table. A small circle of chairs is set up in the center of the room.
Richard watches me take everything in. “It’s not much—”
“It’s great.”
“It’s not,” he says with a laugh. “We don’t put a lot of thought into the ambience or food because usually, it’s us venting for two hours about our lives and how living doesn’t get any easier no matter how much perspective you think you have.
It’s not the kind of conversation that works up an appetite. ”
I frown. You mean this shit doesn’t get easier?
“Want me to introduce you to everyone? Or are you more of an observer to start?”
“I think I’d rather observe, if that’s okay,” I say.
Richard nods, tells me to let him know if I have any questions, then walks away to greet another man who just walked in. Feeling awkward on my own, I make a beeline for the pot of coffee.
As I’m pouring some into a paper cup, a new voice speaks up behind me.
“The coffee’s shit.”
I turn to see a young Asian American woman, probably eighteen or so, her long hair bleached to an almost-white lavender and hanging in loose waves around her face.
She wears a navy-blue minidress and thigh-high boots to match, and a long white fur coat is draped over her shoulders.
She looks simultaneously fabulous and comically out of place.
“As long as it’s caffeinated, I’m happy.” I shrug.
“I’m Kimiko. Some people call me Kimmy, but I hate it. So don’t call me that.”
“Kimiko it is,” I assure her. “I’m Joey.”
“Joey. Is that your real name?”
“Nickname. But I hate my full name—so don’t call me it,” I say, echoing her words.
“You new here?”
“First time.”
“No, not here—I know you’re new here, I come to every meeting. I mean, are you new here?” She gestures around the room on every utterance of the word here, and it takes me a moment to grasp her meaning: new to my second life.
“Three weeks tomorrow,” I say carefully, then I glance up and wait to be snapped out of existence. “You?”
“Wow. Three weeks. You found us fast, good for you,” she says, and is that bitterness in her voice? I think it is. “It’ll be ten years for me in December.”
“Ten years?” I repeat. “How old are you?”
Maybe that’s rude, but I’m too surprised to care. She has to be around my age. Did she start over from childhood?
“Twenty, biologically. But spiritually, I’m forty-two.”
I freeze at the realization that if she’s spiritually forty-two and she’s been here ten years, she died at the same age I did.
“I was also thirty-two when I—” I start. Kimiko nods, sparing me the need to elaborate.
“That ties us for the youngest of the Hollywood crew. Every other regular made it to at least their fifties.” She leans back against the refreshment table and scrutinizes the room.
“You met Richard. He was seventy-two when he died. You won’t hear him talk much about his first life these days, but he used to, and it wasn’t pretty. He never said this, but I get the feeling he used to be a hoarder. Don’t know why. Just a hunch.”
Richard is standing with two people—a tall man probably somewhere in his thirties with wavy brown hair and the widest smile I’ve ever seen and an even taller woman, curvy with vivid red hair.
The woman is, as far as I can tell, ageless.
If someone told me she was thirty, I would believe it; if someone told me she was fifty-five, I would also believe it.
Kimiko nods toward them. “Steven and Marie. Steven killed a guy in his first life.” At my expression, she bursts out in what to me seems like inappropriate laughter.
“Oh God, your face. It wasn’t murder, just manslaughter.
And something about negligence. Steven’s good people.
Tragic accident, but he still got put away.
Died in jail, came back, avoided the accident, and, from what I can tell, is living a pretty good life. He’s a struggling actor.
“Marie’s husband died when she was super young—like, twenty-two; they’d only been married a year—in a freak accident.
She never found love again, even though she lived a whopping ninety-eight years.
This time around, she managed to prevent her husband’s accident, and so far she’s been with him twenty years longer than what they originally got. Still happily in love.”
In that same matter-of-fact, blasé manner, she walks me through the past and current lives of the other attendees.
Trent, a blond guy in his thirties with tattoos over every exposed inch of skin other than his face, is trans and lived his entire first life in the closet. He started his second life on the day he turned eighteen, moved away from his toxic family, and immediately began his transition.
Next up is Noah, a buff, good-looking Hawaiian guy. Noah is a USC athlete, and judging from how he’s casually leaning back in his chair without a care in the world, he’s got the confidence to match. He reminds me a bit of Alex.
“Noah is the newest, aside from you. He died four years ago. He’s been pretty vague about everything.
I know he lived to his fifties, but it sounds like he didn’t really do anything.
He worked at a store. His best friend was his dog.
He claims he was ugly, but, I mean, look at him. How? How is that possible?
“And last, there’s Evelyn.”
I take a closer look at the woman she’s gesturing to, and I’m hit by a sense of familiarity.
“Why do I—”
“Feel like you’ve seen her somewhere?” I’ve just placed her when Kimiko explains, “Child star. Not a particularly famous or successful one, but she devoted her entire life to chasing the fifteen minutes of fame she experienced as a kid. All she got out of it was trauma and a coke addiction. She’s the only person here who went back to an earlier age than I did—seven, her first casting call.
Only this time, she made sure to bomb. She teaches fifth grade. ”
My head whirls with the onslaught of biographical information about these strangers. And the person I’m most curious about, after all this, is… “What about you?”
“What about me?” Kimiko shoots back.
“You gave me the nitty-gritty about everyone else in the room. What’s your story?”
With a mysterious smile, Kimiko shakes her head and backs up a step.
“Meeting’s about to start. Wouldn’t want to be late.”
I can’t protest because she’s already across the room. I follow her to the circle.
Everyone’s eyes are on me as Richard begins the meeting. He asks if there’s anything anyone wants to share. A moment of silence, then a hand shoots straight into the air.
“Kind of you to kick us off, Evelyn—”
Evelyn cuts him off and says in a high-pitched, nervous voice, “Richard, who is she? Who are you?” The second question is directed at me.
She turns back to Richard. “I don’t like strangers.
You know I don’t like strangers, Richard.
Are you sure we can trust her?” Back to me. “How do I know I can trust you?”
Holding his hands up in a placating gesture, Richard says gently, “I’m sorry, Evelyn, I should have explained.
We have a new guest joining us today. Everyone, this is Joey.
Joey passed the same test all of you did.
She comes to us as a friend, but I don’t think it’s fair to make her talk until she’s ready. Does that seem fair, Evelyn?”
Evelyn tilts her head, appearing to think this over, then turns to me.
“Do you know who I am?” she asks sharply.
“I do,” I acknowledge.
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen your movies.”
“I’ve never been in a movie,” she snaps.
“Okay,” I say easily. “My mistake.”
Evelyn nods once, apparently satisfied.
“Do you have anything else you would like to ask, Evelyn?” Richard says.
“No, I’m done.”
“Does anyone have anything they would like to share?”
To my surprise, the group moves on from that weird interlude with relative ease.
Marie tells us her husband is recovering from a cold and that even though having a cold is the most mundane thing in the world, she worried over him the entire time, unable to shake off her fear of losing him, even after all these years.
She talks about her children, one of whom just lost her last baby tooth, and starts crying as she discusses her joy at every milestone that she never would have gotten to experience had she not been given this second chance.
I find myself moved by her story to the point that my eyes start to tear up, and I have to rein myself in. This is all I want from my second life. Knowing that Marie has achieved the kind of personal fulfillment she never had the first time around, I feel hopeful for my own future.
Given how affected I am by Marie’s words, I’m surprised to notice Kimiko not-so-subtly rolling her eyes. And is Steven glaring at Kimiko? Odd.
I learn personal details of these people’s lives as they discuss things in a frank and open manner that has me continuously glancing up at the ceiling, waiting for someone to be wiped from existence.
But that moment never comes.