Chapter 15 #3
“Technically, it’s two theories. And everyone here except Joey has heard them already.
” He pivots toward me so I’m his sole focus and says, “The first theory is this: Everyone who got a second chance at life in our previous reality has been moved to this new reality with us. The only problem is, were that true, this world should be vastly different from the last one, since so many people are using the knowledge they gained from that first go-around to get ahead in this timeline. And, sure, there are small differences in the world between our last lives and this one, but nothing large-scale.”
I open my mouth to ask what those small differences are, because I haven’t noticed any, but then Trent speaks, and before I know it, the window for asking has passed.
“Yeah, you said something once about the butterfly effect. How even one person reliving their life in the 1800s should completely change what things look like in the present.”
“Exactly.” Noah smiles at Trent like a proud teacher.
Trent doesn’t smile back. “So think about it in the reverse. Let’s say Bill Gates was living his second life during your first life.
That’s why he was able to get so filthy rich, right?
But then, what’s going on with Bill during your second life?
Is he on his third? Or is he just a carbon copy of himself from his second life?
“My second theory is this: There are infinite realities. Infinite versions of us. Yes, my consciousness exists on this plane, but there are other versions of me out there. And when people get their second chances, some of them go here to this plane, but others go to another. There could be infinite versions of your friend who developed her addiction. And infinite versions who recovered. Infinite versions who might have needed and taken that second chance—and infinite versions who never became addicts to begin with. We have no way of knowing which version of her exists in this timeline, so you might as well proceed as you normally would. Be a good friend. Look out for warning signs. Do your best. But don’t beat yourself up if things go haywire, because in the grand, complex scheme of the multiverse, you have very little control. ”
He stops speaking, offers me a tight smile, then turns to glance at the rest of the group as if waiting for them to pick his words apart.
“I feel like that was your very smart, intellectual way of saying that you’re Team Solipsism too. So that makes three,” Kimiko says, leaning back in her chair and looking smug.
Steven clears his throat and adds, “I don’t know about solipsism.
But what I will say is that I think the difference between the happiest way our lives could go and the saddest is a much finer line than we like to think.
A couple decisions. A matter of seconds.
Tiny moments that add up to a completely different life.
You might change your friend’s future simply by nature of the ways in which you’re going to act differently. For better or worse.”
“Do you want my advice?” Marie asks.
“I want everyone’s advice,” I say diplomatically.
“You have to open yourself up to new experiences. If you keep focusing on your past life, you’re only inviting disappointment.
You’re here for many reasons—one of which is to find the happiness that eluded you in your first life.
” A pointed dig at Kimiko, like she just can’t help herself.
“When I first got here, all I could think about was keeping my husband safe.
I had spared Hank from an untimely death, but I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I imagined I was in that movie Final Destination, and death was waiting to loop back around and get him.
“And then one day I remembered Ernest, the golden retriever who found me in the wake of losing Hank. Rescued me, really. I saw him running wild at a busy intersection. Brought him to a shelter. He didn’t have a microchip, so I kept him, and he changed my life.
“But in this life, the day I found him had come and gone. I was too late. I stalked that intersection for weeks, feeling like I’d lost a part of myself I had forgotten I had; I’d been too overjoyed at having my husband back.
I mourned Ernest and, finally, stopped visiting that intersection. I adopted another dog, Joyce.
“Then, a month after adopting Joyce, I passed through that same intersection. Just going about my day, not even thinking about Ernest. But there he was. Sitting on the corner, staring straight at my car. As if he’d been waiting.
“Joyce and Ernest became best friends, and I was so incredibly lucky to have both of them in my life for over a decade. But it never could have happened if I hadn’t surrendered myself to the whims of this second life.
So that’s my advice: Stop trying to orchestrate your life to fit the mold you have in mind, and things will fall into place. ”
Even though her words aren’t actually helpful—they’re pretty insensitive, actually, the more I think about it; it’s like she’s saying, You have to open yourself up to your friend dying again, and then, hey, maybe she won’t, second lives are funny that way—they do linger in my mind for the rest of the meeting, right through the moment I leave after exchanging phone numbers with a couple of the other attendees.
I think about what she said as I chase Kimiko out the door, hoping to get some sort of explanation about the hostility of the meeting, but I find myself in an empty parking lot, Kimiko nowhere in sight.
I continue to think about it for days, not nonstop or anything, just percolating in the back of my mind. Processing.
A few days later, it hits me:
I’ve got to see a man about a cat.