The Five Times I Met Myself (26 page)
“Anyone up top?” Brock asked as the hikers passed.
“Nope. All yours.” The man gave him a quick salute. “Enjoy the solitude.”
Exactly what he intended to do. He wanted to be alone as he created his own personal time capsule—one he might never find. Most of him still couldn’t believe the man he’d met multiple times back in his twenties was who he said he was, but in case the impossible had happened, he wanted to get a message to that man. And since it had been more than fifteen years since Future Brock
had shown up, Brock didn’t think he’d get the chance to deliver the message in person.
Why hide the message at Pilchuck? He didn’t know except to say it felt right. It felt like the place God had led him. And if God had led him, then he could somehow, some way, lead Future Brock to this spot.
It took only ten minutes to find the right hiding spot for the box and its contents. As he finished by placing a large rock over the box, the sound of boots scraping across rock floated toward him from his right.
A lean man with a small daypack stood ten yards away. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. He wore thick glasses and had a pale face and thinning blond hair.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed your solitude.”
Brock glanced at the spot he’d hidden the box, then back to the man.
“Don’t worry.” The man waved a gnarled walking stick. “I’m not going to steal whatever you’ve hidden there. But I’ll go if you want to relocate it.”
Brock considered the idea. “Nah, there’s nothing in there of value to anyone but me.”
The man nodded, turned, and ambled the thirty yards or so over to the ladder that led up onto the deck of the historic fire lookout. A minute later Brock joined him.
To the north, Mt. Baker, the Olympics to the far west. As Brock gazed at the splendor, he prayed: that the box would be found if it was supposed to be; that no one else would discover it hidden in the rocks; that the message would do its work if the time for it to be found ever came.
“Spectacular day.”
Brock nodded.
The man turned to Brock. “Is this your first time to the top of Pilchuck?”
“Yes. You?”
“My seventeenth. Not sure why I keep ascending these particular slopes. There are other mountains. But this is the one that continues to beckon.” He swept his hand out at the view. “This is probably why.”
“It’s stunning.”
“I didn’t expect anyone else up here so late in the day.”
“Neither did I.”
The man nodded as if he understood completely. “What do you do when you’re not hiking mountains?”
“I’m an owner of a coffee company.” Brock leaned forward on the railing that faced the south. “What about you?”
“I’m a psychology professor at the University of Washington.”
“That’s where I went to school. Long time ago.” Brock studied the man. “What’s your area of focus?”
“Dreams and how the subconscious affects our waking world.”
Brock whipped his head toward the professor. “Are you kidding?”
“That intrigues you?”
“Do you believe in God?”
“Yes.”
“I came up here because I felt like God told me to in a dream.” Brock gripped the railing hard. “And now you show up.”
“I’m an answer?”
Brock gazed at the view of Rainier in the distance. “Do you mind if I tell you something crazy?”
“Please do.” The professor smiled as if to say,
That’s all I ever hear.
“In my twenties, I met a man a number of times who claimed to be dreaming during the times we talked—and he claimed to be me thirty-plus years in the future.”
“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.”
M
AY
29, 2015
B
rock 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 conversation 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.
J
UNE
8, 2015
T
en 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.”
