Remember Me (53 page)

I sighed and unzipped the backpack. Inside there were several folders and a collection of items. I searched through it all to get the book with the letter. The older Amy had instructed me to read it first. The book was fairly large, at least four-hundred pages long. The cover was dark, nearly black. The title was white and stood out brightly against the cover. It said

“Remember Me.” At the bottom on the front cover was the

author’s by-line, Andrew C. Johnson. I had a momentary bout of jealousy. I saw, as I held the novel in my hand, the unaccomplished dream that I had always wanted to complete. It didn’t matter that it had been me, because it really wasn’t me…was it? I was confusing myself and letting the anxiety get the best of me.

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Brian L. MacLearn

I opened the cover and examined the envelope taped to

the backside of the cover. The writing on it was mine—no doubt there. The envelope was severely crinkled, but held in place with fresh looking tape. On the outside of the envelope, written in script, was:
To Andrew
. There was also a business card flipped over with the number (555) 569-3232 written on it and signed, Olivia. It was the letter that scared me the most.

My hands shook as I carefully pulled it loose from the inside cover. I set the book down and turned the envelope over. It took very little effort to open the seal. Time had greatly impacted its resistance. It was barely closed, years of wear and tear doing it in. I swear that I could smell the age of the letter.

I know it was only my imagination, but was it? Everything suddenly seemed to be tossed upside-down in my mind. I didn’t know what to believe. My hands trembled as I unfolded the sheets of paper. I took several calming breaths and, sitting in the dim light of the basement, I began to read…

May 17, 2010

Andrew,

Welcome to the club! It is my sincerest wish that

you are indeed the last and final member of this

club. Let me say first, I’m sorry, and secondly, I’m
very sorry! If you are reading this, then one of two
scenarios has happened. God willing…I hope it’s the

better of the two. If the date you are reading this

letter is later than May 22nd, then you have all the
reason in the world to be hopeful. It means Amy

and I were successful in our endeavors to correct

the illusions of the past you have lived and never

knew about. If not, then you are the next in-line

to tempt fate. Either way, your life will never be the
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same. The knowledge of what you have read or will

read, will undoubtedly weigh on you. I know it will,
but don’t let it consume you. There is always hope,

and trust in your faith.

Nearly fifty years ago I was married to my soul

mate. There is no other way to describe what I feel

inside for her. The day she was taken away from

me…more precisely the day I was lost to her was the

day I died. Not physically, but mentally. We have

all kinds of love and relationships within our lives,
but the one connection that binds two hearts is the

most cherished of them all. For now, I am going to

assume that you are reading this past your fifti-

eth birthday. If so, then things are nearly the way

it was before the wormhole sucked the life out of,

and from underneath me. I have to believe that

God loves us and shows his mercy to us, because the

alternative is too unbearable to fathom.

I know me/you, and when you read the story

I’ve written, I think you’ll grasp the implications of
what happened. The wormhole is gone, and you are

once again in control of ignorant bliss. I would

have liked to give you this in person, but making

it to one-hundred was never going to happen. Two

years ago, I suffered another heart attack; the first
one hit me in the summer before 9/11. The last one

required quadruple bypass surgery. Thankfully it

was mild, and I came out of it okay, but it made

me realize I wouldn’t be able to make my unlike-

ly journey through to its duration. Truthfully, I’m

thankful to be resting in eternity. I don’t know if

I’m in heaven or hell. I’m sure I have done enough

to deserve both. I’m looking forward to ending this

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Brian L. MacLearn

nightmare once and for all. I don’t know what will

happen on the day Amy returns my/your things to

you. I also pray that wherever I lay, that God will

show me mercy. He will allow me to be instantly

dissolved into the cosmos the moment when the

wormhole closes forever, never to have caused the

damage that I once did. It is never good to have

a second chance at reliving your past…I repeat…

never!

The opposite may happen too. This is just a par-

allel universe, and what I wrought in this time will
go on forever. While it could be taken as a sign of

hope, that I only messed up one universe, it is still
more of a burden than I care to carry. I wouldn’t

have allowed Amy to follow me into the wormhole

again if the mistakes I made didn’t have a fight-

ing chance to be repaired. To cause her to live her

life with the loneliness and weight of time on her

shoulders—all to no avail—would be more misery

that anyone should have to endure. I know…I lived

it once. Pray for me, that I am but a memory and

your life is my life now. Also pray that the suffering
of two people will hopefully end with you.

Questions, I’m sure you have many. I’m sorry,

but they will haunt you until the day you die. Keep

your faith and hold on to your love. Amy is one of

the most remarkable people you will ever meet. She

makes everyone around her better…she doesn’t even

know she does it. She is the calm in a storm, the gentle, cooling breeze on a warm day. Her heart draws

you to her, shines for you, and surrounds you with

hope and possibilities. Ask yourself what life with-

out her would be like…stretch it out for twenty-five
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years as you have to watch, like a bystander, as

she never becomes yours. It is a pain without hope,

and it consumes all that you are and once were.

Add to it the killing of the very essence of who she
is. In the arrogant attempt at trying to make her

life better, I ended up hurting her. It was unforgivable, and without any chance of redemption. You

may not understand what I’m saying now, but if

you read my—our story—you’ll know. It is your story

now, and yours to finish. The story is not complete,
it lacks the final ending. I hope it ends in happiness with you, and is not merely another chapter to

be written.

Forgive me for sounding so “over-the-top.” I’m

tired and my well of hope is nearly empty. I imag-

ine this is something similar to a scene out of one

of the “Back to the Future,” movies. Kind of like the
part where Marty is standing there watching Doc

disappear without him. Minutes later a courier

drives up and asks him if he is Marty McFly. He then
hands him a letter from the Doc, written long ago,

to be delivered at that precise moment. I only wish

that I could give you laughs instead of sad conse-

quences. Maybe this time it will happen differently…

no that’s not right! Let’s hope this time it doesn’t
happen any differently.

Read the story, finish it, change it, do whatev-

er you want to it and make it yours. Hang on to

your life and embrace it, cherish it, and above all,
live every moment like it could be your last. It’s the
oldest of clichés, but for both of us it rings true. If
not for you, then do it for me and the Amy I hope

you met. And…do it for the Amy you love. Lastly, on

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Brian L. MacLearn

this note, I’m sorry for the emotional rollercoaster
you are about to embark on as you read about the

devastation I caused. There are some moments of

positive significance, but never enough to outweigh

the bad that I wrought. I know Amy will succeed

where I failed. Make her a part of your future. She

needs you!

Andrew

p.s. If you are reading this pre-fiftieth birthday,

then I hope things have still been mostly changed

for the better, and you can accept it as it is and

move on. I leave it up to you, whether or not to face
the wormhole when it appears, and your decision

to make your own trip back to nineteen eighty-five.

How would you even know the difference either way?

Maybe your life should be as it is, and you can end

the rift once and for all. I don’t have the answers

for you and I never did. It is in God’s hands and

yours. You have the story to read and study. Use it

as your guide and then follow your instincts. I pray
that you don’t have to make that decision. One last

wish; when you hold Amy tonight and you tell her

how much you love her, do it for me too!

I was numb. My hands wouldn’t quit shaking. My heart

beat uncontrollably and I couldn’t seem to focus on my surroundings. The basement was dim and bleak. The letter felt like it weighed a ton, and I was sure I wouldn’t be able to lift the backpack. In it was a story I didn’t want to read, didn’t want to comprehend. I understood that I didn’t have to. I could take it out back and burn it if I chose to. The old Andrew had S 414 S

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told me it was mine to finish, my life to control now. I knew I couldn’t—wouldn’t. I had no choice but to read it. I refolded the letter and tucked it back inside the envelope. I replaced it inside the front cover of the book. Once I had returned the book to the backpack, I managed to place it back behind the couch and cover it up again with the blankets.

I looked at my watch; three forty-eight, the kids and Amy would be home shortly. I shut off the lights and headed upstairs. I used the main-floor bathroom to splash water on my face. My eyes looked tired, and I felt only a small measure of the weight that old Andrew must have carried. My imagination was running amuck. I believed with every fiber of my body, that the story I would read would most assuredly take a heavy toll on me. I also knew it was no longer my burden to bear alone. Tonight, when the kids were in bed, I would share everything with Amy. Andrew had been right…I truly felt every single emotion he used to describe her. Andrew might have been the first through, Amy had been the second, and now there would be no, “third time’s a charm.”

Amy drove up the lane first. I greeted her at the garage door entrance with a tremendous hug. “I love you!”

“Love you too!” she said back. “Isn’t the weather great outside, I’m getting the itch to start working on the garden.”

I did my best to genuinely smile, “Me too.” I let the too slide a little bit much, and she cocked her head as she studied my face.

“Afraid of a little manual labor?”

“No, just the weeding that goes with it.”

“Can’t beat fresh tomatoes, cucumbers and watermelon,”

she announced punching me on the shoulder, “get with the program…will ya!”

I loved her with all my heart, and she was picking up my spirits without even trying, “Yes Mam. I’ll make sure my hoe is S 415 S

Brian L. MacLearn

sharpened and ready to go.”

Amy smiled, and it was infectious. I hugged her again and told her I loved everything about her. At the same time, we could hear the squeal of bus brakes down the lane. The kids exited the bus and made their way up the lane. I spent the rest of the night coming in and out of a cloudy funk. Whenever I let my thoughts get the best of me, I would head outside or will myself to be just me—if only for a little while longer. The kids headed off to bed shortly after nine, and by ten o’clock, I couldn’t wait any longer.

“Okay, I’m ready to call it a night,” I said to Amy, complete with a yawn.

“Old age getting the best of you?” she volleyed back at me.

“Ha Ha,” I lobbed her way, my voice full of mockery.

“You know what they say…get old and the mind is the first thing to go.”

“If she only knew,” I silently thought to myself. I suddenly felt dread at what was going to come, but this woman was my compass, and I needed her to be by my side. “Go on up and I’ll make sure all the doors are locked and the lights are off.”

“I like a man who is chivalrous,” she stated, kissing me sweetly, and then heading for the stairs.

I made the rounds, and then lastly retrieved the backpack from downstairs. It wasn’t too bad the first flight of stairs up from the basement, but I struggled mightily with it the last three steps to the top of the upstairs landing. I had no idea what I was going to say to Amy. She was already sitting in bed, thumbing through one of her many magazines. Her eyes took on a look of puzzlement as she gazed first at my face and then at the beat-up backpack I was carrying.