<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI forgot I used to look so good. So young. You don\u2019t feel yourself aging, you know? Degrading, as the years gradually go by. It\u2019s only when you look back at the photos, the ones you\u2019ve been allowed to keep, that you see the change. But to be staring it right in the face, literally, like this. Jesus. Really brings it home.\u201d Rachel looked down at her hands, cupped in her lap, comparing them to the hands of the young woman, posed in exactly the same way, sitting next to her. Rachel\u2019s skin looked like leather in comparison. Moisturizing had fallen by the wayside over the last three decades, like her commitment to anything else that served to better mind and body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho are you?\u201d the young woman asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not even trying. Look at me,\u201d said Rachel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI am looking at you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo. I mean look at me. Really look at me. Look at the mole under my left eye. Look at the birthmark on my cheek. Look at the tiny bald spot in my eyebrow, the scar from where I walked headfirst into-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe kitchen chair when I was small.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe kitchen chair when you were small,\u201d said Rachel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
\u201cJesus,\u201d said the young woman. The young Rachel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cRisen from the dead,\u201d said Rachel. \u201cWell not exactly. Not yet anyway. I think. The how I\u2019m here isn\u2019t important. Only the why.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Young Rachel said nothing, just listened. Old – but not that old for fuck\u2019s sake – Rachel had forgotten how much quieter she was back then, how little she said. It made people, certain people, think they could walk all over her. And by God did they do their best, in their handmade Italian leather shoes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLife is good?\u201d Rachel asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Young Rachel frowned, a quizzical smile forming. \u201cI\u2019ve no complaints.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo. You don\u2019t. The truth is, Rachel. This is as good as it is ever going to get. Might not seem like it now, sitting at a bus stop about to go interview for a job you\u2019re pretty sure you haven\u2019t a hope in hell of getting. But today will be the day I, you, always look back on as the last one on which you were truly happy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBut I haven\u2019t even done anything with my life yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a loud hiss. The release of air brakes. Young Rachel looked around at the bus idling at the traffic lights, about to move in their direction as red turned to green.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere won\u2019t be a \u2018yet\u2019 if you get on that bus. Because if you do, you don\u2019t ever get to do anything with your life. Nothing that you\u2019ve chosen for yourself, in any case.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They were the only people sitting at the stop, one which only one route served. The driver looked at them both, a little puzzled, as he slowed and then accelerated past when neither of them made a move to get up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI can always get the next one,\u201d said Young Rachel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIf you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?\u201d asked Rachel. \u201cIf I was you right now \u2013 and I used to be \u2013 it would be that awful tattoo you got during the summer. Believe me, you don\u2019t get any more used to it, or hate it any less, thirty years from now. But tattoos are the least of your worries, Rachel. And you\u2019re going to have a whole lot of those if you go for this job interview. Because you\u2019re going to get it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to get this job? I\u2019m going to get the job I\u2019ve been dreaming about landing for weeks now, the job I\u2019ve always wanted\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe job you will come to realize you had no business getting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd you\u2019re telling me what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTo not get on the bus when the next one comes. Because the person who hires you will do so for all the wrong reasons. Once they lay eyes on you, they will never let you out of their sight, or allow you to make a single decision of your own. Until one day, the only choice you\u2019re left with is to do something unthinkable. Something I didn\u2019t think I\u2019d be able to go through with.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Young Rachel looked down at her phone like she was only half-paying attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI have no idea whether this is real,\u201d said Rachel. \u201cHave I gone back in time to intervene at a fork in the road of my own life? Did my panic when I stepped off the roof cause me to slip into quantum space and end up here? Or am I just having the nightmare of all nightmares, as I lie in a coma somewhere with a brain bleed to end all brain bleeds?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI have to think it\u2019s the latter. I mean, Jesus, I would have thought an older version of me, from the future, appearing next to me, would be extraordinary enough to distract me from getting on a bus and going to something as normal as a fucking job interview. I\u2019d be full of questions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Young Rachel stood up as another bus approached.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t get on that bus, Rachel,\u201d said Rachel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMaybe I want to find out for myself if what you\u2019re saying is true. And if I\u2019ll have better luck changing things later. Maybe I won\u2019t decide to step off a roof one day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMaybe,\u201d said Rachel. \u201cAnd maybe you\u2019ll remember how this little chat went. Just in case you end up back here like me. Maybe you\u2019ll have better luck convincing the next version of you to not get on the bus.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d said Young Rachel, stepping forward and readying her travel app as the bus pulled in. \u201cMaybe.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cI forgot I used to look so good. So young. You don\u2019t feel yourself aging, you know? Degrading, as the years gradually go by. It\u2019s only when you look back at the photos, the ones you\u2019ve been allowed to keep, that you see the change. But to be staring it right in the face, literally, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1286","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-flash-fiction","category-short-stories"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1286","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1286"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1286\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1324,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1286\/revisions\/1324"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1286"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1286"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1286"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}