Life in Perpetuity

If I hadn’t been raped in 2012, would I have learned what it’s like to love a man, or would I still become a slut but without a reason? If I didn’t major in philosophy at college back in 2010, would I have found a career, or would I still become a listless 33 year old with a mountain of student debt and no real direction? If I tried out for cheerleading in 2004, would I have become one of the popular girls, or would I still become an outcast? If I didn’t get that tragic haircut in 2002 that required a correctional haircut with layers up to my eyebrows, would I have been considered pretty, or would I still be bullied for daring to have acne and glasses?

I’ve held all these regrets and then some (though considerably more minor) for as long as I can remember. I mean, I’ve laid awake at night wondering what would’ve happened if I didn’t say what I said to that boy I liked back in 2008, because apparently “I’ve liked you since you were fat,” is not the romantic come-on I thought it was at the time. I don’t live here in 2025. I live in my memories, my past self and all my choices haunting me, taunting me, and damning me to a future of continued self-doubt and stunted social interactions. But I don’t have to worry about that anymore. 

I am generally not a lucky person, so when I received an e-mail last week letting me know that I had won the 25 Year Giveaway it felt as though I’d saved up a lifetime of luck for just that moment. Somehow my ticket, submitted to the Lottery three months ago in a heady, merlot-induced moment of optimism, was drawn to go on the maiden voyage of the Aion. Now, standing in line with over 300 other people I can’t even afford to look at, I keep all of these regrets at the front of my brain, willing myself to remember each and every one so I can soon undo 25 years of fuck-ups. The couple standing in front of me is engaged in a heated argument that I can tell has been going on since they paid for their exorbitantly-priced tickets two years ago when the voyage was first announced.

“Again,” demanded the woman with sleek black hair and soft hands that have never pumped her own gas, “tell me again, when and where do we meet?”

“Vanessa,” pleads her man, his exasperation as thick and palpable as the deep green cashmere sweater he’s currently using to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“I’m not fucking around, Cameron, when I agreed to do this it was under the assurance that we would still end up together. So, we can either go back and eventually meet at Russo’s in 2018 like we did in this timeline, or I can hunt your ass down and make your life a living hell for making me repeat these last 25 years.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was an asshole for trying to do everything I can to make sure my sister doesn’t sneak out of the house and get in the car with her drunk boyfriend. Forgive me for trying to make sure she lives past the age of seventeen.”

Suddenly, my desperation to make sure I don’t mix up the dates for cheerleading tryouts in seventh grade seems slightly trivial. I glance at Vanessa to see that she at least has the decency to look slightly ruffled as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

“Russo’s. Saturday, April 7th 2018. I don’t care what or who you do before that, but you will meet me there so we can finish our lives together.”

I’m beginning to think that Cameron plans to change his name and flee the country the second he saves his sister from her untimely death. A pleasant chime sounds, and a husky, soothing voice sounds over the intercom.

“Welcome, passengers of Aion. We are so pleased to have all 350 of you join us on this groundbreaking day. In a few short hours, Aion will make its maiden voyage to January 1, 2000. As you were informed at the time of ticket purchase, your existence on this timeline will cease to exist once the journey is complete. As we make our final boarding call, we invite you all to make your final farewell to the year 2025 and any loved ones you may be leaving behind.”

Easy. I didn’t tell anyone when I found out I won the lottery, and the only thing I needed to do today before boarding Aion was flip off the manager of the bar where I worked and tell my fellow bartender Emily that she’s a bitch with bad eyebrows. I doubt they’ll even care enough to report me missing once I stop showing up for my shifts, and I can’t say I blame them for that. 

A faint whoosh echoes down the long hall as a door slides open at the front of the line. Excited murmurs grow louder and louder as we make our way down the line and into the TimeCraft. I walk aboard and head to my assigned seat ten rows back, the middle seat in a row of five. As I sit, I run my fingers over the black velvet covering the chair and try to slow my breathing. The couple to my left is quiet, a blessing compared to Vanessa and Cameron. To my right, an older woman plops down in her seat with a sigh. 

“Thank God; if I had to stand in that line any longer I was going to lose my mind. It’s nerve-wracking enough to know that we are essentially about to die, but good lord, to make us stand there for an hour while we wait for death is just inhumane.”

I give her a small laugh, although I think she and I have very different ideas regarding what constitutes inhumanity. She’s solidly in her fifties, and while everything about her from her silken clothes, to her platinum hair, to her wrinkle-free face and slight southern accent reflects what has to have been fifty years of silver spoons, she has a wild gleam in her eyes like a dog that’s realized he can jump the fence in the backyard.

“My husband doesn’t know I’m here,” she tells me. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I’m doing this, which is honestly precisely why I’m doing it. I met him in 2001 and I’m going to do everything in my power to never lay eyes on that rotten shit of a man in my new timeline. I’m finally going to know what it’s like to be free.” She gives me a look, taking in the too-long roots of my poorly highlighted hair, bitten-down nails, and scuffed tennis shoes. “You look awfully young to feel the need to drop your life and repeat the past 25 years.”

“Oh, uh,” I start awkwardly. How do I explain to a total stranger that I’ve made every wrong choice a person could possibly make in life? Eventually I choose brevity over honesty. “I, uh, want to avoid a really bad haircut I got in 2002.”

She gives me a look that makes me doubt my own sanity. “I promise it’s more important than it sounds. I think. I honestly don’t know,” I finish.

She blinks at me and settles back in her chair. “Well, honey. That must’ve been one hell of a haircut.”

I lean back and close my eyes, listening to the time attendants do their final checks. The chime sounds once more, bringing with it the familiar husky voice.

“Welcome aboard the Aion. The TimeCraft will depart shortly. Sit back, relax, and breathe deeply. The next time you open your eyes, it will be January first, 2000. We hope to see you in the next timeline. Until then, safe travels, and thank you for trusting Aion.”

The fresh scents of citrus and eucalyptus fill the air, and I begin to feel so, so tired. A soft hum starts low and begins to grow louder and louder as I feel myself drifting farther, farther down. I finally let myself be taken by the sleep, and I fall away hoping to make the right choices my second time around.