Returning

RETURNING

It’s been a magnificent day. I’m not sad it’s over, though.

Coming down from our lovemaking, my body glows from tip to toe. As we lie side by side in the meadow, our warmth is maintained by a sun that’s low in the sky but still strong.

In this light, Sophie’s skin is almost incandescent. I reach out to check that she’s real. For a change, we’re in concert, my hand meeting hers. We link our little fingers. We’ve never done that before; it feels just right.

“Mmm,” she purrs.

I have to agree but I don’t voice it. I’m content just to lie back and contemplate how the sun, changing from red to purple now, shifts in relation to the branches of a nearby tree – which resembles a silver birch, elegant and gleaming in the fading light. The leaves edge across the purple disc, creating exquisite, fluttering patterns.

Unseen insects somewhere nearby step up their crick-crack-crick, as if welcoming the advancing dusk … or perhaps they’re protesting. If so, their protests are in vain; the sun now sinks behind the darkening silhouette of the distant hills, like an enormous purple coin slipped into a giant’s pocket.

And then suddenly it’s dark. The insects fall silent, the only sounds our breathing and an almost imperceptible rustling as a faint, warm breeze tickles the leaves on the tree.

There’s no need to whisper but we do.

“How long do you think it will be?” Sophie asks.

“They said minutes,” I reply, not knowing what that really means up here.

There’s a certain tension in the air. I wonder if that’s just our perception or whether every living thing in this extraordinary world feels it; the insects certainly seem to have reacted to the transmutation.

“I’m so glad we came,” Sophie says, nuzzling my neck and draping an arm across my chest. I rest my head on her hair, breathing in her scent, mingled with that of unnamed flowers close by.

“Me too,” I say, taking pleasure in the way our whispers have become the ambient soundscape.

“If only we could have done it years ago.” Her regret is almost tangible in the darkness.

“Better late than never.” I hope she’ll hear my smile.

And it is better. But the truth is that we couldn’t do it earlier because we didn’t have nearly enough credits … until Sophie’s father passed on. He saw the strain our marriage was under and could have gifted us some while he was still alive; he would have been able to witness how happy it made his only daughter. But that was the kind of man he was: he had one love only.

Our financial difficulties were an anchor dragging our relationship down. The fundamentals were there – we’ve loved each other since we were kids, and both of us knew we were destined to be together. Life isn’t a two-credit romance novel, though; substantive things can get in the way.

I couldn’t pay for the extension to my studies that would have taken me forward in my work. Sophie couldn’t afford the studio she needed for her painting. Our frustrations clashed and we fought, often.

And of course, the idea of having children was out of the question; we wouldn’t have been able to bring them up in the way we’d always envisaged. This raised the most insurmountable barrier between us: we wanted to produce a manifestation of our love, and the inability to do it began to erode that very love.

Then came her father’s death, mourned by no one. When your whole life revolves around lucre, to the exclusion of all else, you die unloved; credits shed no tears. With his passing, and the resulting inheritance, came possibilities.

I began to enrol in courses to catch up on my studies; Sophie bought herself a studio. On the surface, our lives were firmly on the tracks and rolling. However, given the circumstances of the hard times we’d been through, mutual animosity had grown into a kernel of bitterness, hardening our hearts. We needed something special to dissolve it.

Sophie had seen the ad on the vid-E and mooted the experience one day over a sullen breakfast. I could have dismissed the idea out of hand, but I maintained enough residual affection for her to be open to anything that might return us to better times.

We ordered the tickets the same day. It was a relatively new venture and despite glowing testimonials from previous users, we were effectively taking up the service on trust.

We travelled a week later. It took us some time to recover from the journey – ad margines travel is incredibly draining, as anyone who has experienced it will testify – but then we were ready, and here we are.

The company’s advertising copy suggested that two ‘days’ (as defined by the temporal system of this world) would be enough time to resolve issues. The first day, it said, would be for ‘levelling’ – removing the jagged edges of your relationship. ‘Satisfaction guaranteed’, the company promised. If the first day has been anything to go by, we’re well on course for that.

For the second day, clients have an option. You can take your relationship into uncharted waters, probing romantic and sensual limits. Or you can be returned to a point in your relationship when you both agree you were happy. We’ve taken the second option because we remember the bliss we felt before the obstacle of terrestrial practicalities got in the way of our love.

And so we wait in the dark for the second day.

“I think it’s happening!” Sophie whispers excitedly.

Sure enough, I can just about make out her face now. I look up at a sky that’s changing from black to … what would you call that colour?! And …

… oh … my … doG! Eht nus! Gnisir niaga! Yeht dias ti dluow neppah, tub taht t‘ndid eraperp em rof … hcus a … suordnow gniht!

“Nac uoy ees ti?!” S‘ti a tnadnuder noitseuq, tub s‘eihpoS ewa si tahw srettam esuaceb m‘I gnileef eht emas. Ni eht gninoegrub thgil, I eciton taht s‘ehs gnipeew.

I ekat reh dnah. Ew eil ereh yltnelis won, gnissentiw eht ecnecifingam ni sselhtaerb noitatcepxe fo eht yad daeha, dna fo a nruter ot eht evol ew tsol.