Page 7 of Twice
I nodded.
“And you saw that?”
“No... I... I went out to...”
I started crying.
“I’m sorry, Mommy.”
She took a deep breath. Her voice rose. “We don’t have much time, then, sweetheart. Listen to me.” She pulled the netting aside, leaned forward, and put my face between her hands. “This is something you’re going to be able to do the rest of your life. Get second chances. Do you understand?”
I shook my head no.
“It’s a gift. A power. Some people in our family get it.You’re blessed to be one of them. But it won’t fix everything, Alfie. The second time won’t always be better than the first.”
She squeezed my hand. “Don’t try and change everything, OK? Don’t correct every mistake. Don’t take advantage of people. Don’t use your power for money. Be careful. Do you hear me, Alfie? Alfie, are you listening?”
I felt like I was suffocating.
“Mom,” I blurted out, “are you going to die again?”
She bit her lip, then patted a space on the edge of the bed.
“Sit here, baby,” she said, forcing a smile. “Let me tell you all the things I love about you.”
?
Now, in case you’re wondering, Boss, my mother still died that morning, this time in front of me, after listing a dozen or so things she loved about her only child. I saw her grab her arm, I heard her groan, I watched her head roll back. My father returned and found me weeping against the bed, the mosquito netting hanging over my face.
This is when I first learned the limits of my “gift”: I can’t change mortality. If someone’s time is up, it’s up. I can travel back to before the death takes place. I can alter how I experience it. But it’s still going to happen. Nothing I can do to stop it.
Can I say it was better, rewinding my mom’s departure? I don’t know. The first time, I left the house and returned motherless. The second time, I stood witness as she departed this world. You tell me.
Nassau
Alfie looked up from the pages. LaPorta was staring.
“You’ve got some imagination. I’ll give you that.”
“I didn’t imagine it,” Alfie said.
“Sure, you didn’t.”
LaPorta rocked slowly in his chair.
“It’s a weird name. ‘Alfie.’ You don’t hear it very often.”
“No.”
“Your passport says Alfred.”
“My father’s father’s name. My mother said it sounded like a British lord. She started calling me Alfie after that song.”
“What song?”
“From the ’60s. ‘What’s it all about, Alfie?’”
“Oh, right.”
