To Live Again

Eve turned the crown on her watch, looking at the hour and minute hands sailing past each other, backward and forward and back again.

She fidgeted this way during certain moments — the tense ones, the scary ones, the exciting ones — the ones before the best and worst and most important things tend to happen.

For the past 40-something years, those had happened more often for her. Twice as much as for most people, actually. And she only had herself to blame.

Or did she? After all, she never asked for this…thing. But how does anyone choose to do anything other than what she did? No one has the discipline, the foresight, the courage — especially not the courage, right? At least that’s what she always thought. Still tonight, after all this time, she was hoping to prove herself wrong.

You see, back in the day — the last time she was in her late twenties — Eve had a nasty fall.

Clumsy as ever, sipping on a Vodka Red Bull (or whatever it was) and chatting with some friends at a house party, she tripped over her feet and fell backwards. She vaulted over a guardrail, off the balcony, down a story (or two), through the ground, and into the past — right into the night before. This is no metaphor, either. When she woke up, it was literally the night before the fall — back in time. Somehow.

In shock for hours, she droned on through the day — the same day all over again — eventually getting back to the party, back to the Vodka Red Bull (or whatever), and back to the balcony. This time, however, she realized she could choose to step away, skip the conversation with her friends, and of course, avoid her fall.

So, naturally, she did.

It was hard to believe at first, but it didn't take long for Eve to realize something even stranger and more amazing: she could do the back-one-night skip at will. Every time she said the wrong thing, missed an opportunity, or wanted to relive an experience — every time she made a “wrong” decision, or shied away from truly throwing herself at a “right” one — she could just, poof, go back one night. Unlimited do-overs. Temporal jackpot.

You know those memories that crumple our hearts a little when they come up as we lay awake in bed at night? The kind that makes us think, “I hate that I said, did, or missed that?” Eve would never have any of those.

She was a hopeless romantic, So when she had a first date in which she spent an hour kissing under the rain after finding out she had found her soulmate between two (or five) glasses of Pinot Noir, she relived that one five times. Sure, it got slightly old after the fourth one, but what an amazing four and a half dates they had been.

She was a pragmatic woman. So the weekend she broke up with that same guy, she cried into a jar of Nutella for many nights straight — from Sunday to the Saturday before. Showed up to work that Monday bright and early, over the dude, and with no PTO spent.

She wasn't a greedy person, so she memorized the lottery numbers and went back to the night before to play them only once.

And she loved her family very much. So when one night she got a call that her mother had lost the notion of time and place, driven into a pair of headlights at 60mph, and passed away alone at the hospital two hours later, well, what else was she supposed to do but go back and take her keys?

Every night was the night before something, and every something had a night before. This simple fact gave Eve an almost perfect advantage. Sure, there were some things her abilities couldn't fix (kind of) like unforeseen long-term consequences, or the natural effects of time. But all things considered, she got a pretty good deal, she thought. And it would be a crime not to take full advantage.

So, naturally, she did.

Many years after her fall, Eve laid in bed one night. Her body was in her seventies, though she had lived slightly more. Her first and only husband, with whom she had an amazing marriage, slept soundly next to her. She had a full bank account and was relatively healthy. She had nothing to stress about the next day. If anything came up, she could just go back to laying right where (or when) she was again on a whim.

But that night, with the life everyone wishes for, tears ran down the grooves of her face.

It wasn't the first time, either. Eve had needed time to think, so she’d relived that night for three and a half weeks. Every time, she capped the night in tears. Every night, she reached the same conclusion.

And that's how she ended up here, again. The night was young again and so was she. A house party, a chat with friends, a Fuzzy Navel (Vodka Red Bulls wouldn’t be popular for another 10 years, it turns out).

And a balcony.

She had gone back over 15 thousand nights in a row, one at a time, with no second thoughts. But now, she turned the crown on her watch, looking at the hour and minute hands sailing past each other, backward and forward and back again.

The last time Eve was in her late twenties, she avoided a nasty fall. This time, she was determined to just let it happen. She suspected that if she chose not to choose, she had a chance to make things right. At least that was the plan.

But how does anyone choose to do this? No one has the discipline, the certainty, the courage. No one except her. Tonight, she was going to prove it to herself.

Eve stepped into the balcony, and the present came rushing back. The evening breeze felt uneven and unpredictable on her skin. Her drink tasted fizzier than she expected. Her friends’ voices rang in her ears like a lovely déjà vu of old memories made new. And soon enough, she felt unsteady.

She vaulted over the guardrail, off the balcony, down two stories, and slammed into the ground right as the dark of night faded to full black.

Many years after her fall, Eve laid in bed at night. She had just passed away at 58. Alone in a small apartment, she died of long term health issues brought about by a motorcycle accident she’d been in a decade prior.

She loved that bike.

A widow with three divorces, she had learned quite a lot. Some lessons were pleasant — others, not so much.

She left an empty bank account. She never made much money, but made sure to spend all of it. She chose experiences over possessions.

Eve died with wrinkles and scars and a smile across her face — on a night before nothing at all.

And that one, she lived only once.