Me Vs. Me

I close my computer and lie back. What I’ve learned today is that while there are lots of theories about multiple lives, no one has ever written an account of it happening. But if so many people have thought about it, written about it, and theorized about it, isn’t it possible? You can’t rule something out just because it can’t be proven, can you? There are like a million religions and none of them can be proven!

If the many-worlds theory is true, then everyone exists in multiple universes. There are many versions of me around, right now. There are many versions of everyone around, right now. Whenever anyone has to make a choice, a new version of her or him pops up. There’s a me who never dated Cam in the first place. There’s a me who went away to UCLA. There’s a me whose parents never divorced.

That seems a bit insane. There can’t be an infinite number of mes. Can there?

As a kid, I remember asking my dad how many stars there were. Living in California, he thought I meant celebrities and asked me if I meant movie, TV or both. When I clarified that I meant stars in the sky, he laughed and said, “It’s infinite.”

“How can that be?” I asked him.

“They go on forever and ever.”

“But how?”

“That’s just the way it is,” he said, playing with my hair. “Space, time, stars—they all go on forever.”

If all those things are infinite, then why can’t versions of people be infinite, too? Why not choices? And if so, did I somehow stumble into the ability to exist in two of these worlds?

Or maybe I just stumbled into the ability to remain conscious in two of these worlds.

At four, I hear Lila’s key in the door. “Hi, guys,” she says.

“It’s just me!” I holler, closing the laptop. As nonjudgmental as she is, she’d still think I was nuts.

Lila goes through her cleansing/changing routine and then joins me in my room. “What happened to you? I thought your flight was this morning. Where have you been? What’s going on?” she asks, sitting on the side of my futon.

I wave my bejeweled hand. “Change of plan. I’m not going to New York.”

Her jaw drops. “No way. I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.” Half-true.

“Wow.” Smiling, she leans over and hugs me. “Congrats!”

“Thanks.”

“But Gabby, what about the new job?”

I shrug. “A person can’t have everything.” Most people, anyway. Apparently, I am not most people.

She gives me a hopeful look. “Does that mean you’re not moving out?”

I shake my head. “No, you’re still getting your home office. I’m moving in with Cam.”

She sticks her tongue out at me. “Aw. You lucky girl.”

“You know what?” I say. “I might be.” I’d choose lucky over crazy, anyway.

On my way back to Cam’s, I’m strangely invigorated. My wish came true. It must have. It’s the only explanation. My body feels alive and tingly. I decide not to tell Cam about my self and my other self—it’s not like he’d believe it. Who would? I barely believe it myself.

I find him in the backyard, surrounded by sawdust and some sort of table with a mirror.

“What are you doing?”

“Building you a vanity table for the bedroom,” he says, while hammering. “So you can have somewhere to put your makeup and jewelry and stuff. I got you a lamp, too, because I’m not sure there’s going to be enough light…. Do you like it? I still have to build the bench.”

I am so touched, I almost cry.

While he finishes, we return to his parents’ for Sunday night dinner. Afterward, we go straight to bed and I seduce him immediately.

“That was fun,” he says afterward. “Three nights in a row. Life is good.”

“Yes, it was,” I say, laying my head on his chest. His heart rate is beginning to slow.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asks.

Tomorrow! I start work tomorrow. In New York. A fiancé in Arizona and a new job in New York. I really do get to have it all—except a job here. “Try to get my job back.”

“My mom mentioned that she wants to start planning the wedding….”

“Of course she does.”

“Have you given any thought to getting married in May?”

“Whatever you want, babe.” Since I’m only half getting married, why not meet Alice halfway?

His eyes light up like a slot machine. “Really? And what about the church?”

Halfway does not include churches. Then again, maybe it can. If I ever get married in New York, I can do it any way I want. And to someone else. It wouldn’t even be bigamy. Legally, that is. “Whatever makes you happy,” I tell him with a smile. But I’m still not converting.

He kisses my forehead and promptly falls asleep.

My thoughts are too loud and crazy to let me drift off. I’m wondering how to best take advantage of my fabulous science experiment.

Should I try out different hairstyles? Go blond in one reality, stay brunette in the other? What about different diets? No carbs in one, low-fat in the other, and see which version of me loses more weight? Invest in real estate in one, stocks in the other?

Check the winning lottery number in one, choose that number in the other? Though supposedly, the two universes have nothing to do with each other. The guy who wins in the first reality might remain a poor slob in the other. But it’s worth looking into.

The possibilities are endless, and I’m going to enjoy every one of them. I’m going to live it up.

Life is good. Both of them.

4

Lights, Camera, Action!

I’m late. How is it possible that I’m late for my first day of work? I have never been late for anything. I set my alarm for 7:00 a.m., a half hour earlier than I was supposed to get up. But it’s already eight, which means the radio alarm was singing for an hour before I even heard it.

I jump into the shower, throw on my clothes (no time to debate: black pants, green sweater), flip through the news channels as I scarf down my coffee (plane crash in Bali, hurricane in the Bahamas, kidnapped girl found alive in South Carolina), grab my bag, notebook and clipboard, then run for the elevator. No time today to test out the subway. Taxi, it is. The best part of living in New York is that you can hail a cab from anywhere, unlike Phoenix, where they’re as common as waterslides in the desert.