Every Anxious Wave

by Mo Daviau

Lena became unreachable. Her back was to me and I stood and waited for her to see me, stupidly competing with Elliott Smith for her attention. I watched her face melt into a mixture of happiness—the unusual privilege of coming back to this—and sadness, because she knows how all of this ended. Because she understood the value we assigned to things once they are gone forever.

I went in for a mouthful of toothpaste. The kiss burned a little. My mouth filled with minty bubbles and Lena’s tongue. I wasn’t lying when I said my aim was true. Don’t lose Lena. Only a fool doesn’t listen to his future self.

You know what really stands out to me, buddy? These people—they don’t hate or compete. They just do. They find food, they eat, they share everything, and they all seem to love each other in this really magical, uncomplicated way. The women are in charge, and it’s weird—when one of the older women gave me a few bits of fish she’d cooked in the fire, she touched her cheek to mine and pressed my mouth to her mouth, as if to transfer her love to me. My own mother never did that. That would have been dirty kissing, but this wasn’t dirty. It was pure.

I LOVE YOU TOO! MEN KISS MEN HERE. I COULD KISS EVERYONE IN THE TRIBE AND IT WOULD BE LIKE SHAKING THEIR HAND. WHITE PEOPLE RUINED KISSING. AND SEX. AND THE ENVIRONMENT.

“I actually kind of like this about you, Bender,” she shouted from across the apartment. “That you and I don’t use emotional condoms. We just let the messy goo of who we are fly free, threatening to impregnate us with insecurity or infect us with the pain of true intimacy.

“You’ve been carrying a big thing for her for years. Hopefully, her coming to see you helped you get past a little bit of that. Sometimes you’ve got to break a heart so it will heal.” She returned with a tower of cookies stacked on a black plastic plate. “Since when are you a poet?” “Since never. I’m a robot.”

fourteen-year-old you.” I held out my hand. “That was you. That was you, right now.” She came to me and placed her ear against my chest. “Strange, since I have absolutely no memory of that ever not happening.” I slumped down next to her on the couch. Lena, bigger now and age appropriate, sat on my lap and put her arms around my neck. “Karl, you meant the world to me that day. You told me I was beautiful and that was the first and pretty much only time I ever heard anyone say that. How can you say that changing the past is a bad thing? You saved my life.”

Perhaps 980 for Mr. DeMint is an endless birthday party where he doesn’t have to do unpleasant things like compromise, show up for work, have his heart broken in myriad ways. All the little shit snacks that regular life feeds our brains had stopped for Wayne. All input was positive. By the looks of it, there was no depression in 980.

become. I cried, sure, and wanted to stay a few more hours in hopes of moving to the kitchen window to watch my mother stir tuna fish and canned mushroom soup into noodles, her thoughts elsewhere as she shoved the casserole into her harvest gold oven. But after a while I realized that the body will just keep crying about the same thing forever. The human brain, when faced with years of sorrow, never gets a clue and shapes up, and time travel only makes it worse.

The Einstein–Rosen Bridge.

Or maybe Lena was right, even though this was so unscience-y that she didn’t want it to be true: that love is what kept Wayne in 980, what propelled Sahlil back to 2010 without using the wormhole controls. Love, in its infinite power, had something to do with the function of the wormhole. Lena hated that, but it was the only explanation that made sense to me.

Her life was better without me. She had a husband and a daughter and a better job. Who doesn’t wish good things on the people they love? The world was rid of one heinous rape and one horrible stepmother. Collateral damage: Rachel Geduldig, the Northwestern physics department, and me.

“Don’t be afraid to do what you love, and don’t be afraid to keep doing what you love, even if it doesn’t turn out the way you wanted it to. Don’t be afraid to love someone because you think society will laugh at you. Don’t be afraid to cry or let other people define for you what being a man is. Always love and protect your friends. A lot of people think Milo Kildare is an egomaniac or a pain in the ass, but he’s the best example of how to live I know.”

“What else did Freddie tell you?” I asked. “Why did Freddie even like you? I don’t get that one bit.” “Nothing I want to share. But I will say that time traveling to meet the man I’ve idolized since I was a kid ruined everything I’ve got. Money, my gorgeous wife, my family. Just sitting next to him and listening to him talk. His ideas were like falling rubies. True gifts. I’ve never felt love like that before, and it isn’t real, and fuck you, Karl, for ruining my life. My life is shit now.” Sahlil sounded oddly calm while telling me I had ruined his life, and though I didn’t actually believe his life was ruined, I was painfully aware that Sahlil was the only one that I knew of who was in the same spot as me: suffering from time-travel-related heartbreak and loss.

This is one of my favorite songs.” The familiar licks of “Pin Cushion” came on over the speakers, and I just about melted into a puddle of love. It was the first time I felt nostalgic about “Pin Cushion,” seeing it not as a requiem for Milo’s penis but as a song favored by a beloved lost friend.

My chest was tight, like my heart was going to burst. I wanted to peel my skin off. But there was this giant sky, an overwhelming cosmic Lite-Brite set, a hundred billion stars like tiny firefly butts weaving a starry blanket overhead. I couldn’t hate anyone. Not with these smells, the psychedelic green in the trees. No cars, no pollution, just cheerful Wayne, happy to see me again.

I began to cry. I’d helped to make an entire generation of young people’s lives harder. By accident.

Wayne stood there and watched me sob. I tried to enjoy the leafy, sweet-aired goodness of 980, but I longed for the comfort of car exhaust, the easy pain of existence as I knew in it my bar life.

Glory has technology where I could call my mom and talk to her. But I don’t know that I want to.” Wayne nodded. “I miss my mom, too.” “Are we all just looking for an easier life?” Wayne nodded, breathing deeply and taking stock of the pine-sugar air, the canopy of stars, the campfire. “How much of our true selves we have to give up just to get through the day. The thing is, we do rely on other people for happiness, and you 2010 people need to quit pretending like you’re okay being alone, eating salad out of a bag in front of your computer, when what you want is a family and lovers and people who can see into your heart.”

“Wayne, I want to go home.” He nodded, and then picked a stick up off the ground and started chewing on it. “Home is a slippery thing. What we yearn for is often not what we really need. I have what I need here. Love of the unconditional sort. I don’t have burritos or written language or gummy bears or you, but I do appreciate my life of fishing, woodcraft, and sleeping in the big pile next to the fire. And all those stars up there. Nothing here hurts except physical pain.”

Text from Glory: THE WORST THING ABOUT YOUR GENERATION IS HOW PATIENT YOU ARE. IT’S LIKE YOU FORGET YOU CAN BEND TIME. EVEN MOM WHO LIKE INVENTED IT. NO ONE MY AGE WAITS FOR A SINGLE DAMN THING.

“My daughter tells me that you’re the pin and I’m your cushion,” she said, and then pulled me into a warm, strong hug. “I’ve spent the last two weeks eating ice cream.” I fought tears. Asteroids make a guy mushy on the inside.

Lena knew, as I did, that tonight was not the end of the world, but how cool is an end-of-the-world party? Say and do whatever you want. Huff gas, fuck, eat twelve pizzas, punch the shit out of a mailbox. So, in this spirit, Lena turned and walked up to this shirtless, sight-impaired guy sucking on a bottle of Jim Beam and bent over, put her butt in his face, and released a rather glorious, reverb-rich fart five inches from his sunglasses. And there it was: the fire of Lena, slightly different, dirty, silly, naughty, reborn. Everyone who saw this momentous application of butt wind applauded as if she’d just delivered the virtuoso performance of a lifetime. Lena bowed and waved. The shirtless man stood up and gave her a hug.

Lena, still seated on top of me, shook her head no. A vehement no. She clasped her hand over her wrist and leaned in to whisper into my ear, “No. I’m happy. I’ve got my daughter and all these people, these neighbors who are like family since we started preparing for the asteroid. Look how together everyone is. I barely knew my neighbors until a year ago, and then word got out that I was the asteroid scientist and we started having meetings and block parties, and Glory found out that there were three other fifteen-year-old girls on the street. We had a variety show last night. I juggled! It was ridiculous. Even my ex-husband says that the asteroid has brought together his community in DC.

“I’m fine. Are you fine, Karl?” “I’m better than fine. This is the happiest day of my life.” Lena laughed at me. “This is the worst natural disaster ever, Karl.” “But we’re going to live. This is the first time I’ve loved the future. I love the future because I love you.” “You’re very sweet, but look around. Holy shit.” Our pants were soaked with grungy water, and soon we were swimming up to the rooftop. The sky had turned a cotton candy pink, foreboding and delicious all at once. The air smelled of burning electronics, and smoke collected where the treetops used to be. The light from the flash mixed with the smoke and created a gauzy veil across the white night sky.

TOO BAD ABOUT THE FISH, BUDDY. YOU’VE GOT TO HAVE SOMETHING IN YOUR LIFE LIKE THE FISH. THE FISH IS THE VERY BEST PART. Glory and Lena were my fish, my very best part. I’d found my 980. My 980 was this crumbled city, gauzy sky and gray water, and my family’s heads bobbing above the surface, breathing, me holding on to them so they wouldn’t float away.