sixty-four years

The bitter taste of ice wormed it’s way to the back of my throat as I turned the corner onto NE 57th Blvd. Around me, passerbys dressed in a number of flashy and unorthodox clothing styles sped past, each more eager than the last to get to their destination. None would meet my eye; most had their gaze glued to the screen of their small black rectangles - Iphones, as I would soon learn they’re called. It seemed to be one of the haziest summers I could recall since before ending up in that frozen casket. The sun beat down on the mass of people, and quickly warmed up my chafing, brittle limbs.

It didn’t do anything to relieve the sickening feeling of dread broiling within me, however.

Left, right, left, right.

I noted each wobbly step I took down the bustling sidewalk. Despite the relative anonymity of pedestrian travel in a big metropolis like this, I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about my appearance and foreign mannerisms. Well, I didn’t find them foreign, but to these civilians I must’ve stuck out like a sore thumb; a blazing needle in the haystack of New York City.

After walking for half an hour, I wormed my way through the dense crowd and found myself standing in a spaceous, well-lit park. The skyline seemed to reach beyond the very edges of the horizon and struck the leaves of each tree like brilliant roman candles against a backdrop of baby blue. Individuals and families alike strolled down the cobblestone sidewalk with an air of disinterest and self containment, for which I was more than grateful. As I continued to explore the extent of the lofty grassy square, I did draw the stares of a few curious youngsters who gave me questioning glances that seemed to ask “Who are you? You appear so different from everyone else.”

Although in my time they never reveled in many social courtesies either; children never change, I suppose.

Across the marbled pathway, an elderly couple sat on a well furnished bench, leisurely indulging in each other’s company. On the left, the gray-haired woman dressed in a velvet blouse turned to the man next to her and murmured something trivial; an astute observation of a stranger striding past, or a clever recount of a past experience - something intimate only loved ones who have gone through hell and back would be able to fully relish in together. Her companion pursed his lips, clearly attempting to refrain from breaking into hearty laughter, and whispered quiet words of affection back.

If I had aged normally, if those years of suffering and cruelty had not brought me to that laboratory in Tuscon, would that be my life? Would I have been able to enjoy human luxuries like all the other men and women who rose from the ashes of wartime and made a new future for themselves?

If so, why would the vile fates in heaven have awoken me from that infinite slumber, and bestowed upon me this picturesque sight of mortal contentment. Of a future I was never allowed.

Maybe it was selfish to want a normal life. After all, I had been giften an opportunity many back then would have killed to obtain. And there was a certain irony to that, I think - such a willingness to hurt others, only to result in dying yourself.

Looking at the quaint pair in front of me, I suppose not all things can be sacrificed for immortality. At least, not the things that make life matter.

So I walked up to them, treading calming along the freshly cut grass and around the burly oak tree. I wasn’t sure if they had seen my form approaching, but as soon as I got near they swiveled their owlish gaze towards me. For a few moments, no one spoke a word. I was a bundle of nerves, of doubt and despair and worry for what may come now that I was once again human. Like a ghost floating through the country of the living, this old land I had inhabited so many lifetimes again was new again, and the buildings, the culture, the people themselves - they had all continued to grow and progress, leaving me behind to wait in the wings forevermore.

My emotions must have been evident on my face, because all of a sudden the woman drew closer to her husband and the two exchanged a concerned look. Regret pulsed through me; I was about to rescind my steps and head back to the crowd when the elderly man turned around again to meet my gaze.

He gave me a lukewarm smile, and asked:

"Are you all right, young man? You seem a bit shaken."

He was right. I was a bit shaken. Really, had I been holding this inside all this time? Trying to make sense of this world, of reality, was more than any person could take. It was ridiculous.

Yes, it was all truly ridiculous.

Maybe that's what made it so wonderful.

I choked back a sob, or was it laughter? I didn't know, and I suppose I still don't. But his words gave me comfort, in a way. Because I was alive now. I was someone who could feel these emotions, these conflicting thoughts that warred with each other day and night, in sickness and even beyond death.

Human, after all. And that's more than I could ever ask for.

"Yes, I'm fine sir.

I'm - I'll be all right now.

Thank you for your concern.

Have a lovely day."