Reincarnated Love

Light!

A bright glaring light awakens me from my slumber. I squeeze my eyes to hide from its intensity. Merely moments before I was rocked back and forth in quiet and dull darkness. That’s the easiest easy to describe what some might call limbo – the wait for one’s essence to be reborn and to continue for another lifetime.

As the light softened, I began to gather my bearings. The objects in the room began to sharpen. What was all that loud noise? It sounded like a screeching child, my least favorite sound. Why wouldn’t anyone stop that incessant sobbing? I frowned and squirmed, hoping that my evident disdain would lead someone to stop the commotion. It wasn’t until I shut my mouth and erased my grimace that I realized that I was the source of the pandemonium.

Was I crying?

I passed from one set of rubbery palms into another.

“Look how gorgeous she is!” one voice cooed as I was laid flat onto a cold metal surface. I heard a dull thud in my ears, a slight whimper in the distance, and a voice – so familiar that it summoned memories of another lifetime. “8 lbs and 3 oz. 20 inches,” the shrill voice rang out as her hands – I now matched her voice with her hands – picked me up once more.

I broke out into a new batch of tears, this time refusing to let them end. I had just been reborn. It was time to start life anew.

“Aww, there-there. Calm down little one. Welcome to the world,” the same voice whispered into my ear.

Easy for you to say.

The chilly sanitized air was replaced by warm fleece. The woman carefully wrapped my new body, with emphasis on pinning my flailing limbs tight to my torso. I felt trapped – not for the first time in my life, and definitely not the last. The poking and prodding began and, oddly, my crying ceased. There was no time to sob, I was already sorting through matters that were beyond my time -or more accurately, beyond the time of the body that I now inhabited.

Rebirth was not only familiar in everyday life, but it was also quite common to me. I had lived 500 years in about 10 separate lives – not all in human form, of course. Let’s see, I had a hand in building the greatest pyramids in Egypt before being executed after being identified as an accomplice to the Pharaoh’s murder plan. Then, I was a helper girl for Queen Nefertiti, a punishment more fitting than the death for my past life’s transgressions. I was a jouster back in the 11th century, which was helpful in the 1984 Summer Olympics when I won the silver medal for fencing. I was a polar bear, a seeing-eye dog, a butterfly- for a day and a half. Each time I was reborn, I thrived and learned the lessons of those lives. Every heartbreak and tragedy, I experienced wholly and fully. Countless happy memories came along with the pain, but none of them could compare to my last life.

§ § §

I was in love, truly in love. I would say that I am still in love. My last life was probably the most normal life that I’ve lived. I grew up in an average family, one with younger siblings and a stable, loving relationship between my parents. Born in the 80s, I lived through the first forms of the internet and cowered with the rest of the world at Y2K. Having lived many times before this, my last childhood was the easiest. As long as I obeyed my parents, finished school, and strived for success, I had the epitome of a good life. I attained the success that I yearned for and more. After my graduate years at Howard University’s School of Law, my sights were set on passing the bar examination.

While studying, I put more pressure on myself than was physically and mentally feasible. Long nights morphed into early mornings, fueled by numerous cups of coffee. One morning, I remember looking around my quiet brownstone and wondering how the world continued to spin without my presence. Mountains of takeout boxes littered the kitchen countertops. Mugs covered the space of any flat-topped surface – with either a tea string hanging limply over the lip of the cup or a cocoa-colored stain around its inner circumference.

I deserved some time away from my morbid daily existence. Unfortunately, my friends weren’t the type to be available for my random whims and fancies. And I wasn’t trying to make a “night” of my time out – I just needed a drink to reset my brain. Determined to make one drink count, I made my way to the closest bar.

I didn’t dress the part of a woman who was to be swept off her feet that night, but he had other plans. I was barely comfortable on my barstool after ordering before the bartender returned with two identical drinks. He explained that a gentleman from the other side of the bar sent it to me.

“He’s not an old man, right?” I joked as I attempted to follow his gaze across the room.

“Nah, but I’m sure you’ll know for yourself soon enough. He lit up as you walked in the door, he’s definitely gonna come over.”

He was right.

“You’re taking your time with those drinks,” the stranger sat down next to me, nonchalantly.

I worked up multitudes of accusatory questions to ask in regards to the drink he sent over. Was it laced? Was he just trying to get me drunk in hopes to make a move? But once I looked at his face, I was stunned silent. Piercing eyes, the color of Carrara marble, stared at me. His face resembled the Renaissance sculptures that his eye color conjured. His next striking feature was his strong jaw, finished off with a chiseled chin. A plump pair of lips sat beneath his broad nose. His naturally manicured eyebrows jumped in delight as he took in my reaction.

“I… uh, hi,” I giggled before regaining composure. “I actually have a one-drink limit tonight. I’ve probably already been out too long.” Broad shoulders, sturdy arms, dark chocolate, I took a quick mental survey of his appearance.

“Why is that?”

“I’m studying for the bar exam. This is my first time having social interaction in… maybe 3 days.”

He looked genuinely surprised at me, “Is this your first time taking it?”

“It’s my second time.”

“Ah, so you know what to expect…”

“But I’m terrified nonetheless? Yes,” I finished his statement.

He smiled, “It’s always easier the second time around. I’m sure you’ll pass this time.”

“Did you study law as well?” I asked, absentmindedly starting in on my second drink.

“I’ve had to pass a few bar exams in a few different states. I’ve practiced… around,” he vaguely explained.

“I’m intrigued.” And I was. I genuinely listened to him detail important moments of his life. Nothing about it seemed completely out of the norm, but something with his stories always seemed a little off. And the way he watched me was intoxicating, but his stone-colored eyes saw right through me.

“You seem wise beyond your years,” he blurted out in between our third and fourth drink.

“I’ve lived many lives,” I explained nonchalantly as I tried to fish the ice cubes from the bottom of my glass with my straw. “So many lives, I don’t think I can count them all.” I looked up to catch his reaction. I never revealed that part of myself to anyone. To be so flippant with that confession was unusual for me.

His face remained unchanged, smirking at me, “How many of those lives do you remember?”

I perked up, trying to shake the fuzzy haze of the drinks away, “You move around enough to need to take the bar exam in multiple states, what’s that about?”

“Your inquisitive mind won’t take a rest, will it?”

I shook my head. I tried to shake myself free of him at that moment. That was the final opportunity I had to walk away from our love affair. But once our gazes met, I saw the rest of our lives in his eyes. “You’ve extended my study break by an hour. The least you can do is make yourself useful.”

§ § §

We arrived back at my brownstone after 4 drinks apiece. I convinced Nicholas to help me study – no one else was familiar with the material or would choose to be bored for hours. Plus, I learned better when I studied with a partner. After assessing the scene in my living room he let out a chuckle. He stepped over books piled on top of each other, filled with sticky-notes poking out from the margins.

“Is this how you study? Does this work?” He flipped through a thick study book.

“I guess the answer is no since I didn’t pass last time,” my lip curled into a distinctive pout, tears began to flood my eyes.

“Aw, hey… come here,” he motioned me over. He held both of my hands in his. “I can help you. You just gotta show me how you learn. You’ve just had a few too many drinks. Let’s calm down. I’ll grab you some water.”

He moved from the living room and into the kitchen. He came back quickly with two glasses of water. He passed me a glass as he took a seat on my left. I thanked him, embarrassed for my emotional outburst.

“You’re stressed. That, mixed with all the drinks, would make anyone emotional,” he assured me. “One thing that was unbearable was your little pout.” He unsuccessfully tried to mimic my face.

“Oh, haha. Very funny.”

“No, it wasn’t! It was heartbreaking. I had this overwhelming urge to slay a dragon for you. You must’ve gotten away with murder as a child with that trick up your sleeve.”

“It’s definitely a physical characteristic that I could do without,” I chuckled. “It’s my ‘tell’ in life. If that pout comes out, I’m devastated on some level. And I can’t hide it. That pout plasters itself on my face and unveils my darkest fears.”

He once again smiled at me, knowingly.

“Now that you know a few of my secrets, it’s your turn,” I moved to face him dead-on. “Who are you?”

It was there, in the middle of my living room where we talked all night, that he told me of his immortality. He didn’t feel it was too soon for such a reveal. Even in my drunken haze, I was skeptical, and even slightly nervous that I let a weirdo into my home. But in that life, I was a bit more understanding – a little more willing to believe.

“Prove it,” I challenged.

“Alright, I don’t have much proof on-hand,” he retorted as he rummaged through his pockets. He retrieved his wallet and looked through the numerous flaps. “Here!”

He produced a few photographs and laid them flat on the floor.

“Am I supposed to be impressed with photographs? Just because these aren’t stored on your iPhone doesn’t make them prehistoric. My baby photos were taken on disposable cameras,” I rolled my eyes jokingly.

“Look at who’s in the pictures,” he leaned my face closely into the faded images.

Immediately I noticed that these photos were indeed ancient. The first image was a group of five young black men in Union Army garb – one of them was clearly Nicholas. This was after slavery in the 1860s. A second image caught my eye. The infamous photo of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, arm in arm with his aides, marching to a Montgomery courthouse. It stood as an image of solidarity in the Civil Rights Movement, and there was Nicholas – arms locked at the elbows. His third piece of proof was him pictured playing the saxophone behind Billie Holiday during a live performance.

Each photo stood as a timestamp in history, I lived within many of those moments. But in each picture, Nicholas’s face remained the same – his youth was unchanging.

“How old are you?” I was more incredulous than nervous at that point.

“I would never say any older than 30 years old, wouldn’t you think?”

“But, how old are you? When were you born?”

“There’s a lot of semantics that go into that,” he brushed the question off. “I’ve been around for a while, just like you.”

“I’ve lived many lives, you’ve never died - there’s a huge difference.”

“But from the moment you walked in the door, I knew it was you. My life has been countless centuries, continuously rolling, but when I saw you everything came to a halt. What’s the worst that can happen, other than having someone love you forever?”

He was right, what was the worst that could’ve happened from being loved? Love strengthened and encouraged me in ways that I never knew were possible. I passed the bar exam the following week. Within a month I snagged a job at a lucrative law firm in the city. Six months later, he met my family at a Thanksgiving dinner. And a year to the exact date of our first impromptu date, Nicholas asked me to marry him.

I think I lived incredulously for the first decade. I never thought Nicholas lied to me, but a part of me couldn’t believe that he wouldn’t age. After the wedding and the kids, he would have to grow older. The stress of our firstborn being delivered prematurely and the fear that went along with conceiving for the second time filled patches of my hair with gray strands. All the while, his face remained marble smooth, his full head of hair flourished, and he always had more energy than me.

On our 25th wedding anniversary, our two children finally asked the question that consistently haunted me.

You’re not aging, are you? We’re all gonna die, and you’ll still be here.

I lived my last life without inhibitions. There was something about being with a man who couldn’t die that makes you feel invincible. We traveled the world. We engaged in humanitarian work. We challenged governments corrupted by dictators. We made love under countless sunsets. Nothing could stop us or our love. And that’s the funny thing about defying your mortality, it always has a way of confronting you regardless.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 66 years old. It was in the earliest stages and could’ve been treated with extensive rounds of chemotherapy. I chose a more holistic treatment. I didn’t need a medical form of treatment to lengthen my life, I had lived too many to be selfish. I only wanted to extend my time with Nicholas. Every moment of the following years after my diagnosis, we lived our dreams – our real dreams. We drove cross country in an RV. I wrote a book – it didn’t sell well. We bought land, acres worth, and built on it for our children and grandchildren. I finally left my mark on the world.

My death bed was a delightful one, under the circumstances that I faced. Our beach house’s master bedroom faced the ocean. With the patio doors open, I could hear the waves – the monstrous crashing lulled me in and out of consciousness. I no longer experienced the hot then cold sweats – the sea breeze kept my body temperature steady. My entire living family came to make their final visits. All of the love that I experienced until that moment could’ve never compared to the adoration my family poured into me that day.

Nicholas held me tightly in his as we watched our final sunset together. I felt his warm tears fall onto my scalp. “Our love will be everlasting,” he reassured me quietly.

“Or until I’m born again,” I weakly chuckled. “This was by far my favorite life, my absolute favorite life.”

“Your last life. Your love will last forever in death, and mine will continue eternally in life. You will not be reborn to go off and love again. I can’t allow it.”

“What are you saying?” I barely whispered.

“Shh… relax. I will never forget you. I will love you for the rest of my life, I promise.”

§ § §

“What was her exact time of birth?” a small voice sang from across the room, “I want to get a head start on her birth chart.” That voice was new and its timbre shook me from my thoughts.

“Her date of birth is September 15, 2129, 4:34 AM,” the nurse answered cheerfully while scribbling notes onto a piece of paper. She must’ve been a special type of nurse to be that cheerful that early in the morning. She skillfully grabbed my body once more, almost as if she was lugging a football, and walked me over to the hospital bed and that sweet voice.

“Ooh, a Virgo,” the voice cooed. “Some of my favorite people were born under that sun sign.”

I rolled my tiny baby-eyes. Astrology was so Babylonian, I never believed in it. To start life knowing that my new mother believed in such an ancient pseudoscience was the icing on top of the cake.

“Here’s your baby girl,” the nurse placed me into her warm arms. I squeezed my eyes as tightly as I could. I refused to look at her face and squirmed, failing to getaway. I was unwilling to face my new destiny.

“Shh, mio tesoro,” her voice coaxed me from my whimpers, “Va bene. Va bene, ti amo.” I felt her breath snuggled between my ear and neck and pressed me against her skin. She smelled of light sweat and sweet flowers – how could she smell like fresh gardenia and magnolia after giving birth? She actually radiated the natural fragrance. Her warmth became welcoming and I pressed my head into hers. “There. There’s mia Bambina.”

I opened my eyes but didn’t look directly at her, I stared at her chest. Long dark hair fell a bit below her collarbone – it looked thick and healthy, probably due to the pregnancy. Unless hair color and health were all I wished to know of my new mother, I knew I had to look at her. And it wasn’t her fault that Nicholas had forgotten about me, it was bound to happen. I diverted my sights from her chest to her neck, and then directly to her face.

She was stunningly gorgeous, even with her thick hair sticking to the sweat against her forehead. Her dark green eyes caught my attention immediately. Green and hazel were the known combination for eye color before – generations of gene mutations must’ve deepened the hue. The dark olive skin along with my pet names helped me guess her ethnicity, Italian. Her large green eyes sat like emeralds above chiseled cheekbones, her jaw was femininely strong, and her chin ended with a precise point. She was beautiful, directly from the minds of sculptors like Benjamin Matthew Victor. And her smile melted all my initial reluctance away.

“Look, she’s looking at me,” my mother gasped. “She opened her little eyes and looked right at me. Hi, I’m your mama.”

The nurse appeared over my mother’s shoulder, in front of me. “She’s wise beyond her years. You can see it in her eyes.” I took in the plump nurse, with her curly red hair and her wide smile. She couldn’t have been more than 5’3”, as she struggled to get a look at me sitting up in my mother’s arms. She held what appeared to be a tablet in her hands, tapping erratically at the screen. “Have we decided on a name for the little one?”

“Not yet. Her father is letting all of our family know that she’s arrived. We said we would name her once we saw her.” She gently touched my forehead and caressed my cheek. “I can’t believe you’re here, much less what to call you… other than perfection. Is Perfection an absolute mad name?”

“I’ve heard crazier names,” the nurse responded absentmindedly.

Please don’t let her name me Perfection, I all but screamed aloud as a new batch of tears pooled into my eyes, and a small wail got caught in my throat.

“Okay, shh… aw no, please don’t cry. That’s not your name,” she cooed.

“I don’t think she likes that name,” the nurse chuckled. “Just bounce her a little bit. She’s been through a traumatic experience today, just like you. She just wants to feel some sort of normalcy, that’s why we keep them wrapped up tightly and move them – kinda like when she was in your belly. She’ll slowly adjust to her new home.”

But I didn’t stop crying. Not only had I realized that I might have to endure bullying because my mother considered Perfection to be a viable name, but she was a first-time mother. And the thought of being an only child, the first child, again was overwhelming. My new mother was a new mother. She would obsess over her skills as a mom and smother me while trying to be the best version of herself for me. This was going to be intolerable. I would’ve rather be born in a family of at least 3 others. I could feel her anxiety rise as I continued to cry.

“What’s wrong with her? She won’t stop crying. What am I doing wrong?” her questions spilled out frantically.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” the nurse gently explained. “This is new for you. Relax, she can feel your nerves. Be confident. She’s not gonna believe that you know how to do this if you don’t believe it, baby.”

Although I heard the nurse try to coach my mother through one of the many difficult times to come, I couldn’t stop wailing. The thought that Nicholas no longer remembered me was almost physically painful to me. All I wanted to do was to jump out of this woman’s arms and find him. I needed to know how he could forget me. I had to exist in this body, with a name like Perfection, until I could grow up and search for him. We could be together again, I just had to live yet another life.

Another life.

My tiny lungs heaved and deflated in sobs with every passing thought. I was picked up and moved into the nurse’s arms again. I began to calm down. Something about not seeing my beautiful mother soothed me.

“She hates me,” my mother sighed. “She already hates me. I don’t think I can do this.” She was crying, her voice was ridiculed with hiccups.

Thoughts of finding Nicholas would consume me. I couldn’t even focus on trying to be a good daughter or trying to help her get through her first child.

“This is the first time you’ve done this. The first time you drove, did you know what you were doing? Nope. I’m sure you were nervous, but you took your time and you figured it out, right? Take your time with her.” The nurse was bouncing me against her hefty bosom.

Every decision I’d make from this day forward would be to find Nicholas. Being reborn only about 60 years after my death was embarrassingly insulting, but it worked in my favor. By the time I reached adulthood, maybe his new love would be dead. We could live to love in this lifetime as well.

“I told him… I told him that I couldn’t do this. She knows that I can’t do this,” she cried with her face in her hands. She didn’t deserve a daughter like the one that I was to become.

“Look, she’s calmed down. Sometimes it takes a more experienced touch,” the nurse chuckled. “We’ll just lie her down, and give you some attention. Let’s get your pillow fluffed, get your breakfast ordered, and look - you’re shaking! I’m gonna grab a blanket for you.” The nurse walked towards a plastic bassinet across the room.

“No! I would like to try skin-to-skin contact,” her voice was insistent. “I know it seems a bit archaic, but it’s what my grandmother said her grandmother did. Gotta keep tradition somehow.”

The nurse shrugged and crossed back over the room towards her bed, “Alright, but remember to relax.” She gingerly placed me back into my mother’s arms and waited a moment at her side. “I’ll go grab more blankets and pillows for you. I’ll be right back.”

I listened to her footsteps grow faint as she left the room, followed by the door opening and closing. I was alone with my mom. I hadn’t even noticed she was staring at me, searching for any answer that I had to give.

“Hi, sweetheart. I’m so happy that you’re finally here. But I’m also sorry because I don’t know what I’m doing. You’re my first try at this and I am so scared. I promise you that I’m going to try and NOT be too much like your grandma – she is psychotic.” She chuckled at her joke.

I smirked – I knew a few things about psychotic mothers.

“Girl, did you just smile at me?” She gleamed her joy into me, I couldn’t help but mirror it back. “Look at us. Maybe we can get along.”

Maybe we could get along. There was no reason to treat my mother in this life any differently than I have in my past lives. And as long as she didn’t interfere in my search for Nicholas later in my adulthood, we would be the best of friends – I made up my mind at that moment. She seemed like she would be a great mother and I was curious to see how our journey together would be. She continued to coo at me until the nurse made her reappearance.

“I’m back,” she sang as she walked over to the bed and dropped the blankets and pillows down by my mom’s feet. “Look at you two. I told you, all you needed to do was relax. And look who I brought back with me.”

“Oh, Nichol! Did you call everyone?” She looked towards the door while clumsily passing me back into the arms of the nurse. I tilted uncomfortably and began to fuss, her focus had shifted completely to the door.

“Yes, darling. Everyone knows her weight, height, and her shoe size,” the man teased. Through my cries, I heard something vaguely familiar in his voice.

The nurse cradled me in her arms. I could see a tall chocolate man walk over to my mom’s bedside. He pushed back the wet pieces of hair stuck to her forehead and planted a kiss there. He whispered into her hair as she threw herself into his arms. He climbed into the bed to hold her while she’s cried into his chest. My life must’ve meant more to them than I understood at that moment.

“Have you seen her?” My mother pulled away from his chest after a moment, the emeralds glowing into his face. “She’s perfect, truly perfect! We couldn’t have done better.”

“She comes from you, my love. I know she’s perfect.”

My love? The way he said ‘my love’ reminds me of…

“Let me have a look at her, and then we’ll name her!” He moved from the bed to the bathroom to wash his hands.

“She’s a little sage,” the nurse bragged as if my intelligence had something to do with her midwifery skills. “She’s been here before, I’m telling you!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” my dad joked as the nurse passed me off to him. “Well, would you look at her?”

A cry stifled in my throat. I couldn’t bring my eyes up to meet his. The chiseled chin remained as strong as I remembered. What were the odds? In what life did I sin badly enough to deserve this retribution? I dragged my eyes across his chest and up his face to meet his eyes – slates of Carrara marble stared back at me.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he purred.

Nicholas.

I could feel my lips turn into a recognizable pout. Tears filled my eyes and slowly spilled over as I silently cried in his arms.

His smile faltered. He shifted from skepticism to confusion as he looked at me, his daughter. As quickly and as easily as I left his thoughts before, I had slipped right back in. He knew it but didn’t want to believe it. If only his memory of me hadn’t faltered as I was being thrust back into existence. He wouldn’t have thought anything more of his suspicions if I hadn’t winked at him while he watched me.

“Maya?” He quietly gasped.

“Maya! I like that!” my mother, my lover’s new lover, exclaimed after overhearing him. “I think we found a name,” she sang.