Transcendence (16 page)

I shiver at the thought. There is one question that has been looming all week, but asking it feels like it would be tearing at the fabric of humanity’s most basic beliefs. I take a deep breath.

“Who decides?” I finally manage, not sure if my meaning is clear at all.

Janine tilts her head to the side. “Decides?” she repeats. “About what?”

“About when you’ll come back. Who you’ll be. How many times.” I look around the room. “All of it.”

“You’re asking if there’s a God? Someone who directs our actions? Judges us on what we do in each life, like some sort of final exam?”

I nod, knowing that the next few moments could reveal the mysteries of life that hang over everyone’s basic existence.

Janine sips her coffee slowly. “I don’t know.”

I stare at her. After everything she’s told me, it’s not the answer I’m expecting. The answer I feel like I deserve. “You don’t know? You guys have lived all of these lives before, come back as other people, but you don’t know how it works?”

“That’s the hardest thing to ultimately understand,” she says. “That our knowledge is limited by our experiences. We don’t have any sort of direct line to God or Allah or Buddha or whatever deity you care to worship. What happens in the time between lives is the greatest unknown, even to the oldest Iawi Akhet. All I do know is what I’ve experienced over my lifetimes, and that it’s up to me to put that experience to work in this one. It might take a year or it might take a hundred to come back, but so far, I always have.”

A feeling of despair settles into my chest. Janine doesn’t have any more answers than I do right now. For all of her lifetimes of experience, she hasn’t found out any more than I have in sixteen years. It feels a little like a rip-off. Or maybe a cop-out. I sit forward on the edge of the couch. “So where does the … essence … go if it’s not going right into another body? I always figured that for reincarnation to work, you had to go from one body right to the next, like lighting one candle with another.”

Janine shrugs. “Hindus believe that the spirit takes time to rest between lifetimes, in some sort of limbo between this world and the next. The Buddhists don’t really believe in transmigration at all.”

“But what do you believe?”

“I’m still working that out,” she says.

Griffon comes in right then, and I suspect that he’s been listening at the door. “So, are you clear on everything?” he asks. “All the rules and regulations?”

“Not exactly,” I say, trying not to give in to the tired feeling that’s setting in. I’ve come here hoping for some clear answers, but all I’m getting are more questions.

He sits down on the couch, right next to me at first so that I can feel the faint vibrations in the tiny space that separates us. After a second, he glances down and slides over so that there’s about a foot between us on the couch. For everything that says about how he feels about me, about us, it might as well be a mile.

“Don’t try to get all the answers right away,” Janine says. “Just leave yourself open to new information.” That’s the most Berkeley thing she’s said all night. “But be careful.”

She leans over and puts her arm around my shoulders. Her vibrations are even stronger than Griffon’s, but seem to have a different rhythm—one that’s softer, more controlled. “You’re welcome here any time,” she says. She nods at Griffon. “Despite appearances, you should listen to what Griffon has to say. You’d be wise to trust him.”

“I do,” I say, without glancing in his direction, the physical distance between us feeling larger than ever.

“Good,” Janine says, standing up. “I’ve got a
Glee
marathon lined up on my laptop, and I want to catch some of it before I go to bed. Lovely to meet you, and I hope we see you again soon.”

“Thanks for everything,” I say as she retreats to another room.

Griffon sits on the chair next to me and drinks from his own coffee mug. “Do you need to go soon?”

I glance up at the old clock over the fireplace. “Soonish,” I say, not really wanting to leave. Despite the gaping chasm that is the space between us, I still hold out hope that I’m not completely wrong—that there was meaning in his gesture last night as I felt us coming together, that I’m not completely delusional. Mom and Dad haven’t called yet, but they’ll start checking up on me soon. “My parents are still pretty strict about pretty much everything. I wish they could be cooler. More like Janine.”

Griffon glances toward the open door. “She
is
pretty cool,” he says. “I got lucky this time—I’ve never had an Akhet in the family before now. Makes things a lot easier.”

“She doesn’t even seem that much older than we are.”

He nods. “I’ve been Akhet a lot longer than she has, even though she’s physically older in this life. Evens things out some.”
Griffon stands up and grabs two leather jackets from hooks by the door. “As long as you don’t have to be home right away, how about we go for a ride before I take you back to the station?”

I can’t hide my smile. Somewhere deep inside of me, hope stirs and stretches. “Sounds good.”

We wind our way through Berkeley, no longer as congested now that rush hour is over. After passing the University campus, we begin to climb the dark streets higher and higher until we’re in parts of Berkeley that I’ve never seen before. The wind is weak but cold, and I hide as much of myself behind Griffon as I can, sinking into his jacket and letting his shoulders block the breeze. Leaving the houses behind, we enter Tilden Park, driving slowly along the winding roads as the moon throws shadows from the tall trees surrounding us on either side. I don’t care where we’re going, as long as I can sit quietly behind him, feeling his muscles shift and tense as he eases the bike in and out of turns.

At the top of a ridge, he pulls over into a dirt turnout flanked by giant boulders. Coasting to a stop, he holds the bike steady so
I can slide off the back. As he turns the engine off, the silence surrounds us, punctuated only by the chirping of unseen frogs and the occasional hoot of an owl.

“Have you ever been up here?” he asks, pulling his helmet off.

“I think we used to come up here to ride the train,” I say, looking around. “But it’s been a long time.”

“The steam train is just down there,” he says, pointing away from the ridge. “There’s a carousel and a little farm too.”

“And pony rides.” I suddenly remember crying and being taken off a small white pony when I was little. Luckily, this memory is only a few years old, not a few hundred.

I can see his smile in the darkness. “I used to go there too,” he says. “I think every kid in the Bay Area had to have their sixth birthday at the Little Farm. I loved those ponies, even though all they did was go around and around in a circle.”

“It’s amazing how many of the same places we’ve both been over the years. We might have passed each other a million times at the park or on the street,” I say, watching a set of car headlights round the bend below us. “But we didn’t meet until we were both in London.”

Griffon walks to the edge and looks out at the lights that dot the city below us, then across the dark span of water to San Francisco. For once, the fog has retreated back under the Golden Gate Bridge, and it seems like you can see forever. “Maybe we did meet before,” he says. “But the timing wasn’t right. Your essence sometimes crosses paths with others through many lifetimes.”

I walk a few steps toward the edge and feel my heart start to pound.

Griffon turns to look back at me. “Come here and check out all the lights.”

Looking past him to where the solid ground drops out of sight, I know that this is as far as I can go. “I can’t.”

“Afraid of heights?”

I nod. “Totally.” I swallow hard to keep the rising panic down.

“You know I won’t let you fall, right?” he says, walking a few steps back to me.

“I know,” I say. “It’s almost like I don’t trust myself. Like I might lose control and jump. I’ve always been this way.” I stand on my tiptoes to look over the edge. “I can see fine from here.”

Griffon laughs and moves back beside me. “You’re right,” he says, looking around. “It’s fine from here.”

We stand looking at the view from the safety of our spot. “So,” I begin, wanting to get back to our other conversation, “do you think we’ve had a relationship before?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I’ve searched my memories, but I haven’t found anything.” He looks at the smile on my face. “What?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Oh, now you
have
to tell me.”

“It’s just that I don’t think I’ll be able to get over it if we were like mother and son another time. Or worse.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. We’ve never had a relationship before. The fact that you’re starting to get some of your memories is probably the reason that we know each other now. Like I said, Akhet are often drawn to other Akhet, even if they don’t know the reasons why. Figuring it out is all part of the fun.”

I zip the jacket up tighter and set my backpack down at my
feet. It’s even colder up here on the ridge, but I’m not ready to go back home. I don’t know if I’ll
ever
be ready to go back home.

“Have you ever seen so many lights?” Griffon says, scanning the scene below.

“It makes me think of all of the people who are down there,” I say. “Hundreds of thousands of them.” I shiver involuntarily. “Makes me feel small. Unimportant.”

“I know what you mean,” Griffon says a little sadly. “You try to do big things, you know? Things that might change the world. But then you come up here and realize that you’re just one tiny person in the middle of it all.” He turns to look at me. “You’re cold. We should go.”

“No, not just yet.” I glance up at him, feeling the sharp wind but not wanting this night to end. “I want to stay for just a little while longer. It’s beautiful.”

“Come here,” he says, pulling me closer. “I’ll keep you warm.”

I stand in front of him, leaning my head back almost imperceptibly until it rests on his chest. Even through our jackets, I can feel the hum of his vibrations, and I inhale, trying to keep his scent so that I can remember it when I’m at home alone. I don’t care what he can do—if he can name every date on the calendar or have a one-man show at the biggest art gallery in the city. I just know that I want to be with him more than anything I’ve ever wanted in the world.

After a few moments, Griffon relaxes and slowly puts one arm around me. I can feel his warm breath on the back of my neck as he bends his head down toward mine, and the sensation causes me to visibly tense. Despite the shivers traveling up
my spine, I try to stay still, not knowing if he’s just trying to warm me up, but not wanting to break the energy that’s forming between us.

I try to keep my focus on the tiny lights of the cars as they cross the bridge, but Griffon’s fingertips pull my hair aside and his lips brush the back of my neck so gently it seems like I’m imagining it. Barely breathing, I close my eyes as his lips trace my neck and then plant small kisses just below my ear. Unable to stand still any longer, I turn to face him, threading my hands under his jacket until I can feel the warm cotton of the back of his shirt.

Griffon pulls back and looks at me. Even in the darkness I can see the indecision on his face, and I will it to be just a few seconds earlier when his lips were still on my skin.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, and reaches behind his back to unclasp my hands. He steps back toward the bike, and I can feel a lump forming in my throat. The moment was perfect, and now it’s gone.

“It’s okay. You can tell me if you’ve got a girlfriend.”

“It’s not that,” he says loudly. Griffon rakes his fingers through his hair. “I only wish it were that easy.” He paces in the dirt for a few seconds, kicking up little puffs of dust that disappear over the ridge. “I’ve tried so hard to stay away from you,” he finally says, standing several feet away from me. He starts pacing again. “I really shouldn’t be doing this—”

I hold my hands up, afraid of what he might say next. “It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t want to do anything to come between you and anyone else—”

“There
is
no one else,” he says quickly. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Not like you mean it. I haven’t had one in this lifetime. Intentionally.”

I stand still, waiting for more of an explanation. I find it hard to believe that he’s telling the truth, but the look on his face is almost painful.

Griffon sighs and moves closer to me. “Remember when you asked me if I was hundreds of years old? In the park that day?”

I nod. “But you said that you’re only seventeen.”

“I wasn’t lying, I am only seventeen,” he says. “But I have memories of being twenty and thirty-five. More than once. Damn, Cole—I’ve been married before. Been a parent before.” It looks like the memories cause him pain. “When I do get involved with someone, I wait until I’m older, until I can meet people whose life experiences match mine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, trying not to picture him with an older woman. “I don’t care how old you are.”

“It
does
matter,” he insists. “It’s like a creepy older guy going out with a hot young teenager.”

I look down at the ground as he speaks, trying hard to keep the smile off my lips at those last words. “Have you ever told anyone your secret like this?” I ask. He shakes his head quickly. “It’s only unfair if you keep the truth hidden. I’m not some poor innocent girl who doesn’t know anything about you. I know about your past. All of them. Besides, you said it yourself—I’m becoming one of you. Soon enough, things will be equal.”

I watch him consider this, happy that for once I can tell him
something that he didn’t already realize. Just as my resolve begins to waver, he walks toward me, his footsteps no longer kicking up dust, but decisive and strong. I say nothing as he bends down and presses his lips against mine in a kiss that feels like it’s hundreds of years overdue.

“A whole week.” I flop onto Rayne’s bed and grab a pillow, hugging it to my chest like I need something to fill the space that feels so empty. I’ve been trying so hard not to cry, but every time I think back to last Sunday night, hot tears prick the backs of my eyelids. Everything was perfect. Griffon was there, really there, with me that night, and now he’s gone. “It’s been a whole week, and nothing from him.”