My Secret Book

Contents Dedication Chapter One - 1 Chapter Two - 2 Chapter Three - 3 Chapter Four - 4 Chapter Five - 5 Chapter Six - 6 Chapter Seven - 7 Chapter Eight - 8 Chapter Nine - 9 Chapter Ten - 10 Chapter Eleven - 11 Chapter Twelve - 12 Chapter Thirteen - 13 Chapter Fourteen - 14 Chapter Fifteen - 15 Chapter Sixteen - 16 Chapter Seventeen - 17 Chapter Eighteen - 18 Chapter Nineteen - 19 Chapter Twenty - 20 Chapter Twenty-One - 21 Chapter Twenty-Two - 22 Chapter Twenty-Three - 23 Chapter Twenty-Four - 24 Chapter Twenty-Five - 25 Chapter Twenty-Six - 26 Chapter Twenty-Seven - 27 Chapter Twenty-Eight - 28 Chapter Twenty-Nine - 29 Chapter Thirty - 30

Chapter Thirty-One - 31

LaShelle, Max, Jessica, Jovita, and kris… I’ve never ever done this before and for some reason, I’m petrified. I’ve gathered my truster reader friends to take a sneak peek at a work-in-progress! I’m excited. And I want to THANK YOU so much for your time. This is a huge favor and I truly appreciate it. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts. And please know, I am rocking back and forth on my sofa sucking my thumb until I hear back from you. And I will be convinced that I am the suckiest writer to ever sit up in Starbucks ever until you tell me otherwise. No pressure of course. -Aliya

CHAPTER ONE 1

Jamie. Don’t buy the house. I left work early because I couldn’t get Eliot on the phone to tell him that we couldn’t buy the house. For the entire drive home I did that kind of brake-gas brake-gas driving that drives Eliot up the wall. We’d only put it in our bid a day or two before and negotiations for house prices go on for weeks, sometimes longer. So there was absolutely no reason for me to speed home that day, slamming the car door shut and jogging up the front steps, keys in hand. What did I expect? That Eliot would be

standing in the kitchen at the door, grinning like a Cheshire cat with the cell phone tucked into the crook of his neck? Yeah. That’s exactly what I saw. Eliot’s eyes widened in surprise to see me home two hours early. He held up a pointer finger and gestured toward the phone and then made a shushing motion. I grabbed a marker from the kitchen drawer and fished through a pile of junk mail. I flipped over a large envelope and used the marker to draw in huge letters: IS THAT THE REALTOR? TELL HER WE DO NOT WANT TO BID ON THE HOUSE ANYMORE: NO MORE NEGOTIATING! I held up the sign. Eliot opened his mouth to speak and then stopped. He moved the phone away and covered the mouth piece with his hand. “What are you talking about,” he whispered. “Hang up the phone Eliot,” I said. ‘I don’t want that house.” Eliot just shook his head and then jumped back into the conversation. He started walking toward the bedroom and I followed, close at his heels. “Eliot, call her back,” I said. “I need to talk to you.” “And there’s no catch?” Eliot said to whoever he was speaking to. “Hang up!” “Well, yes. We plan to have kids eventually.” Eliot shot me a look and my eyebrows knitted.

“Who are you talking to?” I whispered. Eliot held up his hand once again and I had to force myself not to grab it and bite off his pointer finger. Finally, I grabbed the cell phone out of his hand and moved quickly to the other side of the room, behind the couch. I stopped briefly to put the phone on Mute and then moved back and forth, staying one step ahead of Eliot who was lunging to get the phone back. “Jamie. Give me the phone,” said Eliot. “Now.” “Is this the realtor?” “Give me the phone!” “If you’re talking about the house in Harlem, I don’t want to— Eliot caught me off guard with a flying leap and took the phone—and me— straight down to the couch. He took the phone, pressed the Mute button again and fell right back into the conversation before I could even straighten up off the couch. “We’re on our way,” said Eliot. Then he Ended the call and tossed the phone into my lap. “Get dressed,” said Eliot. “She accepted our offer. The house is ours.” I felt the blood draining from my face and my mouth went dry. “Not possible,” I said, more to myself than to Eliot. “That’s what I thought,” said Eliot, pulling on one of his sneakers. “But obviously it is possible. Because this is happening.” “But we put out a ridiculously low price,” I said. “You said to just do it for a Hail Mary pass. There’s no way she accepted that offer.”

Eliot slipped into his other shoe and then walked over and grabbed my face. He bent down and kissed me. “Except she did accept the offer. Unconditionally.” “You said something about kids.” “Ok. So that part’s kind of weird.” “She wants our first born.” “Not quite. But she did tell the real estate agent that she wanted to sell the house to a couple who planned to raise a family in it. All of the other bids were older people with adult children. Or investors who wanted to rent it out.” “What does it matter to her?” I asked. “I don’t know. But the agent said she was adamant about it.” “And what if we don’t have kids? Does the bank repossess the house after I hit menopause or something?” “Well that’s not something we need to worry about is it?” Eliot knew for damn certain that it was indeed something to worry about. But I couldn’t fight that battle. Not then. # Two hours later, my right hand was cramping from signing so many papers. The realtor would lick her pointer finger and select some papers, staple them and then flip them around to me and Elliot and show us all the x marks where we had to initial and sign, initial and sign. “And here, here, here. And then on the other side, numbers 2, 7 and 8.”

Eliot was on my right. I would get the packets first, scribble my initials and then pass them to him. Every so often, he’d nudged me and smile. I couldn’t smile back. For the whole ride over from our apartment to the attorney’s office, I had tried to explain to Eliot why this wasn’t the right move. But he wasn’t hearing it. “Let me get this straight,” Eliot had said. “We find the house of our dreams and then mope around for weeks because there’s no way in hell we can afford the asking price…” “Yeah but—“ Eliot took one hand off the steering wheel to shush me. “And then we decide to throw out a number just to say we did. Fifty freaking thousand dollars less than asking price.” Eliot looked over at me with wide eyes. “And this lady says, I’ll take it. And then, for some reason you can’t explain, you decide you don’t want the house.” “If it sounds to good to be true it probably is,” I said. “But Jamie. You rushed home to tell me you didn’t want the house before you even knew our ridiculously low offer got accepted. You didn’t know it was too good to be true.” “Exactly. Which is why I think I should follow my hunch.” “Jame?” I closed my eyes tight. Whenever Eliot called me by my nickname and threw that question mark on the end, I knew it was nothing good coming next.

“Yeah?” “Is this about one of your dreams?” I turned my face completely to the right so I could look out of the window. No matter how hard I tried to keep my face neutral I knew Eliot would see straight through me. # Last night, I’d had the Quad Studio dream. I was standing outside with ‘Pac. He was yelling up to someone already inside the building. In real life, I was at home that night. And I heard about the shooting when Angie Martinez reported it on Hot 97. But in the dream, as always, I was right there with Tupac. And I knew what was about to happen. And yet I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I was frozen and paralyzed. I would try to lift my hand to pull his arm and no matter how hard I tried, my hands wouldn’t leave my sides. Pac kept asking me what was wrong and all I could do was plead with my eyes. In my mind I was screaming at him not to go into the lobby of the studio but I couldn’t even open my mouth. And as always, as soon as I heard the gunshots, I woke up. I used to wake up screaming bloody murder and sobbing. Eliot would wake up and hold me, rubbing my back and rocking me until I settled down. A few years back, I noticed that he started to seem annoyed when I woke him up at some ungodly hour. I felt so bad that I started training myself not to scream. I still can’t help waking up soaked to the skin and gasping for breath. But I never cry

anymore. As my Pacmares go, (Eliot made that one up. I think its genius, if not a little mean), the Quad Studio dream isn’t that bad. But the night before the bid on the house had been accepted, it had veered off the normal storyline. As usual, I tried mightily to lift my arm to drag ‘Pac away from the shots I knew were coming. But this time, Tupac turned and looked directly at me, as if I’d appeared out of nowhere. For so many years, I’d relived the shooting at the studio exactly as it happened. And now, just before the shots were supposed to be fired and I was supposed to wake up screaming, ‘Pac was looking at me like an actor on television breaking the fourth wall. “Jamie.” His voice was flat and plain. His mouth was moving the way I would expect it to. But it was definitely someone else’s voice. I still couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even widen my eyes or flare my nostrils the way I sometimes could in that dream. I just stared at him like a mute zombie. ‘Pac shook his head back and forth and mouthed some words to me. I couldn’t catch it. I stared straight into his eyes and managed to furrow my eyebrows to show my confusion. He mouthed the words again, this time slower. Four words. And all I could get was that the first word was my name. I kept staring. ‘Pac kept talking with a mute button on. All I could read on his lips were my name and then I recognized the word don’t. And he was saying it on repeat. He grabbed my arm and started shaking me. I

was vaguely aware that this was probably happening because in real life, Eliot was trying to shake me awake because I’d already started screaming. That happened sometimes. My physical body started reacting before the dream even got to the shooting. Although I couldn’t hear him, I could tell from his movements that ‘Pac was screaming at me. Then, he moved his head and looked behind me. He looked back at me, pulled my arm again. Now his eyes were pleading.

Jamie. Don’t something something something!” And then the shots. And then the screams. And then Eliot’s hands on my back. The dream evaporated immediately. For the rest of the day, I kept trying to get it back. I knew the dream had been radically different. But I couldn’t remember how or why. On my lunch break, I walked out of the office, gnawing at a cheese sandwich and getting a dose of sun. And pop. Just like that, the line from Pac’s mouth, (though it definitely wasn’t his voice), was in my head.

Jamie. Don’t buy the house. I called Eliot from my cell phone and kept getting voicemail. I knew he was working from home that day so he could have been on a call or just not near his cell. I texted my assistant and told her I had to go out to a site to deal with an emergency. I flew home, praying Eliot hadn’t made any moves. Even though I knew it didn’t make sense to be concerned. Even if the seller decided to give us the house for free, neither of us would make a move

without talking it over with the other. Nonetheless, I hauled ass. And I saw exactly what I expected: Jamie on the phone with the realtor. And twenty minutes later I was heading to the attorney’s office. “It’s not about a dream,” I lied, as we climbed out of the car in the parking lot of the attorney’s office. “I just don’t feel good about it.” # After all the paperwork was signed, the realtor and some other random folks milled around the office speaking in real-estate jargon and putting thick sheafs of paper in large envelopes, some of which they gave to us. We had a stack piling up next to us that Eliot kept patting every time a new envelope was dumped on top. One of the realtor’s assistants sat across from us at the table with a worn-out cardboard box. She dumped the contents on the table and began separating keys and other random stuff. “These are the keys for the front and back door on street-level, the main door and the back door on the second floor. All those locks were changed already and these are brand new.” She slid the keys to the center of the table. I know why I didn’t move to take them. But I wasn’t sure why Eliot didn’t. He had been so excited to have keys that we had to wait before leaving for the attorney’s office while he rumbled around in one of his boxes to find the Jets keychain his dad

had given him when he was seven that he’d been saving for this very moment. The woman continued babbling about keys and locks for the mailbox, the screen door and a utility closet on the first floor. I tuned her out until she slid out an old school key. I picked it up. It had a heft to it that I’d forgotten keys ever had. It was far from the swipe card I used these days at work. The key was long and copper and had a hole inside the top part that you held in hand while sliding in the actual key. I put it in my palm and threw it up and caught it a few times. “Amazing right,” said the realtor, gesturing toward the key in my hand. “You don’t see keys like that anymore.” I nodded. “What does it go to?” The realtor consulted a weathered piece of paper that had been in the bottom of the box. “It says the attic. But I’m pretty sure there’s no lock on that door. Probably obsolete with all the renovations done over the years. Still a nice trinket to have, right?” I smiled politely and slipped they key into my back pocket. “We’re almost done,” said the realtor, shoving a few more papers in front of us. “Aren’t you excited?” Eliot asked, nudging me once more. “Yes,” I said. Eliot was obviously excited enough for both of us. He didn’t even notice my one-word noncommittal response.

# I grabbed Eliot’s hand when we stopped in front of the building. We were both quiet. For a long moment, we were both truly speechless. “This is our house?” said Eliot, his neck craning up. “Can’t be.” I whispered. “You want to go in?” “Yeah. Let’s do it.” All of my doubts and fears from the dream vanished as soon as Eliot and I came to the house. All the reasons why we fell in love with it in the first place were still there—only magnified. The trees in front were taller and more lush. The potted plants in front of the street level apartment were somehow brighter and greener. The brickwork was perfect, not a single piece cracked or damaged but still weathered. The heavy glass door with carefully etched designs was crystal clear and showcasing the grand foyer just behind it. We could even see the beginning of the sweeping spiral staircase carved from a single piece of 1922 mahogany imported from Brazil that led to the second and third floors. “Come on,” said Eliot, taking a cautious step and pulling me gently behind him. Before he could even get his foot on the first step, the front door began to creak open and we both froze in place. An elderly woman wearing a smart skirt suit and low pumps poked her head around the side of the door. “Congratulations,” she said, beckoning us inside. Eliot didn’t move and I could feel his hackles

raising. “Who are you? And why are you in here,” he asked. He squeezed my hands tight but I don’t think her realized it. “I’m here because this has been my home for the past 68 years,” the woman said with a smile. “We just closed on this house an hour ago,” said Eliot, his voice still tight and clipped. “Eliot,” the woman said, with just a slight tinge of exasperation. “I owned this house. I’m the one who accepted your scandalously low offer. And if you’ll give me just a few minutes, I’ll be right out of your hair. Come on inside.” Eliot still seemed hesitant and I could tell that he was just on the verge of being outright rude. I rubbed his arm and then smiled at the woman. “We’d love to come in,” I said. “Can you show us around?” “I’d love to,” said the woman, “I can help you understand this place better than any realtor or housing inspector ever could.” “This is very unethical,” Eliot whispered in my ear. “Just hear her out,” I said, as the woman began telling us about the original claw foot tub in the master bedroom. I knew it well. That tub is what had sold me on the house the first day we saw it. And every night, back at the apartment, as I folded myself into the tiny dirt—magnet horror we called a tub, I cursed the fact that I’d probably never be able to afford a Harlem brownstone with a claw foot tub in it. Except now, here we were, me and Eliot and the

owner lady, standing together in a bathroom larger than the bedroom in our apartment, which was inside a bedroom larger than the entire first floor of our apartment. “Would you believe my grandparents carried this tub up here themselves!” Eliot smiled politely and began backing out of the bathroom. “Excuse me Mrs…— “Mrs. Williams,” said the woman, walking into the hallway and pointing out different spare rooms and a small guest bathroom at the end of the hallway. “This bathroom gets very drafty. I’ve had it insulated it so many times over the years. Nothing helps. I’m not sure why.” I stood up on the toilet seat and lifted one of the panels of the drop ceiling. “Jamie get down,” said Eliot. “You don’t have to check it out now.” Mrs. Williams laughed. “It’s your house. She can do what she wants.” “It’s drafty in here because there’s a few disconnected ducts,” I said. “Really the only solution is to re-do most of them.” “That sounds expensive,” said Mrs. Williams. “Nah,” I said, still peering up at the pipes. “Probably a thousand in supplies. Not even that much if you can get the Energy Star brand stuff.” Eliot looked at Mrs. Williams and rolled his eyes. “Jamie’s into that kind of thing.”

“I can see that,” said the woman. “Aren’t you lucky?” I looked down at them and then got down quickly and wiped my hands off on my jeans. I didn’t like it when Eliot said I was “into that kind of thing” when it came to construction and home repairs. Like it was crocheting or cooking. Not that there’s anything wrong with baking or needlepoint. But it always seems like Eliot is embarrassed that I can do ornamental woodworking or install a toilet and sink in one afternoon. Part of the reason we could bid so low on the house was because we knew I could handle all of the major repairs the inspector found. A horn sounded from the street and Mrs. Williams looked out of the window, smiled and waved to someone and then turned back to face us. “I can’t believe I’m walking out of the house for the last time,” she said, shaking her head. “Where are you going” I asked. Mrs. William sighed. “I know I should have been gone before the closing but I really wanted to see you all walk in here for the first time.” Mrs. Williams began to make her way down the staircase, gripping the banister tightly and taking each stair one at a time. “Mrs. Williams?” said Eliot, from the top of the stairs. She stopped and turned. “Yes?” “Why did you accept our offer? You could have gotten at least twice as much.” “Do you know how much my grandparents paid

for this house?” the woman asked. “20,000” I said. “In 1947.” “They got a 30 year mortgage,” said Mrs. Williams. “But they paid it off before I was even born.” Eliot let out a low whistle. “I’ve never in my adult life had to pay rent or a mortgage. It’s allowed me to have a very comfortable nest egg.” “But why wouldn’t you get the most that you could?” asked Eliot. “I am getting the most that I can,” said the woman. “This house and this community is about more than money. Do you think I want to see this house carved up and turned into ten apartments with tenants coming and going?” “But how do you know we won’t do that?” Elliot asked. I jabbed him in the ribs as hard as I could but he kept talking. “There was no clause for that in our—” “You won’t,” said the woman. She turned and continued walking down the steps, stopping at a hall closet near the front door. There was a single sweater on a lone hanger inside. She slipped into it and took out a small valise from a top shelf. She mumbled to herself as she rummaged through her bag, seeming to go over a mental checklist. When she was done, she nodded her head once and then looked back up at us. “Eliot. Jamie. My best to you.” I don’t know what got into me but as soon as she put her hand on the front door, I blurted out: “Mrs. Williams, there’s a good chance we will

not have children.” Now it was Eliot’s term to jab me in the ribs but I kept my eyes on her face. “What’s your favorite quote Jamie?” she asked. I hesitated for a second and then it came to me. “I do not weep at the world. I’m too busy sharpening my oyster knife.” Mrs. Williams beamed. “Zora was a good friend of my parents. She spent time in that parlor right behind you.” My stomach dropped at the very idea and I had to file that fact away in order to stay focused on the conversation. “My favorite quote is from Graham Green,” said Mrs. Williams: There is always a moment in

childhood when the door opens and lets the future in. Mrs. Williams pulled back the heavy door and then stepped back as if she was letting someone inside. She waited a moment, as if there were several people filing in. Then she looked up at us and nodded. Without saying anything else, she lifted her valise and closed the door behind her. Still at the top of steps, Eliot and I stood there quiet. “What just happened?” asked Eliot. I walked down to the foyer to look out of the door. “I have no idea.” Outside, I could make out a young man helping Mrs. William get in the backseat of a TownCar. He arranged her bag near her and seemed to be double-

checking to make sure she was comfortable. I saw her smile and nod and then pat the young man’s hand. When he turned to get back in the car, he looked up at the door and caught my eye. He froze. The way he stopped and looked at me made a chill go through my body. There was something intimately familiar about him although I was sure I’d never seen him before in my life. “You okay?” Eliot asked from the top of the stairs. “Is she still out there?” I tried to speak but it was like my nightmares. I was locked into that young man’s face and I couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch him. I wanted to open the door and run down the steps and ask him his name and where he was going and how he knew Mrs. Williams. Something in my heart told me I needed to know. But I was paralyzed. Not until the car pulled off was I able to shake it off and turn to Eliot. “What happened?” Eliot asked. “Nothing.” I said. “Come up here,” said Eliot, beckoning me. I jogged up the staircase and started peeking into each room with Eliot. Every ten minutes, we discovered a hidden jewel we hadn’t known about. There was a dumbwaiter, a laundry chute and a working fireplace in a tiny bathroom inside a guest room. “It’s too much!” Eliot said, laughing. “This is crazy.” Before I could respond, Eliot grabbed my wrist. “Let’s go downstairs.”

We rustled through the box of keys and found the key to the street level apartment. But we couldn’t find the stairwell to get us there from inside the top floors. We had to go outside, down the steps and then around to the tiny area outside the front of the street-level door. “You ready?” “Ready.” Eliot jiggled the key a few times and a cloud of dust came up as he pushed the door open. “Oh Jamie…” We’d seen the basement several times when we were just looking. But knowing it was ours… My hand flew up to my mouth and I had to hold back tears. “Tell me,” said Eliot. “Tell you what.” “Tell me what you’re going to do.” I took a deep breath. Then I turned to Eliot and smiled hard. “Okay. So those two walls are coming down.” Eliot nodded and pointed. “What about that one?” “That can’t come down. That’s part of the foundation. That’s going to divide my office from the conference room.” Eliot nodded and walked around, stepping over old pipes and discarded insulation. “I’m going to get the guys over at Made to finish the gut and then I’ll start fresh and start sourcing some salvaged. stuff. “Wait. By yourself?” I gave Eliot a look. “Of course,” he said, shaking his head. “By yourself.”

I mapped out more of my plan and soon I was talking more to myself than to Eliot and I went into my back pocket to get a pen to jot down some notes. I pulled out a pen and the key I’d taken from the realtor popped out and fell on the floor. “What’s this for?” Eliot asked, picking it up. “She said the attic. But I don’t think the attic even has a door. Isn’t it a drop ceiling entrance?” Eliot studied it. “It’s beautiful.” “I know. I want to use it to make a key for a cabinet in the conference room down here.” Eliot put the key down on a mantel and then wrapped me up in his arms. He was so much taller than me that I was practically smushed into his stomach. He bent down, squeezed me and kissed my forehead. “I’m happy for you. For us,” he said. I was too smushed to speak so I just squeezed him as hard as I could and nodded my head. “Let’s go eat.” We carefully stepped over the debris and got back to the front door. Eliot walked out first and then held the door for me. “Wait,” I said, turning to go back inside. “Jamie come on, you’ll have plenty of time to work on this place.” I jumped across a few pipes and then grabbed the key Eliot had left on the mantel and slipped it back into my pocket. “You know we own this house now,” said Eliot. “You can leave stuff here. It’ll be here when you

come back.” I shrugged, unable to explain why I had to have that key back. As we walked back up the main steps, Eliot turned to me. “Are you excited?” “More nervous I think.” “Why?” I tried as hard as I possibly could to come up with something that made sense but wouldn’t freak Eliot out. Couldn’t do it. “I don’t know,” I said. “I just am.” Eliot hugged me again. “Jeez Jamie,” he said. He pulled away from me and looked me in the eye. “Your heart is pounding. What’s wrong?” I just shook my head and tried to smile. “I’m fine. Big day.” “True. Come inside.” I followed Eliot back into the house. But for some reason, my heart didn’t stop pounding until I put my hands into my back pocket and felt around for that key. I took it hard, squeezed it, put it back and for some reason, I immediately felt better. Which made me feel worse.

CHAPTER TWO 2 “Jame? Where does this sheetrock go?” I blinked, trying to think about five things at once and then finally absorbing what Eliot was asking me. “Put the cement render in the street-level apartment. And the plaster and gypsum board too. The rest you can leave up on the third floor because its going to the attic.” Eliot nodded and relayed the message while I went to go over my plans with the contract I’d hired to help me get my office ready. The lease on the building I’d been renting for five years ran out in thirty days and my entire staff would need to be working out of that space by then. My

assistant had been making noises about having everyone work remotely for a bit so I could take my time transforming the basement apartment into our workspace. Yeah. Right. Not. I could barely get him to do any work when he was right in my face. “You want them to put boxes in each room and start unpacking them or just leave them there,” Eliot asked. “You decide,” I said, turning back to pencil in changes that were coming to me as fast as I could get them down on the blueprints. “Yes your highness,” said Eliot under his breath. I looked up at the ceiling and inhaled. Seven years and Eliot still got sulky and weird when I did anything construction related. Sometimes, I think that after all this time he’s still mortally embarrassed that when I met him at the construction site for NJ PAC in downtown Newark he thought I was a go-fer. He was one the trailer dudes, who were on site each day crunching numbers and moving papers around their desks while the rest of us moved that building into the Newark skyline. When I told him I was Jamie Belafonte, the sire forewoman, he was immediately apologetic and genuinely sweet about it. But I knew he was humiliated. As well as he should have been. But the fact that he didn’t let that stop him from asking me out the same night was very impressive. Most of the guys on the site, in the trailers and everywhere else, avoided me like a leper. I was a freak of nature and I was breaking all the rules by even being there, never mind being there to make

sure they didn’t screw anything up. For the next near decade, he seemed to have mixed feelings about my professional life. When he started flipping houses, he was happy to add my name to his business plan to get investors. But when I met his parents, he told them I worked for a construction company. Until I corrected him a while later, his father assumed I was a receptionist. And I’m pretty sure his mother still doesn’t believe I own my own company. After my contractor cleared his initial plans with me and left me with a schedule, I was able to turn off that part of my brain and start thinking about how we would work out our living space. We didn’t have nearly enough stuff to fill up a third of the rooms we had on the top floors. I was going to double insulate the rooms just to keep warm until we actually started to accumulate stuff. “Weird question,” said Eliot, a box in his hand. “Shoot.” “Where’s the attic?” I laughed. “I’m guessing upstairs?” “You would think right?” said Eliot. “I opened every door and its just rooms, bathrooms and closets.” I felt for the key in my back pocket. It had become some kind of talisman and I’d started throwing it there everyday, right after I put on my wedding band, earrings and the locket ‘Pac gave me for graduation. “Maybe it’s inside a room? You know, like you have to go through a room to get to the stairs?”

“Nope. Every room has closets or bathrooms. No stairs.” “Huh.” I squinted and chewed on an imaginary piece of gum. I started up the stairs and Eliot followed. “Where are all the boxes we labeled for the attic?” “I don’t know,” said Eliot. “When the movers left, they said they put all the boxes in each room marked on the box.” I stopped and texted the moving company guy.

Where are the boxes marked Attic. —J My phone pinged two seconds later.

In the attic. —L I turned my phone around to show it to Eliot. “That’s helpful.” “Did you look in here,” I said, opening the door to a tiny room with a tiny closet lined with bookshelves. “Yes. Unless these bookshelves can rotate and take us to a secret staircase it’s not— “Hey. Look,” I said, pointing to the top bookshelf. I grabbed the box of books in Eliot’s hand, dropped it in the center of the closet and then stood on top of it. Eliot held my waist to keep my balance. “I’m actually tall enough to do this for you if — “I knew it,” I said, more to myself. At the very top of the closet was a tiny wooden knob right in the ceiling. I started to pull it and then turned my face away because I knew what was about to happen. The knob pulled a small square of the ceiling

down, a cloud of dust and debris blew out and I could see dark space above. “Ta da,” I said. ‘I present to you, the attic.” “How the hell did the movers find it?” asked Eliot. “They didn’t. I don’t know where they put our attic stuff. But it wasn’t in here. I’m sure of that.” “How do you even get up there?” I pulled myself up as much as I could until I was resting my forearms on the floor of the space. I leaned all my weight onto one arm and swept the floor with the other until I felt something nailed into the floor. “Take this,” I said to Eliot, tossing a rope I’d grabbed. “You can’t be serious.” I jumped down to the floor and a rope ladder fell down to my feet. “Now you see why that key doesn’t work with this attic.” I snorted. “I don’t know how it ever did.” Eliot grabbed an old t-shirt and used it to wipe down the rope ladder and then I climbed up and pulled myself through the opening. “Can I fit up there?” Eliot said. “Of course. Get up here.” I found a light switch and a naked bulb in the center of the room illuminated the space. “Jamie. You’re not really going to try and do something with this space, are you?” “Are you kidding me? Of course I am!”

Eliot stepped around the attic, his head low to keep from banging it on the exposed beam running vertically from one side of the room to the other. “This is a glorified crawlspace,” said Eliot, shaking his head. “After I get the roof lifted, we can—“ “Get the what.” said Eliot. I cursed myself for blurting that one out. I knew I was going to have to ease Eliot into my attic plans. “I mean if we decide we want to do expand up here…” I tried to look up at the ceiling and then around the room as if I had no idea what to do with the space and I hadn’t been pouring over the floor plan ever since the day we closed on the house. “Out with it,” said Eliot. “What are you thinking. You may as well tell me now.” I swallowed and walked over to Eliot. “You promise not to shut me down while I’m talking?” “No.” I began walking over to the far side of the attic, in the alcove under the skylight. “Okay. So right here?” I put my hands out and then everything went black. I couldn’t move. And I wasn’t just frozen. I couldn’t see or hear anything. In one second, I was spreading my arms out to show Eliot my plan and then—just nothing. It wasn’t like the lights went out. It was like I went out. Like I was just all of a sudden Not There. “Jamie.” The whole thing was over in seconds. But I was

heaving and out of breath, as if I’d just run a mile with no warm-up. Eliot was next to me, trying to get me to sit down. My arms were still out, in exactly the same position. “What happened?” Eliot continued leading me into a seated position on the attic floor. “I don’t know. You were talking. And then you weren’t. You were just standing there. I was calling you and you didn’t answer. Seemed like you didn’t even see me.” “Everything went black,” I said. Eliot squinted and looked inside my eyes. “Did you lose your sight for a minute or something?” “No. I couldn’t hear either. It was something else.” “How do you feel right now.” “Better.” I sat there to collect my thoughts and catch my breath. When I tried to stand, I still felt wobbly but whatever had happened to me was over. “Let’s go downstairs,” said Eliot. I nodded and followed him to the rope ladder. After he hit the floor of the closet, I followed, moving slowly down the ladder and letting go when I felt Eliot’s hands tight around my waist. “Come,” said Eliot. “I’ve got a better room to plan.” Eliot took my hand and walked towards a tiny room adjacent to the master bedroom. I tried to relax when I realized where he was leading me but my body still tensed up and I held firm and stopped

him from taking me all the way into the room. He stopped at the doorway and let go of my hand but he didn’t turn around. I stood in the hallway, facing his back. Waiting. “You said when we got a house…” Eliot didn’t turn to face me. He leaned up against the door jamb of the room and spoke as if I were inside the room and facing him. “We just moved in,” I said. “Be honest with me,” Eliot said. “You still don’t want to have a baby do you?” Since I was facing Eliot’s back, it was a lot easier to not respond. “Well?” I tried to figure out the right tack to take. But I was annoyed. Just a few minutes before, I’d had some freaky blackout moment that was still on my mind and he was asking me about some lifealtering decision that he knew I was ambivalent about. “It’s not something I can give my full attention at this time,” I said. Eliot spun around and I was surprised at how angry he looked. “Do you hear how you sound? You act like having a baby is a random house-flipping project.” “No. You act like having a baby is a random house-flipping project,” I said. “I’m taking it slow and treating it like the insane event it would be.” “Would be,” said Eliot, nodding his head. “You just said would be.” “What should I have said?” “I speak about having a baby. When we have.

Not if we have. The event it will be. Not the event it would be.” I nodded. “We’re in different spaces,” I said. “And I think that’s okay.” “It’s been okay,” said Eliot. “But it’s quickly leaning towards not okay.” My plan had been to nod and make comforting murmurs until he let it go. But the blackout thing upstairs had scrambled my brain and made me more aggressive than I would normally be about the whole Lets Have A Baby debate. “Let me ask you this Eliot,” I asked, my eyes on the floor. “If I told you I wasn’t ready. But that I’d get pregnant right now if you truly wanted me to, what would you say?” “I’d say get in here and let me put this baby in your belly.” “But Eliot! If I’m not—” “Whatever Jamie. People have babies all the time before they’re ready. If you want to have a baby with me, you hold your breath and go for it. You’re not twenty-two years old. You’re not just starting out in your career. You’re financially stable. We’ve been married for years. What the fuck else do you need to be ready?” “A husband who understands me would be helpful.” Eliot threw up his hands and turned back around. “Do you understand how this shit makes me feel?” I thought I heard Eliot’s voice crack and I felt my heart do the same.

“I do Eliot. I do.” “No you don’t.” “I get it,” I said. “If I was ready and you weren’t I’d be just as frustrated.” “The difference is you’d have support,” said Eliot. “The whole world would think of me as an ogre for not knocking you up at this point. I would be seen as selfish, immature and self-absorbed to be 44 years old and still waffling on having a kid with my almost-40 wife. Your friends would probably tell you I didn’t really want to be with you.” “You have support too,” I said. “Your friends probably think all those things about me.” Eliot laughed. “You think my boys know that you don’t want to have my baby? Right. We go play pool and I whine and moan and cry in my beer about how much I want to be a father and you keep shutting me down.” I wiped my face with my hands and stepped closer to Eliot. I was prepared for him to move away but instead he grabbed my face and kissed my forehead, which made me feel worse. “Jamie, it’s not just the baby.” “What do you mean.” “It’s everything.” “Everything what,” I said. “What are you talking about?” “Stuff just doesn’t add up.” “Eliot. What the hell are you talking about. I know the baby thing is an issue but don’t let that— “Remember I told you I got pulled over the other day?” “Yeah. But you said the cop let you go.”

“He did. But when I gave him my stuff, he asked me why the address on my license was different than the one on the registration.” “So I use my parents address. What’s the big deal about that?” “Do you realize that we’ve never legally had the same address?” “Um. We just bought a house together,” I said. “As far as the state of New York is concerned, we own a house together, yes. And we’re married. But you live at 249 Spruce Street in Lyndhurst New Jersey. And you have lived there since 1975.” “And that’s bothering you,” I said. Eliot started pacing. He stopped at a corner and began unpacking random boxes of books and piling the books on the floor in size order. “We don’t have the same last name. We don’t have the same address. You don’t want to have a baby. What am I supposed to think?” “Wait. Now you’re upset that I didn’t change my last name? When the hell did that ever matter to you?” “When I started putting it all together and realizing there’s a disconnect here.” “There is no disconnect,” I said, shaking my head. “We are at an impasse about having a baby. That’s it. You’re making more out of it.” Eliot nodded and closed his mouth in a way that let me know he was done talking. Even though the argument had halted, I knew we were still in the thick of it. I stood near him and started digging into boxes of our random mementos alongside

of him. We got into a rhythm. He’d rip open the packing tape on a box, take a quick glance to see if it was mostly his stuff or mine. I’d take my boxes and stack them one one side near the door. He passed me a box that had my high school yearbook and some framed photos of my parents in it. I touched his hand as I took the box. “One day this room will make a beautiful nursery Eliot.” Eliot nodded but didn’t make eye contact. He had just pulled back the flaps of a box and was making a face I couldn’t quite decipher. He pulled out a laminated newspaper clipping from the box and started reading it. “Here, I’ll take that box,” I said, reaching for the article with one hand and the box with another. “I can’t read it?” Eliot asked, moving to keep the paper out of my reach. “You’ve read it a million times,” I said. “Just give it to me.” “Don’t want me to get fingerprints on it? Is that it?” “Eliot just stop,” I said. “Give me the paper and give me the box.” Eliot moved to the other side of the room with my box and put the paper on the floor. He pulled out framed photos one by one and started setting them out on the floor. I was so pissed that I felt like I was rooted to the floor when I really wanted to tackle him and smack the crap out of him. “Here’s Jamie and ‘Pac at graduation…” Eliot held up the photo and waved it around before standing it up on the floor.

“Oh. Here’s Jamie and ‘Pac in the school play. This was fifth grade, right? And Jamie and ‘Pac at the Grammys…” “What you’re doing right now is really fucked up,” I spat. Eliot put the photos and the paper in the box, closed the flaps and slid it across the floor in my direction. “God forbid I touch the sacred items for your altar shrine.” I pinched the bridge of my nose to keep from crying. “Now this too?” I asked. “Now I’m wrong because I miss my best friend?” “You don’t just miss him. It’s more than that. And he wasn’t just your best friend. He was more than that.” There was absolutely nothing I could say about that. Because that was the truest statement Eliot had made all day. And since it was early September, there was no use in pretending like he wasn’t 100% right. # Every September 7, I spend practically the entire day in tears. At our old apartment, my tiny office next to the bathroom was the setting for my yearly one-woman memorial service. Tupac Amaru Shakur was shot on September 7, 1996. He died seven days later. But the date of his actual death doesn’t make me mourn him. There was nothing I could have done to save his life after he got shot. I made my peace with that day years ago. So while the world always found a way to honor him on

September 13th, it was just another day for me. But the day he got shot was a different story. I was in Las Vegas with ‘Pac the night he got shot. And I could have stopped him. I knew what was going to happen. Okay. So I didn’t know what was going to happen exactly. I just knew something was off. And I begged ‘Pac not to go to the club with Suge. I kept in step with him as he fast-walked through the casino after the fight with Orlando Anderson. Just before they all got to the exit doors, I stepped in front of him and grabbed both of his hands and forced him to stop walking. He looked right through me. Like I wasn’t even there. It was chilling. He had really started changing right before my eyes. For years, when no one else could get through to ‘Pac, I always could. When his publicists and managers needed him to show up somewhere on time, they didn’t call his girlfriend Kidada or any of his friends. They called me. When his mother wanted to get important news to him about a family matter, she didn’t call anyone in his professional circle. She called me. And for a very long time, all I had to do was give ‘Pac a certain look to get him to put down his drink or walk away from some girl. I could give him a look that said, “Don’t act like you don’t know who I am. I know you fool. But that night, while I was trying to convince him to stay with me, ‘Pac was barely listening, craning his neck to keep his eyes on his crew, who were almost out the casino door. “What’s up Jamie?” Pac asked me that night. “I gotta go.” “Don’t go. Come with me to see my dad.” “I’ma come with you tomorrow.”

“No. Now. Don’t go with them.” Finally, I saw ‘Pac look at me. Really look at me. “Why?” I shook my head. “I don’t have a reason. Just a bad feeling.” ‘Pac smiled. “You always got a feeling about something.” “And sometimes I’m right.” “Sometimes.” Pac was still smiling at me. And just when I thought I’d convinced him to stay, he gently pulled away from my grasp, put his hands on my shoulders and kissed my forehead. “Get out of here Jamie,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Tell your dad I said what’s up.” I never heard Pac’s voice again. And the next time I saw him, it was in the University of Nevada Medical Center after he was placed in a medically induced coma. He never woke up. I’ve relived that night every year. I fixate on ‘Pac’s heavy-lidded eyes, red from the weed he’d smoked earlier in the evening. I think about how he looked at me—through me really—before he dashed off. If I close my eyes, I can smell the alcohol on his breath and feel the sweat of his palms on my shoulders. An hour after I’d left him at the casino and went to Mandalay Bay to visit my dad, I got the call. ‘Pac was at University of Nevada Medical Center. Shot six times. I knew right away that he wasn’t going to make it. The news reports said he was expected to recover. And the media acted like this was no different than the shooting at Quad Studios the year before. But I knew better. I knew he wasn’t going to live. The same way I knew he

should have not left with Suge that night. One of the pictures Eliot pulled out of my box was my absolute favorite of me and ‘Pac. I’m 10. And ‘Pac is 12. We’re both standing outside the Greyhound bus depot on Willowbrook Avenue in Compton. We’d just shared a cross-country journey, riding together from Baltimore, Maryland to California. ‘Pac was going to live with Ann Barringer and her husband Michael, close friends of both our parents. I was being picked up by an aunt I was going to live with for the summer. In the picture, ‘Pac is leaning down on his haunches, grinning wildly. I’m standing behind him, my ponytails sticking up every which way. I was making bunny ears behind ‘Pac’s head, something that made him laugh when he saw the picture years later. I took the pictures down from my wall after Pac died. It was too painful to see him every day. I just pulled them out of a box every September 7 to visit with him. Every year was the same routine. Eliot would get annoyed because I spend too much time in my office on the 7th of September. And I spend the next few days trying to assuage him. Some years, things would calm down sooner than others. But I knew this was going to be a tough year. For a few hours, Eliot and I stayed in separate rooms of the house, unpacking and fiddling with random stuff. I busied myself in the upstairs bathroom, measuring how much of the duct work I was going to have to replace to get it properly insulated. I heard Eliot behind me but I pretended I didn’t. I knew he was about to speak. And without even seeing him, I knew I did not want to hear what

he had to say. “Sometimes I wonder….” Eliot said… He let his words hang in the air. I steeled myself for what I knew he was about to say. He’d never taken it that far. But in an instant, I knew exactly what was about to come out of his mouth. I turned around. “Elliot, don’t say it.” “It’s true isn’t it?” said Eliot. I shook my head back and forth. “Absolutely not.” “It is true. If ‘Pac was alive, you’d be with him. Not me.” “Stop. You know better,” I said. “I was just a consolation prize,” said Eliot. “I was Plan B. I was Mr. Good Enough. That’s why you get weepy every September. Not just because you lost your friend. But because you lost someone you thought you’d eventually be with.” “Eliot you are wrong and you know it.” “It’s why we’re growing apart and it’s why you refuse to have a baby with me even though you know I want to have a child.” The whole time he spoke, I kept shaking my head. “You’re so wrong. ‘Pac was family. I could never see him that way. Ever.” “I know you didn’t see him that way when he was alive. But things change Jamie. We started out as friends too. Remember?” “No.We were different.We met as adults. I knew Pac all my life. It was different.” Eliot turned to leave. “I’ll leave you to your grieving. Let me know when you’re done.”

I opened my mouth to speak. And then I realized I didn’t have anything to say. I wanted to be left alone. And Eliot was about to do just that. As soon as I heard him go down the stairs, I felt myself exhale, though I didn’t even know I’d been holding in my breath. The truth is, Eliot had a right to be pissed off. But not for the reasons he thought. The death of my best friend in this entire world was part of the reason why I didn’t want to have a baby. I couldn’t deal with loss like that again. I knew the odds of my kid getting shot and killed at the age of 26 were slim. But I didn’t want to tempt fate. I only had room for unconditional love for two people outside my blood relatives: and one of them was dead. Elliot had me all to himself and he would forever. But what was I supposed to do if that wasn’t enough? I went downstairs to the kitchen where Elliot was sitting on the counter eating an apple and flipping through a home design catalog. “You want to talk?” I asked. “Not really.” “Well I do.” “And of course you always get what you want,” Eliot said, rolling his eyes. “Yup, I do.” “Look, Jamie, I am tired of playing second fiddle in your life to someone who’s been dead for years.” “I don’t know where you’re getting this from. You do not play second fiddle to anyone!” “Whatever. I know how I feel. And I know I’m justified.” “So thinking about my best friend’s death once

a year means my husband doesn’t come first in my life?” “It’s not once a year Jamie! And you know it. It’s always. And it always has been. I knew you before Pac was killed, remember? I know how you were before. And I know how you are now. It’s not the same. But it’s not your fault. I should have known that I could never replace him.” “Was that what you wanted to do? Replace ‘Pac? I was never in love with Pac, Eliot. I’m in love with you.” “I believe that. I do,” said Eliot. “You don’t look like you do.” “I feel like a sucker. I feel like some emotional weakling.” “You’re not either.” “I’m actually both,” Eliot said with a laugh. “But I’m trying to be okay with that.” “What can I do?” Eliot shook his head slowly. “I think its something I need to work on. Not you.” “Eliot, be honest with me. Have I ever done anything or said anything to make you think I had any kinds of feelings for ‘Pac like that?” “No. Never.” “So where does this come from?” Eliot inhaled and looked up. “You know how you have the dreams. And they’re so real and you feel like you’re supposed to be learning something or figuring something out?” “Yeah.” “That’s how I feel sometimes. I don’t remember dreaming anything. But sometimes it seems

like I should just know that you’re not really supposed to be here. That you’re supposed to be somewhere else or someone else. Or with someone else.” “Seriously?” Eliot reached out and gripped my shoulder. “It’s like sometimes I touch you and expect you to just slip out of my grasp. To just not be here. Like we’re pretending to be together and someone’s gonna yell Cut and none of this will be real.” “I’m not slipping away Eliot. And this is all very real.” Eliot smiled on one side of his mouth and wandered into the bedroom, the one room that had furniture properly laid out. He flopped onto the bed and turned on the television. “We should get some sleep,” said Eliot. “I’ll be right there.” I couldn’t go to sleep with the house in complete disarray. I started in the foyer and quickly swept through each room with an industrial size garbage bag, putting things in place and tossing packing debris and trash in the bag. In the tiny room with the bookcases, I looked up and saw the rope ladder dangling down. I had forgotten to pull the TK back down and I could see all the way up into the skylight, which was now showcasing the brightness of the near-full moon. I could see the crescent shape right from the closet. I left the trash in the closet and went to look for Eliot. As I expected, he was out cold. I grabbed my box of ‘Pac mementos and went back to the closet and climbed up, turning to bring up the

trash bag and the box of stuff as soon as I got to the top. Immediately, I felt short of breath again. I didn’t black out. But I was clearly allergic to something in that attic. Or the altitude was too high. Or something. I just wasn’t right. I brushed it off and moved around the attic, taking mental notes on what needed to be done to get space into shape and making some headway with clearing out the ancient debris covering the floor. After a few short minutes, I was exhausted. I went to the opening but couldn’t even think about going back down the ladder. I was sure I wouldn’t make it. I started to call for Eliot but changed my mind. I sat on the floor, against the wall, right below the skylight and began to take out stuff from my mementos box. At one point, I found a poem ‘Pac had written for me. When Afeni had begun collecting his writings for a book, she asked if I had anything. I lied and said no. I didn’t want anything he’d written for me in a book. I knew I was being selfish but I didn’t care. I’d had to share Tupac with the world for the last ten years of our friendship. I wasn’t doing it after he was gone. I pulled the poem to my chest and closed my eyes. I knew I was going to fall asleep just seconds before it happened. I remember thinking vaguely that I hoped it would be a quick mini-nap. Because a full-on night of sleep in that crusty dusty attic would not be a good thing.

CHAPTER THREE 3 My mind woke up before the rest of me. All I knew for sure was that any part of my body with a bend, from my elbows to my toes, was aching. I slowly realized that I’d fallen asleep in an awkward position and as soon I fully awoke I could stretch and recover. I tried to wake myself up completely. But I was still only half-conscious. I could hear the whirr and ping-ping of some kind of machinery and for a minute I thought I was unconscious and in a hospital instead of in the attic of our new home. Or maybe I was just having a very vivid lucid dream and I just needed to make myself wake up in order for things to get back to normal. I focused

on trying to feel something. I focused on feeling my skin, my bones and trying to open my eyes. Finally, I became aware of myself. I was sitting on something hard. And even though my eyes weren’t yet open, I could tell the attic seemed to have bright, multicolored flashing lights.I struggled to stand on my weak legs and then opened my eyes. I was face to face with a fully grown lion and a young lioness. I screamed and stumbled back several feet, knocking into a few people standing behind me watching the lions. Yup. A very lucid dream. “What’s wrong with you!” screamed a young man who I’d obviously nearly knocked to the ground. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my eyes still facing the lions. I looked closer and realized that there was glass between me and the animals. I exhaled. I’d almost peed on myself in fear. I knew I wasn’t in a zoo. Where the hell was I? If this was one of my super-real dreams, it was a brand new one. I spun around and blinked a few times. I was in a cavernous space with hundreds of people walking around and an enclosure with freaking lions in it. My heart was beating triple time and I was having a hard time breathing. Do not hyperventilate I mumbled to myself. I backed away from the glass enclosure and started down an overly wide walkway filled with the cacophony of an excited crowd. The guy I’d almost knocked down was right behind me, still mumbling about how I needed to watch where I was going. I turned around and looked him straight in the eye. “I said I was sorry,” I snapped. I took in

the man’s face and realized it was the the driver who had picked up the owner of the house on the day we bought it. “Excuse me,” I said, “Do you know Mrs. Williams?” The young man’s eyes quickly turned from accusatory and angry to soft and warm. “Be careful here, okay?” he said. He began to walk away and I called after him. “ Be careful where? What do you mean?”I followed the man as he walked away but I couldn’t catch up. I gave up trying to catch up to him and stopped in the middle of the hallway. Finally, the whole place came into focus. Slot machines. Poker tables. Scantily-clad women massaging the shoulders of men at tables covered in green felt and playing craps. And the smoke. Suddenly, as if a switch had been turned on, the thick smell of cigarrette smoke invaded my nose and mouth. It was so strong that I had to bend over at the waist and cough several times in order to take a breath. A casino. I was in a casino. A huge one. And it was very familiar to me. My hands started shaking and I clapped one hand over my mouth, partially to steady myself and partially to keep myself from screaming. “Excuse me,” I said to a tall man wearing a fanny pack at a slot machine. “Which casino is this?” The man’s eyebrows knitted but he didn’t take his eyes off his machine. He watched the pictures line up, lemon, strawberry, lemon and then placed more money in and pulled the handle down. . “If you don’t even know where you are that’s a

good sign that it’s time to go,” he said, eyes still on his machine. “But I guess the Grand can do that to you.” The Grand?! I looked around and saw an exit door and started sprinting towards it. I chanted to myself, you’re dreaming, you’re dreaming, it’s okay you’re dreaming. But I didn’t believe myself. Things were definitely not okay. I couldn’t figure out why but I felt lighter and stronger than usual as I ran. My morning run around BranchBrook park was never this smooth.I barreled through the double doors and squinted as bright sunshine sizzled my skin and burned my eyes. I knew I could turn around and see where I was but I kept running anyway, not ready to face reality. (Was this reality?) I ran into a parking lot, vaguely aware that people were looking and pointing at me. Did I look like I’d just robbed the place? Was someone going to call the cops on me? I half-hoped someone would try to stop me so I could lean on someone and have a good cry. I ran to the very edge of the parking lot, a good 200 feet away from the building. I put my hands on my knees and tried to take in full deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. I could still smell the smoke in my clothes and my hair. Wait. My hair. My hand flew up to my head and I felt a ponytail at the top of my head. I ran my hands down the hair sprouting out of the ponytail and my skin went clammy when I realized that my hair—pixie short when I fell asleep in the attic—was now halfway down my back. My hair hadn’t been this long since—I gave in. And I gave up. And I slowly turned around, still holding the too-long ponytail at the top of my head. Even though I knew

what I was going to see, I still gasped at the majestic spectacle and what it could possibly mean.Directly in front of me was a massive structure, a building built in an L shape. I could see the exit doors I’d just run out of, right in the middle of the bend in the L. The building was a shimmery green and it looked almost like it was undulating as the waves of heat layered over it. At the very top, in giant gold letters, were the words MGM GRAND. And in front of the building was a 50foot tall gold lion half-sitting on its haunches.I rubbed my hands up and down on my arms, feeling the goosebumps although it had to be well over 100 degrees. I was in Las Vegas at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino. And clearly, this was simply the most vivid dream I’d ever had in my life. This was not a Pacmare. I clapped my hands together and smiled. A dream. That was all. I was really at home in bed with Elliot or maybe still on the attic floor and all the drama from thinking about ‘Pac on this day had sent me into a wicked dream that felt like reality. Okay. Now what. How do I wake myself up? I paced around the parking lot and tried to think. Was it true that pinching myself wouldn’t hurt if I were dreaming? I pinched my arm as hard as it could. And it hurt. And left a red mark on my arm. I ran my hand over the mark and then realized that my scar was gone. My arm was tanned and soft, with no burn mark from last Thanksgiving’s ill fated attempt to deep fry a Turducken. I was still rubbing my arm when I heard a commotion from the exit doors I’d just run out of. There was a crowd of people filtering through the double doors. My eyes involuntarily squinted against the harsh sun

and I lifted my hand to my forehead so that I could see what was going on. An occasional yell came out of the crowd. Someone was barking out something, (directions?) that I couldn’t hear or understand. I just stood there, watching, not sure what else to do. Dozens of people continued streaming out of the doors and into the parking lot where they were beginning to gather. I was trying to decide if I should walk towards the crowd or away from it when I saw him. I couldn’t make out his features. But there was no doubt in my mind that it was him. He had the smooth, bald head. He was wearing a white dress shirt fully unbuttoned with a white tank top underneath and stiff, dark blue jeans. And his walk. He was strutting like George Jefferson, his arms swinging back and forth behind his back and his head held high. ‘Pac I felt something guttural coming out of my mouth and I was running full speed ahead before I could even make any clear decisions. Frank, his bodyguard, tackled me just before ‘Pac saw me and he barreled into me so hard I thought I was going to vomit all over his arm. He twisted my arm behind my back and wrapped his other arm around my neck. Although I knew he had me by at least a hundred pounds, I still fought against him, twisting my body and trying to escape his grasp. “‘Pac!” I screamed out. “It’s me!”[ Woudnl’t his guards know her if they were so close?] I saw Tupac spin around, his eyes wild, and he pointed to Frank. “Yo! What the hell is wrong with you?” Pac screamed. “Let her go!” Frank quickly let go of me and I ran over to where Pac stood and gaped at him. I wanted to ask questions. I wanted to know

what the hell was going on. But for a moment, I just wanted to relish in the fact that I could see and touch him. “Jamie, what are you doing here?,” Pac whispered. He grabbed me by my forearms and looked me dead in the eye. “I’m going to be fine. Don’t worry. Go back to the hotel.” “Are you really you?” I asked. “Pac, are you really alive?” Tupac held up a pointer finger to a large figure standing near a black BMW sedan, who was gesturing for him to get inside. ‘Pac pulled me aside, away from the crowd. “What you talking about Jamie? Are you okay?” “You can hear me?” I asked. I touched his shoulder. “Can you feel this? Do you see me?” ‘Pac rolled his eyes and stepped back. “Jamie. You’re wilding out right now. I need you to get it together.”I peeled my eyes away from Pac just long enough to take in the scene behind him. A crowd of people. Las Vegas. ‘Pac wearing a button up shirt and blue jeans…My stomach lurched and I grabbed Pac by his shoulders. “Is that Suge in that car,” I asked, jutting my head in the direction of the black BMW. “Yeah. Why?” “You can’t get in that car.” “Why not?” “Because if you do you’re going to be shot and killed.”Pac exhaled, closed his eyes and shook his head back and forth. He looked as if I were a small child convinced that there were monsters under the bed. “Jamie, I have to go.” “Did you just get in a fight in the casino?” “Yeah. You heard about that already? It’s over though. We took care of it.” “It’s not over,” I said, my voice rising.

“Don’t get in that car!” Pac shook his head again and began walking away. “Go back to the hotel Jamie,” he said over his shoulders. I ran to catch up to him and grabbed his arm before he got in the car. “I’m coming with you,” I said. “If it will shut you up, fine. Get in the car.”‘Pac pulled back the seat of the BMW and let me climb in the rear of the car. He sat in the front seat and I saw Suge walk around to the driver’s side.I leaned up close to ‘Pac’s ear and whispered. “Can you humor me please.” “What Jamie.” “Tell me the date. Right now. Including the year.” Suge looked back at me and then at ‘Pac. “What’s wrong with your girl?” “What day do you think it is Jamie?” I threw my head back on the headrest and covered my face with my hands. I knew full well where I was and what the date was. But how could that be? How could this happen? This was thoroughly impossible. “Well?” Pac asked. “What day is it?” I kept my hands over my mouth and mumbled. “It’s June 7, 1996.” “You know this baby. Now buckle up and get ready. We ‘bout to party up in here.” I felt a weird rumble in my belly. A feeling of terror began to rise up from my bowels to my belly to my heart. I felt light-headed and weak. “Pac. You have to listen to me. We have to pull over. You have to get out of this car. Please. I’m begging you.”

“What the hell are you smoking Jamie?” ‘Pac asked. I dropped my head into my lap and sobbed. I knew I was dreaming but the fact that this time he could hear and see me and I could actually speak and interact with him made it ten times worse than the dreams I’d had since the day he died. “Yo Suge, pull over right quick,” said Pac. He got out of the car and I sat up quickly to get out as well. “No,” said ‘Pac. “Move over.” Pac got into the backseat and then motioned for Suge to continued driving. “Pac no. We have to get out.” “Jamie. As soon as we get to the club, I’m getting TK to take you to see your dad’s hotel. And you stay there until I get there. Do you hear me?” I pulled myself up into a sitting position and looked out of the window. A police officer on a bicycle was flashing his lights and ordering the car to pull over. This was unreal. If I didn’t know what was going on before, I knew in that moment I saw the cop angle off his bike and start over to the car. I was going to be able to stop ‘Pac from being killed. And this is why I was here. “Damn. What the fuck he want?” said Suge to ‘Pac.“I told you to put plates on the car,” said Pac, shaking his head. “Get out!” I screamed. “Both of you get out of the car right now! Please!” ‘Pac held me back as I scrambled to try and get out of the car. He put his mouth closed to my ear and gripped my forearm tight. “What are you doing?” Pac whispered. “Chill the hell out before this cop thinks we’re kidnapping you!”My heart was pounding

in my chest. I knew what was going to happen next. The cop was going to tell Suge he pulled him over for not having plates and for playing his music too loud. Suge was going to turn the music down, get out of the car, walk around to the trunk, show the cop his plates, get back in the car, drive along the strip, and then stop at a light. And then the car was going to be sprayed by bullets. “A white Cadillac is going to pull up in a few minutes, ‘Pac,” I whispered, as the cop walked up to Suge’s window. “Please please I’m begging you to get out of the car before then. Please.” Pac ignored me, leaning up from the back seat to see what the cop was saying to Suge. “You know why I pulled you over?” I heard the cop say to Suge. Just as I knew he would, Suge got out of the car and walked to the trunk with the officer. How could I get Pac out of there? I decided to try and calm myself down and speak definitively but calmly and matter-of-fact. “Have I ever lied to you since the day we met,” I asked ‘Pac, struggling to keep my voice even. Tupac turned to look out of the rear window to keep an eye on Suge and the cop. “Not that I know of,” he said. “Can you look at me please?” “Hold up. One second.”I turned around and saw the cop shaking Suge’s hand and climbing back onto his bicycle. This was it. My last chance. “If you know I’ve never lied to you can you please do something for me that makes no sense right now.” My legs felt like jelly as I watched for the white Cadillac to pull up next to the car. “Hey J, I meant to tell you…” said Pac. “I

had the craziest dream last night…” “Tell me later,” I snapped. “Get out of the car and walk with me. Now.” “Fine! I’ll get out. Shit. Yo, Suge pull over real quick so I can—”

Pop! Pop! Pop! I didn’t see the Cadillac pull up. So I thought I had at least a few more minutes to get Pac out of the car. I was wrong. ‘Pac pulled me down to the floor of the back seat and I felt Suge speeding around a turn on two wheels. I could hear the bullets still flying and a few crashed the windows of the car, spraying the back seat with shards of glass I could feel showering over my head. I felt the car slam into something, maybe another car, and my neck snapped forward and back and then fell back into my lap. “Jamie, you get hit?!”I felt around my body with my hands, my head spinning and my mouth too dry to speak. I just shook my head. “Yo, Suge? Suge!” ‘Pac and I both slowly pulled ourselves up and peered over the front seat. Suge’s upper body was slumped over the steering wheel. His face was turned to one side, facing us. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was parted, as if he was just about to speak. I only knew he was dead because of the hole hemmorhaging blood out of his right temple. I felt bile rising up my throat and I closed my eyes to try and settle my stomach. “SHIT,” I heard Pac scream out, his arms still around my waist. “Let’s go.” “Wait,” I said, “How do you know they’re gone?”

We looked out of the back rear window and saw a white Cadillac speeding down Koval Lane, weaving in and out of traffic piled up on the strip. “The car…it was a white Cadillac….How did you know?” “Let’s talk about that later. We have to get out of here.”A crowd had started gathering around the car and people were gawking at Suge’s body. Finally a squad car screeched up and as soon as ‘Pac and I made it out of the back seat, I could see an officer moving people away from the car and another officer blocking off the whole area with yellow tape. “Which one of you is bleeding?” ‘Pac and I snapped our heads to look at each other, terror in both of our eyes. I looked down and saw my shirt was splattered with blood. But I felt no pain. I looked up and I saw Pac put his hand up to his head. There was a trickle of blood coming down. “Are you okay?” I asked. “I think so,” said Pac. “I think you got grazed young man. I need you both to come inside this ambulance.” “What about…” ‘Pac’s voice trailed off. “I”m sorry,” the officer said, his voice flat and dry. “Your friend is dead.” At the hospital, I was released immediately and I made a beeline for the room where Pac was resting. “You knew,” he said, as soon as I walked into his room. “How. Tell me right now.” “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I said, sliding into a fake leather club chair right next to his bed. “If you hadn’t come with us, I would have never gotten in the backseat….” “I know.”

“Those bullets were meant for me, not Suge.” I just stopped talking. Seemed to me like Tupac just needed to some work things out on his own without hearing anything for me. “You saved my life Jamie. I don’t know how you knew. But you did.” “You’re alive,” I whispered, mostly to myself. You’re going to live. And make more music and get married and have kids and do great things. This is crazy…” Tupac chuckled. “Yo. I’ve been shot before Jamie. And I lived. So don’t have me getting married already. Kidada is on her way here. Don’t put any ideas in her head.” I tried to sit back in the chair and just breathe, put all my thoughts together in my head. But I couldn’t do it. No matter how hard I tried to make sense of it all, my brain just could not process what was happening. I was in the attic of the new house. And then I wasn’t. I was three thousand miles away and sixteen years in the past. Was this my version of 1996? The one I’d lived through all those years ago? I placed my hand over my stomach and moved it own. My stomach was flat and tight. I was at least thirty pounds lighter, which would explain why I’d been able to run so quickly out of the casino. And my hair was long, as long as it was the night Tupac had been shot. I was in the past. And I had no idea how or why it had happened. The only thing I was sure of was that it was happening and I could not control it. I thought of calling my parent’s house and then freaked out thinking about running into my former

self. Was that possible?I got up from the chair and started pacing the room. “I need to figure this out,” I mumbled to myself. ‘Pac rubbed the side of his head where the bullet had grazed him. “Jamie you know how when shit like this happens it makes you question stuff. Rethink how you feel about things… and people.” “This can’t be really happening,” I whispered. “Are you listening to me?” Pac asked. I registered what he’d just said and then started backing up to the door to his room. “I definitely don’t think I want to hear anything you’re about to say.” ‘Pac had his eyes closed tight and he looked vulnerable and pained. Not mentally. But as if he had something difficult he needed to say. I knew for sure I did not want to hear it. “You should sit down,” said ‘Pac, his eyes still closed. “You don’t look good. Are you sure they said you could leave?” “I don’t think I was ever admitted,” I said. I suddenly realized I had no idea what happened between getting to the hospital and seeing ‘Pac. Did a doctor check me out? Like most dreams, parts of the night seemed to just skip ahead. A nurse walked in the room and headed straight for ‘Pac. She looked into his eyes and then wrote on a chart. She glanced over at me and then did a double take. “What are you doing in here?” she asked. I looked around the room.

“Me?” I asked, pointing to my chest. “Jamie Belafonte?” “Yes. I was just— The nurse jogged to the door and waved someone over. A few nurses walked with purpose into the room and one of them put an arm around me. “You should be in bed.” I tried to push back and turned toward ‘Pac. “I need to talk to you,” I yelled out. Pac looked pained. Like he didn’t want to see me go but knew I should. “We need to talk to Jamie. I’ll come by your room as soon as they let me. Go rest.” “Wait. Rest? If I rest I might—” The world skipped again and I was on my back in a hospital bed, hooked up to machinery. I noticed immediately that I heard the exact same pings and whirring sounds that I’d heard when I found myself in the casino. The same nurse who had come into Pac’s room was sticking a liquid-filled bag into my IV. She smiled at me and patted my cheek. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better when you do.” I wanted to tell her how sure I was that she was very wrong about that. But I was asleep before I could say anything.

CHAPTER FOUR 4 The first thing I did was spread my palms out, face down. There was some kind of hard surface beneath me, definitely not the hospital bed I’d just fallen asleep in. I opened my eyes just enough to let some light in without being able to really tell where I was or what was going on. I honestly wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. My head was throbbing and I felt dizzy and nauseated. I opened my eyes and gasped. I was back on the attic floor, my legs up to my chest. My fingers went to my stomach: that familiar slight pooch was back. I sat up and leaned my head back. My hair did not brush against my back. It was a close-cropped pixie cut instead,

which I’d worn for the past four years. I scrambled to my feet. “Elliot?” I whispered. “Where are you?” I slipped down the attic opening and went straight to our bedroom. I sat on the side of my aunt’s antique mahogany headboard that Elliot and I had inherited after she passed away last year. I listened for any sounds and I could just barely make out Eliot whistling some old Bobby Brown song downstairs in the kitchen. Did I disappear? Was he going to freak out when he saw me in this bed, plain as day? Had I been in the attic the whole time, unconscious? As far as my internal clock could tell me, I’d been gone for an hour or two at most. But it was night when I fell asleep in the attic and now it was clearly early morning. The whistling of Don’t Be Cruel was getting louder as Elliot made his way up the stairs and down the hallway towards our bedroom. I felt terrified but I didn’t know why. I just knew that when Elliot walked into our bedroom and saw me sitting there--wide eyed and afraid--something weird was going to--“Hey Sleepyhead.” And just like that, Elliot was there, with my favorite teacup unpacked from our kitchen stuff on a tray I didn’t recognize and the little Earl Grey tag hanging over the side. I was dumbstruck. “Eliot what just happened,” I asked, my breathing coming heavy and labored. I was trying as hard as possible not to cry. “What just happened to me?” Eliot put the silver serving tray on the top

of a dresser I didn’t recognize. At that moment, I saw the room with fresh eyes and realized there were tons of things in that room that were different than a few hours before. First of all, the room was completely furnished. The hardwood floors I’d had plans to sand and lacquer were gleaming. A small throw rug with an intricate pattern was under the dresser and there were candles on either side of the doorway. “When did this happen? Why is the house all set up?” “Jamie sit down,” Eliot said. He brought the tea over to me and sat down next to me. I moved away from Eliot and avoided eye contact. “I fell asleep upstairs and I woke up and I was— Eliot nodded, encouraging me to keep speaking. There was no I was telling Elliot what I believed had really happened to me. Maybe it hadn’t? Maybe he’d think I was crazy. Hell, maybe I was crazy. Certainly felt that way to me. “Is Tupac alive?” I blurted out. Elliot cocked his head to the side and blinked a few times. “Jamie?” he said, drawing out my name slowly in a way that meant, are you feeling okay? “Just please tell me.” Elliot sat down on the edge of the bed. “Jamie what the hell are you talking about? Of course he’s not dead.” “Where is he. Can I see him?” Eliot’s face dropped. “What? Why would you ask that. I thought that we agreed…”

The way Eliot searched my face was chilling. I didn’t know what the hell was going on but I did know that Tupac was now a curse word. “Did Tupac ever get shot,” I asked Eliot. “In Vegas.” “Jamie, you were there,” said Eliot. “You know he just got grazed. Seriously. What’s wrong with you?” I finally let go of the sob I’d been trying to hold in. Eliot hugged me tight and rubbed my back, the same way he did when I woke up from my nightmares. I cried so hard that I lost my breath. Eliot pulled tissues out of his pocket and wiped my face. He leaned over to the dresser where the tray rested and opened the first drawer. “You better take one of these,” he said, shaking a small pill out of a prescription container. “What is this?” “I know you don’t want to take them,” said Eliot “But they’re as-needed. See?” Eliot pointed to the bottle, which had my name on it. “You said you’d only take one when you needed it. And you clearly need one.” I didn’t even recognize the name of the medication. I decided to dry swallow one anyway. At this point, what was the worst that could happen? “Where’s my laptop,” I asked. “In the living room. Want me to bring it to you?” I reached for the tea and took a small sip. “Yes, please.” My hands were shaking so hard that I had to use both hands to put the teacup back on the tray

without upending the whole cup. I looked up just in time to see Elliot walking out the door. From the back he looked different. I couldn’t tell if he looked thinner or bigger but something was different. For one thing, he was wearing fitted pants. I’d been griping about his clothes for years. Elliot liked to wear clothes two sizes too big and it frustrated me to no end. And now he was wearing slim-fit khakis that I’d never even dream about asking him to try on. “Hey. I like your pants,” I said. Elliot turned around with a pained expression on his face. “They’re just pants Jamie,” he said, shaking his head. I slowly laid back on the bed and waited for Elliot to come back. I made an effort to inhale and exhale as deeply as I could. “Here,” said Elliot, placing a silver MacBook on the bed. “You bought me a new computer?” Elliot gave me that weary what are you talking about look again. I decided right then and there not to mention anything else that seemed off to me. Not until I could piece some things together on my own.

CHAPTER FIVE 5 While I waited for the computer to boot up, I looked around our bedroom for any other signs that something was amiss. On the nightstand was an awesome picture of me and my dad I didn’t quite recognize. I knew the day it was taken. It was my graduation from college. I remember it was awkward because my dad was trying to hug me while I was wearing my robe and the hood was wrapped around his arm and we both got caught up in the massive amounts of fabric and just burst into laughter. I remember my mom snapping a picture of us just as we’d thrown our heads back to laugh but I didn’t remember ever actually seeing the picture. And I definitely didn’t have it framed and put it up on

my dresser. The computer booted up and I logged onto Google and did a search for ‘Pac. His wikipedia page came up and I scrolled down to the very end to read what happened on September 7, 1996. On the night of September 7, 1996, Shakur attended the Mike Tyson–Bruce Seldon boxing match at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. After leaving the match, one of Suge's associates spotted 21-year-old Orlando "Baby Lane" Anderson, a member of the Southside Crips, in the MGM Grand lobby and informed Shakur, who then attacked Anderson. Shakur's entourage, as well as Suge and his followers, assisted in assaulting Anderson. The fight was captured on the hotel's video surveillance. After the brawl, Shakur went to rendezvous with Suge to go to Death Row-owned Club 662 (now known as restaurant/club Seven). He rode in Suge's 1996 black BMW 750iL sedan as part of a larger convoy including many in Shakur's entourage.[80] Included in the vehicle was Jamie Corinne Belafonté, a childhood friend of Shakur’s. My heart stopped. It was true. What happened to me was real.I was there. But where was I now? Was I back in the present? Did I really travel back sixteen years, change the course of history and then appear back in 20TK hours later? I closed my eyes tight, shook my head and then went back to reading. At 10:55 pm, while paused at a red light, Shakur rolled down his window and a photographer

took his photograph.[ you didn’t put this part in the earlier part of this chapter. ][81] At around 11:00–11:05 pm, they were halted on Las Vegas Boulevard by Metro bicycle police for playing the car stereo too loudly and not having license plates. The plates were then found in the trunk of Suge's car; they were released without being fined a few minutes later.[81] At approximately 11:15 pm, a white, four-door, late-model Cadillac with an unknown number of occupants pulled up to the sedan's right side, rolled down one of the windows, and rapidly fired a volley of gunshots at the vehicle. Shakur and Belafonté were in the backseat of the car. Although Shakur had been riding in the passenger’s side, he got into the backseat a few minutes earlier at Belafonté insistence. The gunshots that many believe were meant for Shakur hit Knight instead. Bullets hit Knight in the chest, pelvis, and his right hand and thigh.[8][81] One of the rounds apparently ricocheted into Knight's right lung.[82] Tupac was hit in the head by fragmentation, though it is thought that a bullet grazed him.[83.After arriving on the scene, police and paramedics took Shakur, Belafonté and a mortally wounded Knight to the University Medical Center. Knight was pronounced dead on arrival. I dropped my head in my hands and cried hard, feeling every sob rack my whole body. I just wanted everything to go back to normal. I was overwhelmed with happiness that Pac was obviously still alive. But this was just all too much for me. Could I actually talk to him right now? In the present? What the hell would that be like? I didn’t even

know what kind of relationship we had. Did Elliot approve of our friendship? “What’s wrong?” Elliot said as soon as he returned to our bedroom. “Why are you crying?” I struggled to catch my breath and waited for the hiccups to subside before I spoke. “Facebook,” I muttered. “What about Facebook?” asked Elliot. I logged on and then stopped and looked up at Elliot just before my profile popped up. “El, I’m so sorry. But can you give me one more second?” Elliot looked like he wanted to say something but instead he nodded and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. [ she should notice that the brownstone is fully furnished perhaps?] I covered my eyes with my hands and slowly separated the fingers so that I could peek at my Facebook page, afraid that I had a different name or looked completely different in this new world. Anything was possible. My name was the same: across the top of the page in black boxy script it read JAMIE C. BELAFONTÉ. To the left was that same picture with me and my dad. I used that picture as my profile pic? Weird. Not that I don’t love my dad. But it’s just not the kind of thing I would do. Everything looked mostly the same, a ton of scammy ads on my wall because I don’t log on enough, and my name was tagged in a gang of pictures I wasn’t really in. Then I noticed the number of friends I had: 5,632. Whoa. First of all, I thought Facebook didn’t let

you have more than 5,000 friends. And more importantly, how in the hell did I have over five thousand friends? Did it have something to do with being in the car with Pac that night? I scrolled through the list of friends and some of them were people I expected, my friends from high school and college. But there were a lot of people I’d never expect to find, celebrities and music industry executives I only knew through ‘Pac. I went back to Google and put my name in a search along with Pac’s name. Every article that popped up had the same sentence in the preview. Belafonté, who was in the car with Shakur on the night in Vegas when he was nearly killed, has never granted an interview on the subject in the sixteen years since the incident took place. I actually felt myself calming down after I read the Google search results. It was Google. It had to be right. If Google said I’d spent the last sixteen years turning down requests for interviews than it had to be true. Even if I didn’t remember anything about the last sixteen years. A knock at the door. “J? Can I come in.” “Not yet Elliot.” “The baby needs to be fed.” The what?! I scrambled off the bed and went to the door, pushing it in so Elliot couldn’t open it. “What are you doing?” Elliot asked. I could hear him turning the knob. What sounded like an infant was cooing and gurgling on the other side. I locked the door to buy some time and then went to the window overlooking the backyard on the

other side of the room. “Jamie open the door!” Elliot yelled. “This is going too far. I want to help you. Stop being weird and open the damn door.” I opened the window and looked out. Everything seemed the same. Our new neighbors Tom and AnneMarie were sitting under a navy blue and white striped umbrella and table set. AnnMarie had HoneyChile, their Maltese puppy, on her lap, exactly the way she had the first day we moved in a few days before and introduced ourselves. If this world was anything like it was supposed to be, I could be sitting inside a Starbucks in five minutes if I left right now. I went to the closet, ignoring Elliot, who was still jiggling the doorknob and pleading with me to open the door. I grabbed a pair of sneakers in a shoebox and slipped them on. They were new and I couldn’t tell if if they belonged to me or Elliot and I didn’t care. I just needed to get the hell out of Dodge, figure out my next step and try to understand how the hell I had a baby with Elliot when I’ve never wanted to be pregnant. I went back to the window, moved the curtains out of the way, reached back to grab the MacBook and then balanced myself on the ledge. Before I could psych myself out or give it to much thought, I jumped, landing on my feet with the computer in one hand. I ran.

CHAPTER SIX 6 I was relieved to feel the hard imprint of my debit card in my back pocket. The fact that I never carried a wallet and instead stuffed everything into my pockets was helping me out on the run. Standing in line at Starbucks, I kept my eyes on the floor and turned my face away from the door and everyone else on line with me. I could not run the risk of seeing anyone I knew. Elliot had been more than enough. Too much, really. I found a corner in the back, next to the restrooms and the shelves that carried all kinds of coffee-related gifts and accessories. I turned my chair just a bit so I could bury my head in my laptop and be completely obscured to anyone passing

through. I opened the laptop and let my fingers start flying over the keyboard. I had three or four windows open at once, checking out Wikipedia, Google, Facebook and Twitter simultaneously. At the same time, I was taking notes in a Word document, trying to keep track of every single detail I came across that ran counter to what I knew of myself. It’s a funny thing, researching yourself. I had to pore through years of Facebook postings, Tweets, photographs in Google Images and Flickr updates in order to piece together the woman I became in the sixteen years after I saved ‘Pac’s life. The one thing I wasn’t figuring out was why ‘Pac and I weren’t speaking in this reality. We’d never gone a week without speaking to each other for as long as I’d known him. And I could count on one hand the few times we really beefed out over anything. What could have happened between us to put a roadblock in a twenty year friendship? I spent thirty minutes ego surfing. Some stuff made me gasp so loudly that I noticed other people in the store glancing over at me and I dipped my head down even lower and forced myself to keep quiet. When I was done, I sat back in my chair, let our a loud breath and started chewing the inside of my cheek. From what I gathered, Jamie C. Belafonté was now semi-famous because of what happened in Vegas with ‘Pac and the shooting. For a few years, the police thought I’d been involved more directly in the shooting, like I’d set Suge up to get shot or something. ‘Pac vehemently denied it and eventually the cops stopped pursuing me as a person of interest.

I’d done two photo essay books of Tupac, including photos I took while traveling with him to South Africa, Haiti and Brazil for an international tour. Both were bestsellers. I was shocked to see a wedding announcement in the New York Times about my wedding to Elliot. I’d never thought of myself as the kind of person who would be in that section. I couldn’t bring myself to read the article, I was too afraid of what it might say. But I stared at the picture for a full five minutes. Eliot was standing with his hand on my back. I was wearing a sleek, slim column dress and strappy sandals, nothing like the strapless princess gown I wore for my mom’s benefit at the wedding I remember. And at my wedding, Eliot rented a too-big tuxedo. But here, he was wearing a suit that look custom made and fit like a glove. I learned that I got a Masters in Photography from the New School and taught photography to high school students on the weekends. And yet, I still desperately wanted to be home. Away from this nicely-dressed Elliot and my brand new laptop and that cooing, gurgling, thing. I felt tears coming to my eyes and I willed them to stop. I was going to have to keep myself from falling apart somehow. I swiped the cell phone open and pressed the Voicemail button. I skipped through at least ten messages from news reporters and television producers who wanted to interview me about the anniversary of the shooting. That’s one thing that felt familiar to me, I’d never use an incident like this to gain any kind of fame for myself. I loved being behind the camera and I’d never been interested in giving up my privacy and

anonymity for the spotlight. Both versions of me felt the same about that—unlike our apparently wildly divergent views on motherhood.There was a long list of missed calls. My mother, my two younger sisters, Elliot—and then a slew of numbers I didn’t recognize at all. I took a deep breath and pressed the button next to my mother’s name. It was time to dive head deep into all of this. Best way to find out who I was now was to talk to the woman who knew me better than just about anyone. “Mom?” “Jamie, honey how are you?”My mother’s voice sounded the same, just a shade older and a bit wearier. “Did I catch you at a bad time? You sound tired.” “Thanks a lot Jamie.” “I’m sorry mom! I just thought—” I heard my mom start to laugh and I exhaled. I felt like we’d never met before and I was afraid of pissing her off. Actually, as far as I was concerned, we hadn’t met before. “How’s Eliot?”I swallowed hard. I don’t know.

I just ran away from home. “He’s good…”I held my breath, waiting for her to ask about that baby I’d heard on the other side of my bedroom door. All my mom did was sigh. “Send him my love,” she said. I could hear her holding back a yawn. “I will. Can you put Dad on real quick and then I have to go.” There was a long pause. And then my mother began having a coughing fit. “Are you okay?” It sounded as if my mother had put the phone down to continue coughing. She finally got back on the phone and I could hear her

clearing her throat. “Jamie, why would you say that?” she whispered. “What? I want to talk to Dad .” “I do too. But he’s not here and you know that.” “Where is he?” I asked, as the hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Jamie…” “WHERE IS HE?” I jumped up from the table, knocking over my latté and walking past the customers looking at me with equal parts concern and fear. I walked out the door and leaned up against the concrete wall of the building. I cried softly, not even bothering to collect myself before asking my mother what I didn’t want to know. “Mommy,” I choked out, “Please tell me Daddy is not dead.”

CHAPTER SEVEN 7 I dropped the hand that was holding the phone and looked at my reflection in the Starbucks. Time travel had done a number on me. I looked sweaty and crazed and though I’d only started crying a few seconds ago, my eyes were so red and puffy it looked like I’d been crying for days. My father and I have always had a contentious relationship. Born on the same day, we’re both stubborn, temperamental and prone to cursing people out for no good reason. In my world, I just saw my dad two days ago. We met at this very Starbucks and talked about my mom’s surprise 60th birthday that he’d been planning for months. He brought his luggage with him because he was going straight to

Vegas, where he traveled monthly for work. Vegas. It came to me like a flash. On the night Tupac was shot, I left him in the casino and went to the Mandalay Bay where my dad was staying on a business trip. We hung out and had a few drinks in the hotel bar and then… …And then my father started having chest pains. He insisted it was just heartburn. I insisted on taking him to the Emergency Room to get checked out. The doctors ran a whole mess of tests and decided that he’d had a mild heart attack and that coming in right away probably saved his life. I forgot all about that day until things started to fall into place. In the 1996 that I know and remember, I was able to save my father’s life because I happened to be there when he started having his heart attack. If I had been able to convince Tupac to stay behind, my father might have died. And in the revised 1996 I’d just left, I stayed with ‘Pac and saved his life while over at the hotel my dad ignored the chest pains, had a heart attack and died. That explained the picture of me and my dad on my nightstand. And my profile picture on Facebook. In this world, I’ve been mourning the death of my father for over a decade. My head swarmed with memories I’d made with my dad over the past sixteen years. None of those things existed now? He didn’t walk me down the aisle when I married Elliot? I went back to the NYTimes wedding announcement. Sure enough, ‘Pac walked me down the

aisle. My wedding day was so fresh in my mind that I couldn’t fathom that it never happened in this new version of 2012. I pulled the phone back up and I could hear my mother saying my name over and over. “I’m here Mom.” “What’s going on? Are you okay?” I’d learned my lesson about bringing up things that made me seem like I was insane. So I decided to try and put my mom at ease. “I just had a moment, Mommy. I’m fine.” “You scared me.” “It’s just that”—my voice cracked and I choked back tears—“I can’t really believe Dad’s gone.” “I’m just surprised to hear you sound this way. I thought you had finally stopped blaming yourself for not being with him that night. And you’ve been doing so much better for the last year. ”

Year? I wanted to ask her how I’d been handling things for the fifteen years before that. But I was supposed to know so I skipped it. “I think I’m just having a relapse of sorts. It will pass.” “In the meantime, make sure you’re taking your meds and getting enough sleep.”

Meds? What meds? “I will.” I hung up with my mother and my hands were shaking. My whole body felt clammy and weak. The table where I’d been sitting had been cleaned off and my laptop was still there, open to my Facebook Page.

I knew I had to go back home. I couldn’t avoid Elliot forever and I needed to face that small little human we’d obviously created. I tried taking several deep breaths and closing my eyes while I exhaled. It did nothing. I was still having heart palpitations and my stomach was on a roller coaster. There was one thing I had to find out before I could do anything else. Where was ‘Pac? And why weren’t we speaking? Why did Eliot look crazed when I even mentioned his name? I cracked my knuckles and shook my head to clear my thoughts. I had to be prepared to see anything when I searched for Tupac and found out where he was in this version of 2012. Was he married? Have kids? Still performing? Did he go into politics like I thought he would? Was he still on Death Row after Suge’s death? I went to the Wikipedia page I’d bookmarked earlier and sat back in my chair, trying to mentally prepare myself for anything. I was just about to start a search when I heard my name. “Jamie! I’ve been looking for you for hours!” Elliot leaned on the chair across from me and tried to catch his breath. He’d obviously been running and he looked relieved to see that I was still alive. “I thought that we agreed that you wouldn’t do that.” “Do what,” I asked. I took a swig of water and tried not to show him how scared I was. “Run away Jamie. We’ve talked about this. If you feel uncomfortable or afraid, just talk to me. Don’t run away.”

“Where’s the...” I could barely say the word aloud. “..the baby.” “Where’s the baby?” Elliot scrunched his eyebrows and pointed to his watch. “It’s late, Jamie. Ella left hours ago.” “Right,” I said, tapping my forehead as if I’d simply forgotten. “She left.” “And your sister apologized for running late. She said she’ll definitely pick her up on time next week.”

Sister! I looked down and exhaled in relief for the first time since I arrived in this new 2012. If I was going to be stuck here, (God, was I?), then at least I was going to do it with a niece and not a child. I was so relieved by the news that I ventured to try to get some information about my new past. Were Eliot and I still on different pages when it came to children? Was he even more frustrated because we cared for my niece and still didn’t have our own children? “How do you feel about having children?” I asked Elliot. Before he could get flustered about my line of questioning, I held up a hand. “Yes, I know where you stand,” I lied. “But let’s pretend I don’t. Speak to me. Do you want to be a father?” “Nothing’s changed Jamie.” Elliot said. I noticed that this Elliot also talked through clenched teeth when he was annoyed. “Nothing’s changed with me either,” I said. “Is that why you jumped out the freaking window and ran off?” Seemed like a good alibi so I went with it.

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I don’t want to have a baby and I’m feeling pressured.” “You don’t want to have a baby?” Elliot said, his voice rising. “Since when?” Oops. “I mean I want a baby and I feel pressured to give up that dream.” Elliot sat down next to me and took my hand. He lifted my left hand to his face and kissed the spot where my silver wedding band encircled my finger. “J, something’s not right with you. And I want you to tell me what’s going on right now. You can tell me anything and I should think you know that.”

Well, Eliot. The problem is you just called me J and your nickname for me is actually Jame. And you kissed my hand which you never do because you think hands are germy. And you’re telling me I desperately want to have kids and you don’t which is a bit of a mind-fuck for me at the moment. So I’m gonna just sit here and stare at you since I can’t say any of those things. I tried not to make eye contact with Elliot but his eyes were boring holes in my head. I was not going to tell Elliot the truth. But I had to tell him something. And maybe I could learn some things I needed to know as well. “I’m not feeling well Elliot.” “That’s obvious. What’s wrong.” “I feel like I’ve lost my memory. Like I have severe amnesia.” “What have you forgotten?” “Everything.”

“You know how to get to Starbucks,” said Eliot, a slight smile on his face. “When I heard you trying to open the door, I heard a baby crying and I thought it was our baby and I freaked out and ran.” “So you’re telling me you don’t remember Ella.” “No. Not at all.” Elliot ran a hand over his face and then looked me in the eye. “Okay. We’re not going to find the answers to this in your MacBook at a Starbucks. You need to get to a hospital.” “What kind of meds am I on?” “What?” “My mom mentioned something about medications. What do I take?” “Stuff for depression.” “Because of my dad.” “Yes. Because of your dad.” “How come I’m not speaking to ‘Pac?” Elliot opened his mouth but didn’t speak right away. His demeanor shifted and his face tightened. “Oh you don’t know that either?” “No,” I said. Elliot’s nostrils flared. “We agreed that it was best.” “We who? Me and you? Agreed what was best?” Eliot stood up. His face shifted. He wasn’t sympathetic anymore. Now he was doubting everything I’d said and he looked as if he thought I was trying to pull a fast one on him. “Is that what this about?” Eliot snapped. “You’re conveniently forgetting what happened with

you and ‘Pac?”

CHAPTER EIGHT 8 When a guy and a girl are platonic friends, the idea of being more than that will cross their minds at some point. That’s an irrefutable fact. Any duo who says they’ve never ever even thought about it have either already had sex or they’re just lying to themselves. I crushed on Pac for all of a week in 10th grade. After years of looking at him as a lanky bucktoothed awkward dude with a propensity for eye boogers and lip-corner spittle, I saw what the other girls in my school had started to see. I swear, one random Wednesday in March, he walked in all tall with flawless chocolate brown skin, perfectly straight and blindingly white

teeth, sleepy eyes and a lopsided grin with just the right amount of mischievousness. I had stars in my eyes just like the rest of the girls mooning over him. I never considered saying anything to him. I was relatively sure he wasn’t thinking of me that way—especially not with the bevy of It Girls who were circling him. And then he started dating Vanessa. And then a few weeks later, I saw her wandering around like a sick puppy after he dumped her for Tee. When it was Tee’s turn to get her heart broken I felt so bad for her I ended up inviting her to my slumber party even though I didn’t really know her that well. By then, ‘Pac was with Meghan, who was also at the slumber party. Made things kind of awkward. Through every breakup, my place in ‘Pac’s life did not change at all. I still got the first afterschool phone call. I still got waved over to join the cool kids lunch table. I was still Jamie. And I still had top-billing. I realized that giving that up to date him for a month, (if that), wouldn’t be worth it. Even at 14 I was mature enough to realize something very important. I loved ‘Pac. But I wasn’t in love with him. And it was best that way. So when Eliot narrowed his eyes at me and started grilling me wordlessly about something that happened with me and Pac, I felt chilled to the bone and nauseated. “Eliot,” I said, trying to find my words. “I’m very serious when I tell you I’ve had a blackout of some sort. I don’t know what you’re talking about with Pac.” “You cheated on me,” said Eliot. He didn’t

take his eyes off my face. “With him.” I covered my face with my hands and leaned over. I couldn’t even conjure up a visual to go with that. Were we much younger? Was this last month? Last year? Ten years ago? “I have absolutely no memory of anything like that happening,” I said to Eliot. “Okay J, I’m done with this game you’re playing.” Eliot turned around and started walking out of the store. I grabbed my computer and followed him. “Wait. Eliot please.” Eliot turned around at the front door. He faced me but didn’t look at me. “Look,” said Eliot. “ I need a minute. Can we talk later? “I can’t come home?” “You can. I’ll be home later.” “Elliot do you believe me?” “Would you believe you?” I put my hand to my mouth and shook my head. Eliot shrugged and walked away. I went back to my seat and slumped down low in the chair, shading my face with my hands. I let five minutes go by before I flipped open the computer to find ‘Pac. # “Name?” “Jamie Belafonte” “Date of birth.” “09/26/75.” “Inmate’s Id.” I glanced down at the scribblings on the palm

of my hand. “02-65473-T” “You’re not on the list.” “So I can’t see him?” “You can wait. If he’s not on restriction we can find out if he’ll add you today. Have a seat over there.” In the bowels of the Metropolitan Correctional Center, I walked over to a dusty wooden bench stuffed with women of all ages, mothers and children, grandmothers and every other possible relation. There was absolutely nowhere for me to sit so I stood next to the benches. “If you can’t find a seat you have to come back tomorrow,” the man at the front desk barked. I looked around at the women stuffed onto the bench. There wasn’t an empty inch. I looked at the very end of the bench and a woman with a heavy scowl and two infants on her lap scooted over just enough for me to get half a butt-cheek onto the seat. Five minutes after Eliot left me behind in Starbucks, I found out what happened to ‘Pac in this version of 2012 where Suge died and he lived. And none of it was any good. According to all the news reports I read, two days after the shooting, ‘Pac was charged with shooting and killed Orlando Anderson, the guy who had tried to kill him. ‘Pac denied the charges vehemently and said he was being set up because he wasn’t killed in Vegas. In true ‘Pac fashion, he was arrested at home and somehow managed to walk from his front door to the squad car unshackled and shaking hands with people lined up to see him. He blew kisses at the

crowd from the backseat of the patrol car. The trial lasted for two years. It was televised and damn near rivaled the OJ trial in intensity. In 1999, he was convicted of firstdegree murder and sentenced to life without prison without the possibility of parole. One of the stories I read about the day he was sentenced included a picture of ‘Pac, dressed in a custom-made suit, facing the judge with his hands clasped in front of him. I almost fell out of my chair when I saw myself standing right next to him. I looked like me—just younger. But I didn’t look like the 1999 version of myself that I knew. My eyes were swollen and red from crying and I noticed that in another picture of ‘Pac and I snapped as he was being led away, I was holding his hand and he was looking directly in my eyes. It was not a picture of platonic friends. His mother, Jada, his sister Set, they were all sitting a row behind Pac, crying. But I was standing up, right next to him, his hand in mine. Yeah. It was quite clear why Eliot was a bit prickly about our relationship in this reality. ‘Pac had written two memoirs in prison. I read as much as I could in online excerpts and finally, I saw what I needed to see. A quote in the New York Times from ‘Pac:

What are your days like? I work out. Pray. Write. Eat. Hopefully get a visitor. Hopefully? I’ve read that you have hundreds of requests to be added to your list of approved visitors. That’s true. And I appreciate that. But I have

a small circle these days. And the people I really want to see, I don’t. Like who? Jamie, my best friend growing up. I haven’t seen her since the sentencing. Why is that? Long story. But basically she had to choose between me and someone else in her life and she did what she had to do. I understand but I miss her. And at the very end of the story:

Tupac Shakur’s childhood friend, Jamie Belafonte, denied repeated requests to be interviewed. She has never spoken publicly about her relationship with the rapper. Public records show that Belafonte is now married and lives in the New York area and owns a commercial contracting and real estate corporation. I sat in that Starbucks for over an hour, staring straight ahead, my mind reeling. The worst part of it all was not being able to conjure up even the possibility of the feelings for ‘Pac. I stared at the picture of us in the courtroom and I couldn’t make the connection. It wasn’t me. It just wasn’t. Except it was. From what I was able to piece together, Eliot and I were together at the time of Pac’s death, just like in my own reality. And we were together throughout ‘Pac’s trial. But at some point, during those two years of his crazy trial, we’d crossed the line. And either Eliot find out or I told him after the trial and I cut him out of my life. And 12 years later, he’s been in prison all this time. And I haven’t set eyes on him. At

Starbucks, I plugged his numbers into the prison database and found out he was at MCC. Less than an hour later, I was trying to perch myself on a wooden bench and figure out why he wouldn’t have my name on a list of potential visitors. “Belafonte!” I jumped up and went to the counter. “Not approved. You’ll have to send a written request through the inmate and wait for approval.” “I can’t see him today?” “No.” “Did he say— “He’s on Restriction. That means he can’t make same-day decisions for his visitation list.” “But he can still have visitors.” “The pre-approved ones on his list, yeah. Not you.” I swallowed hard and nodded. Now what? I felt ridiculous. What the hell was going on? I traveled through time, changed ‘Pac’s fate and now in the new present I couldn’t see him? I stood there thinking of something to do, like it was a lucid dream and I could control what happened next. “Ma’am, you need to go.” “Is there someone else I can speak to? I really need to see him.” The room fell silent. The chatter of the women on the benches stopped and a few of the guards talking in a corner abruptly stopped speaking and turned to look at me. The guard at the desk raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Someone else to speak to?” “Yes.” “You can speak to a police officer about

getting arrested for loitering. How’s that?” I turned away and began heading to the exit with the entire room’s eyes on my back. “Excuse me Miss?” A guard began walking behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. “I’m leaving now,” I said without looking back “Are you Jamie Belafonte?” I almost didn’t want to answer. What did that name mean to him? “Yeah.” “You’re the one who was with ‘Pac the day he got shot. When Suge was killed.” I couldn’t bring myself to respond to this. But the guy seemed pretty confident so it seemed like I didn’t need to. “Come back this way,” he whispered. I walked right past the desk again and the guard glowered at me. I kept my head down as the new guard walked me past the wooden benches and through a few sets of steel doors. Through a dark corridor, up a flight of steps and then down a narrow walkway and the guard finally stopped at a small conference room. “Sit,” he said. And before I could ask any questions he was gone. Thirty minutes later, I was still sitting at the metal conference room table, my knees shaking. I assumed the guy was taking me to see ‘Pac. But what if he wasn’t? What if he was a friend of Suge’s or an enemy of Pac’s in some other way. Why would I follow him in here instead of just— “Jamie.”

I looked up and there was ‘Pac, standing in the doorway. His hands were shackled behind his back and the guard who brought me inside was unlocking the handcuffs. When they were off, he shook his hands and then turned and gave the guard a pound. “15 minutes my man,” the guard said. Then he nodded at me and disappeared. Pac walked slowly to the table and sat down across from me. I got up to hug him and realized from his demeanor that he wasn’t expecting that. I sat back down and folded my hands. “You can’t look at me?” ‘Pac asked. After I initially looked up and saw him, I had to avert my eyes. ‘Pac was at least twenty pounds underweight. His hair was in fuzzy corn braids that snaked across his scalp, full of so much lint and dust that it looked like he was going gray. The whites of his eyes were yellow and he was missing one of his front teeth. I could not fathom that ‘Pac could ever look this way. Ever. And yet, here he was. Looking like death warmed over. But even more than his appearance, it was his demeanor that made it impossible for me to make eye contact. He sat across from me with his shoulders rounded, his eyes darting around the room and fiddling with his hands. This wasn’t my ‘Pac. I forced myself to raise my head and look directly at him. “Are you okay?” I asked, hearing how dumb it sounded as soon as it escaped my mouth. “Now I am.” I felt my cheeks warm and I shifted in my chair.

“‘Pac. Something happened to me. Something that doesn’t make any sense.” ‘Pac turned his head to one side just a bit and looked me up and down. “Let me guess,” he said. “You traveled back in time, saved my life the day Suge got killed and then came back to the present and found out that I’m alive but my life is fucked up and we don’t speak anymore.” I jumped up from my chair and moved back to the wall, my hand on my heart. I pressed down hard on my chest, hoping to somehow slow my heart rate before I passed out. “How… why would you say that?” ‘Pac shrugged. “I’ve had a dream like that every night since I got here. I always assumed that’s how you would end up here. In my dream, you try to explain what happened to Eliot, and he ends up telling you…” Pac stopped speaking and I looked up at him. “He told me I cheated on him with you and that we no longer spoke to each other. And then I looked you up and came to see you.” ‘Pac nodded. “And every time, I see you clear as day, trying to sit on the wooden benches in the waiting room. And then you get kicked out. And then my boy John brings you up here.” I simply sat, rocking back and forth in the chair, tears streaming down my face and my head throbbing. “So every time I have the dream, I wake up to someone calling my name. But it’s never John. But just now, it was. And I knew it was time. And here

you are.” I sobbed, trying hard to catch myself so that I could speak before the guard came back to take him away. “If I told you that everything you just said is everything that just happened to me…” “Yes. I believe you Jamie.” I sobbed harder, this time not trying to compose myself. It was just too much. I put my head on the desk and cried so hard my chest began to hurt. I heard ‘Pac’s chair scrape against the floor as he slid it back at the same time that the door to the room opened. “Time to go,” said the guard. “I was trying to get you more time but warden’s on his way.” “Two minutes,” said ‘Pac. The door closed and Pac came to me. He knelt down next to my chair and put one hand on my back. “It’s okay Jamie.” I sat up. “It is not okay. This is not how things are supposed to turn out for you.” “Would you rather I got killed that night?” I honestly couldn’t answer that so I didn’t. “Maybe you’ll travel again and you can change things.” “But if I change the past you won’t magically wake up tomorrow and be free. You’re stuck here in this reality.” “How do you know?” I shook my head. “None of this makes sense.” “My whole life has been one long nightmare for the past ten years. Maybe I’ve been dreaming.”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” I whispered. “Go,” said Pac. “Maybe in my next dream you’ll save my life and somehow keep me out of jail and I’ll be alive and successful and running shit. And maybe I won’t wake up.” ‘Pac stood up and grabbed my hand to help me stand up. We walked to the door where the guard stood. A different guard was nearby, cuffs in hand to take ‘Pac back to his cell. “Hey. What’s my legacy in your world?” “You’re a legend. Considered one of the best. Worshipped by some. Missed by all.” Pac smiled. “Maybe you’re the one stuck in a dream.” The guard began to guide me down the hall and I heard Pac call my name. I turned around. “Do you live in a brownstone in Harlem?” “Why,” I asked, dumbfounded. “Sometimes I dream that we’re at Quad and I’m trying to tell you not to buy a brownstone in Harlem. But I don’t know why.” “You told me not to buy it. In a dream. But I did anyway. I fell asleep in the attic and woke up here.” Pac tugged a bit at the handcuffs to keep the guard from walking him away. “You dreamt that?” “Yes.” “Three days ago?” I did some quick calculations in my head. “Yes. Exactly three days ago.” Pac looked as afraid as I felt. The guard gently moved him to get him to start walk away but

he was still looking at me until the guard finally twisted him and forced him to turn a corner and he was out of sight. # I hadn’t realized how long I’d been in the dim and dank prison until I came outside and the sun hit me and made me squint. I walked around to the front of the building to process my thoughts and then figure out the next step. A police officer on duty in front of the building eyed me warily as I sat down on the front steps of the building to clear my head. I saw him gesture to someone on the side of the building that I couldn’t see. “Is this the person you’re looking for?” he asked the unseen person. Eliot rounded the corner of the building and my heart sank. “Yes,” said Eliot, walking towards me. “Thanks officer.” “Can’t stand here. Keep moving.” I stood up and faced Eliot. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say so I decided to just stand there and take whatever he was going to dish out. “How long have you been coming here,” Eliot said. “This is the first time.” “You’re lying.” “I haven’t seen Tupac since the night he got shot and Suge was killed.” “You were there for the whole trial Jamie.” I shook my head. “I don’t know anything about that. All I know

is that you and I just bought a house in Harlem. I went to the attic and fell asleep there. When I woke up and came downstairs, everything was different. I panicked when I heard a baby crying, jumped out the window and ran to Starbucks, you came there and told me I cheated on you with Tupac and that I cut him off. I looked him up, saw where he was and came here to see him and try to make some sense of this shit. If you want to have me committed, go right ahead. But that’s what I know.” I had no idea my voice was raised high enough that the police officer and others walking by were glancing over at us. When I was done, my chest was heaving and my eye was twitching. I knew I looked insane. Which was fine because I felt insane. “Did you tell Pac this story?” Eliot asked. “He told me the story.” “What are you talking about.” “Before I could tell him what happened, he said he’d had a recurring dream about me coming to see him. And he outlined every single thing that’s just happened to me.” Eliot nodded. “He was expecting me,” I said. “He said when the officer called his name and he woke up from his dream he knew I was there waiting for him.” “You’re having a break with reality,” Eliot said. “That’s possible.” “So what do you want me to do?” “For one second please think about how you would feel if this happened to you. How you would feel if you were trying to get me to understand

that something like this happened to you. What would you want me to do?” Eliot blinked a few times. He threw his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER NINE 9 “I’m not going up there,” I said for the tenth time. I stood in the bedroom closet where the rope ladder hung from the opening in the ceiling. “Do you want me to help you make sense of this or not?” “Yes. But do it from down here.” “This is where it went wrong,” Eliot yelled. “If something happened to you, it happened up here. Maybe you’ll remember hitting your head or something.” I stood directly beneath the opening to the attic and turned my head up. “I did not hit my head,” I said to Eliot. “I

sat down and fell asleep. That’s it. And then I woke up and came downstairs and you were wearing fitted pants.” “What?” I shook my head. “Never mind,” I muttered. “I’m not coming up there.” “Look. I’m up here. Do you think you might disappear right in front of me?” “How the hell am I supposed to know?” “Come on J.” “Please don’t call me J,” I said with a shudder. “Come up here.” “Oh for God’s sake.” I looked up and grabbed the ladder. Eliot pulled me up and in five seconds, I was back at the scene of the crime. I clung to Eliot’s waist like a baby monkey and made him trip a few times because we were walking too close together as we looked around the attic for clues to make sense of my crazy. Eliot tried to touch one of the beams in the attic ceiling. I refused to move so he had to half pick me up in order to reach it. “What do you think is happening to me?” I asked. “A few times you’ve had…episodes.” “So as far as you’re concerned, I’m nuts and this is my latest moment.” “This time it’s different.” “How?” “You sound more believable. Usually I just yes you to death, get you to the hospital and then

you get better. This time you seem more sure of yourself.” “Usually? How many times has it happened?” “A dozen maybe?” I put my hands out in front of me to steady myself because I felt certain I was about to fall flat on my face. “I need to sit down.” “Show me exactly where you were sitting when it happened.” I walked slowly over to the area and pointed. “There.” Eliot grabbed a pile of blankets from one side of the attic and put them in the spot and then sat down. “Come. Sit.” “No.” “Come.” I sat down on the blankets with Eliot, holding my breath. I would not have been surprised at all if a cloud of smoke enveloped us and we were transformed to the Jurassic era. “Now what.” “Now we go to sleep.” I struggled to get out of Eliot’s grasp but he pulled me back down. “Eliot let me go!” “J, listen.” “I asked you not to call me that.” “Jamie. I want you to trust me. What’s the worst case scenario?” “We fall asleep and then wake up in a different reality.” “If we’re together we’ll be fine.”

“But if we’re not…” “Shhh…” I decided to let go. What choice did I have? I was going to have to go to sleep at some point. But I would have felt much better if we had gone to sleep together in our bedroom. If the attic was some kind of portal, I’d be more than happy to nail the opening shut, seal the closet and never step foot in the attic again. I wrapped my arms around Eliot as tight as I could and tried to relax. After a few minutes, he dug out a canister of pills and shook two into my hand. I swallowed them dry. I was half asleep before the pills hit my stomach. When Eliot shook my shoulder, I thought he was trying to shift positions before falling asleep fully. But then I felt warmth from the skylight and my eyes fluttered open and I saw that it was daylight. I sat up straight to wake Eliot but he was already up, his hands behind his head and smiling at me. “Hey you.” “How do I know you’re you?” Eliot looked at the back of his hands and then down at his chest and up at me. “I don’t look like me?” “How do I know you’re the same you from last night?” “We slept up here to see if we would be transported to Las Vegas in 1996.” I exhaled and laid back on Eliot’s chest. “So I’m still here,” I said. “Yes. You’re here.”

“But I’m not supposed to be. I need to be in

my 2012.” “Where Pac is dead?” “Yes. And my father is alive.” “And we’re unhappy?” “Not unhappy. Just not on the same page about having a baby.” Eliot nodded. “I see.” “Except its the opposite. You want one. I don’t.” Eliot gave me a yeah-right look that I ignored. I was trying to figure out if this is where I would be forever. Was my reality forever changed? Tupac was still in that[ Would Pac be in MCC? He would be in a maximum security prison if he’s in for life] prison. I could go back and see him right now. Would Eliot let me? Did Tupac dream all of this last night? “Where are my books,” I asked Eliot as I stood and stretched. “In the office, mostly still in boxes.” “I need to find a few.” “Come on.” I quickly found Kindred, The Time Traveler’s Wife and Replay. “Time travel novels,” Eliot said. “Do you think there’s anyone who believes that time travel exists?” I asked. “Anyone who would listen and try to help me?” “There’s someone out there who believes in everything,” said Eliot, picking up one of the books. “But how would these help?” “I want to be to able to explain myself to

someone. What I’m experiencing isn’t like this,” I said, holding up The Time Traveler’s Wife. I don’t think my separate selves can interact with each other.” “So it’s more like this,” said Eliot, holding up Kindred. “Yes. I went back. I changed something. I came back. In Kindred, she stayed in her new reality forever.” “And you don’t want that?” I put my hand to my temples. “I don’t even want to have this conversation.” Eliot took my hand and walked me down to the kitchen and sat me down at the counter. I put my chin in my hands and watched him unpack dishes and put them in the cupboards. “My dad is dead,” I said. Eliot stopped unpacking a box and looked at me. “Yes, he is.” “But we’re so close,” I said. I felt myself choking up but tried to keep talking. “I talk to him every day. We’re planning a surprise party for my mom. I just saw him Eliot.” I broke down in tears. “I swear to God I did.” Thankfully, Eliot didn’t rush over and try to comfort me. I wouldn’t have been able to take it. He kept his eyes on me but he kept his distance while I got through another crying jag. After I was able to compose myself, I exhaled and looked up at the ceiling. “How long have we lived here,” I asked. Eliot looked at me with a worried expression.

“Why?” “In my head, we just moved here a few days ago.” “We’ve been here for six months,” said Eliot. “I nodded.” “What do you think that means?”said Eliot. “The fact that your brain lost the past six months…” “That’s not how it feels for me Eliot,” I said. I didn’t lose the last six months. I was in Miami last month. You flipped a house in San Jose two months ago. I didn’t lose any—” Eliot held up a hand. “I did what in San Jose last month?” “Flipped a house.” Eliot opened his laptop and turned it around to me. “This house?” “Yes, that’s the one. It’s done. You flipped it. Made a hundred and twenty-five grand.” “J, I didn’t start this project yet. I was supposed to leave for San Jose this weekend.” I shrugged, flipping through the slideshow of Before pictures on his laptop. “You’re done with this project. And its beautiful. You found original cherrywood floors under two sets of carpet installations and four coats of paint.” “We haven’t evenlooked under the carpeting yet.” “You want to call someone right now and ask them to rip up a bit of carpet and take a look?” “No,” Eliot said softly. “No I don’t.”

“I’ll tell you anyway. So when you get there you can look it up and then you’ll believe me.” “I’m not going to San Jose this weekend. I think I should stay here.” “Why. Because of me?” “Yes.” I shrugged. “Having you here is not going to make me any more sane. As long as I don’t fall asleep in the attic I should be fine. “I’m staying here.” “I think I actually want you to go,” I said. “I’d want you to stay with your mom. Not here by yourself.” “Agreed,” I said. It seemed as if Eliot was stopping himself from saying something. “What is it?” I asked. Eliot looked away and then continued breaking down boxes and taping them together. I hopped off the stool at the kitchen counter and walked around to where Eliot stood. “What’s wrong?” Eliot sighed and then looked up at me. “I’m just worried about you.” “I’m worried about me too.” Eliot put down the flattened cardboard box he was folding and grabbed me around the waist and kissed my forehead. “You really want me to go?” he asked. “Yeah. I do.” Something came over Eliot’s face once again. “What is it Eliot? Just tell me.” Eliot pulled me closer and then let me go just

enough to look directly at me. “And you’re not going to back to see ‘Pac after I leave?”

CHAPTER TEN 10 “What time is your mom coming,” asked Eliot. He sat in the window seat of the front parlor, watching the street. He looked so comfortable there. But the house felt foreign to me. It wasn’t my home. It was a house we’d just bought and recently moved into. I’d decided after Eliot asked me the question about seeing Pac to just not speak at all. I was hoping his taxi would come to take him to the airport and I could get by with just saying goodbye. But when I heard the taxi’s horn and Eliot stood up to leave, my plan went out of the window before I could catch myself.

“I am not going to see ‘Pac,” I said. I even managed to look him straight up in the eye when I said it. Eliot threw his bag over his shoulder and nodded. “If you do, I won’t know,” said Eliot. “Which is why I’m telling you. Because you know I wouldn’t lie to you.” “Yeah,” Eliot said, shuffling to the staircase. “I know that.” I followed Eliot down to the huge front door and stood there as he made his way down the front steps and to the taxi. Eliot looked up at me and waved and then looked up at the top of the house. He furrowed his eyebrows and then looked back at me. “You should get your stuff and wait out here for your mom,” he said. I nodded and closed the door, waiting for the taxi to pull off before I went to get my things. My mom called me as I moved around the house gathering clothes and electronics and told me she’d be outside in ten minutes. It took me longer than I wanted to pack a bag because I had no idea where anything was. I had to text Eliot twice to find out where my notebooks were and then again to find my overnight bag. Finally, I had a few days worth of clothes, my computer and a bunch of randomness to hopefully keep my mind occupied until Eliot returned. If, of course, I was still here when Eliot returned. I shook that thought out of my head and made my way to the steps. I was going to have to believe

that this was my reality if I was going to make it through each minute without wigging out. In my own world, I’d always tried to work on living in the moment. Now it was going to be essential. I was here. In a 2012 where my dad was dead and my best friend was alive, although I’d just promised my husband I wouldn’t go near him. None of that made sense. But these were the facts and I was going to have to act as-if, just like my therapist always said. After a few minutes of waiting for my mother, I went into my bag to grab my cellphone to call her. But my phone wasn’t there. I took each and every single item out of my overnight bag, lining everything up on the steps of the brownstone. No phone. I flipped open my laptop and went online to track my phone. According to the app, the phone was there. I set up an alarm to sound so that I could here where the phone was. I stayed still, listening. It definitely wasn’t in my bag. I gathered everything and dumped it in the bag and went back inside, listening for the phone. In the distance, I could hear the buzzing sound. I knew I’d been in the kitchen when my mom called. But I didn’t see the phone anywhere in there. I listened out again and the buzzing sound was coming from further away. At the bottom of the steps, I cocked my ear and heard it. When did I go back upstairs and where the hell did I leave the phone? I jogged up the spiral staircase, still listening out for the phone. I didn’t realize I was slowly starting to panic until I swept the bedroom for the third time and still didn’t see the phone.

First of all, the phone should have stopped buzzing. Whenever I activated the app to find the phone, it would only buzz for a few minutes. And then if I didn’t find it,I’d have to go back to my computer and launch the app all over again. But I’d been looking around for at least ten minutes and I could still hear the phone buzzing in the distance. I stopped in the hallway, took a deep breath and then held it in. The phone was in the spare bedroom. I exhaled and rushed into the spare room. There was no furniture in there. Not a single stitch of anything in the tiny room so it should have been out in the open. It wasn’t there. And it should not have been there. Because I was certain that I had not come into that room since Eliot left and my mom called to tell me she was on her way. I stood in the room, turning around and then stopped in my tracks when I heard the buzzing coming from the closet. I opened the closet door and saw the boxes of books and papers. Maybe I’d come in here for one of my notebooks and set the phone down. I looked around the closet but still didn’t see anything. As soon as I stopped to listen out again, I heard it. It was coming from above me, in the attic. I laughed out loud. Knowing how crazy I would look to someone watching me. “Oh,” I said aloud. “You think I’m going to go upstairs and get my phone so I can get trapped up there and end up somewhere else,” I heard nothing else but the steady buzzing of my phone. I stood there in the closet, looking up into the attic, wondering where inside the phone

could be. My arms were covered in tiny goose bumps because I knew that something very wrong was happening. Maybe I did come up to this room. And maybe I did even go into this closet while I was looking for stuff. But I did not go up there. That’s not something I’d overlook or forget. The phone stopped buzzing and I stood there holding my breath. What now? I heard Michael Jackson’s Off The Wall. It was my ringtone for Eliot. He was calling me. Shit. I paced around the inside of the tiny closet trying to decide what to do. Off The Wall stopped playing and I’ll Always Love My Momma started to play. My mom’s ringtone. I ran down to the front parlor and looked out of the window. I could see my mom sitting in the driver’s seat. She was looking in her rearview mirror and putting on lip gloss and she had her cell in the crook of her neck. She looked up at me and smiled and waved. Then she took the phone and put it down on the seat and went back to the mirror. I couldn’t pull myself away from the window. My mom looked so different. Her hair was in a short bob and she was wearing a flowered headband. I’d never seen her with anything less than shoulderlength hair and it was a big deal when she got bangs when she turned 50. This was not my mother. My mother did not wear lip gloss. And she definitely didn’t apply lip gloss in rearview mirrors while waiting for me to come out. I zoned out for a minute, trying to figure out what about this reality could lead to this tiny change I could see in my mom. My mom beeped the

horn and I snapped out of it. I waved and motioned that I would be right back. I ran upstairs and got the overnight back. Just as I was about to head back downstairs, I heard Eliot’s ringtone again. He was calling me. I dropped the bag, went into the spare bedroom and into the closet and grabbed the rope ladder. “This attic is not a time portal,” I whispered to myself. “It’s just not. And you know it. I don’t know why your phone is up here but it is. So get it. And get the fuck out of this house.” I climbed inside and stayed on my haunches to catch my breath. I wanted to stay as close to the opening as possible before grabbing my phone. And there it was, in a corner of the attic, close to the window. I had an image flash through my mind— Eliot had looked right up at this window and then told me to get my stuff and wait for my mom outside. Did that have something to do with why my phone was suddenly in the corner of the attic. And why was Eliot calling me? The ringing stopped. And I thought about what my next step should be. Should I make a dash for the phone? Or just leave it and get in the car with my mom and never look back. I decided to leave the phone there and turned around to make my way back down the rope ladder. And then I heard the familiar open chords to Keep Your Head Up. A Tupac song coming out of my phone? The very first mobile phone I’d ever purchased came from a radio shack a few blocks away from Union Square where I’d worked at a magazine in the late-90s. ‘Pac was the first person I’d called. He was the only other person I knew who had a mobile

phone. In those early days, I felt conspicuous using a mobile phone so I’d always find a phone booth and use the phone in there and he would laugh at me, reminding me that the whole point of mobile phones is to not have to stand in a phone booth. When ringtones came out, I was trying to figure out how to get one of ‘Pac’s songs as my ringtone but it wouldn’t work. He’d asked me what song I would use for his ringtone and I told him. And now that song was playing out of my phone. My body was halfway down the rope ladder. I turned back around, pulled myself up and through the opening and ran over to the window and grabbed the phone. “Hello?” “Jamie?” I fell to my butt and clutched my throat. ‘Pac?! “Where are you?” “I’m in the attic. Of that house. Where are you? What’s happening?” “I don’t know. Someone told me I had a call and I came out to the pay phone and I heard you say hello…” “‘Pac, is this really you?” I moved the phone away and stared at it. In bold letters, ‘Pac’s name was spelled out and a picture of us at my sweet 16 party was the contact photo on my phone. I hadn’t seen that picture in years. How did it get on this phone? “I don’t know what’s happening Pac. But I have to get out of here.” I looked out the window and saw my mom still in the car, staring up at my front door, her face

concerned. “I put your name on the visitor’s list. I need you to come back here. Now,” said Pac. “No,” I said shaking my head swiftly. “I can’t do that.” “Jamie,” said Pac. “You have to. I think I can help us both figure out what’s going on.” “What’s going on? I already know what’s going on and there’s nothing you can do to help me!” “I think I have an idea why this— “No you don’t,” I yelled out. “You don’t even exist. I’m not really talking to you. I’m insane and this conversation is just my way of dealing with something I’m going through. I’m probably in a hospital right now talking to a nurse thinking its you.” “This is happening Jamie and I think you should— I slammed the phone down on the ground and stomped on it, feeling the body of the phone crack and splinter underneath my feet. I went to the window just in time to see my mom lighting a cigarette, (?!?!), and then pulling away from the curb. I tried to open the ancient window but it was sealed shut and felt like it hadn’t been open in fifty years. I ran over to the opening, hoping I could make it down the stairs and outside with enough time to chase my mom down. Except. There was no opening. At the very spot where I had gone up the rope ladder, there was nothing but smooth and worn hardwood floors with bits of carpeting and old nails, just like the rest of the attic.

I spun around and then dropped to my knees, banging on the floor with my fists. The floor was solid. Not so much as a squeak. I was now in a room that did not have an opening to the floor beneath it. I stood up and stomped on the floor as hard as I could. Nothing. I sank to the floor, sobbing.

CHAPTER ELEVEN 11 I lay flat on my stomach, my left cheek resting directly on the hardwood floors, scanning the ridges and planks. I narrowed my eyes and pored over every line in the grain. Each time I came across the tiniest crack, I ran my hand across it, back and forth, to see if there was any way an opening could be there. I stood up and went to the window. Help me! I yelled out. Someone please help me! I fell to my knees and pounded on the floor, crying hard and losing my breath in the process. Even as I crawled around on the filthy attic floor, screaming like a lunatic, I knew better. I knew full well that the opening was gone. There was

no getting downstairs—at least not the way I got up. At some point, I knew I was going to have to get to that window and figure out a way to get it open and shimmy down the front of the house, all on a busy Harlem street. And then what? The doors were locked so how would I get back inside? My keys were downstairs with my bag. I had no cell phone. Nothing. What the hell was I supposed to do? One last time, I stood up in the exact spot where I knew for a fact there had been a rope ladder leading to the closet of a spare bedroom on the second floor. I looked down at my feet. Around me was nothing but flooring. But when I looked around me, not just focusing on my feet, I noticed a shadowing. The 4x4 space I was standing in was just the tiniest bit lighter than the rest of the floor, as if it had once been covered by a rug. I sat down in the space and crossed my legs. I wasn’t sure what could or would happen. It just felt like that was the only place in the attic that made sense. I was sure that this was the space that led me to the outside world. And somehow I was going to figure out what happened, get back down, call my mother and get out of this house. And I was never coming back. No matter what. If this was my new reality and I would be here forever, I’d be staying with my mother until Eliot sold this house and found another place for us to live. As soon as I got that thought out, something crossed my mind. No matter where you go… There you

are. It was something my dad had told me

constantly. Whenever I wanted to transfer to a new school or quit a job or move to another state, he’d always be supportive. But he would remind me that sometimes we want something else because we’re not whole and at peace. And if you leave where you are and you’re not at peace, you’ll just be unpacking your troubles in a new state, job or school. What if this attic—or an equivalent— existed no matter where I lived? What if Eliot and I moved to an apartment in Brooklyn and I got stuck in the kitchen? Or we moved in with my mom and I went to the bathroom and then couldn’t get back out because the door was no longer there? My heart began to quicken at the thought. Something very powerful was at work. And if I was brutally honest with myself, I knew it was more than just this house. Could I really escape whatever was happening to me by not coming back here? I wasn’t sure. But I was ready to find out. The sun went down in Harlem and I could hear young children ending racing and tag games and saying goodbye to one another as they headed for home. A different sound started to bubble up to the window, grown-folks music, the sound of sizzling grills on decks and porches and the clinking sound of beer bottles being nestled into ice-filled coolers. Something about the arrival of night calmed me. No matter what terrors were riddling my mind, someone’s life was a normal Friday evening out there. People were laughing and talking. The sun was setting. Time was moving. Somewhere, Eliot was getting on a flight to Santa Fe.

Somewhere, Tupac was in his cell, thinking of the phone conversation we’d just had that I was trying desperately trying to forget. Somewhere, my mom was probably trying to call my phone and find out why I never came outside. I edged over to the window and sat with my arms wrapped around my legs and my forehead resting on my knees. I started to yawn and then stopped with my mouth still wide open. I was tired. Which meant if I wasn’t careful, I’d be asleep soon. And then what? I felt my eyes fluttering even as the thought crossed my mind. I was in that weird space where you know full well you’re falling asleep and there isn’t a single thing you can do about it. And yet… you’re conscious enough to think about whether or not you left the stove on, if the phone’s ringing— or if falling asleep might hurl you back through time. There was no fighting it so I stopped trying. Instead, I used those last seconds in twilight to force myself to think. If I woke up in that Vegas casino on the night Pac was shot, what would I do? Try again to keep Pac away from Suge and stop the shooting? Or immediately go find my dad and take him to the hospital? Was it possible to keep them both alive? And if I did manage to keep Pac alive, would he still end up in prison, a shell of his former self? Was that better? Did I want Pac to live because he was my best friend and I loved him? Or because his life was cut short and I mourned who he would have been? I think I answered that question immediately

before I drifted off. But I don’t remember what the answer was.

CHAPTER TWELVE 12 For the first time in a week[ in how long? a week? double check. ], I opened my eyes and I was absolutely sure I was dreaming. First of all, the whole world was in black and white. And I was walking down a street I didn’t recognize. Well. I was kind of walking. I was actually doing that weird lurch that always happened in my dreams. Sometimes when I was dreaming, I could never walk normally, (and running was out of the question). I always moved like the alien who stuffed himself inside a human’s body in that movie Men In Black. I wanted to stop moving so that I could survey my surroundings but I couldn’t. My legs weren’t getting the message from my brain. I could see

that dawn was approaching. And as it slowly became brighter I could tell that I was in Harlem, somewhere near our new home. I got to a corner and saw a few stragglers headed to the subways and corner stores. A few random things were in color, the Nike swoosh in a jogger’s running shoes, the front cover of the newspaper a man waiting for the bus was reading. I looked up to check the streets. I was at TK and TK. A left turn and a few hundred feet and I’d be at the brownstone. Maybe this dream was going to show me how to get out of the attic when I woke up. The idea that my time traveling self was having a lucid dream was beyond mind-boggling. I stopped at the front of the brownstone. The grey tones made it look foreboding and creepy instead of warm and inviting like the first day we got a full tour. I crept up the front stoop and tried the front door. It turned and I pushed the door open. Standing in the foyer, I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, my throat felt like it was closing up and my nostrils were flaring as I tried to take in more air. I rubbed my sweaty palms on the front of my pants and then took notice of what I was wearing, a pair of navy blue sweatpants and my worn-in high school track shirt—the same thing I was wearing in the house when I got trapped in the attic and fell asleep.[ Has she changed clothes at all? ] Maybe I wasn’t dreaming? I shook my head. That wasn’t possible. I was ready to believe in time travel, (since I seemed to have no choice). But I

was not going to believe that I lived in a black and white world with just random and sporadic bursts of color. I turned around in a tiny circle and then froze. I could hear a voice in the distance but I couldn’t tell if it was coming from inside or outside the house. I leaned just my head over the tiniest bit, afraid to actually move closer to the sound.

Help me!! Someone please help me! After hearing the far-away voice, I heard someone banging hard on something. Again, someone crying out for help. And again, a banging on the— It came to me at once. I was listening to myself, from a few hours ago. I was yelling out help me and banging on the floor just before I fell asleep. My time-traveling self was now time-traveling as well. I choked back tears and walked up the steps, one at a time, stopping short every time I heard her, (me?!), yelling out. At the door to the spare bedroom, I listened. I no longer heard my own voice screaming out for help. If memory served, at this point I was sitting on the floor, wondering what I would do if I woke up in Vegas. I had no idea what I was supposed to. Help myself get out of the attic? How did I even know it was me? Was the drop ceiling there? Or was it smoothed over like it was last night? I heard the sound of something slumping. It was me, I was sure of it, falling asleep on the attic floor. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on

the hardwood floor outside the spare bedroom. Without getting up, I reached over and turned the doorknob and pushed the door open with my palm. I leaned over to peek inside the room. The closet in the spare bedroom was open and when I leaned over further, I could see the rope ladder hanging down from the opening in the ceiling. I stared at the rope, wondering what I should do. Going upstairs was not an option. There was no way I was trying to find out who or what was in that attic. But I also knew I couldn’t sit in the hallway indefinitely either. I was absolutely exhausted and spent. What would happen if I fell asleep again? The very thought of the possibilities got me on my feet. I was going to have to keep pressing on, trying to work out what was happening and what I was supposed to do. I went to the rope and tugged, making sure it was secure before I started the climb up. I pulled myself up, step by step, bracing myself for the moment where I’d have to push the door up and climb into the attic. I made it to the top and put all my weight against the small door. Nothing happened. It was firm and tight. Now here was a new wrinkle in this ridiculous universe. The attic door had never been difficult to open. And now it felt like— well, it felt like it did the night before, when there was no door. But this time, I could clearly see the hinges and latches. Everything was unlocked. But I couldn’t push it through. I could get up a tiny quarter of an inch but no more. I pushed a little more and realized that there was something on the door that made it impossible to open. All I could

imagine it could be— was me. I closed my eyes tight and pushed up harder, straining my forearms until my wrists ached. I grunted, beads of sweat pouring down my temples and I felt something sliding away. There was a thump, the door gave way and I quickly pulled myself up through the opening and crawled out into the space on my knees. It was pitch black. Which didn’t make sense. When I came in the building a few minutes ago, the sun was coming up. But it wasn’t just the pitch-black darkness that felt wrong. It was the lack of sound. It wasn’t just quiet. It felt like I was in a coffin. There was a distinct absence of sound that felt like someone had stuffed my ears with cotton or I was wearing heavy-duty headphones. I stayed on my haunches and tried to think. The most disturbing thought was that my sleeping self could be right next to me in that attic. But for the moment, I tried to focus on getting my bearings without touching anything. I looked over at the side of the wall, where I knew the windows were. If they were there, I couldn’t see them. It was just as dark over there as it was everywhere else. This felt like someone had dropped a black canvas cloth over the whole house, blocking out any snatch of light or sound. I heard a slight sound, something whirring, like a blender or an air conditioner. It got louder and I shut my eyes, as if that could help me hear better. With my eyes closed, I could still see that the room was brightening. The whirrs and pings grew louder and the room got brighter behind my eyelids. I slowly stood, shading my eyes with my hands, not

ready to see. And then, with no warning, there was this moment where my whole center of gravity shifted. It felt like I’d just jumped and landed on both feet although I hadn’t moved. The air in the space changed. I still hadn’t opened my eyes. But suddenly I could smell beer and stale cigarette smoke and there was a dull roar of conversation and laughter. I clenched my teeth, took in in a breath so deep that my nostrils flared— and then I opened my eyes. I was a few feet away from a huge cage with a lion and lioness on display. I screamed. Clasping my hands over my mouth, I spun around in a tight circle, surveying my surroundings. Brownstone attic in Harlem, circa 2012? No. The Grand casino in Las Vegas, circa 1996? Yes.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 13 This time, without hesitating, I dashed around the casino looking for Tupac. If I’d been given another chance to get this right, I was going to do everything in my power to keep my dad and ‘Pac alive. It was the only reason I could think of that I’d traveled again. Whatever forces were sending me back and forth were giving me the chance to change things—again. Which would mean that maybe at some point, I could get back to my 2012 and stay there forever. I couldn’t help but to run my hands down my flat-again stomach as I jogged around the casino looking for ‘Pac and his entourage. I made a quick vow to lose some weight when I got back to 2012. This version of me was in

much better shape. I ran forward but then turned my head for a split second and ended up crashing into someone who stumbled backwards and began to fall. I manage to steady myself and somehow grab the person before they hit the floor, yanking them up so hard that I banged into the person’s chest. “You okay?” I asked. The young man had his head down, dusting off his pants. He looked up at me and smiled. “I thought I told you to be careful here.” It was the driver. The guy who picked up Mrs. Williams from the brownstone. And the guy I’d seen in this same casino the first time I ended up here. I grabbed the guy’s shoulders and shook him. “What the fuck is going on? I yelled. “Why is this happening?” He peeled my hands off his shoulders and then clasped my hands in his. His face was calm and serene. “Just be careful,” he said again, in that same even voice. I opened my mouth to ask more questions but then I saw them: Pac and his crew, once more heading out of the casino to the parking lot. I pushed away from the guy and ran towards the exit doors. When I realized I wasn’t going to be able to reach them before they walked out, I stopped running, cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled out: “Pac! Yo!” Suge stopped and turned around first. When he

saw me, he shook his head and then tapped ‘Pac on the shoulder and nodded in my direction with his chin. Pac threw this hands up, his eyebrows knitted in confusion, then he beckoned me towards him. I ran up and put my hands on his shoulders. “Kidada’s sick. She told me to come get you and bring you back to the hotel.” I had no idea where that lie came from but I was grateful for it. “What’s wrong with her? Why didn’t she call me?” “Just come on, I’ll explain as we go.” ‘Pac hesitated. He looked over at Suge who shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll meet y’all at the club,” said Pac. “Come on J, let’s go.”

Yes! I wanted to jump in the air and pump my fist but I had to remain calm so I didn’t throw ‘Pac off. But I was exhilarated. I was on my way to changing the past in a way that would make my 2012 near-perfect. All I had to do was keep Pac away from TK Avenue. And then haul ass to the TK hotel and get my dad to the hospital in time. I felt like once I did both of those things, I’d immediately find myself back in the original 2012. I don’t know why I felt that way, considering my time travel seemed to have no rhyme or reason. But I was hopeful. ‘Pac and I walked behind Suge out of the casino and into the parking lot. The same crowd was gathered, deciding who would be traveling in which car. “Where’s Frank?” ‘Pac asked, looking around

for his bodyguard. I pointed out Frank, who was sitting in the driver’s seat of ‘Pac’s TK. “Frank. We out. Gotta go back to the spot and check on Ki.” “Why?” “I don’t know. She told Jamie to come and get me.” “I just spoke to Kidada,” said Frank. “She called me. She’s packing up and on her way to the airport.” ‘Pac looked at me with his eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. “Look, I’m just telling what she told me do,” I said, shrugging my shoulders and trying to look normal. “She wanted me to come and get you. Maybe she didn’t want to tell Frank what’s wrong.” “So what is wrong?” “I’m not sure.” ‘Pac sucked his teeth and took out his cell phone. “I don’t know why I didn’t do this in the first place…” I held my breath. When Kidada answered the phone, she was going to tell him that nothing was wrong. As long as Suge was gone at that point, I didn’t care. While ‘Pac waited for Kidada to pick up, I kept my eyes on Suge’s TK. He was driving. Three guys I didn’t know were in the back.[ that is not factually accurate] No one was in the passenger’s side. Suge leaned out of the window of the passenger’s side. “You coming or what?” he yelled out. ‘Pac held a hand up, asking for him to wait. I walked over to Suge’s car, my heart pounding and sweat dripping

down my back from fear. I leaned into the passenger side window. “You should probably just go. We’ll be right behind you.” “The fuck I look like,” Suge spat. “‘Pac might listen to you but I don’t.” “And don’t take TK Road,” I said, “Take TK instead.” Suge glanced at the two guys in the backseat and then looked back at me. He didn’t say anything but he gave me a look I was familiar with. It meant: this bitch. Suge had never liked me. I felt like he didn’t want anyone from Pac’s pre-Death Row life to have too much access to him. I was one of the only people who hadn’t backed away after ‘Pac started running with Suge. Suge started up the car and gunned the engine. I knew I should have felt bad to know that Suge would be dead in ten minutes. But I didn’t. As long as I got him out of here without taking ‘Pac with him, I didn’t care what happened to him. I knew I’d feel guilty later. But this wasn’t later. “Have a nice time at the club,” I whispered under my breath. Suge just grunted and began slowly pulling out of the parking lot, with several other cars lining up to follow behind him. I turned back to talk to ‘Pac. But he was gone. I did a 360-turn. No ‘Pac anywhere.

How could I have lost him? Maybe he went back to the hotel without me? “Jamie! Yo, J!” I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard

Pac’s voice. But I still couldn’t see him. “Turn around, J!” I turned around in the direction of where Suge and the rest of the crew had begun to drive off. And there was ‘Pac, standing up through the sunroof[ did the car have a sunroof?] of the car. “I talked to Kidada,” Pac yelled out, his hands cupped around his mouth. “She’s fine. Go back to your room. I’ll holla at you later.” “Pac! PLEASE NO!” I ran as fast as I could towards the car, my arms pumping and my lungs burning. “Stop the fucking car ‘Pac!” I screamed. He dipped back into the car and I thought it was over. It wouldn’t be the first time he ditched me over my protests. Except a moment later, I saw the car slowing down. Two other cars that had been driving alongside them slowed down as well. I didn’t even realize I was sobbing until Pac got out of the car and jogged over to where I stood. He grabbed me, one arm around my neck and leaned into me. He pulled us both down a bit. “Okay. I’m here,” ‘Pac whispered into my ear. “Talk to me Jamie. What’s really wrong.” I couldn’t stop crying. I wanted to tell ‘Pac the truth so bad. But what the hell was the truth? “Hey Frank!” Pac yelled out. I grabbed his arm because I thought he was about to leave again but he squeezed me. “Stay right here. I’m not leaving,” said Pac. I just nodded and watched as he went back over to the cars. I couldn’t hear what he was saying to

any of the guys but I saw him gesturing and pointing and directing people in and out of cars. There was more swapping and then ‘Pac slipped in the driver’s seat of his TK while Suge got in the passenger’s side of Frank’s TK. I held my breath, ready to start sprinting if ‘Pac pulled away. But instead, ‘Pac circled around slowly and pulled up to me. “Get in J.” I glanced over at the other cars as they began speeding down TK. I climbed in the car and buckled up. “I’m going to go park the car and we’ll go inside. Aiight?” “No,” I said, shaking my head. “We need to go see my dad. Now.” “Your dad? I thought we were going to have breakfast with him tomorrow?” I swallowed hard, remembering the 1996 I lived through. I let Pac leave me in that parking lot and I went to see my dad on my own. My dad had asked for Pac. And I told him we’d be having breakfast together in the morning. He laughed, commenting on how ‘Pac was probably the only rapper who could party all night in Vegas and then have breakfast in the morning with his childhood best friend and her dad. And he could. That was just who he was. I could see him there, right at the TK inside the TK, sipping on orange juice and coffee, quizzing my dad on old school rap lyrics which they had been doing since long before Pac had started rapping. “We are going to have breakfast tomorrow,” I said softly. “But I need you to come with me to see

him right now. I think he needs me.” Pac slowed the car to a stop. He put the car in Park and stared straight ahead. “J. You better start explaining yourself. Because you’re making no sense right now.” I looked up at ‘Pac and saw something in the profile of his face. It was a flash of something that made me think he might really understand what was going on with me. I thought back to the Pac I saw in prison. And how my real life matched his dreams. “What did you dream about last night?” I asked Pac. As soon as I saw his eyes widen and his face freeze, I knew I was on to something. And then I remembered. In my 1996, Tupac had mentioned something about a dream to me when I was trying unsuccessfully to keep him from leaving with Suge. I had cut him off, trying to get him to focus on leaving with me. “Why’d you ask me that,” Pac said, his voice low and his eyes still staring straight out of the windshield. “Just tell me. What did you dream about?” “It just popped into my head,” he said. He closed his eyes and turned his head upward. “I can’t remember exactly,” he said after a moment. “But it was bad.” “Was it about my dad?” Tupac snapped his head to face me. “Yeah,” he said. “He.. Something happened and he— “He was having a heart attack,” I said. “You were trying to convince him to go to the

hospital and he didn’t want to go…” “That’s what’s happening right now ‘Pac,” I said. “My dad is at the TK. And I think he’s having a heart attack and I need to convince him to get to a hospital right now.” ‘Pac started the car and started driving. I fell back in the seat and exhaled. “But how do you know? And why did you think I dreamt about it? And why do you need me to go? Why waste time trying to get me to come when you could go straight to the hotel and get him to a hospital?” “Can I explain all of that to you after we get my dad to the hospital?” I asked, my eyes still closed. “I want you to explain now.” “I can’t. I just— ‘Pac please.” “There was more to the dream I had last night…” Pac said. I opened my eyes and sat up. “What happened?” “We took your dad to the hospital but then…” Pac squinted, as if narrowing his eyes would help him see the dream. “I don’t know. Something happened—” “We’ll talk about it later,” I said. “Drive.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 14 In ten minutes[ How long? What hotel are they going to? How far apart are they?], ‘Pac was dropping me off at the front of the TK before parking the car. At the front desk, I got my dad’s room number and then went over to the courtesy desk to call him. I saw Pac trot inside and I pointed to the bar in the lobby. He nodded and slipped inside, keeping his head down as he passed a group of young girls in a huddle. They still spotted him and they all squealed, following him inside the bar, asking for his autograph and a picture. “Jamie?” I turned around, the phone still to my ear.

There was my dad, alive but pale. “Daddy,” I whispered. I dropped the phone and ran straight into my dad’s arms. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” I nodded, my head still buried in his shoulders. My dad rubbed my back and then peeled me away, his hands on my shoulders. He searched my face, smiling lightly. “I thought we were meeting for breakfast tomorrow?” I led my dad towards the bar area and when I started to speak, I noticed that he winced. “Daddy, are you okay?” He made a fist and pounded his chest, right over his heart. [ earlier in this verso of the book. she talks about them not being super close until after she saves his life. so did she do this part already? ]Then he shrugged and chuckled. “If it’s all-you-can-eat, eat it all ‘cept the meat,” he said. “I’ve got wicked indigestion.” I took a deep breath. My father was the most stubborn person I knew, besides myself. If I didn’t play my cards right, we’d be arguing for the next two hours as I tried to convince him to go to the ER. “What’s up Mr. B?” ‘Pac had escaped the girls. A maitre’d was leading the whole group out of the bar area and a uniformed security guard was now seated near ‘Pac and keeping an eye on the area. “Well if it isn’t Mr. Superstar,” my father said. He slipped into another coughing fit and then cleared his throat.

“Mr. Bela…” said Pac, glancing at me. “You aiight?” My dad brushed it off. “A little under the weather. Nothing serious.” “You look like you should see a doctor,” I said. “Absolutely not,” said my dad. “Now why are you two here instead of out carousing somewhere you shouldn’t be with people I don’t approve of.” “Daddy, can we please take you to a doctor?” I asked. “You just look a little off.” My dad stiffened and gave us both a stern look. “Okay guys, that’s enough. We said we were meeting for breakfast in the morning. But you’re here now and trying to tell me I look sick. What’s going on?” Before I could come up with a lie, my father leaned his head back and stretched his neck. “What is it?” I asked. “Back hurts,” said my dad. I could tell his teeth were clenched. “Mr. Bela,” said ‘Pac. “The car is right outside. We’re going to the ER.” “I’ll go see my own doctor at home as soon as I land tomorrow,” said my dad. Tupac pointed at me. “Have him outside in two minutes. I’ll bring the car around.” I nodded and took my dad’s arm and began walking him to the door, while he protested all the way. “I just don’t understand what you’re doing

here Jamie,” my dad asked, as we waited outside the hotel for ‘Pac. “I promise I will explain if you just let me get you to a hospital first. ‘Pac and I came to talk to you about something. But you don’t look well. And what we need to talk about can wait.” Another lie that came out of nowhere that I was imminently grateful for, especially when I saw how it seemed to pacify my dad. ‘Pac pulled up and unlocked the door. I opened the backdoor and began to guide my dad inside. He muttered something I couldn’t hear. “What did you say,” I asked, as he buckled his seatbelt. “Nothing.” Pac got out of the car and came around to the passenger side. “You drive,” he said. I started to ask why but then I saw him gesture to my dad with his eyes. He wanted to sit closer to my dad and keep an eye on him. I nodded just a bit and then got in the driver’s seat. Finally, we were driving off. I took stock. It was TK, over TK since the shooting took place. I turned on the radio. If there was any kind of shooting, it would be news by now. But there was nothing but traffic and weather reports. I began to breathe normally and wondered what was next. It looked like we were going to make it to the hospital to get my dad some help. And then what? Pac would go to the party at Club TK with Suge? Was the gunman still driving around the strip looking for him? What was this new reality going to bring? And would it take me back to where I

belonged? I wanted to be in TK, moving into the brownstone with Eliot. Except this time, I wouldn’t step foot in that attic. And I’d tell Eliot we needed to sell it. Immediately. As I drove down TK, with ‘Pac occasionally glancing back at my dad through the rearview mirror, I took a minute to absorb the moment. I was with ‘Pac and my dad, something I hadn’t experienced in TK years. I knew I missed ‘Pac. But I didn’t know how acute the feeling remained after all this time until I was back here in his presence. It didn’t feel this way in that other reality. When I saw him in the prison, dejected and sad, I felt pity for him. The love was still there. But it was different. I didn’t feel like we were equals. I felt like I didn’t know him at all. This version of ‘Pac, healthy, vibrant and alive, was the young man I knew and missed so fiercely. I thought about Eliot and winced. The last time I saw him, he was on his way to TK to work on a house. And he was worried that I would see ‘Pac while he was gone. I gave him my word that I wouldn’t. And now, here I was. Sitting right next to him. As if he could read my mind, ‘Pac glanced over at me, gave me a small smile and squeezed my shoulder. I shrank away without meaning to and he questioned me with his eyes. I started to say something and then I saw a car pulling up slowly next to us. It was a white Cadillac. Fear shot through my body like ice cold water in a faucet. ‘Pac saw my face and then turned to

see what I was looking at. “Get down!” I yelled to ‘Pac. I turned to my dad, reached back and pushed his head down with my hand, one hand still on the steering wheel. I came back around and sped up. How could this be? How did they find us? This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen! I looked over again. Maybe it was just another white Cadillac. Just a coincidence or something. “Who is that?” Tupac yelled out. “I don’t know,” I said, my eyes on the road, still speeding up as much as I could without losing control of the car. ‘Pac lifted his head just a touch and peeked out of the window. A shot rang out and we all jumped. I heard my father whisper, good god from the back seat. “Shit,” Pac mumbled. He reached into the back of his pants and then slid out a shiny chrome revolver. “When did you—” ‘Pac rolled down the window a few inches and turned the gun to the side and slid it out the window. “Pac don’t!” The volley of shots sounded like fireworks. I tried to focus on driving but it was impossible. All I could think about was my dad. He was hovering in the back, his hands crossed over his head. “Drive the fucking car Jamie!” Hearing those words sealed the deal. I started spinning out of control immediately. I tried to steady the wheel and I just skidded more and more. I finally just slammed on the brakes and then the

universe switched to slow motion. My back arched and my head went backwards and then I came back forward and my face headed straight for the steering wheel. Even with my eyes closed tight, I knew it was coming. I heard screams and didn’t know if they were mine, ‘Pac’s or my dad’s. My face connected with something that felt like canvas with a sharp snap. The car came to a stop and as the world went back to regular speed I could hear more bullets being fired. I heard a car peel off. And then silence. The abrupt switch from cacophony to nothing was jarring. I held my breath and listened. I needed to hear ‘Pac and my dad say something. I needed to hear groaning and mumbling. I needed to here anything. Because if they didn’t say anything, I knew it was because they couldn’t say anything. And I couldn’t begin to confront what that might mean. I realized that I wasn’t silent because I chose to be. I wasn’t quite conscious. For all I knew, ‘Pac and my dad could have been trying to figure out if I was alive. I tried to move some part of my body and nothing was connecting. Was I dreaming again? Was I traveling? Was I going to wake up back in the attic? I heard the wail of an ambulance in the distance and I felt relief. I was here. And help was on the way. Within seconds, I felt the door opening and hands gently removing me from the car and then laying me out on a stretcher. My whole body was racked with pain but all I wanted to do was open my eyes and see ‘Pac and my dad. No matter how hard I

tried, I couldn’t get my eyes to listen to my brain. I felt myself being lifted and then the stretcher sliding into the back of the ambulance. Just as the doors closed, I could hear people yelling out directions to each other.

TK conversation between EMT about dad and/or ‘Pac It was enough to finally force my eyes open. “What’s happening,” I choked out. A woman with piercing blue eyes and a pale, weathered face was holding an IV above my head and adjusting it. She looked down at me in shock. “She’s conscious,” she said to another woman, who leaned over into my face. “You’ll be okay,” she said. “We’re getting you help.” I shook my head back and forth. “No. Outside. My dad. ‘Pac. What’s happening,” I asked, wincing in pain just from speaking. I know the women tried not to give each other a look. But they failed. I saw them. And I knew they were trying to think fast and say something to me that wouldn’t freak me out. “Please,” I said. “Please tell me they’re okay.” “They’re fine,” said the woman holding my IV. “You’re all going to make it. We’re not far from the hospital.” I squeezed the woman’s hand as tight as I could. “I need you to be honest with me. It’s really important. Are they alive?” “Yes,” said the woman with no hesitation. “They’re alive.”

I didn’t believe her for half a second. #

Two cracked vertebrae. Left femur fractured. Left ankle fractured. Contusions and bruises. When is she scheduled for surgery. Thirty minutes. Bring her now. As I felt myself being rolled down what I assumed to be a hospital corridor, I opened my eyes. For some reason, I wanted to see the women from the ambulance. But instead, it was a man. My eyes fluttered as I tried to focus on him. He was looking straight ahead, focusing on guiding my stretcher. He looked down at me and smiled and my eyes widened in fear. It was him. The guy. From the brownstone. From the casino. The guy who kept popping up when I was traveling. The only one who seemed to know me and understand what was happening to me. I couldn’t even speak this time. I wanted to yell and scream and hit him and then start begging for answers. But this time, I just stared at him. I felt tears pooling at the corner of my eyes and I let them fall. He leaned over to my ear, still pushing the stretcher. “It’s going to be okay Jamie. You’ll be fine.” I stayed quiet. The fact that he said my name was frightening, confirming what I already knew that he was proof that this whole experience was

otherworldly but somehow totally real. “Why?” I managed to croak out. The guy shook his head as if what I’d asked wasn’t important. “You’re going back now. You don’t have to worry about anything.” “What?” The guy stood up quickly and stiffened. We were approaching a large room and there were several people standing around and talking. I saw someone snapping on gloves and someone else organizing instruments on a side table. The guy turned me around and backed me up as the people surrounded me. When no one was looking, he bent down quickly and kissed my forehead. “I love you,” he whispered. And then he was gone. The kiss from a perfect stranger who kept popping up in different incarnations wasn’t what scared the bejeezus out of me. It was the way I felt when he did it. Warmth had flooded my body. A pure feeling of joy and love. I loved that man. I didn’t know why or how. But what coursed through my body when he pecked me was something I felt when I hugged my parents or ‘Pac. It wasn’t a romantic feeling. It was more intense and whole. It was the kind of love you know is permanent. And I had no idea who he was. A young woman with her face covered in a surgical mask moved up my pale blue hospital gown and rubbed my forearm with a cotton ball and then patted my hand. “We’re going to fix you right on up,” she said. I could tell she was smiling even though I

couldn’t see her mouth. She picked up a needle on the side table and held it up in the air, pushing the plunger up a bit. “Close your eyes and count backward from 100,” she said, as she pushed the needle into my arm. “And don’t worry. You’ll be black again soon.” Huh? Why on earth would she bring up race? I struggled mightily to make eye contact with her even though it felt like someone had placed weights on my eyelids. “What did you say?” I asked. I felt her pat my arm and then my eyelids gave in and sank. I could feel the stretcher being adjusted and from far away I could hear a doctor barking out directions. I was still trying to figure out what the nurse meant about being black. And then it hit me. I had misheard her. She’d actually said… Don’t worry, you’ll be back again soon.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 15 I could hear grunting. Someone was trying to push something. My eyes weren’t ready to open and my brain wasn’t ready to compute. All I knew was that nearby, someone was trying desperately to move something heavy. The grunts grew louder and more intense. If I had to guess, the person was either trying to carry a piano on their back or giving birth to triplets with no epidural. I was getting used to this transition space. These moments where I felt like I was conscious but I couldn’t actually see or say or do anything. It was the only time I felt free and light. I felt like I could think clearly and make decisions about

this crazy world I’d found myself in. Where was I last? In the hospital in Las Vegas? Yes. There had been a shootout with the guys in the white Cadillac. My dad and ‘Pac were hurt. And so was I. That’s all I knew. I had a feeling I was still in Las Vegas because my side was aching and it felt tender and raw, as if it might be stitched up. I gave in to the silence and waited. What else was there to do? If the past few days were any indication, the world would open itself to me when it was time. And there was nothing I could do about any of it so it was pointless to get anxious and frantic. Of course I was still anxious and frantic. But talking to myself about how it was pointless was slightly helpful. But only slightly. The grunting sound became louder and at the same time there was a creaking sound, like an old window being pried open. Somehow, the grunting sounded like Eliot’s voice but I couldn’t be sure. Were a person’s grunts really identifiable? “Jamie?” I was right. It was Eliot. I tried to move my fingers and toes. I focused my brain on finding my body and controlling it. Nothing worked. All I could do was blink though my eyes were still shut tight. “Don’t move Jamie,” I heard Eliot whisper. I felt him adjusting something and then a swoosh of warm and thick air hit my face as something like a door opened nearby. Finally, my body joined my brain and I was able to open my eyes. At the same time, I

outstretched my arms to feel around. I was back in the attic. In the same spot where the opening had disappeared. Except now, the opening was there and Eliot was climbing up. Beads of sweat were pouring down Eliot’s temple and his face was flushed and lined with worry. “Baby,” he whispered, as he climbed all the way up and then grabbed me. “Are you okay?” “No,” I said. I started to cough. It turned into a hacking I couldn’t control and Eliot hit my back as hard he could without hurting me. After a full minute, the cough subsided and I grabbed my side. The coughing fit had made me feel like my side was going to split like a broken zipper. “Are you hurt?” Eliot asked. “Why would you sleep up here?” I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to stay wrapped up in Eliot’s arms and just focus on breathing. I knew that once I started speaking, I’d have to answer questions and ask a few too. And I didn’t want to hear my answer— or anyone else’s. This was the very worst part of this traveling business—coming back and trying to figure out what was different. It had been only a few days and I felt like I’d aged a decade. “The door was gone,” I said to Eliot. I looked up to see his face and my heart flipped over. In some way, he was more handsome than the last time I saw him. It didn’t make sense. And I couldn’t articulate it. But there was a sharpness and clarity to Eliot’s features that was…something. It felt like the last time I saw him he was under the weather and now he was

completely healed. “You look different,” I said. I pulled my hand up to touch his face and then yelped. As soon as I had tried to stretch out my arm, my rib felt like it had caught fire. I brought my hand down quickly and pushed it close to my side. Eliot adjusted my body so that the side that was hurt was on the outside and I could feel him slowly lifting my shirt. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “What the hell happened to you?” I swallowed. I’d had a bad feeling this was coming. And I didn’t know if I should be grateful that Eliot was about to believe what I’d been trying to tell him or be even more confused and upset about the whole insane turn of events. “You… you had surgery?” Eliot said. He ran one finger down my side. I could tell by the way it felt that I had at least six inches of tiny stitches going up my ribcage. “I guess so.” “What happened?” I moved up a bit so I could sit up fully in Eliot’s lap. “Can you tell me what happened first?” “What do you mean?” “Why are you here? Why aren’t you in San Diego? Is your trip over?” Eliot exhaled with his eyes closed. “I was at the airport. My flight was about to board and your mom called me. She was worried because you never came outside when she came to pick you up.” I nodded.

“Why didn’t you come outside?” Eliot asked. I opened my mouth to speak and then thought better of it. “So my mother called you and then what?” I said. “And then I bought a ticket for tomorrow and I took a cab back home.” “And then what.” “I couldn’t have been gone more than two hours. I came in the house and I couldn’t find you. I called out and I looked everywhere.” “And then?” I asked. Eliot rubbed the back of his neck. “And then I heard something up here and I climbed up and tried to push the door open. It was stuck but I got it open. And you were here on the floor.” I just shook my head back and forth. “Jamie. You’re bleeding.” Eliot said. His voice seemed like he was willing himself to speak calmly when he really wanted to freak out. “Where?” I asked, looking at my arms and my legs. Eliot didn’t answer. He just pulled up the side of my shirt and peered at my wound again. “You want to tell me what happened to you?” “I got into a car accident.” “Here in the attic?” I gave Eliot a sharp look. “Do you want to know what happened to me or not?” “I want the truth,” said Eliot. “I left here two hours ago so I’m doubting you got into a car accident and got stitched up and ended up back in

the attic.” I felt my face redden. “I can only tell you what I just experienced. You can believe it or not believe it. Maybe I’m crazy. I’m completely ready to accept that. But all I can tell you is what I know.” Eliot looked at the floor and then hugged me closer to him. “Tell me.” “I was waiting for my mom. Wanted to call her but I couldn’t find my phone. I looked everywhere. It started ringing and I heard your ring tone.” “Right. I called you a few times from the airport,” said Eliot. I nodded. “So I heard where the phone was coming from…” “Up here?” Eliot asked. I nodded again. “Oh,” said Eliot. “Did you come up here after I left?” I looked up at Eliot. “No.” “Okay. So it was up here and you came up to get it.” “Well, no. I was freaked out because I know I didn’t go up there. I felt like something was trying to get me back up there. So I was going to just leave it and go outside to my mom. But then…” My throat got tight and I tried to hold back a sob. “Then what Jame?” “My phone rang again and the ringtone was a ‘Pac song.”

There was silence. “And then?” Eliot asked. “I climbed into the attic to answer the phone and he was on the line, calling me from prison. He said I needed to come back because he might understand what was going on…” Eliot lifted me up just enough to move me over to the floor. He stood up and walked over to the other side of the attic. “You’re telling me ‘Pac called you, although he’s been dead for ten years, and then— “He’s dead?!” I yelled out. I went to Eliot and fell into his arms. “No God please no,” I mumbled into his chest. “Jamie what’s going on?” I collected myself and stepped away from Eliot. “Can you answer some questions for me,” I asked. “Yeah.” “Even though they won’t make sense and they will seem like I should know the answers already.” “Okay.” “‘Pac is dead.” “Yes. Yes he is.” “When did it happen?” “But Jamie you were— I held up a hand. “Please Eliot,” I said. “Just answer.” “He got shot on September 7, 1996.” “Where.” “In Vegas.” “On the strip?”

“Near.” “Was I there?” I could tell Eliot was about to ask why I was asking questions I knew the answers to and I held up my hand again and shook my head. “Just answer. Please.” “Yes. You were there. You were in the car.” “In the backseat…” “No Jamie. You were driving. Pac was in the front seat. Your dad was in the backseat. You were taking your dad to the hospital because you thought he was having a heart attack.” “Where’s my dad?” I asked softly. “He… he died Jamie. He died of a heart attack at the hospital. And ‘Pac died a week later, on the 13th.” “And I lived.” “Yes. You lived. You were seriously hurt in the accident and you had to have surgery on your—“ Eliot’s face went pale. He walked over to where I stood and pulled my shirt up again. “You had to get surgery,” he whispered, touching my fresh wound. “Right here. The scar was right here Jamie. Why does it look like it just happened?” I took Eliot’s hand away and squeezed it. “Because it did just happen.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 16 Over breakfast, Eliot grilled me on everything. I answered the best that I could even though I know he didn’t believe me. It seemed like he was throwing up twisted and convoluted questions to see if he could trick me into saying something that didn’t match up with my story. I know I passed all his subtle tests. Even if he thought I was crazy—my crazy was tightly packaged in a story I was effortlessly sticking to. “Where do you feel like you are right now?” Eliot asked. He ripped pieces of maple turkey bacon and dipped it in his over easy egg. My stomach turned. Eliot had been a vegetarian for as long as

I’d known him. And we were both turned off by runny eggs. Once again, this new world was slightly skewered, just enough to creep me out. I cleared my throat and began ticking off talking points on my fingers, keeping my eyes locked onto Eliot’s. “I feel like TK days ago, we moved into this house and I fell asleep in the attic and woke up in ‘Vegas in 1996,” I said. I wanted until I felt like Eliot had absorbed what I said before continuing. “And then I came back and realized I’d changed the future. ‘Pac survived the shooting. But my dad died.” Eliot nodded and drained his screwdriver and signaled to the waitress for another one. (My Eliot didn’t drink alcohol. Ever.) “I saw Pac in prison and we seemed to have some kind of connection,” I said. “He knew what was happening to me. I left and you saw me at the jail. You were…” I stopped, lowering my eyes. “I was what?” Eliot asked. “You didn’t want me to see ‘Pac.” “Oh.” I couldn’t figure out what the status was with me and ‘Pac in this reality. If he died in Vegas, did that mean we never dated and this was closer to the Eliot that I knew in my version of 2012? “You left to go flip a house in San Diego,” I said. “I stayed behind and waited for my mom to pick me up. While I waited, I ended up in the attic again and when I tried to get out, the opening was gone.” Eliot used his fork to tap out a random rhythm on the side of his plate. He narrowed his eyes and

scratched his chin. “It was gone…” he said softly. “Yes Eliot. The floor was smooth and there was no way I could get out. I fell asleep, ended up back in Vegas again. Except this time I drove ‘Pac and my dad to the hospital and we got into the shootout with the people in the white Cadillac.” ‘That’s the story I know,” Eliot said, his eyes in his coffee. “I know.” “What the last thing you remember?” asked Eliot. “Before you woke up and saw me in the attic just now…” “I was in the operating room, about to get stitched up,” I said, leaning over lightly and gesturing to my side without actually touching the fresh wound. “I wasn’t there?” “What do you mean?” Eliot sighed. “I was there with you in the hospital.” “You were?” “Yes. I was right there when they rolled you into surgery. I held onto the bed all the way in.” I swallowed hard. All I could remember was the random guy pushing me in. “I kissed you,” Eliot said. “And I told you I loved you.” I thought about the random guy who did just that as I was wheeled into the room. And the intense and confusing feelings of love that coursed through me when he kissed me. “You don’t remember that?” Eliot asked. I reached over the table and covered his my

hand with my own. “That’s not quite the way it happened for me. Someone wheeled me in and kissed me. But it wasn’t you.” “Who was it,” Eliot asked. “‘Pac?” I shook my head vigorously. “No. I don’t know who it was.” “A stranger kissed you and told you he loved you as you were going into surgery?” “Not quite a stranger,” I said. “I’ve seen him before. Since I’ve been— traveling.” “Do I know him.” “Eliot, I don’t know who you know. I don’t even know who you are.” “What does that mean?” “The Eliot I know doesn’t eat meat or runny eggs. Or drink alcohol. And he looks different.” “In what way?” I shrugged him off. “I have to get out of here,” I said, looking around the now empty restaurant. “What’s next?” “I want to see my mom.” Eliot nodded once. “Let’s go.” # A full three days. And no traveling. I woke up three mornings in a row in the same city state and year that I’d gone to sleep in. A novel idea for sure. I spent the time at my mother’s house. Nothing could get me back into that brownstone—not yet anyway. When we first arrived, I saw Eliot give my mom and my sister a look. I guess in this world

they were used to me showing up talking crazy and forgetting that my dad and Pac were dead. That was fine with me. At least I could be true to my feelings. I was devastated that my dad and Pac were gone. And I was grateful that everyone seemed to understand that. A few days after I came to my mom’s house, she took me to my dad’s gravesite. I brought TK and TK, my dad’s favorite plants. His plot was as perfect as a memorial could be—exactly what I would imagine he would want. His gravestone was simple but elegant. And his favorite quote: TK, was under his name and his date of birth and death. My mom tried to lead me away after an hour. But I couldn’t move. I felt my dad’s energy and I couldn’t walk away from him. My side was still on fire from the car accident. I could hear the shots ringing out in the air. I could feel that strange man’s kiss on my face. I could still feel the sting of that needle going into my arm. And now, here I was, a few days later and yet, ten years later, standing above my dad’s body. Or what remained. I shuddered. By now, my dad’s body was just— I looked away and saw my mom talking to Eliot down the road. He nodded and began walking towards me. When he got close enough, he took my hand. “How did he die?” I asked. “I told you he had a heart attack.” “Was it sudden. Did he die right away? Was he in pain?” Eliot squeezed my hand and led me away. “I want to stay,” I said. “We’ll come back,” said Eliot. “Come this way.”

I walked with Eliot on a gravelly path that wound through the cemetery. It was hilly and I was just about to wonder how they managed to bury coffins in such a strangely mountainous area when we got to the top of a small hill. There was a small area where a man was sitting in a makeshift TK. It looked like he was about to get out a clipboard and see if me and Eliot were on the list to get int the VIP section of the cemetery. I took a closer look at the guard and the hairs on my arms stood up. It was him. My fellow Traveler. This time, I didn’t say anything to him. He didn’t smile at me or even acknowledge me at all. He gave Eliot a slight head nod and then went back to a newspaper. “Who is he?” I asked. “You know Lesane,” Eliot whispered. “The groundskeeper.” “That’s the guy…” “What guy?” I shook my head. “Never mind. Why are we over here?” “You really don’t know where you are?” Eliot looked at me and in his eyes I could see that he was truly beginning to understand what I was going through. I can’t say he looked like he believed me. But he seemed to at least accept that in my mind, I wasn’t faking. “Where are we?” Eliot pushed me lightly. I began to walk straight and stopped when I realized he wasn’t coming with me. I looked back and Eliot just nodded his head and waved me on. “You like to go by yourself,” said Eliot.

I walked a bit further out and then I saw a cordoned off area of the cemetary. A gravestone was sketched with a profile of ‘Pac’s face. It was a sketch I had done of him on a tour bus a few months before he was killed. He said he was going to frame it and I asked him not to. I told him I was embarrassed by it. He promised not to frame it and said he would save it for something special and permanent. “This is about as permanent as it gets,” I whispered, as I sank to the grass and sat near the headstone. I turned to look at Eliot and he was walking away, picking his way down the hill. I put my hand out, reached over and ran my hands across the smooth stone. I was struck by how weathered it felt. I’d just seen ‘Pac. I expected his headstone to feel chalky and brand new, not like it had already lived through years of winters and summers. I sat in the grass, thinking about my dad and ‘Pac until the sun went down and I began shivering. I know I had moments of sobbing. But they were cathartic and peaceful. When I stood to walk back down the hill, I saw Eliot and my mom watching me. “Now what?” I asked Eliot, as I linked arms with him at the bottom of the hill. “We go see Dr. Stern.” “Who’s he.” “Specializes in dissociative amnesia.” “So you think I forgot everything in this lifetime because of the trauma of losing ‘Pac and my dad.” “It’s common,” Eliot explained. “What you saw in that car had to be—

Eliot closed his eyes and shook his head. “It makes sense that you’d shut down and continue creating new memories to keep from remembering what really happened.” I nodded. I didn’t agree with him at all. But talking about it was going to give me a headache. “No doctors,” I said to Eliot. “Not yet.” “Are you ready to go back to the— “No.” “Will you ever be?” I looked up at the night sky. Was ‘Pac somewhere on this planet, maybe in another space and time, looking up at these exact same stars? What about my dad? What about me. Was there another Jamie—hundreds of Jamies perhaps—running through the Vegas casino and trying to save ‘Pac, driving to the TK hotel to find my dad, waking up in the brownstone attic, visiting ‘Pac in prison… I rubbed my temples and stretched my neck. “Sleep,” I said to Eliot. “I need sleep.” Eliot nodded and put his hand in the small of my back and guided me down the hill. I looked back right before we got to the car. “At my mom’s house. Not the brownstone.” Eliot opened the door and guided me into the front seat. “I know.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 17 Every morning, as soon I felt myself begin to awaken, I held my breath and listened. When I was sure I was hearing Eliot’s soft snores and not the whir of a casino, I would spread my palms out on the bed. And when I was sure I was rubbing my hands on my mother’s ancient crocheted blanket with the little pom poms around the hem, then and only then would I open my eyes. This time, I looked up and out of the window of my mother’s guest bedroom and did a doubletake. I shook Eliot hard until he woke up with a start. “What’s wrong,” he said, his eyes barely

open. “It’s snowing!” Eliot lifted his head and leaned over me to look out the window. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s snowing babe. That’s what happens in winter.” “But I’ve just never seen it snow here.” Eliot opened one eye and fixed it on me. “Here? Here where?” Here in this fake-ass 2012 I now live in I thought to myself. “Never mind,” I said to Eliot. I sat up and grabbed my robe, cinching it around my waist and walking out of the bedroom. Downstairs, I curled up on the window seat in my mother’s living room, as I had done a thousand times since I was a little kid. Being here was comforting. Not much was different here than what I remembered from my own reality. But there was something nagging me too. What was going to happen next? Was this it? Was this now my reality? And if so, how long could I stay here with my mom? At some point, I’d have to go home, wherever that was. And Eliot would have to go back to work. I heard him talking in hushed tones with his business partners who needed him on-site at a house they were preparing to flip. I was holding him up. “How are you feeling?” I turned to see my mom, a weary smile on her face. “I’m okay. I guess.” “I don’t want you to think you need to leave at any time,” my mom said, patting my forearm as she moved around to make coffee.

“Do you believe me?” I asked. My mother opened her mouth and then closed it. “It doesn’t matter Jamie.” “It matters to me.” “It shouldn’t.” I threw my head back and sighed. “I just don’t want you guys to think I’m crazy.” “Think of it this way. Maybe we’re the crazy ones.” “I have to go home eventually. I can tell Eliot wants to get back to normal.” “Are you going back to the brownstone?” “No. I’m going to ask Eliot if we can rent a place and sell the house.” “We’re not doing that Jamie.” My mother and I both turned to see Eliot standing in the kitchen doorway. He was wearing a white v-neck teeshirt and some kind of fancy drawstring pajama pants. My Eliot wore sweats to bed. And more often than not, fell asleep on the couch fully clothed. This Eliot looked like he spent as much time at night preparing for bed as he did in the morning preparing for the day. “I am never stepping foot in that house again,” I said. “Ever.” “It’ll take months to sell it Jamie,” said Eliot. “We can’t afford to live in a hotel indefinitely.” “Then I’ll stay here,” I said. “And you can go back. Until its sold.” Eliot crossed the room and rested one hand on my cheek.

“What do you want to do,” he said. “I don’t know,” I said, my head down. “Okay J, we’ll stay here as long as you need to,” Eliot said. He took both of my hands, pulled them up to his and kissed the back of my palms. # Three weeks later and I was still twiddling my thumbs at my mother’s kitchen table every morning. Eliot had taken two short trips, flipping a house in Santa Fe and one in Marina Del Rey. I’d spent the first week online, furiously piecing together what looked like it was going to be my permanent new world. Even though I knew my dad and ‘Pac were gone, I still read article after article about the shooting. How I was grazed and had surgery for TK. How my dad died of a heart attack in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. And how ‘Pac died a week later. It was all there, in black and white, and I re-read the same articles over and over until my eyes glazed over and began to water. I would have been better about the whole thing if I could work. But for reasons I couldn’t understand, I didn’t work in this reality. The company I’d built up from nothing simply didn’t exist. Every time I talked to my mom or Eliot about it, they would just slowly shake their heads and look uncomfortable. We drove downtown and I cried as we passed the Performing Arts Center. My first major project, the place where I met Eliot. No one knew anything about it. Eliot said we met at Starbucks. In this world, I didn’t do much of anything. Eliot said I volunteered for a lot of organizations and helped with fundraisers. It made no sense to

me. I’ve been a worker for my entire life. Eliot was doing well financially so I was content to be a Lady Who Lunches? I got settled into a routine. Coffee with my mother in the morning. Noodling around on the Internet for a few hours in the afternoon, looking up all the buildings I’d worked on and researching which second rate company had gotten the bid in this world. Then afternoon television, game shows and such, while I cleaned and cooked dinner. And then, more thumb-twiddling and afternoon coffee at the formica kitchen table until Eliot came home. The first few minutes when Eliot came home were the strangest. He bopped in, popped a beer, (seeing him drinking alcohol still weirded me out), and started going on about work and such. I sat at the table, trying to smile and look interested. And I would look at him and realize that this was really his world. He was really married to a woman who looked like me. And he was talking to me as if I were her, this woman I didn’t know at all. Eventually, Eliot would catch my face and let his voice trail off. He’d remember that the wife he was talking to wasn’t there. I was someone who thought she was a time traveler and spent the days researching her new self and all the subtle changes that existed. Eliot picked up my coffee cup and took it to the sink to rinse it out. He said something but his voice was low and he had his back to me so I couldn’t hear. “What did you say?” I asked, leaning toward him. Eliot shook the wet cup and placed it in the

dish rack. Another mumble and a sentence or two I couldn’t catch. “Eliot. I can’t hear you.” “We have to go back Jamie. To the house.” “I’m not ready.” “You’re never going to be ready.” “Why?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Why do we have to go back there.” “Because that’s where we live,” said Eliot. “You and I. We’re married. We live in Harlem. In a beautiful brownstone that I’m paying an arm and a leg for.” “You’re paying an arm and a leg for?” I asked. “You mean we.” Eliot had a lot of nerve. Knowing full well that last year I tripled his salary before the year was even— I caught myself. I wasn’t a hot shot contractor with million dollar budgets for office buildings. Our Harlem brownstone wasn’t going to house my company. My assistant Jahna worked for my biggest rival according to my daily Internet searching for people from my world. Eliot didn’t bother to address what I said. He knew it was my glitch showing up again and he pressed his lips together and sat down across from me. “You said you haven’t…traveled… in weeks, right?” “Right. Since the day you found me in the attic.” “So whatever happened to you, maybe its over?” “And what if its not. What if I go back there

and I end up in that attic again.” “I sealed the attic up completely.” I looked at Eliot in disbelief. “Really?” Eliot nodded. “There is no opening to the attic. There isn’t even a closet in that room anymore. I had it filled in and sealed it shut.” [ did he do that other times? If so, how does he explain how she ends up there anyway.] “But Eliot, I climbed into that attic and then the opening disappeared. There’s something more powerful at work than whatever nails you used to close up that space.” “I understand that. I just want to try. Come home for a night. Stay away from that room. And lets just see what happens. Can we just take it one day at at time?” For some reason, when Eliot said that, something clicked. And I couldn’t imagine why it had never dawned on me before. “You’ve had this conversation with me before, haven’t you?” I asked. Eliot sputtered and then just sat there looking at me with his mouth slightly open. “Ever since we moved into the brownstone, I wake up occasionally and tell you I’ve traveled,” I said. Eliot scratched the back of his head and sighed. “And everything happens just like this. Us. Here. You try to convince me to come back. I go back. Everything’s normal for a while. And then at some point it starts over again. I wake up with a

fantastical tale of time traveling.” The silence in the kitchen was both heavy and deafening. I heard the shuffle of my mother’s slippers and knew she’d been close enough all along to hear along. She popped her head in the kitchen, keeping the rest of her body in the living room. “But this is the first time you ever came back hurt,” said my mom in a voice just above a whisper. I looked from her to Eliot and then back to her. “What do you mean come back hurt?” I said. I turned to Eliot. “What’s going on?” Eliot pointed to the kitchen table and I sat back down. “It’s true,” Eliot said. “This happens a lot.” I felt my eyes filling up and I tried to look down and wipe them away without him seeing me. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that?” “We used to,” said Eliot, stealing a look at my mom. “But it just made you more distressed. So we stopped. The last few times, we just went along with it and established a routine.” “The last few times,” I whispered. “But this time, it was different. You were in the attic, as always, but…” Eliot gestured to my side. “You were hurt. And it’s clearly not the scar I remember. That just happened.” “Tell me about it,” I said to the ceiling. “So now we’re just as confused as you are,” my mom said. “You were hoping you could get me home and

try to start over.” “Yes.” “How long between—episodes,” I asked. Eliot shrugged. “It’s been days, months, years.” [ think about this] “What about this time?” Eliot looked at my mom. “A while now,” said my mom. “A few years.” My head began to throb and I rubbed my temples. “This is too much. I’m so confused.” “Jame? Did you notice that your wound is healed?” I touched my side. “Well. It’s been a few weeks so of course— “No. It doesn’t look like it happened a few weeks ago. It looks like its been healed for a long time.” I pulled open my robe and lifted my pajama top. Eliot was right. My wound was completely healed. The scar was still there and it was raised just a bit. But it definitely didn’t look like I’d just been sliced open a few weeks back and stapled back together. “What does this mean?” I asked. “I have no idea.” “Does it change what you guys thinking about what I’ve been telling you about time traveling?” “Yes,” Eliot and my mom said in unison. That made me smile and I stood up and stretched. “Okay, Eliot. Let’s go.” “Go where.”

“To the brownstone.” “Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you.” I gave Eliot a weak smile. “I don’t know up from down anymore. I know if I stay here at this kitchen table, nothing will happen. But what am I supposed to do? Sit here forever?” My mom and Eliot both smiled but it looked fake. “I’ve said that before haven’t I,” I asked. “Yeah,” said Eliot. “Twice,” said my mom.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 18 The first night I spent at the brownstone, everything felt cold and unfamiliar. Eliot tried his very best to make me feel comfortable but I was jumpy and anxious. We went to bed early and I held on so tight to Eliot that I’m sure he had trouble breathing throughout the night. When I woke up, he was holding me with one arm and changing channels on the remote with the other. “Hello there,” he said. “You are from a different 2012 but you’re here and have been here with me for a while now. I’m your husband. My name is Eliot. I wear fancy clothes to bed. ” I laughed. I’m pretty sure it was the first time I actually laughed out loud since we moved

into the house back in my 2012. “Hi Eliot,” I said. “Glad to be here.” Eliot’s face fell a bit. “Are you really?” I shrugged. “Sure. Rather be here than back in ‘Vegas.” “But you’d rather be in the world you know.” “I mean, yeah,” I said. “It’s what I know. But if this is it, this is it.” “You can still love me even though I wear fancy pajama pants and drink beer?” “And you eat runny eggs,” I said. “And meat.” “Damn,” Eliot said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Your version of me wears sweats to bed, doesn’t eat meat or drink… Why’d you marry that loser?” “Because he’s awesome.” Eliot leaned back, bringing his face close to mine. “Because you’re awesome,” I said softly. Eliot kissed me and I felt a tingle. Something woke up inside me. I had been here with him for TK and we had gone no further than kissing. We’d been married over a decade. But I felt like I was waiting for that third date before having sex with him. This was an entirely different Eliot. And in some warped way, I felt like having sex with him would be cheating on my Eliot. What about when (if?) I went back home? How would weird would that be. Hey Eliot, I cheated on you—with you. # Just like the first snow in winter, back when we were still at my mother’s house, the first warm

day in spring shocked me. I was sitting in the front parlor, reading a magazine and waiting for Eliot to come home from work when I heard birds chirping. I went to the backyard and out to the patio and took in a deep breath. It was that fresh scent of new blooms and growing grass. Things were moving. Time was moving. It had been a full season and I was still here. I stepped across the backyard, letting the grass tickle my bare feet. I felt as close to normal as I had in a very long time. I turned to look at the back of the house and my eyes wandered up to the attic window. There was a figure standing there, one palm pressed against the window. I jumped back, knocking the umbrella table onto its side and breaking the glasses that had been set out. As soon as I steadied myself and looked back, there was nothing. I knew my mind was playing tricks on me and I didn’t even mention it to Eliot when I saw that he was walking into the front door at the same that I was coming in from the back. Eliot kissed my cheek and went to hang up his coat. After he grabbed his customary after-work beer, he slipped out of his shoes and kicked back on the sofa, closing his eyes and sighing with pleasure. “Nice out today,” he whispered. Without opening his eyes, he put his arms out, beckoning me to the sofa. I went to him, finding a way to curl up with him although the couch could barely hold both of us. “What happened with the property in L.A.?” I

asked. Eliot yawned and stretched. “Finally closed the deal today.” “So the clock’s ticking,” I said. “How long do you have to make a profit?” “Didn’t get a great interest rate this time,” said Eliot. “So we can’t afford to pay the mortgage more than three times before selling it.” I cleared my throat and sat up just enough to look at Eliot’s face, even though he still had his eyes closed. “I know the whole thing goes smoother when you’re on-site,” I said. “Yeah,” said Eliot. He sounded like he was slipping into a nap. “Eliot?” He snapped awake. “What’s up?” “Go to Miami.” Eliot shook his head and nestled back into the sofa, one foot on the floor, one propped up on the cushions. “Next one,” he said. “Staying close by right now.” “Because of me,” I said. Eliot opened his eyes. “Yes Jamie. Because of you.” “We can’t live like this.” “Like what.” “I feel like a mental patient in an institution. I sit here staring at the walls every day and you don’t think you can leave me alone for more than an eight hour workday.” “You said you don’t want to do any of the

projects you usually work on.” “No. I don’t.” Eliot sat up. “What do you want to do?” “I don’t know. But I want you to go to Miami.” “You’ll stay with your mom?” I shook my head. “No.” “Stay at a hotel. Choose a really nice one and make it a vacation.” “A vacation from what? You have to earn a vacation.” “Says who?” “Says me,” I said. “I work hard. Take the vacation for me.” “I’m going to stay here.” Eliot gave me a look. “Do you think its going to happen?” “I don’t know. But I know I can’t stare at the four walls of this house. Until I get to used to really living here, I’m never going to join this world. And I won’t get used to it with you watching my every move.” Eliot pulled me back down to the sofa. “I’m proud of you.” “Eliot, has this ever happened before? I mean, is this how it usually starts? I tell you to leave and then you come back and—“ Eliot held up a hand. “Don’t do that Jamie. It won’t help.” “Fine. Can we go up and look at the room?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

I got up from the sofa and then put my hands out and pulled Eliot up. Hand in hand, we climbed the stairs to the top floor of the brownstone. “When’s the last time you came up here,” Eliot asked “Not once since we came here from my mom’s house,” I said. “Well. This is it.” Eliot opened the door to the guest bedroom. And that was all there was. A tiny guest bedroom covered in beige carpeting. I stepped inside and went to the wall where the closet used to be. It was nothing but a smooth wall. I knocked on it, expecting to hearing the echo of sheetrock. But instead, it sounded like it was a solid cement wall. “You didn’t just seal the closet,” I said. Eliot shook his head. “There is no closet. Period. We TKd.” I nodded. “We had to have the official blueprints of the house adjusted. And now the house is listed as having TK bedrooms instead of TK.” “Right. Because a room has to have a closet to be considered an actual bedroom.” Eliot smiled at me. “How’d you know that?” I kept forgetting that he had no idea that I’d forgotten more than he’d ever know about construction, architecture and real estate. I shrugged. “Reading your magazines I guess.” I said. I put my palms on the wall and walked around the room, rubbing each wall and knocking every few

feet. “I mean, you know, this feels secure. But if our attic is a time portal— “I get it,” Eliot said. “But I have a theory.” “Yeah?” “Staying in the present could begin with feeling like you can. I think if the attic was accessible, it’s more likely— “That’d I’d have an episode.” “Yes. Maybe it starts with you walking around this room and feeling the solidity of the space.” “If I’ve done this more than once, why is the first time you’ve sealed up this room?” Eliot shook his head. “I said no Jamie. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” “Drive myself crazy? You say that like I’m not there already.” Eliot squeezed my shoulder and began to lead me out of the room. I stopped short. “Go ahead,” I said. “I’m going to stay here for a minute.” “Are you sure?” he asked, his face wary. “Yeah. I’ll be down in a minute.” Eliot nodded and left the room. I noticed he made sure to open the door as wide as it would go as he left. I appreciated that. I stood in the center of the room for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. The truth of the matter was that it didn’t matter if all the walls were filled in with pure liquid steel. Unless Eliot sliced the top of the house off, that attic was still there. I thought

about that shadowy figure in the window. Replaying the seconds in my mind, I thought it could have been my fellow Traveler. But I couldn’t be sure. Whoever it was supposed to be, I felt confident that it was my own nerves playing tricks on my mind. And feeling confident about absolutely anything in this world was a new feeling. # Three days later, when Eliot was all packed up for Los Angeles, I stood behind him in the bathroom while he brushed his teeth. He stopped mid-brush and looked at my reflection in the mirror. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his mouth full of toothpaste. “Don’t want me to go?” “In my head,” I said. “I’ve been here for TK.” Eliot held up a finger. He spat and then wiped his face. “Yeah?” “And in all this time we’ve never—” I felt my cheeks warm and I got a lump in my throat. “Don’t worry about that,” said Eliot. He kissed my forehead and then walked into our bedroom. His kiss felt just a bit rushed. “What do you mean?” I asked, following him into the bedroom. “Don’t we have sex?” “Of course we do, yeah.” Eliot said, pulling on his socks. He disappeared into his closet, sorting through his shoes, though he had set out his complete outfit, including his shoes, the night before.

“Look at me,” I said. Eliot turned. He had two pair of shoes in his hands and he was looking down at both of them. “Which ones,” he asked. “Look at me Eliot.” He finally looked up. His face was flat. “Why haven’t we— “Do you want to?” “I don’t know,” I said. “You’re a new person to me. I feel like I’m getting to know you all over again.” “That’s the same way I feel.” “Really?” “Yes. Really.” “If I’m here forever…” “Let’s talk about it when I come back,” said Eliot. I shook my head. “You’re acting weird,” I said. “I want to talk about it now.” “It’s just that—” Eliot’s voice trailed off. “What is it.” “That part is always different. When you— have these episodes.” “What do you mean?” “It always takes a while for us to become physical with each other again. And I’m totally okay with that. But each time it’s just— “Sometimes I’m hanging from the chandeliers and tying you up…” I said. “Yeah,” said Eliot. “And sometimes you’re a virgin.” My eyes widened. “Like. We’ve never—

“In your mind we have,” said Eliot. “But then we try to do it and— I held up a hand, letting Eliot know that he didn’t need to finish. “What does that mean,” I asked. Eliot just shrugged. “Can we talk about it when I get back?” “Is that what we usually do?” Eliot sat down hard on the bed and put his head in his hand. “Jamie. Please. Stop asking me that kind of stuff. It makes my head hurt.” “Why do you stay with me?” I asked. “Why not have me committed and move on with your life. This has to be hell for you.” Eliot gave me an incredulous look. “You’re my wife,” he said. “I deal with it. We deal with it.” “But this time is different isn’t it,” I asked. Eliot nodded his head quickly. “Yeah. And I need to process stuff. Like the scar from your surgery popping up. And you realizing that this is a pattern.” I nodded. “What do you think it means?” “You want the truth?” “Yeah. I do.” “I feel like this is it. I feel like whatever’s been happening to you since TK, it’s over now. You’re more aware this time. You’re asking questions. It just feels different. Like you’re truly here. And not just visiting.” I nodded.

“Is that true? Do you feel like your truly here.” I thought for a moment. Not about the question. I knew that without thinking twice about it. I tried to decide if I should be truthful. “No. I don’t feel that way yet,” I said. Eliot nodded. “It’s okay. We’ll be fine.” Eliot opened his arms and I hugged him tight. I felt something move in his pants and I jumped. Then we both laughed. “So when you come back,” I said. “Yeah. When I come back,” said Eliot.

CHAPTER NINETEEN 19 I insisted on taking Eliot to the airport. He wanted to take a cab and have me just sit tight and relax. But I was too antsy for that. I wanted to be near him until the last possible moment. “Just a week,” Eliot said before he got out of the car. “You can do the whole two weeks,” I said. “We don’t have to decide now.” I nodded. Eliot leaned over and kissed me. “Stay,” he said, before climbing out of the car. I was about to pull off but stopped and rolled down the window. “What do you mean Eliot,” I yelled out. Eliot turned. He put his bags down and then

jogged over to the car and leaned into the window. “Try,” he said. “Try to stay here with me.” “Okay,” I said, my voice cracking. At home, I had my mom over for dinner. I played the music in the dining room extra loud to fill up the space in the cavernous house. That was part of the problem, the house was just too big. It felt more like a museum than a home. There was no earthly reason why just the two of us needed that much space. “Why don’t we have children,” I asked my mom as I gathered our dinner dishes. My mother sputtered and rice came flying out of her mouth. She brought her napkin up to her mouth and then tapped her chest. “Went down the wrong way,” she said. “You know, you and Eliot are really going through it this time around. I keep asking questions that make you guys lose it.” My mother gave me a weary smile. “You guys have been trying. To have a baby.” “Really?” “Yes. Not going well.” “This is making my head hurt.” “This is why you shouldn’t do this.” “You’re right.” “Look down at where your feet are planted and stay there.” I nodded. After dessert and coffee I led my mom to the front door. All I could think of was the day I waited for her to pick me up after the first time I traveled. She was putting on lipgloss in the rearview mirror of her car. She had a bob with

blonde highlights. She was so markedly different than this version of my mom, with her sensible shoes and messy greying ponytail. Why was my mom in this world so much more similar to the one I knew? Maybe it was another sign that I was where I was supposed to be. I could pick up on my mom’s anxiety as I unlocked the door and opened it wide. “This might be the last time you see this version of me,” I said. “You just said you were going to stop doing that,” my mom said sharply. Her reaction startled me. I could tell she had been thinking the same exact thing. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Call me when you get home.” # By the time my mom called to tell me she was home, I was already in my pajamas and in bed with a bunch of back issues of Architectural Digest and a steaming cup of hot chocolate, topped off with fresh whipped cream. In another world, I’d called it my Friday Night Sip and Flip. I was surprised that as it got later and I began to yawn and feel tired, I wasn’t afraid. I put my empty mug on my nightstand and shoved my magazines to Eliot’s side of the bed and stretched out. In the twilight between being awake and asleep, I realized I wasn’t going to travel. I felt my breath began to slow down and I felt a sense of relief washing over me. I felt exactly the way I did each night when Eliot was right next to me. I

was going to sleep here. And I was going to wake up — BOOM![ Maybe have her feel the pain in her side as soon as she hears the boom. And in the next chapter her wound will be fresh again? ] I don’t know how long I had been asleep when I heard the bang. But I sat up straight, terror coursing through my veins. I froze, listening. Was it the front door? Was Eliot back? I grabbed my cell phone and checked the time. TK. [Time he was shot.] I heard something again. It was loud but I couldn’t identify it or where it was coming from. It sounded like some pipes or fixtures had fallen and were now rolling around somewhere. “Who’s there,” I called out. Silence. I clasped my hands and shut my eyes tight and prayed. More rolling sounds. I leaned my head forward. Was it on this floor? Downstairs? Again, the sound of something being rolled or pulled. And it was coming from above. I began to cry softly. I couldn’t help but crawl out of bed and creep to the door, still crying. I turned my head towards the guest bedroom. The door was still wide open, the way I wanted it. And the mysterious knocking sound was coming from above my head but in that direction. Somehow, I got some strength. I straightened my back and wiped my eyes. Whatever will be, will be, I thought to myself. If I go in there and that casino is right above my head, so be it. I’ll go find ‘Pac and try to save his life and my dad’s. Again. I walked toward the room and peeked inside.

When I saw that closet door in plain view, all my resolve and strength melted away immediately. The closet was there like it had been the first time I set foot in that house. I could even see random scratch marks and a scuff mark on the door that had always been there. I didn’t hear any more noise. I tried to decide what to do. Leaving that room wasn’t an option. Whatever was in store for me, running outside into the backyard or the streets of Harlem screaming my head off wasn’t going to help me one iota. I stepped just the tiniest bit closer to the door, peering at it. Even though I wasn’t close enough to reach it, I reached my hand out towards the doorknob and flexed my fingers. As soon as I did, I heard another sharp thump. It sounded as if someone had dumped a bag of bricks. I went to the door and flung it open. The rope ladder was hanging down. “Jamie?” I whipped my head up. It took a few long seconds for my brain to put together what I was seeing, chocolate brown skin, smooth bald head… “‘Pac?” I whispered. Blood rushed to my head. And then everything went black.

CHAPTER TWENTY 20 I felt myself being shaken by the shoulders, hard enough for my head to snap back and forth. It hurt like hell but I couldn’t wake up fully and I couldn’t yell out. I could hear a voice that sounded far away. (Although I knew enough to know it was my mind that was far away, not whoever was yelling at me.)

Jamie!! Yo Jaaaaamie!! What the fuck is happening? Jaaaaamie!! One last shoulder shake and my eyes popped open. ‘Pac was inches away from my face. All I could do was start screaming bloody murder. ‘Pac tried to pull me in to him but I struggled away and ran out of the room, screaming the entire way. I

ran into the bathroom, the only door that locked from the inside. I threw the lock into place and sat on the toilet seat, sobbing and rocking back and forth. “This is not happening!” I screamed. I turned my head up to the ceiling. “THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!” I could hear someone walking down the hall, opening doors and closing them. “Jay?” There was a soft knock on the bathroom door. I pulled my whole body up onto the seat and wrapped my arms around my legs, tucking my face into my knees. “No!” “Jay please! What the hell is happening?” The doorknob started to jiggle and I grabbed the etagere in the corner and pushed it to block the door. “Go away!” There was silence at the door although I could tell he was still there. I could feel my heart pumping in my chest. “Where am I Jay?” Something about the sound of his voice released something over me. My heart slowed and my breath began to come in normally. I leaned over and dragged the etagere back a few inches. I put one foot on the floor and leaned over just enough to slip the lock out. I couldn’t bring myself to actually turn the doorknob. I just huddled back on the toilet seat and waited. The door creaked open and ‘Pac leaned in. His eyes were wide. “Where am I?”

“2012,” I mumbled, my eyes on the floor. “Welcome.” ‘Pac opened the door all the way and looked around the bathroom. “What are you talking about? Are you Jamie?” I stood up and backed up against the bathroom wall. “Kinda,” I said. ‘Pac rubbed his hands across his face and then over his head. He turned around in place a few times and then put his hands out and looked at them. “Am I dead?” I finally got up the strength to walk near him and he backed away as I walked through the doorway and down the hallway. “I don’t think so,” I said. “But honestly, I’m not sure.” I walked toward the tiny room and then went inside, toward the closet that had reappeared. I stood near the opening and looked up. The dusty attic was there, mocking me. “Yo. For real,” said Pac. “I need to know what the fuck is going on.” “What’s the last thing you remember,” I said, my eyes still turned up toward the attic. “We were in the car, taking your dad to the hospital.” “In Vegas.” “Yeah. You were right there. You don’t know what I’m talking about?” ‘Pac started pacing the floor and his voice began rising. “We driving down the street and this white

car pulls up and I turn to see what’s happening and then— “And then you passed out,” I said. “Nah,” said ‘Pac, rubbing his temples. “It didn’t feel like that. It felt more like I just..I don’t know. Like I just wasn’t in that car no more. And then I start falling and I hit the ground hard. I wake up and I’m up there,” said Pac, pointing to the attic. I’d heard the words coming out of ‘Pac’s mouth but while he was talking, I was more focused on the realization that he was really here, physically in the flesh. In my mind, I hadn’t seen him in TK and we were in a car being shot up while trying to get my dad to the hospital. I leaned over and grabbed ‘Pac’s arm. I had to see if he was real. I started to take my hand down when Pac put his palm across my hand. His face was calm but his teeth were clenched. “Jamie. You were right next to me when it happened. And now you’re here. What’s going on.” “You won’t believe me if I tell you,” I said. ‘Pac shook my arm. “Are you fucking insane?” he yelled. “I just moved from a speeding car to a random attic. You’re telling me its 2012 and now you don’t want to tell me what’s going on?!” “Get off me!” I yelled, snatching my arm away. “I’m just as confused as you are! You don’t know the half of what I’ve been through. I don’t even trust my mind enough to know this is really happening and you’re really here!” “Well I’ma tell you this,” said ‘Pac, pointing a finger at me. “I know enough to know

that I’m in this room instead of in that car. And I know this ain’t no motherfucking dream.” “Me and Eliot bought this house,” I said. ‘Pac scrunched his eyebrows. “Why would you and Eliot be buying a house?” “Because… because that’s what people do. They need a place to live. They buy a house.” “And y’all live together?” “‘Pac, we’re married.” ‘Pac laughed. “Okay Jay.” I remained stock still and stared at ‘Pac while he chuckled. When he realized my face was frozen, his smile faded and slowly turned into a look of fear, shock and concern. “I need to sit down,” said ‘Pac, lowering himself to the floor. I sat down next to him and waited for him to absorb what I’d said. It seemed to me like he was just coming around to understand the enormity of what had happened. “What happened to your hair,” he asked. “It was long like two minutes ago.” I shook my head. “That wasn’t two minutes ago,” I said. “That was fifteen years ago.” ‘Pac closed his eyes and was silent for a long moment. “You know what Jay,” he said, his eyes still closed. “I’ma just flow with this for now. I’ma sit right here and let you explain what the hell is going on.” “Okay,” I said. I opened my mouth to speak and ‘Pac held up his hand. “Wait. I need a drink.”

# Finally, I was grateful that this version of Eliot was a drinker. Because the brownstone had a fully stocked bar and over the next three hours, ‘Pac had me using it. I went over everything happened to me, repeating things ‘Pac didn’t understand. I started with buying the house and feeling strange in the attic and then told him every detail, all the way up to finally moving back into the brownstone and Eliot leaving last night and then ‘Pac ending up in the attic. “So what does Eliot say is happening to you?” ‘Pac asked. After a few rum and Cokes, he’d finally stopped pacing the kitchen floor and gesticulating wildly while listening to my story. Now he sat still on the bar stool, his face looking into his drink. “He says ever since TK, I occasionally wake up thinking I’ve traveled back in time to 1997 and then come back.” “But you don’t feel that way.” “No.” “So for you, this is…” “This is not the 2012 I know.” “You’re in an alternate reality. I’m in the future. And somehow they’re the same thing.” “I know it doesn’t make sense but— “Jay,” ‘Pac said softly. “This is not real.” “Then what is it?” I asked. “I’m either dreaming or I’m in a coma or I’m dead.” “I’ve thought about all of that,” I said. “But I’ve gone back and forth more than once. And

I’ve been here in this reality for TK. So I don’t know what to make of that. “You’re in a long coma.” I shrugged. “I guess its possible. But let me ask you this. Does it feel like you’re in a coma?” ‘Pac didn’t answer me. He just emptied the last of the rum into his drink, which was nothing but melted ice. He turned it up, swallowed and shivered and then put it back down. He stood up and walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, wandering around the room and picking up random photos and tchotkes and then putting them back. “You told me to come with you to the TK to get your dad to a hospital.” I nodded. “Yes, I did.” “I asked you how you knew your dad was going to have a heart attack and why you needed me to come with you to get him.” I nodded again, this time looking down, afraid of what was coming next. “You said you would tell me after we got your dad from the hotel. But you never did.” “I didn’t get a chance to.” Tupac jerked around and looked me in the face. “Why not Jay? Why you ain’t get a chance to tell me?” “The car that pulled up next to us?” “Yeah.” “The people inside shot up our car.” “What?”

“We all ended up in the hospital. I went into surgery and after they gave me the anesthesia, I woke up back here, in the attic.” “Wait wait wait,” ‘Pac said. His eyes grew wide and his nostrils flared. I steeled myself. “You ended up here after the car got shot up.” “Yeah.” “And there’s no other Jamie here? Like, you travel back in time but you’re always you.” “Yes.” “So wait a minute Jay. Where am I in this world?” I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it. I was pretty sure I didn’t need to say a word. ‘Pac sat down hard on the bar stool and covered his mouth with his hands. “Yo. I’m dead?” I nodded. “What about your dad.” “Died of a heart attack on the way to the hospital after the car got shot up.” ‘Pac shot up off the chair. “Bela’s dead?! No fucking way.” “He’s gone.” “Wait. But that’s just what happened when you were back in time. What about in real life. In the life you know. Where am I in the 2012 you know?” I sighed. ‘Pac and I ended up speaking at the exact same time: “I’m dead there too.” “You’re dead there too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 21 ‘Pac insisted on talking in the room with the closet. I protested but he wouldn’t let it go. He said he needed to be near that attic. He wasn’t sure why. He just felt like that’s where he belonged. I told him I needed to be as far away from that attic as possible. But he dragged me inside anyway and then sat on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him. I spent an hour telling him how he died, both in the reality I knew and what I researched about the reality we were now in. He kept interrupting me and sometimes I had to raise my hand and shush him in order to complete a sentence. “Where’s Afeni.”

“She’s in Lumberton.” “She aiight?” “She’s fine.” “And Set?” I nodded. “Family’s fine.” “Kidada.” “She got married a few years ago,” I said. ‘Pac winced. “But I think they’re divorced now.” ‘Pac stood up and began pacing the room. “Okay. I got it. I know what’s happening.” “Do tell,” I said. “I got shot up in Vegas. And now I’m in a coma or something.” I shrugged. “You can go with that I guess. And I’m just a figment of your imagination?” “Yup,” Pac said, nodding. “You’re probably sitting right next to me talking to me in the hospital room.” “So now what?” I asked. “That part I don’t know.” “I figured.” I walked out of the room and into the office and pulled out my box of mementos that I poured over during every Pacaversary, as Eliot called them. I pulled out the large gold hardcover book, Tupac Resurrection. There was a cross on the front cover of the book, made out of the word resurrection running vertically and then the year 1971 on one side of the cross and 1996 on the other. Tupac was dead silent for twenty minutes as he carefully leafed through the book. Every so often

he stopped and lifted the book. He looked as if he were trying to weigh it. But I knew he was actually just stopping to see if it was real. He lingered for a while on the pages with pictures of him and Kidada. “She got married,” he said. I nodded. ‘Pac finally closed the book and handed it to me. “More.” “I don’t know ‘Pac,” I said. “I’ve done this and it really makes you— “More Jay. Please.” I closed my eyes and nodded. I went downstairs to the living room and pulled down all the CDs that came out after his death. Upstairs, I set the stack down carefully in front of him. His jaw dropped. “After I died…” “You’ve been busy,” I said. “Who’s getting the money?” he asked. “Afeni set up a foundation in your name.” ‘Pac smiled. And then his smile vanished just as quickly. “Suge.” I rolled my eyes. “Last I heard he was in jail. There’s some crazy video of him getting knocked out cold in some club. He’s a mess.” “What about Death Row? Who’s on the label?” “Doesn’t exist.” ‘Pac went back to looking through the CDs. He stared at the cover of each one. And then flipped it over and read the song titles on the back. “I want to hear ‘em,” he said.

I shook my head. “No way,” I said. “Just trust me. It’s too much.” “What’s the problem. Dead ‘Pac is whack?” “No. But there’s stuff out there that I’m not sure you’d want to be published.” “How the fuck do I put out more albums after I’m fucking dead?” I shrugged my shoulders. “You lived in the studio. You shouldn’t be surprised.” “How many records have I sold?” “About 75 million,” I said. Pac laughed out loud. “That’s what I’m talking about! Makaveli lives baby!” “Yeah. About that,” I muttered. “What.” “People think you’re still alive.” “Word?” “Yeah. A lot of conspiracies out there that you faked your death the way Macchiavelli talked about in Art of War.” Pac fell silent. “Maybe I did. And maybe that’s why I’m here now. I’m back!” “You died ‘Pac. I saw you. I touched you. I hugged you in that hospital. You were dead.” “But you said I got shot with Suge in the car? I don’t know nothing about that. You told me not to go with Suge and begged me to take me to get your dad.” “Right,” I said. “But— “That’s the reality I know,” said ‘Pac. “And

how do you know I really died there?” I slid my laptop over to ‘Pac. “Just read. Google it. I’ve researched it all since I’ve been here. You died ‘Pac. Your mom identified your body at the hospital. You were cremated. We had a memorial. You. Died.” “Except, in this reality, you don’t remember any of that, do you?” “No. But— “I’m just saying,” said ‘Pac. “You going by stuff you read. You really don’t know. Do you?” I inhaled and then closed my eyes and blew out slowly. “No. I guess I don’t.” Pac nodded his head and pointed to me. “Yup. It’s coming together. I feel it. I’ma figure this out.” I rubbed my eyes and yawned. ‘Pac caught the urge and ended up yawning too. “I gotta lay down,” said Pac. “It’s like ten bedrooms in this big ass house. You gotta have an extra bed in here somewhere.” “Come on.” I took ‘Pac to the office which was large enough that we kept a full-sized fold out couch against a wall. He flopped on the sofa and closed his eyes. “Do you think I’m going back,” he said without opening his eyes. “Yes. Yes I do.” Tupac opened his eyes and kept them fixed on the ceiling. “I do too. And then I’m going to die.” I felt myself about to cry but managed to hold

it in. “And all of this happened so I could know. So I could know the impact I had. And that my words still hold weight. Jay, my life was not in vain. And that’s all I ever wanted. You know that better than anyone.” I nodded, a lump in my throat. “And I get to see how you turn out. You’re okay right?” “I’m totally fine,” I said. “A little more weight on you,” he said. I twisted my lips to one side. “I’m aware.” “And you and Eliot are good?” “In the reality I know? We’re trying. Here? I guess we’re trying here too.” “What does that mean?” I thought about explaining but just didn’t feel like going through it all. “Never mind.” “Jay, I’m so fucking tired right now.” “Go to sleep ‘Pac.” “But what if— “It’s okay.” “You know I got mad love for you, right?” Pac said. “Yup.” “I’m sorry about Bela,” ‘Pac whispered. I sat on the floor by ‘Pac’s side and held his hand. “Me too.” I leaned my head against the sofa and exhaled. In minutes, ‘Pac was snoring softly. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to leave the room. But I

was scared to stay too. Was this room a portal too? Would something happen and he would end up back in the attic and then disappearing? I stood up and went back to my bedroom. I climbed in the bed, fearful and anxious. I wanted to stay in the office with ‘Pac. But honestly, I was scared that if I was nearby, I’d end up traveling back too. And that wasn’t in my game plan at all. # In the in-between place, I felt relaxed again. I didn’t feel like I was going to travel. In fact, I was certain I wasn’t going to. But if the past TK hours were any indication, waking up didn’t mean things were going to be normal again. Throughout the night, I jerked awake a few times. I couldn’t bring myself to go see if ‘Pac was still there or if the attic was still open. I forced myself back to sleep each time. Only to wake up again an hour later. My eyes fluttered as the sun came up. I heard the pages of a magazine turning and I sat up straight. “What up homey,” said Pac, his head immersed in a Vibe story about his death. “No flipping way,” I whispered. Pac shrugged. “Get up,” said ‘Pac, tugging on my comforter. “If I’m gonna be here for a minute, I got some stuff I need to see.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 22 For the first three days, ‘Pac and I just wandered around the City aimlessly. He wanted to make a list of people he wanted to see and just start traveling but I told him that didn’t make sense. First of all, I wasn’t in my right world, I surely couldn’t guide him through this one. And plus, I really thought he should take it slow. There was enough stuff every ten feet in New York to keep him occupied and getting used to 2012. Every morning, when he woke up once again in the office, he dashed into my room and shook me until I woke up. And we were off. He dressed in some of Eliot’s new-2012 preppy gear, kept a baseball cap pulled low and hit the streets,

staring at everything from digital billboards to people seemingly talking to themselves on their earpieces. ‘Pac refused to let me leave his side. Ever. I had to wait outside the restroom any time we were in a restaurant. And he hovered so close to the door of the ladies room when I went into the restroom at Union Square Cafe that a security guard came by and told him to keep it moving. The only time I had to insist on space was when Eliot called me from TK. The first time I saw him on the Caller Id, I couldn’t bring myself to answer. What was I supposed to say? Yeah,

everything’s good. Nope, didn’t time-travel. Oh what I’ve been doing? Well. Tupac appeared in the attic and y’know, we’ve been catching up and hanging out. When I did finally answer, I had a script ready and I stuck to it. I don’t know how Eliot didn’t pick up on the TK in my voice. I think he was so happy to hear that I was still around that he didn’t notice. He asked me if it would be okay for him to stay for the whole two weeks on-site and I said yes. He laughed and commented on how I probably agreed so fast because I liked having the bed to myself. Inwardly, I groaned. On the fourth day, I was up before ‘Pac. I freaked out because each morning, he’d managed to wake before me and shove me awake. But this time I woke up on my own. I jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to the office, afraid of what I would see. But there he was, curled up on the sofa, the comforter twisted all around him and part of it

hanging on the floor. My grandmother always said ‘Pac was always running from something—even in his sleep. Every time he spent the night with me and her house, he would wake up tangled in the bedclothes while I woke up in the same spot I went to sleep in. I walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Pac?” He sat up straight. “Where am I?” he yelled out. “You’re here,” I said, “You’re still here.” ‘Pac exhaled and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m more scared of,” Pac said. He yawned and stretched. “Waking up here or not waking up here.” “I know that feeling well,” I said. ‘Pac rubbed his hands together. “Why can’t we travel.” “We went to Jersey yesterday and saw— “No. I mean travel for real. I need to get to LA.” I shook my head. “No way. I’m not doing that.” “Why not? What could happen?” “I don’t want to find out.” “You want to be close to the attic?” “No,” I said. “I mean yeah, I guess. I don’t know!” ‘Pac got up on wobbly legs and then took a little jump. “Then let’s go homey!” “I’m scared.” “Have you been anywhere since you’v been

here?” I shook my head and started folding up the sofa. “Why are you folding that up when you’re just going to unfold again tonight.” “I can’t just leave it open. It’s messy.” “Who’s gonna see it though?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m gonna see it! And you!” Pac stepped over the sheets on the floor and pulled his hat on. “That’s dumb.” “Well you’re dumb for saying that’s dumb.” At the same time, ‘Pac and I locked eyes. And then exploded into laughter. “Yo,” Pac said, still laughing. “You took it straight back to fifth grade!” I laughed so hard I had tears in the corners of my eyes. “You’re dumb for saying that’s dumb,” I said. “That’s a classic!” We both went downstairs to find food, still laughing and coming up with other lines from our youth. “Why are you standing in front of my? You’re father ain’t a glassmaker,” said Pac. I howled. “As if just because your father makes glass for a living, his child would come out seethrough,” I said. “Oh!” said Pac. “What about, ‘best man hit my hand’” “Ooooh,” I said. “Devin Park slapped the shit out of you for that. Remember?”

“Where is he?” Pac asked. “Wow. He died ‘Pac.” Pac’s face fell. “A long time ago. You were still alive.” “Word? Did you tell me?” “Yeah,” I said. “You don’t remember? I asked you to come to the funeral but you couldn’t.” “I don’t remember that at all,” said ‘Pac, shaking his head. I shrugged. “Maybe it’s just in my 2012. And not this one.” ‘Pac leaned over the counter and rested on his elbows. “That’s the most complicated part of all this. I’m traveling to my past. And you’re here. But right now, you’re in the middle of traveling to an alternate present.” “So the whole attic-in-the-portal thing is not the strangest part?” I asked. “I mean, that’s a given. The very fact that this is happening at all is fucking crazy. And I still think this is all in my mind. And I can hash out a theory on why I would go back in time while I’m in a coma or near death or something. But why would you be here from an alternate world?” I shook my head. “I can’t call it.” “I really need you to help me travel,” said ‘Pac. I tried to avoid meeting his eyes but he stared at me until I had no choice but to look at him. “I don’t even have any money. I don’t even know how to book anything. And what would I tell

Eliot?” “He’d probably be happy. It’s normal. He doesn’t think its weird that you never want to go anywhere?” “‘Pac, this is like a dream for you. It doesn’t feel the same way for me. I think…” I stopped speaking, afraid to speak my thoughts aloud. “You think what?” Pac asked. “I think this is it for me. I think I went back in time and changed my reality and this is it. This is my life now.” I began to cry and ‘Pac brought me in for one of his patented super-tight hugs. “Jay, it’s going to be okay.” I stopped crying and pulled away from ‘Pac. I gave him a look he knew well. “Right, right. I take that back,” said ‘Pac, nodding. We’d vowed in eighth grade to never bullshit each other with words like don’t worry and

it’ll be okay. “What’s the worst part of being here, if you have to stay here,” Pac asked. “My dad’s gone. And so are you.” “Okay. But I’m here right now. So why not make the most of it?” “‘Pac, what do you want from me?” “Where’s Eliot.” “TK. Why?” Pac pointed to my laptop. “Get on that thing and book two tickets. Eliot will be happy to see you. And I can see what I need to see before I get sent back.” “What if you go back while we’re on the

plane. Or in TK. What if you go somewhere different if you’re not in the attic?” “What the hell difference does it make Jay? We can’t control any of this shit. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of this. So why not just be where you are?” “And by booking a flight to TK, I can be where I am.” “Exactly.” I took a moment to think. What was I really afraid of? I was starting to become more and more convinced that the world I was in was my new world forever. And if that were so, I wouldn’t wander around Harlem for the rest of my life, would I? A slow grin started to spread across ‘Pac’s face as he watched me. He could tell I was seconds away from caving in. “No,” I said. “What?!” “What if someone sees you. And they know it’s you. That would be insane. And then you might disappear and I’ll be left in a chaotic world where people think you’re still alive and they swear they’ve seen you.” As soon as I finished the thought, the flaw in my logic came to me and I knew exactly what ‘Pac was going to say. “In the life you know, don’t you live in a chaotic world where people still think I’m alive and swear they’ve seen me?” I grabbed my laptop and flipped it open. “Where are we going?” “Where else?” I tapped the keys and went to a travel site:

LaGuardia to LAX

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 23 At first, Eliot sounded worried when I told him I was coming to see him in LA. But when he saw that I was serious and that I had set up an itinerary, I could tell he was excited. But during that phone call, I realized why I didn’t want to travel. “We’re going to go up to Indio for a few days while you’re here,” Eliot had said. “There’s a music festival this weekend.” “Let’s do it.” “You should bring your mom,” Eliot said. “I don’t want you to travel alone. It might be too much.” I swallowed hard and looked to my left. ‘Pac

had headphones on and was listening to his posthumous collection on my phone. He was bobbing his head hard and lip-synching along to himself. “I’ll be okay.” “Are you sure?” Eliot asked. “Because I already asked your mother to— “Jamie,” a voice called out from downstairs. “Are you here sweetie.” I froze. ‘Pac didn’t. I picked up a pear off the counter and threw it at him, hitting him in the shoulder blades. He turned around, ripping out the headphones. “Yo what was that— I pulled my fingers up to my lips and widened my eyes. “Who was that” Eliot asked. “My mom,” I sputtered. “I’ll call you right back.” I ended the call even though Eliot was still speaking and waved ‘Pac to the office. “GO!” “Why?” “My mother’s here!” “Okay, okay.” I closed the office door just as my mother reached the top step to the second floor. I turned around, keeping my hand on the doorknob. I was out of breath and my hands were shaking. “Are you okay sweetie? Eliot told me I should check on you.” “I’m fine mommy. Just getting ready for a short trip.” My mother frowned. “Eliot told me. I don’t know if that’s a good

idea.” “I’ll be okay.” “You should at least let me take you to the airport. And why are you holding that door closed?” I let go of the doorknob and wiped my hands on my pants. “Come downstairs,” I said, guiding her gently with my hand on the small of her back. As we began to walk down the steps, my mom looked back at the office door and then looked at me. I couldn’t read her face but something was there. Then she switched it off and smiled, patting my arm as she made her way to the kitchen. It took two hours of chatter and a few cups of hot tea for my mom to finally start leaving. I was sweating bullets, wondering what ‘Pac was doing in the office. Besides going to sleep in separate rooms, we hadn’t been apart from each other for more than three minutes since he ended up here. I wasn’t sure why that made me uncomfortable but I was completely freaked out. Enough so that I started fake-yawning so my mom would get the hint. “You call me at fifteen minute intervals after you leave this house. Do you hear me?” I knew I wasn’t going to do this. So I nodded instead of speaking. A lie is a lie but at least I didn’t actually say it. “Is Eliot meeting you at the airport?” “No. I told him I’d take a taxi to his hotel as soon as I landed.” “Why wouldn’t you have him pick you up?” I started walking to the front door, hoping my mom would follow. She didn’t. I turned back around to face her.

“Mom, please. I’ll be okay. And I’ll be careful. I promise.” My mom took her time getting to the front door. Twice she stopped walking and craned her head to look up the stairs and towards the office and then turned to me and gave me that strange look again. At the door, she stepped out onto the steps and then turned back to kiss me on the cheek. “Love you. Call me.” “Yes ma’am.” I tried not to slam the door and haul ass upstairs. Instead, I closed it super slow, watching her as she made her way down the steep steps. She looked back and I smiled and waved. Finally, she was at the pavement. I turned my back and exhaled, keeping my hand on the doorknob. For a full three minutes, I inhaled and exhaled with my eyes closed, trying to recover from the whole visit. The office door opened and ‘Pac stuck his head out. “Safe?” “Let me check,” I said. I turned to look out the glass and there was my mom right there, a stern look on her face. “Mom!” I screamed out. She pushed the door in and brushed past me towards the bottom of the stairs. “I saw something,” she said. I grabbed her arm before she could start walking up the stairs. “Mom. Stop. What are you doing?” Surprisingly, she did stop. I thought for sure she was going to flip me right over her head and

keep charging up the stairs. “I saw something upstairs. I’m sure of it.” “You did not. Now go so I can get ready.” In a brief bit of silence, there was an audible click as ‘Pac’s dumb ass turned the lock. My mother crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows. “And what was that, she asked, jerking her head towards the staircase. I furrowed my eyebrows. “I didn’t hear anything,” I said. “Like hell you didn’t.” “Mother. This is getting a little out of hand.” My mom squinted at me, looked upstairs once more and then exhaled. She walked back to the front door with an embarrassed look on her face. “I am so sorry Jamie. I’m completely out of line. It’s just that Eliot—“ “Eliot what.” “He asked me to… Oh it’s so silly. I feel terrible now.” “He asked you to what Mommy?” “He got in his head that somehow after he left for LA you were going to—do something rash.” “Like what?” I asked. “Oh I don’t know,” she said. “I think you do know,” I said. My mom looked me in the eye. “And I think you know too.” She caught me off guard with that one and I just stood there with my mouth open. She kissed me on my cheek again and left. This time I didn’t watch. I just counted to one hundred and then

turned around. She was pulling off. I put the locks on the door, including the deadbolt this time, and dashed up to the office. Pac was sitting on the bed, his hands clasped under his chin. “Eliot told her to make sure I didn’t show up,” said Pac. I shook my head. “No. As far as they’re concerned, you’re dead,” I said. “Jay,” said Pac. “They said you’ve traveled before.” “Yes.” “So whose to say I haven’t been here before too?” I opened my mouth to speak. But I realized there was absolutely nothing I could say. # ‘Pac tried to discuss the possibilities with me a few times as we prepared to grab a taxi to the airport. But I completely shut down. If he asked me about why Newark Airport had a new name or why flat screen televisions were as big as movie screens, I engaged. But when he started wondering aloud if he’d ever ended up in this reality before, I shut my mouth tight and went back to rolling up my clothes and stuffing them in my overnight bag. “I mean you did say that every time you ask them about things that happen other times, they get all weird and shit.” I walked around ‘Pac to get my toothbrush out of the bathroom. He followed me. “And Eliot ain’t never like me anyway so I

could see that.” “That’s not true,” I said. “You definitely from a different reality,” ‘Pac said with a laugh. “Because what I know about old boy? He don’t fuck with me. At all.” “Why not?” ‘Pac shrugged. “I don’t know.” “And we’ve never talked about it?” “I ain’t never care enough to ask.” “Nice.” Pac and I exchanged a glance. Me brushing him off with the word nice was another classic exchange from the friendship we both knew. A horn blew and ‘Pac crossed the room to the window. “Cab’s here,” he said. We both threw bags on our shoulders and bumped into each other while picking up last minute stuff. “How do I look? Can I pull this off?” Pac stood at the front door and threw his arms out wide. He’d let his hair grow back in over the past few days and then edged himself up with Eliot’s clippers. That made him look a bit younger. He took out the nose ring and held himself with his shoulders a bit rounded, instead of his usual chinin-the-air don’t-eff-with-me stance. With his backpack and his modern-day clothes borrowed from Eliot, he looked like a Harlemite day trader on his way to the Hamptons. I took everything in, unsure until I got to his feet. “Yeah. We’re good,” I said.

The Tupac Shakur that everyone on this planet knew, did not wear Sperry boat shoes. In the taxi, I explained to ‘Pac the beef between Jay-Z and Cam’ron and how Cam’ron’s crew called Jay-Z out for wearing boat shoes and sandals on the beach. “So that dude Jay’s still rocking…” ‘Pac said, his eyes on the road as the taxi sped down the turnpike. I did some quick calculations to try to remember what ‘Pac would remember of Jay-Z. I was forever forgetting who was relevant when he died and then I would mention something offhand about Lil Wayne selling thirty million albums or TK and his eyes would widen in disbelief. Jay’s first album had dropped three months before ‘Pac was killed. So I know he knew him. But I also know he hated every rapper on the east coast at that time, so he would’nt have liked Jay by default. “Yeah. Jay’s about as big as it gets right now.” ‘Pac nodded but remained silent. “You didn’t really know him did you?” I asked. “That was Big’s dude,” said Pac, his face still staring at the road. I didn’t speak. We had conveniently avoided talking about Big since ‘Pac appeared. I knew he wanted to know what had become of Big. I figured he’d probably found out when reading some of me and Eliot’s old magazines. I’d begged ‘Pac for months before he died to patch things up with Big. The whole thing was dumb and unfounded and unnecessary.

But ‘Pac wasn’t hearing it. Although he knew better. And I knew he knew better. “When did dude get shot?” ‘Pac said in a low voice. “March of 97. Six months after you.” “Damn,” ‘Pac whispered. “Who did it?” “That’s a long story,” I said, shaking my head. “They’re still trying to get justice for that whole case.” The taxi driver pulled up Departures and came out of the car to open our doors and the trunk. For the first time since he’d been here with me, ‘Pac looked nervous. “Are you okay?” I asked. Pac shrugged. “I know Big ain’t set me up. Big was good people.” I nodded. ‘Pac had a pained expression on his face and he seemed lost in thought. I turned to pay the driver and got the rest of our bags out of the trunk. ‘Pac was still staring off into space when I came back. “Hey, you okay?” “Maybe we should stay in Harlem…” “You want to go back?” I asked. ‘Pac turned to look around the airport. I noticed his eyes stop and linger on things that were new to him, like the line of people waiting at kiosks to get their boarding passes and people using their phones as tickets. “No,” said ‘Pac finally. He seemed to come out of a trance. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 24 What were the odds that California Love would be coming out of the taxi as soon we slipped inside? ‘Pac tried hard to contain himself but he was all over the back seat, rhyming and moving his hands. “You do a pretty good ‘Pac impression,” I said. The taxi driver turned around to face us both. “I was just thinking the same thing!” the driver said. “You look just like him too.” “Maybe I am ‘Pac,” he said, throwing his hands up and making an exaggerated face. The taxi driver laughed.

“I love it,” he said. “You could make some money as an impersonator! I swear you could.” [ This is the first time outside of Jamie responds to ‘Pac. Maybe foreshadow that no one can see him? How would he get around? Maybe certain people couldn’t see him. Maybe Jamie could tell Eliot and then bring him to see ‘Pac and Eliot can’t see him. ]I turned around to make a face and ‘Pac’s eyes stopped me cold. “Nope,” I said, “Don’t even think about it.” “But I could walk around and just be me. I could be someone trying to look like me. You said people do that all the time.” “No. We’re not doing that.” “It’ll be easier than driving around LA in a costume,” said ‘Pac, gesturing to his pressed and pleated khakis and his madras boat shoes. “I’m going to the hotel,” I said. “Meeting Eliot for lunch. Where are you going?” Pac bit on the side of his nail, something I hadn’t seen him do since we were back in Baltimore. “I gotta see Jada,” he said. I smacked my forehead. “‘Pac, no. I told you already. You can’t do it. It’s way too risky.” “What’s gonna happen, Jay?” “She’s married now. She’s got kids. I just don’t want you to come around and screw her head up.” “How did she deal with my death? Was she fucked up?” “Yes,” I said. “Very.” “She would want to see me,” he said, with a

degree of finality. “Of course she would. But do you want her to think she’s gone crazy and start telling people you’re alive. If you ever disappear, you’re gonna leave her very confused.” ‘Pac seemed to mull it over. “And you’re sure she’s married to The Fresh Prince?” “For the millionth time, he doesn’t go by that anymore. He’s just Will Smith.” “Yeah. I know. I just saw them together a few weeks ago- when we— I raised my eyebrows. “Well,” Pac said, “It feels like a few weeks ago.” “It was fifteen years ago.” ‘Pac shook his head back and forth. “How the hell she end up married to the Fresh Prince?” The car pulled up to the hotel and the doorman came out and opened the back door. “You sure you don’t want to stay together?” I asked, after I got out of the car and got my bags. “Nah. I’m good. I’ll call you tonight.” “You have the cell phone I gave you?” “Yeah.” “Use it. And please be careful.” “I will.” I started to walk away and ‘Pac called out to me. I turned and went back. “What if…” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Whatever happens, happens.” ‘Pac nodded and I stepped back and watched his

taxi pull off. As soon as I came into the lobby, I heard my name. And there was Eliot, jogging over from the elevator bank. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered into my ear as we hugged. “Me either,” I said. Eliot took my bags and chatted the whole time we made our way back to his suite. I’d mastered the art of seeming to listen to Eliot and my mom while simultaneously investigating my surroundings. They never seemed to understand that I was constantly being bombarded with new visuals and things that were off-kilter. So we’d walk into a supermarket and they’d be yammering on about the price of strawberries, meanwhile I’m seeing my fellow Traveler eyeing me while checking folks out in the grocery line. I’d learned to stop shrieking any time I saw him or any other super weird shit. I filed it away and spent long nights staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night trying to piece stuff together. When we got to Eliot’s suite, I made a beeline to the blueprints of the house he was remodeling. I grabbed the papers and ran my fingers along the TK. It had been so long since I’d tapped into that part of myself. I felt like anNBA player coming back after an injury. “I know that looks like Latin to you but I promise it makes sense.” I clenched my teeth. I think I was most ruffled by Eliot’s condescension because I knew it was an organic part of his personality. In my

reality, he wished he was the only one who could read blueprints. If I was going to be in this world forever, this idea that I was clueless about construction and building was going to have to get rectified. “Eliot, in the reality I know. I…” Eliot’s face got tight. “What is it.” “I own a construction company. That’s how we met. I was the forewoman on the NJ Pac project.” Eliot blinked a few times. My blood began to boil because I could tell that he wasn’t trying to absorb what I was saying. He was trying not to smile. “So. You know about TK and TK.” Eliot said. “Never mind Eliot,” I said, going back to the blueprints and making a mental notes of all the errors his crew was making. Eliot turned to make a drink from the minibar. He was clearly eager to change the subject as well. “How was the trip? You weren’t anxious traveling alone?” “No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “It was fine. Totally fine.” Eliot’s eyes narrowed. I mentally kicked myself. My response practically screamed out that I wasn’t being honest. I excused myself to the bathroom, sat on the side of the tub and put my head in my hands. I really wanted to tell Eliot that ‘Pac was here. If I wanted to prepare to be here for the rest of my life, I was going to have to be brutally honest.

This trip was going to be torture, trying to stay in touch with ‘Pac while making sure Eliot thought I’d come here alone and was leaving alone. I stewed over it for a few minutes and then jumped when I heard Eliot knocking at the door. “Jamie you okay?” I cleared my throat and then went to the sink and turned on the water. “Yup,” I said. “Be right out.” “Hey,” Eliot said. I could tell his face was close to the door. I froze at the sink. “Yeah?” “You can tell me if weird stuff happens.” “Everything’s weird,” I said. “I know. But I mean if something really strange goes down, don’t feel like you can’t tell me. And I mean anything.” I swung open the door. “When I travel,” I said to Eliot. “Have I ever said anything to you about other people popping up from the past?” Eliot shook his head. “I’m not doing this Jamie. If you want to tell me something, tell me. Don’t try to figure shit out without trying to talk to me about it.” “So you’re not going to answer me?” “No. I’m not.” We stared each other down for a few seconds and Eliot won easily. I looked away and grabbed one of my smaller bags and began to make sure I had whatever I needed to take the road trip to Indio. “Are we coming straight back from Indio or staying overnight?” I asked.

Eliot clapped his hands, as if to snap us back to normalcy. “I’d like to stay over but are you okay with that? Sleeping in some unfamiliar place?” “I mean, if not there, I’d be sleeping here. Same thing, right?” “True,” Eliot said. “Let’s get on the road. We can look into places to stay while we drive.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 25 When the valet pulled up in a jet black TK convertible and Eliot threw our bags in the back, my mouth dropped. I knew Eliot to drive an ancient Honda Accord with over 100,000 miles on it. I assumed it was a rental but even still. My Eliot would rent a Ford Escape and remark on the extravagance the whole way there. “You’re splurging I see,” I said, slipping into the car. I sat up straight and clutched my bag in my lap. I felt like I was too common to sit back comfortably. And I didn’t want to touch anything for fear of getting it dirty. “Hey, my Jamie said I could go for it,” Eliot smiled. “She even picked out the color.”

I laughed. “She’s got good taste,” I said. Eliot pulled out into the street and started fiddling with the radio dials. I looked at the dashboard and saw Eliot’s initials monogrammed into the TK. “Wait a second. You’re not renting this?” Eliot looked over at me like I was speaking German. “Dude,” Eliot said. “This car is mine. Paid for in cash. Keep it garaged out here for work. Doesn’t really work in Harlem.” “Oh,” I said. I filed it away and tried to focus on enjoying our time together. So far, there hadn’t been too many times when Eliot verged from what I knew—at least not in ways that were disturbing. This Eliot actually had a lot of qualities that I’d always wished my Eliot had. This Eliot was more laid-back. He even seemed more selfconfident, especially about his work. He dressed better and he didn’t mind spending money. This didn’t keep me from pining away for my Eliot and his tendency to wear everything two sizes too big and hold onto Converses for a year (or three) too long. Eliot and I small talked about directions and focused on getting out of the city. I directed him with my phone, telling him how far to go before the next turn. After a few minutes, he got on I-10 and there was 142 miles ahead of us. My heart started beating rapidly. Somehow, two hours of just me, Eliot and the road scared me. Eliot picked up on it right away.

“Okay?” he asked, squeezing my knee. The need to tell him about ‘Pac took over and squeezed the breath out of me. I closed my eyes tight and inhaled and exhaled a few times. I know to Eliot I looked like I was in pain. And I was, in a way. The mental anguish was just as strong as the still-aching wound on my side. “I’ll be okay,” I choked out. I kept my eyes shut and focused on my breathing for a few more minutes and the feeling passed. If I was going to tell him about ‘Pac, (which didn’t seem likely), it wasn’t going to be at that moment. Eliot rubbed my shoulder, keeping an eye on the road. He pulled down the dashboard and put on sunglasses. At this, I couldn’t help but stare at him openly. “Let me guess,” he said. “Your Eliot doesn’t wear sunglasses.” “Not aviator TKs,” I said. Eliot looked at himself in the rearview mirror and shrugged. # When we stopped for gas, I was grateful to stretch my legs and get some air. I walked towards the convenience store and wandered around. I grabbed some chips and walked to the counter and stopped short when I looked up and saw my fellow Traveler behind the counter. My nostrils flared and I backed out of the store, bumping into Eliot who was on his way in. “Hey. What’s wrong?” I didn’t answer Eliot. I just fast-walked to

the car, got in and locked the doors. I stared straight ahead, clutching my bag. But in my periphery, I could see Eliot talking to the guy as he paid for some snacks. The guy said something and Eliot laughed and gave him a pound. As Eliot approached the car, I lowered my head. I could see just enough to know that the Traveler was standing at the door. “Alright m’man,” Eliot yelled out, as he climbed back in the car. “I’ve seen him before,” I said, as soon as Eliot sat down. “What do you mean?” I stole a glance at the store and saw him looking at us. “Drive,” I said. “Now.” “Why? What’s the problem?” The man came out and began walking towards the car. His hand was cupped around his mouth and he was making motions for us to wait. “I said DRIVE,” I yelled. Eliot put the car in Drive and then paused. “Let me just see what he— “DRIVE THE FUCKING CAR ELIOT.” Eliot jumped and slammed on the gas. The man stopped and continued waving at us to come back. Eliot was breathing heavy as he merged back onto the highway and kept speeding. “What the hell Jamie,” Eliot whispered. “If you want me to be honest with you, you’re going to have to trust me,” I said through clenched teeth. “If I feel like I’m in danger or something’s just off, I can’t have you second-guessing me!” Eliot nodded.

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” My hands were shaking and it took five miles of silence to even start breathing normally. When I put my head back against the headrest, Eliot took it as a signal that I was ready to talk. “So you said you’ve seen him before?” “Yeah. More than once.” “When?” I squinted. “A bunch of times. First time was in my own reality, the first time we came to the brownstone after the closing. He was driving Mrs. TK away.” Eliot nodded. “I remember you looking out of the window that day. You seemed unnerved about something.” “Yes!” I said, turning to Eliot. “So you remember that.” “Yeah, I do. Where else have you seen him?” “He was the groundskeeper at Pac’s gravesite.” “Okay, well that definitely wasn’t the same guy from the gas station just now.” “Really? Didn’t look like him at all?” Eliot shrugged. “Not to me.” “He wheeled me into surgery and kissed my forehead.” “I did that.” “No,” I said firmly. “I’m trying to tell you. It was him.” Eliot closed his mouth tight and nodded. He looked like he was thinking hard and trying to absorb what I was saying and how to process it. “Have any theories?”

“I feel like he’s my guide,” I said. “Like he’s keeping an eye out for me. I feel it even more since I just saw him out here.” “Would you be offended if I told you I definitely think this is your mind playing tricks on me?” I snorted. “Not in the least.” “Only because I saw the gas station dude. And the groundskeeper. And they look nothing alike.” “That doesn’t really help me piece anything together,” I said. “Can you describe the guy?” “Average height and weight. Brown-skinned— Eliot held up his hand. “Brown skinned?” Eliot asked. “Yeah.” “Jamie, the dude in the gas station was white.” “What?” “Yeah. Like, super white.” “What about the groundskeeper?” I asked. “He’s Filipino.” I groaned and put my hands over my eyes. “It’s okay Jamie. Don’t freak out.” I took my hands down and looked over at Eliot. “Okay,” said Eliot. “That’s not helpful. I’d be freaking too.” I turned back around and put my hands back over my eyes. “You said he was brown-skinned,” said Eliot. “What else.” “Average height and weight. Kind of muscular.

Bald— I stopped myself, knowing where this was going. “So he looks like ‘Pac,” Eliot said, his voice flat. “I guess,” I said. “But no. Not really.” “Would it be a leap to imagine that you’re seeing ‘Pac in others? And that you feel like he’s guiding you.” I thought about ‘Pac appearing in the attic and hanging out in Harlem for the past week. “Yes,” I said. “That would be a leap. I’m not seeing him in other people.” “Something to consider.” “Why wouldn’t he just look like ‘Pac instead of a distant relative?” Eliot shrugged. “I’m just trying to help you put stuff together.” # We fell silent, each immersed in our own thoughts and theories. We didn’t speak again until we exited the freeway and I went back to directing Eliot throughout the city and to the music festival. “I’m gonna start looking for a place to park now,” Eliot said. “Coachella ain’t known for being car-friendly.” “Wait. What?” I asked. Eliot turned to me. “What did I say?” “We’re going to Coachella?” “Yeah. I told you that.” “No you didn’t. You said we were going to

Indio for a music festival.” “Yearly music festival in Indio California, also known as Coachella.” “I don’t think you ever said that specifically,” I muttered. “I’m sure I did. But what’s wrong with Coachella?” I wriggled in my seat. “I don’t know. Just don’t have a good feeling about it.” “Do you feel like you’ve been there before?” “You mean have I been there before? No.” Eliot lifted his sunglasses and rested them on his head. “Look,” said Eliot. “I said do you feel like you’ve been here before because that’s what this is for me. My wife wakes up and feels like she’s in a different reality. I’m looking at the same exact woman I met at Starbucks— Eliot saw me wince and stopped. “I mean. I just want you to at least try to understand my perspective. When I say do you feel like something, I’m not trying to doubt you. It is just what it is for me. My wife feels like she’s time traveled.” “You really don’t believe me, do you?” Eliot put his sunglasses back on. “Let’s not do this.” I turned my body so that my back was against the car door and I was facing Eliot, who kept his eyes locked on the road. “I need to do this,” I said. “You really think this is all happening in my head.” “Yes,”said Eliot. “Is that really what you

want to hear?” “No,” I said quietly. “Well there you have it,” said Eliot, throwing up his hands and then slapping them back on the steering wheel. “Now you’re going to feel awkward and I’ll feel bad for telling you what I really think.” “It doesn’t feel awkward,” I said. “It’s all together possible that this is in my mind. It just feels so— Tears sprouted and I turned away so Eliot wouldn’t see. I was grateful that it didn’t turn into a straight-up jag. I discreetly flicked them away with my thumb and went back to watching street signs. “I actually like being here,” I said. “Yeah,” Eliot asked. I nodded. “I’ve never been here before so there’s nothing to be out of place. It’s all new.” Eliot smiled and drove up to a parking garage. And of course, its the Traveler who comes out of the little office to take the car. I grabbed Eliot’s hand and squeezed it. “What does he look like,” I said under my breath. Eliot glanced up and then back at me. “Latino. A little taller than me.” I squeezed my eyes. Fuck. I knew for a fact that I’d seen a brown-skinned man with a bald head. Why was this happening? Eliot told the guy to hold up and then closed the car door. “Jamie? What does he look like to you?” “Like the guy I told you about,” I said, my

eyes still shut. “Okay,” said Eliot. “I want you to breathe really deep. Focus.” I inhaled and exhaled a few times. “You want me to go to a different spot?” Eliot asked. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s not like I can escape him.” “Stay right there,” said Eliot. I heard him get out of the car, throw the keys to the man and then come to my side of the car. He opened the door and led me out. I kept my eyes shut. “Steep driveway,” Eliot said. “And then a walkway.” I took tiny steps, holding onto Eliot’s waist. Then I stopped. “Nah,” I said. “What’s wrong.” I straightened up my back and opened my eyes. “I have to face this shit straight on,” I said. “I can’t live my life trying to unsee stuff and walking around with my eyes closed.” Eliot was just quiet. He looked behind me and then back at me. “Do you want to say something to him?” “No,” I said. “But I do want to look at him.” “He’s standing right there,” said Eliot. “Looking at us like he doesn’t understand why we’re standing here.” I turned around and looked. Near the car was a tall, light-skinned man with thick black curly hair. “Where is he?” I asked Eliot.

“Right there,” said Eliot, pointing with his chin. “The guy with the curly black hair?” Eliot grabbed my hands. “Latino, right?” I nodded. “That’s who I see,” Eliot said, his face jubilant. “Oh,” I said. “You don’t see the guy you’ve been seeing?” “No. That’s not him. But a few minutes ago— Eliot waited for me to say something. I decided not to. Looked like Eliot was right. Not only was a time traveler stuck in an alternate reality, I was also seeing things that weren’t there. Which was a bit of a mind-fuck since everything I saw wasn’t really “there.” A MercedesBenz convertible-driving Eliot didn’t exist in my mind. “You know what? I’m going to try to go one full hour without focusing on everything that’s topsy-turvy,” I said. “Don’t force it,” said Eliot. “I am going to force it. I am going to force myself to let my mind go slack for a bit.” “Deal. Let’s go.” We grabbed a program for the festival and plotting out which acts we wanted to see. Once we mapped out our plan, we stopped to eat. Over burritos and sangria, Eliot flipped the pages of the program and rearranged our options. “Hey, check this out.” Eliot slipped the brochure to my side of the table.

“What is it?” “‘Pac’s performing,” he said, rolling his eyes. I willed myself to look normal. “What?” Eliot took the brochure back and shook his head. “It’s probably a green screen or something with some old concert footage. But they’re advertising it like he’s going to be really there.” “When?” I asked. Eliot looked at his watch. “Now, actually. Why? You don’t want to go do you? Seeing a computer-generated version of ‘Pac doesn’t seem like a good—” I stood up, brushing crumbs off my lap and wiping my mouth with my napkin before dropping it on my plate. “It’s not going to be computer-generated,” I said. “It’s going to be him.” Eliot stood up slowly and looked around to see if anyone heard me. “Jamie… What are you saying?” “‘Pac’s here.” “Pac’s where.” “Here!” I said, pointing to the ground. “In Bizarro-2012.” “Why are you saying this?” Eliot asked. “You said the guy at the parking garage actually— “‘Pac showed up in the attic the night you left to come out here. He’s been in Harlem for a week. And then yesterday he talked me into flying out here.”

I turned around to face Eliot. His face said a lot of things. There was fatigue, incredulity, confusion and what I could sense was just the tiniest bit of anger, maybe even rage. “We can’t be far from a hospital,” I said to Eliot. “Want to get me into a padded room?” I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. Eliot studied me. Then he opened the brochure and turned the pages. He stopped, ran his fingers down the page, closed it back and then looked up at me. “Maybe after the show,” Eliot said, taking my arm and guiding me towards the outdoor stages.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 26 I walked with a purpose and I could tell Eliot was having a hard keeping up. (Which is why my Eliot didn’t believe in wearing flip-flops unless he was at the beach. Not practical.) “You want to slow down a little?” Eliot yelled out. “No,” I said, shading my eyes with my hand and heading toward the stage. I could feel thumping bass and heard far-away screams but I couldn’t hear what was actually happening. “The show didn’t start yet,” Eliot said, huffing and puffing as he caught up to me. “That’s a different group.” I just grunted and kept fast-walking towards

the crowd. When we got to where thousands of folks were spread out across acres of grassy area, I walked the perimeter of the back of the area and then turned and walked along the edge of the crowd until I was stage left. It was five minutes before Eliot caught up to me. “Now what?” Eliot asked. He lifted his foot to get grass off his toes. I didn’t answer him, keeping me eyes on the stage. No matter where Tupac went when we separated in Los Angeles, I would bet money he heard that he was “performing” out here in Indio. And I know he would hightail it out here to see what was going on —or more likely, be what was going on. I kept my arms crossed tight and kept my eyes focused on the stage and as much of the background area I could see. My eyes darted from one area to the other while my body didn’t move. “Here,” Eliot said, handing me his sunglasses. “If you’re going to stand there looking like an undercover cop, at least put these on.” I slid the sunglasses on, at once grateful for the protection I got from the unrelenting sun beating on me. I felt my body tense when the familiar baseline to Hail Mary came out of the speakers and the stage went pitch black. Slowly, a spotlight brightened and I saw Pac, his head down.He lifted his head and the stage brightened to show him with his arms out, crucifixion style. He was shirtless with a gold chain swinging across his chest and he was wearing his usual performance gear: sagging jeans puddling around a pair of TKs and three

inches of TK underwear showing. “Yeaaaaah,” ‘Pac screamed, as the crowd went nuts. I could hear people laughing and pointing and commenting on how realistic the whole thing was. “See?” Eliot in my ear. “It’s just concert footage.” I didn’t respond. Concert footage my ass. “What up Dre?” ‘Pac yelled. “What up Snoop?” The crowd was in a lather. Some people watched like it was a movie with never-seen-before special effects. But I could see that some folks were freaked out. “This is a little too real…” I heard one girl whisper. “Yeah. It’s creepy as hell,” someone said back to her. ‘Pac pulled the mic up to his mouth, until it looked like he was about to take a bite out of it. He leaned back and screamed out: “What up Coachella!!!” I groaned and put my head in my hands. I looked at Eliot. His face had gone pale. “What did he just say?” Eliot said, poking me in the shoulder. “You heard him,” I said, turning back to the stage. “But when did Coachella-“1999,” I said. “Three years after he died.” Eliot pushed me to the side and walked closer to the stage. When he got stuck behind people, he just turned to the side and used his shoulder to push through. Most folks just moved aside and I began to follow him. But some folks shoved him back

or cursed at him. He paid no attention whatsoever, just kept his eyes on the stage as ‘Pac rapped and kept pushing to get closer. When we got as close as we could, we both stared. “Where’s the projector?” Eliot asked. He looked around the venue and craned his neck to see more of the area. “I don’t know. But I know what I’m seeing right now. And that’s not concert footage.” # ‘Pac did a five minute set. At one point, Snoop came out with him. I couldn’t tell if Snoop knew what was going on. But the way Snoop smoked, ‘Pac probably could’ve walked up to him and he would have just assumed he was hallucinating. At the end, the stage went dark and there was an illusion of fireworks. When the smoke cleared, the image of ‘Pac had disappeared. “What do you think,” I asked Eliot. Eliot looked around the crowd as they dispersed, most still marveling at how real the “concert footage” looked. “Let’s go back to the attic for a minute,” Eliot said. “You said you woke up and he was there.” I started walking closer to the stage as the rest of the crowd thinned out. “Yes,” I said. “He said it was 1996 and he was in the car with me and my dad and a car pulled up to us and then everything went black. When he woke up he was in a dusty attic. He looked down at

an opening in the floor and there was me, looking up at him.” Eliot grabbed my wrist to stop me from walking. “Jamie, this is getting serious.” Getting serious? I couldn’t help but think to myself. “Do you believe me?” I asked Eliot. “Do I believe ‘Pac appeared in our attic and then you flew to LA with him this morning? No.” I opened my mouth to speak and Eliot shushed me. “Now,” said Eliot. “Do I believe you believe he appeared and you flew to LA with Pac this morning? Yes. I don’t think you’re making that up. That’s what you experienced. But is that what I would have seen? No Jamie. It’s not. Just like I didn’t see him at the café or at the parking garage.” I nodded, keeping my eye on the stage as the tech crew came out and began to break down the set. “And do I think that ‘Pac came to Indio and performed in front of a crowd who thinks he’s been dead for over a decade? No. I do not believe that. The What’s up Coachella freaked me out. But any voice actor could have done that.” “What now,” I asked Eliot. “I need a drink.” “Can you wait a minute?” “For what.” “I just want to go backstage for two seconds.” “Jamie. I’m not going to entertain this.”

“Two seconds.” Eliot looked at me and then his face softened. He took a small blanket out of his murse, unfolded it and placed it on the ground. He sat down and took out a flask and a glass and poured himself a drink. He sat with his knees up, one arm resting on one knee while he sipped. “Do you have a drinking problem?” I asked Eliot took another swallow. “Not that I know of.” I wanted to say more but decided to use more time more wisely. “I’ll be back,” I said. I ran to the backstage area and got stopped sooner than I thought I would. A burly guy wearing a bunch of laminated passes on neck lanyards stuck out a massive hand and my chest knocked right into it. “Can I help you?” he asked, though he wasn’t even looking at me. “Who operates the TK” I asked. “Some of the TK from the TK is smoking and it needs to be TK’d immediately.” The guy put his hand on my shoulder and nudged me to his left and then pointed to one of the trailers in the distance. “Tech people are in trailer two,” he said, his eyes on a group of giggling girls edging closer and closer to the backstage area. “Thanks,” I said, walking in the direction he sent me for a few feet before glancing over at him and then making a sharp right turn and going back to the main backstage area. I couldn’t even imagine where ‘Pac would be. I

couldn’t even explain why I was sure that it had been him onstage. There was a chance he could still be in LA and didn’t know anything about the festival. I wouldn’t have known if Eliot didn’t bring me. But I did know. I knew it was him. Eliot knew it too. He grabbed at whatever he could to convince him it wasn’t true. But no voice actor could perfectly replicate ‘Pac’s voice that well. I saw a small group walking down a corridor with their arms laden with wires and cords and what looked like lighting equipment. If ‘Pac did get on stage, he would have done so near some guys like those. I didn’t have a better lead so I started following them, keeping my phone in hand and glancing at it as if I were following directions. They stopped at a utility closet and began packing things inside. I leaned against one of the office doors and went back to pretend-texting on my phone. After a few minutes, the group left the closet empty handed and walked back in the opposite direction. There didn’t seem to be any sense in following them. As soon as I moved off the door and took a step, the door opened and someone grabbed the collar of my t-shirt and pulled me inside the room, which was dimly lit. “Get off of me,” I shrieked, swinging at whoever it was with my phone. “Jay! It’s me. Stop hitting me!” I stopped in mid-punch. There was ‘Pac. He let a smile spread across his face and then hugged me tight. “What are you doing here?!” asked Pac. “Did

you see me? Did you see that shit?” “How the hell did you end up on stage?” ‘Pac grabbed my arm and pulled me into the room. We walked to the far side of the room and there was Snoop, sitting back on the sofa, a pickle-sized spliff in his mouth and his eyes squinting from the huge cloud of smoke coming out of his mouth and nose. “Hey Snoop,” I said. “Heeeey Jamie-Jame,” Snoop said with a smile. I hadn’t been good friends with Snoop in my reality. But I knew him, as I knew everyone in ‘Pac’s Death Row crew. Seeing him here gave me a chill. He was the first person outside of my mom, Eliot and ‘Pac to acknowledge me by name. He knew me. If I wasn’t already sure this wasn’t a dream, Snoop’s head nod just hammered the point home even more. “This was not a good idea,” I said to ‘Pac. “Not at all.” “Why not?” Pac asked, his face twisted up. “I don’t know,” I said. “It just can’t be.” “It’s all a part of what I need to know before I die,” ‘Pac said. Snoop nodded his head and exhaled another cloud of smoke. He leaned over and tried to pass the spliff to ‘Pac who passed on it. Snoop shrugged and took in another huge puff. “Stop saying that,” I snapped. “That I’m going to die? Why?” “Just… just stop.” “You’ve lived through me dying twice.” “Maybe that’s why I don’t want you to say it!”

Snoop put his arms out across the top of the tattered sofa he was sitting on. “This is some serious shit cuz,” he said in his signature drawl. “Is Nate Dogg wit y’all? What about Easy-E? Now that’s a motherfucker I need to see!” I turned to ‘Pac. “Does he think he’s hallucinating?” I asked. Pac smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I walked right up to him backstage and told him we were about to go out there and rock the crowd. He was so high he didn’t question a damn thing.” “Come,” I said to ‘Pac. “Where.” “I told Eliot you were here.” “What?” ‘Pac and I said goodbye to Snoop. (Snoop insisted on an extra long hug and told ‘Pac to say what’s up to Nate and Eazy up in heaven). As we walked down the long corridor towards the open area where Eliot was sitting, ‘Pac started biting the side of his nail again. “Why would you tell him?” ‘Pac asked. “I couldn’t not tell him. If I’m going to be here indefinitely, I have to be honest with him.” “Does he think you’re crazy?” “Yes.” “He saw the show?” “You said what’s up Coachella,” I said. ‘Pac laughed. “As soon as I said it, I was like, wait. Should I know about Coachella?” “Nope. Three years later,” I said.

“Oops.” “Look, there’s Eliot. Are you ready?” ‘Pac squinted and then looked over at me. “Is this muthafucka wearing flip-flops?” I stopped walking and my shoulders slumped. “Really ‘Pac?” I asked. “That’s necessary?” “And what the fuck is he doing?” Pac said, pointing. “He’s sitting on the ground in a damn parking lot drinking wine? This fool can’t be for real.” “Watch your mouth,” I said. “You’re being disrespectful.” “But you don’t even know this dude.” “That dude is my husband.” ‘Pac snorted. “No. That guy ain’t your husband. He might look like him. But that ain’t him. I know Eliot. And he don’t drink wine in parking lots wearing flip-flops.” “He’s my husband here. And I’m here. So he’s my husband. Period. So show some respect.” Eliot waved at us and I felt myself start to sweat. This was it. Eliot was going to be on Team Crazy with me once he saw ‘Pac. I waved back and we walked closer. Was Eliot going to see someone else like he did at the gas station and the parking garage? I looked over at ‘Pac who was eyeing Eliot warily. Nope. That wasn’t going to happen. This wasn’t the same as the Traveler, who had a sort of ethereal quality. This was a living, breathing ‘Pac, who smelled like Old Spice and weed. “Don’t say anything slick,” I muttered as we got closer to Eliot. Pac fell behind just a few steps and grunted.

“Everything okay?” Eliot yelled out. I motioned to ‘Pac who was still walking behind me. “Just wanted you to see someone.” “Okay,” Eliot said. When I got to Eliot, I stepped to the side and waited. “What up El?” ‘Pac said. He leaned down and held out his hand to shake. Eliot just kept looking at me. “Who did you want me to see?” I looked up at Pac and touched him on his shoulder. “Say something else,” I said to Pac. “To Eliot.” Eliot watched me but stayed silent. ‘Pac took a step back and turned his head to the side. “Why the fuck you got on flip-flops?” ‘Pac asked. Eliot didn’t move. He still had his arms wrapped around his legs, an empty glass tumblr in his hand. I exhaled and held back tears. “So,” I said to Eliot, my voice shaky. “If I told you ‘Pac was standing right here next to me asking why you have on flip-flops, you’d say what?” Eliot looked up at me and slowly shook his head back and forth. “I’d say now it’s time to get you to a padded room.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 27 Eliot held out his hands, expecting me to pull him to his feet. But I was rooted to the spot, my eyes glancing over at ‘Pac every two seconds. When Eliot realized that I wasn’t going to help him out, he pulled himself up and dusted off his pants. “Ready?” Eliot asked, looking down to pick up his bag. “Yo. Eliot,” said ‘Pac, waving his hands in Eliot’s face. “You don’t hear anything?” I whispered to Eliot. “You don’t see anything?” Eliot stopped and turned his head towards me. “No,” he said. “What is it?”

I snapped my head over to look at ‘Pac, my face stricken with fear. Eliot followed my eyes. “What’s going on,” said Eliot, craning his neck to see behind me. “What are you looking at?” I shook my head and kept my lips pressed tight together. No matter how many times I told myself to prepare for anything and expect the unexpected, this was a tough one. ‘Pac was standing right here. And Eliot was standing right here. And yet, nothing. “Can I touch him? You think he would feel it?” Pac asked me. “I don’t know,” I said. “You don’t know what?” asked Eliot. I opened my mouth and then closed it. I bent over at the waist and groaned. “Jamie what’s wrong?” Eliot and ‘Pac said in unison. I stood up and looked at them both while backing away. “I gotta get outta here,” I said, my hand over my heart as I tried to breathe normally. I turned and sprinted away from them both, my fists pumping as I ran. I pushed myself to go faster and faster. I tripped, like a typical horror show chick, and ended up splayed out all over the ground. I didn’t even give myself time to figure out what was hurt before I got back up, hopped for a second and then went back to running. I knew there was blood dripping from my knee and my forehead but I didn’t wipe anything away. I turned to look back and I screamed: ‘Pac and Eliot were both chasing me. ‘Pac was ahead, yelling out my name and telling me to stop. Eliot was a few paces

behind. He would jog a bit and then stop and call out for me, his face confused. “Just leave me alone,” I screamed. “Please!” I only made it a few more feet before I felt one of them grab me and spin me around. From the force of the spin, I knew it was ‘Pac. “What are you doing?” said ‘Pac. He shook my shoulder and I kept trying to twist away from him. “Please let me go,” I cried. I saw Eliot stop in the distance. “Jamie. What’s going on?” I envisioned what Eliot was seeing, me twisting and turning against the air. His face was so tight that it made me stop fighting against ‘Pac. I dropped my hands at my sides and closed my eyes. Pac looked back and saw Eliot slowly walking towards us with his eyes narrowed to slits. Eliot put his arms out as he came closer. “Come here Jame,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Come.” Pac let me go and stared at me. I went to Eliot and let him hug me and I saw what I thought was disappointment on Pac’s face. He looked down at his hands and flipped them over. “Am I already dead Jamie?” Pac whispered. “Is that why he can’t see me?” “I don’t know what’s going on,” I said. “Me either,” said Eliot and Pac. I groaned again. “I’m out,” said ‘Pac, turning away. I desperately wanted to ask him where he was going. But while I was still in Eliot’s arms, I couldn’t find a way to say it without sounding insane.

“What now,” I yelled out. Eliot looked at me strange. What I was saying made sense. But since he was holding me, there was no need for me to yell. He pulled me in closer and rubbed my back. “Shhh,” Eliot whispered. “Just calm down.” “I’m going back to LA,” said Pac, as he walked away. “How… What are you…” Eliot pulled me back enough to look in my face. “Yes?” he asked me. I turned my head just enough to see ‘Pac out of the corner of my eye. He was walking back toward the stage, shaking his head. I couldn’t figure out what to do next. Should I just break away from Eliot and figure out where Pac was going? Could he get back to Harlem without me? Was he going back to Harlem? Should he? Should I? What would happen if we just separated right now without a plan? I moved back a few feet from Eliot but kept my eyes on his. “What would happen if we just separated right now without a plan?” I said, just a bit louder than I needed to. ‘Pac stopped and turned around. “We’re about to find out,” he said, turning back and walking away. Eliot walked over to me and took my hand. “We’re not going to find out,” he said. “Let’s go.” #

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Delta Airlines flight 2998 bound for Newark Liberty

Airport. All carry on items should now be stored securely, either in an overhead bin or under the seat in front of you. All electronic devices, should now be turned off and stowed, as they may interfere with the aircraft's navigational and communication systems. I turned off my cell phone while the flight attendant stood over my row and swept everyone’s devices with her eyes. As soon as she continued down the aisle, I slipped the phone into my lap and turned it back on. Immediately, I saw that Eliot had texted me twice more in the time it took me to power my phone back on. But I didn’t respond. It had been a war to get Eliot to let me fly back home without him. I finally told him that I was not negotiating. If he was going to insist on flying back with me, I couldn’t stop him. But I had my reasons and I wanted to go back on my own. He gave in and hugged me tight outside the arrival gate and told me to be safe. I started to tell him how ridiculous that directive sounded to me but I skipped it. While the flight attendant continued to drone on about the safety procedures, I scrolled through my text messages to see if ‘Pac had reached out to me. There was nothing from him. I had no idea where he was and it was making me sick to leave for New York without him. But he knew when we were supposed to go back. And if he didn’t want to go back, there was nothing I could do about it. I put on my headphones and began to zone out to TK. I still watched the flight attendant, her arm movements seemed to match the music and she looked like she could have been lip-synching to it.

She looked behind her at one point and I could see the other attendants nearby looking behind her as well. I took my headphones out. She had gone over to the TK and picked it up to make an announcement. “We are now preparing to depart,” she said. “A connecting flight from LAX was delayed. Those passengers are now boarding and we will be pulling off shortly.” The flight attendant moved back to the front of the aisle and then moved over to let a few passengers make their way up the aisle. I saw ‘Pac just a few seconds before he saw me. Of course I knew there was a chance he’d be there. It’s the main reason why I didn’t want Eliot to come. But after an hour in the terminal and another 30 minutes on the plane with no sign of him, I assumed he wasn’t going to be there. He had his head down, scanning his boarding pass. He lifted his head to check the seat numbers as he walked down the aisle and then went back to checking the boarding pass. I held my breath when he got to the empty seat next to me. “Oh,” said ‘Pac, shifting his bag, (which was actually Eliot’s bag), from one shoulder to another. “Hey,” I said, moving over to the window seat. ‘Pac lifted the overhead and stuffed his bag inside. Then he flopped down in the aisle seat next to mine and closed his eyes. “What did you do yesterday,” I asked. “Havana,” he said, his eyes still closed. “You went to Cuba?” ‘Pac nodded.

“I saw my mom.” “How the hell did you get to Cuba?” “When I left you, I went back to Snoop. I asked him who could get to Cuba on a private jet. Someone who would take me.” “Yeah.” “He said the only one who could probably get away with it would be Jay-Z. Especially if he went with his wife.” My mouth dropped. How did I not suspect something when I saw the news reports that very morning that Jay-Z and Beyonce were in Cuba? I remember thinking to myself that it was an interesting place for them to visit and wondering why they chose it, knowing it would be looked at as controversial. “So Jay could see you?” “Yup.” “And he didn’t freak out?” “He said he never believed I was really dead anyway. I let him think that I always used celebrities to get me back and forth to Cuba to see my family.” “Wait a second,” I said. I looked out for the flight attendants. They were tending to a young child traveling alone. I took out my phone and started an internet search. After hearing about Cuba, a few other things came to mind. I Googled Tupac sightings and the stuff that came up made me look at ‘Pac and just shake my head. “Really ‘Pac?” I asked. I showed him a news story about a ‘Pac impersonator at a Lakers game and raised my eyebrows.

“I’m going to assume this is you?” ‘Pac smiled. “I told you that was the best disguise!” “But did you really have to go to a Lakers game?” “Yo. I knew that kid Kobe from Philly was going to kill it in the league. Straight from high school!” I did my mental calculations. Kobe had been drafted just a few months before Pac was killed. So it made sense that he was intrigued to see him in action. “Yeah. He’s retiring I hear.” ‘Pac opened his mouth and I could tell he was about to question me on why he was retiring so soon. “That NBA draft was sixteen years ago,” I said to ‘Pac. “Not this past summer.” ‘Pac nodded slowly and then sank down into his seat, closing his eyes again. Sometimes I forgot that he was just as thrown off by all of this as I was. We were both Travelers and we both had moments that were unsettling. It just seemed like ‘Pac was enjoying the adventure more than I was. This wasn’t an adventure for me at all. It was a nightmare and I was nowhere near over it or adjusting to it. [ Add to this chapter that Traveler is the pilot]

# Back in the brownstone, ‘Pac barely spoke. I tried to make conversation but he only gave me one word answers. He wandered around the house, stopping at windows and staring outside for a few minutes before moving on to another part of the house. I tip-toed around him, wondering if I should press him to talk to me or just leave him alone. I decided to give him some space. I decided to pretend like I was normal and do what I would do if this had always been my world. I cleaned the house from top-to-bottom, ordered groceries online, cleaned out the fridge and washed, dried and put away a few loads of clothes. The entire time, I felt like an actor in a play. A long play with no intermission and no audience. I got so lost in my own world that I set the table for dinner and sat down to eat, I didn’t notice that ‘Pac was already sitting there. I sat across from him and began to dish out the grilled chicken and rice and beans and rice. We ate in silence, the sounds of our forks and knives hitting our plates mixing with the shrieks of children playing outside. ‘Pac scraped beans back and forth across his plate and then dropped the fork and exhaled. “I saw Jada,” he said. I nodded. “And?” ‘Pac swallowed hard and his eyes filled up. “I saw her speak at a college. I didn’t say anything to her.”

“Why?” ‘Pac slid his plate across then table and it crashed to the floor. He stood up and threw his chair across the room. I stood up and backed myself into a corner. “This shit is fucked up!” ‘Pac yelled out. “It’s fucked up Jamie!” “What happened?” Pac picked up the chair, threw it in the direction of the table and then sat down hard. “I had it all set up,” said Pac. “I knew what I would say to let her know that it was really me.” I nodded and slowly lowered myself back into my seat. “And then?” Pac fixed his eyes on the wall. “Her daughter was there. Willow?” “Yeah.” “Somebody asked Jada about her relationship with me. And the little girl Willow talked about a letter she wrote when she was a little girl. A letter she wrote to me.” “I’m sure Jada told her all about you,” I said. “In the letter she said I know you’re alive

some place. Please come back.” I swallowed. I remembered seeing that story online about the letter Willow Smith wrote. And I could only imagine what hearing it would feel like for ‘Pac. “I couldn’t do it,” said ‘Pac. “I still don’t think any of this is real. But I couldn’t do that to Jada even in a dream world. She’s getting over

my death. And me popping up at a lecture would not help her.” I stood up and began to clear away the dishes. “So now what?” I asked “I’m going back.” I turned around. “Back to LA? Hell no.” “No. I’m going back. To 1996. My 1996.” “And you think you can just make that choice and do it?” “Yes,” said ‘Pac. Something in the way ‘Pac locked eyes with me when he said it scared me. “What makes you think you can do that?” “I keep going back to that moment. Right before I ended up here. All I did was turn my head to see who was pulling up next to us.” “And?” “And when I think about it, I feel like in that split second, I did know something was about to happen.” “Maybe you saw the guy?” “No. I didn’t. But I think I knew what was about to happen. And I think I pushed myself here.” I raised my eyebrows. “I’m not explaining it right,” Pac said. “But I’m telling you, I brought myself here. And I’m going to bring myself back.” “So you’re going to go to sleep tonight and will yourself back to the past.” Pac nodded. “I’m going up to that attic. Sitting in the same spot I landed in. And I’m going to sleep. And

I’ll be gone.” “You seem really sure of this.” “That’s because I am.” “You do hear how insane it sounds though, right?” Pac looked at me and smiled. “Yo. I just performed with Snoop at a music festival. And the whole crowd thought I was computer generated. Does that sound insane?” “Yes.” “But it happened didn’t it?” “That’s different,” I said. “How?” “You didn’t control that. It just happened.” “How do you know?” “I don’t.” “What’s the difference between saying, I’m going to perform at Coachella with Snoop even though I’m supposed to be dead and I’m going to go back to the past I know and prepare to die.” “I don’t want you to go,” I said. “I know. But I have to.” “Not yet. I’m not ready.” “But I am.” I walked away from ‘Pac and up to my bedroom. For a while, I could hear him playing his greatest hits in the living room. A few moments after it ended he was standing in the doorway of my room. “I’m going upstairs in a few minutes,” he said. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” “Why do you want to go back if you’re going to die?” I asked. “That makes no sense.” “What are my options?” “You can stay here.”

“And be a ghost?” “Yes.” “You’re being selfish.” “No. I’m not. You’re being selfish. I need you here.” “What if you’re meant to stay here Jamie?” “Then I want you here too!” ‘Pac shook his head. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be in 2012, no matter what. And if you’re going to stay here then you need to move on and make it as normal as possible. And that doesn’t include hanging out with me while your husband and your mother think you’re schizo.” “Okay,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Try it. I don’t think it will work though. You’ll be here in the morning.” Pac shrugged and started walking down the hallway. “We’ll see.” I heard ‘Pac grunting as he climbed the rope ladder. When it sounded like he was all the way in the attic I left the bedroom and went into the small guest room and stood near the door of the closet. “‘Pac,” I said. “Come back down. Please?” Pac looked down through the opening. “Why. What’s wrong?” “Can you go tomorrow?” ‘Pac smiled at me. “I thought you said this wouldn’t work.” “It won’t,” I said. “But it might.” “You sound ridiculous.” “Just come back down here. Now.”

When I heard him coming down the rope ladder I went back to my bedroom. He followed and I gestured for him to sit down. “If this is it,” I said. “I want to talk to you before you go.” “About what.” “Nothing in particular,” I said. “It’s just that if it works—which it won’t—and I end up here forever, I want to have something to go back to. A memory of a last conversation with you.”[ Tupac should tell her, (in this conversation or in the video), what he would like to have his 2012 be. He would be the leader of The Summit. All the biggest names in anything related to our people would be involved. Top secret. Held each year. They make big decisions. Create jobs. Etc. ] “In the world you know. What was the last thing we talked about?” I felt a lump forming in my throat and I took a moment to gather myself. “The last words you said to me were… ‘Get out of here Jamie. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Tell your dad I said what’s up.’” ‘Pac nodded and then we were both silent for a while. “I’ll sleep in the office tonight,” said Pac. “Tomorrow, we go to TKs for breakfast. And then we’ll make a video. Tape record ourselves having a conversation and then you can watch it whenever you want.” I smiled. “Why didn’t I think of that?” “Because you’re an idiot.” Pac got up and walked down the hall to the

office. “I want to be early,” he yelled out. “Set your alarm.” I reached over to my alarm clock, set it and then climbed under my comforters. “I love you ‘Pac,” I yelled out. “Whatever yo,” he yelled back, before closing the office door. I laughed out loud and then pulled the comforter up to my neck. As always, I couldn’t sleep right away. I stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles, for what felt like hours. It took my mind forever to decompress and then switch off. Most nights I woke up feeling like I’d never even fully fallen asleep. I could tell that this night would be the same.

# I woke up coughing. I sat up straight, my eyes still shut tight and I coughed so hard my chest began to burn. Something was irritating both my eyes and my chest. I thought it was smoke at first. But I didn’t smell anything. I kept my eyes closed and pounded my chest with my first to try to cough out whatever was stuck inside of my lungs. “Jamie?!” It was Eliot. What was he doing back? Why wouldn’t he let me know he was on his way? I heard footsteps and I wanted to speak. But I couldn’t stop coughing. “Jamie, Did you sleep up there?”

Up there? My eyes popped open and I yelped. I was upstairs in the attic. And I was coughing because I had been laying on the floor in the dusty space. I scrambled to my feet and went to the opening. Eliot was standing in the closet, looking up at me. “Jame?” . I turned and used the rope to come downstairs and I barreled out of the room and down to the office. I opened the door and it was empty. Not only was ‘Pac gone but the room was completely empty. No pullout sofa. No blankets and pillows. No stereo on the floor that ‘Pac had been using to listen to his posthumous music. Nothing. The room was as empty as the day we— I spun around, my hand over my mouth. Eliot was in the doorway. His hair was sticking up everywhere and his face was ashy. He was wearing jeans that were two sizes too big and a rugby that didn’t match. And it was clear by the wrinkled condition of his clothes that he’d slept in them. “Eliot?” I whispered. “Baby what’s wrong?” Eliot asked. “Did you just come back from LA?” “When? Just now?” I nodded. “Of course not. I just woke up. I fell asleep downstairs. Are you okay?” Eliot took a few steps in my direction and I backed away, holding my arms out. “Wait,” I said. “Stop right there.” Eliot froze in place. “Jamie what’s going on.” “I have to ask you something. It might sound

like it makes no sense. But can you just answer me anyway. Please?” “Okay,” said Eliot. “What happened in the last 24 hours.” “What?” I closed my eyes tight and clenched my teeth. “What happened. Yesterday.” “Yesterday we moved in,” Eliot said. I slid down the wall and covered my head with my hands. “And last night we had a little— not an argument. But y’know. Whatever. And then I fell asleep on the couch and I guess you fell asleep in the attic?” Eliot crept over to me. He came down to the floor and put his arms around me. “Jamie what’s wrong?” I sat up and pulled my head back enough to look at Eliot fully. “I thought I was never going to see you again,” I whispered, with tears rolling down my cheeks. “But I’m back.” Eliot enveloped me in his arms again. “I don’t know what happened baby,” Eliot said, his face close to mine. “But you’re here with me right now. And you’re safe.” I was quiet, trying hard to breathe normally. Eliot began to hum and stroked my hair. I shuddered a few times and each time I did, he squeezed me tighter and kept saying that everything was okay. When I felt like I could speak, I lifted my head up just a bit, still holding on to Eliot. My Eliot. “So you fell asleep downstairs,” I said. “And

then what?” “And then I woke up because I heard you coughing.” “And that’s it?” I asked. “Nothing weird happened?” “Weird like what?” “I don’t know. Like anything.” “No,” said Eliot. “Well not really.” I sat up so fast that I ended up hitting Eliot in the face by accident. “What do you mean not really?” I said. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” said Eliot. “I just went to turn off my laptop before I came upstairs to check on you…” “Yeah. And?” “And there was a video up on the screen. It was ‘Pac. He was talking to someone about why he had to go back or something.” I didn’t move. I didn’t even blink. “It was probably something old and random.” I nodded. “Except…” “What.” Eliot shrugged and yawned. “Except I swear it looked like he was sitting right downstairs in our living room.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 28 I got out of the car, leaving the door open and sprinting to the front door of my parents’ house. I was banging on the front door with my fist while Eliot closed and locked the car doors and tried to catch up to me while yelling out my name. I kept banging on the door and screaming out loud. “DADDY!” I yelled out. The door flew open and there was my dad. I jumped into his arms and he fell back into the living room, catching his footing just in time to keep me from knocking us both to the floor. “Jamie what the hell is going on?” my dad asked. My mom appeared at the top of the steps,

clutching her robe shut. “Bela?” my mom asked. “Is that Jamie?” Eliot finally made it to the door. He stopped in the doorway, huffing and puffing. “Your daughter’s losing it,” Eliot said to my dad. My mom came down, ushered Eliot in and then closed the door. My dad brought me over to the couch, the very same couch I’d slept on for weeks in the reality where he was dead. He tried to pull me off of him but I kept hugging him so hard that it was more like choking. My dad put his hands up to his neck and peeled my arms down. He held my wrists with one hand and lifted my chin to face him with the other. “Hey,” he said. “I hope you have some good news for me with this kind of action.” “Daddy I’m just so happy to see you,” I whispered, leaning in to hug him again. When I pulled away, I saw my parents and Eliot all looking at me, fearful and concerned. I was used to it by now— no matter what reality since the first time I traveled, someone was always looking at me like I had two heads. “Since you guys are here, you might as well stick around for dinner,” my mom said, shuffling into the kitchen. Over dinner, I didn’t speak. Not a single word. Eliot and my parents eventually got over my insanity and slipped into their normal roles. Eliot was Eliot: talking with his mouth full, squeezing my knee under the table, making faces at my parents dog and getting angry when my dad started talking

about politics. Mom was mom: greying ponytail, slouchy sweatsuit, jumping up to get my dad and Eliot things before they even realized they wanted them and giving me the eye and gesturing for me to stop slouching. And dad was dad: laughing too hard, making jokes that were just shy of inappropriate for the dinner table and reminding everyone to chew their food at least TK times before swallowing. It was comforting. Except that I had no idea how to be Jamie. By my internal clock, it had been TK since I’d fallen asleep in the attic and first awakened in Vegas. And in the time since, I’d completely forgotten who I was. Anytime I smiled, I felt like I was doing it wrong. Everything I put on my plate to eat felt like I was choosing it based on what Eliot and my parents would expect to see on my plate and not what I really wanted. I had to have faith that things would fall together the way they were supposed to at some point. After dinner, Eliot dropped hints that he was ready to go home but I ignored him. I couldn’t bring myself to leave my dad’s side. ‘Pac was gone in this reality and I hadn’t even begun to process that. And now my dad was back —right here in front of me. If I went home and ended up traveling once more, I’d met never see my dad again. Pac knew he was going. And he’d done his best to prepare me for it. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to watch the video he made for me that Eliot had seen on the laptop. But just knowing we’d had a proper goodbye was going to make it easier to handle. I couldn’t tell my dad why I was afraid to leave him. So Eliot was just going to have to sit

tight and deal. # An hour or so after dessert, Eliot was finally able to peel me off my dad and get me to start saying goodbye. My father knew something was wrong because he gave me an extra long hug and whispered in my ear that he loved me. On the ride home, Eliot cleared his throat a few times but I didn’t quite get that he was trying to say something. The third time he cleared his throat, I turned to look at him. “What’s up Eliot?” “I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “About what I said last night.” I tried hard to remember what happened the night before I traveled the first time. I could barely remember that Eliot and I had a disagreement. I remembered ending up in the attic but I couldn’t remember exactly why. “What about it?” I asked, hoping I’d be able to figure out once he started speaking. “I said that sometimes I felt like you were slipping away from me.” I nodded, as what he said that night began to wash over me:

It’s like sometimes I touch you to just slip out of my grasp. here. Like we’re pretending to be someone’s gonna yell Cut and none real. “I remember,” I whispered.

you and expect To just not be together and of this will be

For the past TK, that was exactly what had happened. I had slipped right out of Eliot’s grasp. The universe yelled Cut and life as I’d known it had completely ceased to exist. “I went through something last night,” I said. “Another one of the dreams?” I’d forgotten all about my dreams. They had been a constant in my life for over a decade and for a split second I had completely forgotten about my Pacmares. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But a little more intense than usual.” “Did something happen to your dad in your dream? Is that why you needed to go over there?” I nodded. It was a bit simplistic to boil down the past TK to a bad dream but it would have to do for now. “I had a few epiphanies this time around,” I said to Eliot. “A few? In one dream?” “I think you’re right. I think in a lot of ways I’ve never really gotten over ‘Pac’s death.” I saw Eliot’s jaw tighten just a touch. “And maybe subconsciously I’ve compared you to him over the years.” Eliot nodded, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “Not in the way you’ve always assumed,” I said, “I know I never had romantic feelings toward ‘Pac. But when someone you’re very close to dies the way he did. They’re frozen in time and its hard to process.” “There was no closure,” Eliot said.

“Exactly. It’s not like he had cancer and we all knew it was coming. And the fact that I was standing in front of him ten minutes before it happened— “I get it,” Eliot said. “I do.” “But the fact is you’re my husband. And you come first in my life. And I will do whatever I need to do to make you sure of that. ” “I appreciate that Jamie.” “I’m changing my last name. And my address.” “Nah J, don’t do that. Yesterday I was just feeling— “No,” I said, hitting the dashboard for emphasis. “I’m doing it. I think its important.” “You seem different,” said Eliot. I felt myself take in a deep breath and hold it without really meaning to. “In what way?” Eliot glanced in my direction a few times as he drove. “I can’t put my finger on it. But for one thing you look younger.” I fluttered my eyelashes and pretended to fluff my hair. “Well thank you.” “I don’t know why you would look younger after a night spent in a dusty attic but you do.” “Your mind’s playing tricks on you,” I said. “And you seem…calmer.” “Even while I was racing out of the house to see my dad and clinging to him like a TK?” “Yeah. Even then.” Eliot pulled into a space near the brownstone and began to park. When he was in the space, he put

the car in Park and then reached over and pulled me to him. “You really don’t think you could have ever ended up with ‘Pac?” My mind flashed to Eliot’s face when he found me in the Starbucks when I first traveled. I asked him why I didn’t communicate with ‘Pac. He’d looked at me with so much anger when he said: You’re

conveniently forgetting what happened with you and ‘Pac? But I couldn’t conjure up those feelings at all. I just couldn’t. If it happened in that reality, I didn’t experience it. So as far as I was concerned, it hadn’t really happened. I leaned away from Eliot and rested my back on the car door. “Anything can happen in an alternate timeline,” I said to Eliot. “That doesn’t have anything to do with the here and now.” “That’s true.” “You’re really asking me where I stand now. You want to know if I have regrets about ending up with you and if I pine away for ‘Pac. And I don’t. I’m with you because I love you and because we belong together. Period.” There was a long minute of silence. But it wasn’t tense. Eliot tapped out a random melody on the steering wheel. And I leaned back onto the headrest and closed my eyes. I was just about to drift off when I heard the doors unlock. “Ready?” Eliot asked. I looked up at the brownstone and took a deep breath. “Ready as I can be,” I said.

We both climbed out of the car and I followed Eliot up the steep stairs. When we got to the front door, Eliot fished out his keys and began unlocking the locks. Before he pushed the door open he turn dot me. “I think we’re going to be okay,” he said. He pushed open the door and I followed him into the foyer. “I don’t think we’re going to be okay,” I said. “I know we will.” # There were two major issues I had upon returning to the “right” reality. (If there was a such thing.) 1. I walked on eggshells because I was convinced that I would soon realize that this wasn’t my reality. Because my parents’ Yorkie didn’t exist. Or I saw the Traveler sizing me up in the bodega. Or anything else that would show me that things were skewed. Even after three weeks of seeing nothing altered, I still woke up each day in a panic, whipping off the comforters to see if Eliot was wearing fitted pajama pants or ratty sweats. Then, after confirming I was sleeping with the right Eliot, I called my dad, my heart pounding until I heard his voice. He was alive every morning. But I still couldn’t help calling him at the crack of dawn to make sure. One morning, he didn’t pickup and I freaked out. I took a taxi to my parents house, expecting to seen an ambulance outside or for my mom to answer the door and wonder why I was asking for my dad when he’d been dead for ten

years. But my dad had answered the door and muttered something about not picking up because he was asleep. He learned his lesson that day and every morning after than one, he picked up the phone on the first ring. 2. I tried to keep myself from researching stuff related to Tupac in order to find discrepancies. I wanted things to be the way I remembered. And I was afraid to find out anything that seemed like it could have been changed from what I knew. But sometimes, I found myself scrolling through Wikipedia pages and getting lost in the details of what had happened to ‘Pac that night. I knew that once I got back to work, my mind would be too occupied to focus on what might be different. But work was an issue too. I couldn’t bring myself to really get back into work. I’d taken a few weeks off to get the house ready and start renovating the basement to move my company in. But I’d spent so much time away from my work that it felt foreign to me. A few days after I returned, my project manager sent over a fat packet with the plans and blueprints for a small office building we were remodeling into loft spaces in Union Square. I had been so excited to get the project. And now I was petrified to even look through the paperwork. “I can go over this with you if you want,” Eliot said, bringing coffee into the dining room and pointing at the packet I had been eyeing. “I would like that,” I said, reaching for the coffee mug he was offering. “You would?”

Eliot’s face was incredulous. “Yeah. I would,” I said. “Why wouldn’t why I?” “Eh,” said Eliot, shrugging his shoulders. “I like to think I know a little bit about the building side of things. But you usually don’t want my help.” “I don’t just want your help,” I said to Eliot. “I need it.” Eliot spread out the paperwork on the dining room table and we began to discuss the project. Within an hour I felt my mojo coming back and I was even able to start jotting down notes and ideas in the margins of the project breakdown. “Was I helpful?” Eliot asked, as I rolled up the blueprints and he took the mugs into the kitchen. “Immensely,” I said, sighing with relief. Eliot stopped and turned around. “You really mean that don’t you?” Eliot asked. Eliot’s reaction hurt me. Had I really made him feel less-than about his work? I thought Eliot was brilliant and I knew we made a great team. But its true that I could be bossy and overbearing when it came to the building side of things. “I absolutely mean that,” I said to Eliot. “Thank you.” Eliot had a smile on his face but his eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. Finally he turned to go into the kitchen and shrugged his shoulders again. “I’ll take it,” he said.

# Every night, Eliot disappeared into the bedroom to watch television and read. And every night, I felt my heartbeat quicken as I tried to decide what to do. I had been back for TK. And Eliot and I still hadn’t made love. For Eliot, it had been TK since the last time we had sex. But for me, it had been even longer. I’d never been intimate with any of the other Eliots but I had been close to it with the last version of Eliot that took me to Coachella. Just thinking about it creeped me out. When I was traveling, those guys didn’t seem like the “real” Eliot. And now that I was back, the real Eliot felt like a different person too. Each night, as I heard Eliot start going up the steps, I got antsy and fidgety. Did he want to do something? Was he wondering why I wasn’t making a move? I barely went three days without jumping his bones so I knew he had to notice something was off. But he wasn’t saying anything and I didn’t even get a vibe from him that he felt anything was amiss. If he was still awake when I got in bed, he’d point out something funny on television and we’d fall into a conversation for hours until we fell asleep. If he was already asleep when I came upstairs, he immediately pulled me close as soon as I curled up next to him and I’d wake up to him kissing me before jumping in the shower. At the start of my TK month back, I knew something was off. I understood why I was still skittish. But I needed to know why he was okay with that.

“It’s been a minute since boom chikka boom,” I said to Eliot one night after I climbed into bed next to him. He pulled me close, kissed my neck and then reached across me for the remote and began flicking throughout the channels. “Um. You okay with that?” I asked. “Wait,” said Eliot. “I gotta brush my teeth.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead before getting up and walking towards the bathroom. “So the whole no-boom-chukka-boom thing?” I called out to him. “Don’t worry about it Jamie,” said Eliot. I sat up straight. My head started throbbing and I put my fingers to my temples to think. Why did what Eliot had just said freak me out? It came to me quickly: in one of my Traveling episodes, Eliot had said the exact same thing. But in that reality, he knew me as a Traveler. Or at least, as some crazy chick who thought she was a Traveler. I jumped out of bed and followed Eliot to the bathroom. “Why shouldn’t I worry?” I asked. “Don’t you want to do it?” “Of course I do,” said Eliot, reaching for his toothbrush. “But it’s okay.” “I’m worried because you’re not worried,” I said. “It’s just that— “It’s just what Eliot?” I pleaded. Eliot walked over to me and led me back into the bedroom and motioned for me to sit. I backed up to the wall and crossed my arms over my chest. “After the conversation we had,” Eliot said, “About having a baby…”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I remembered now that things had been tense before I Traveled the first time because of the ongoing Great Baby Debate that had been raging since we got married. My life had been so bent on survival and trying to change the past that I’d forgotten all about what Eliot and I had struggled with in terms of our future. “How do you feel about it?” Eliot asked. “About the whole baby thing.” “I have to be honest,” I said. “My mind has been all over the place. I haven’t really evaluated where I stand.” It was true, I hadn’t thought about it at all. But in that moment, the very idea of not wanting to have a baby seemed laughable to me. Why the hell not have a baby with this man?! “So do it now,” Eliot said. “Do what now?” “Evaluate where you stand.” “I want to do it,” I said, with no hesitation. “I want to have a baby with you.” A slow smile crept over Eliot’s face. “Really?” “Yes,” I whispered, my eyes closed. “Really.” Eliot walked over to me and put his arms around my waist. When he kissed me, my knees almost buckled. I didn’t realize just how much I’d miss this part of him until he was there, touching me, slowly pushing me up against the wall of our bedroom. Eliot picked me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He was breathing so heavy that I thought maybe I was too heavy for him.

“Do I need to lose a few pounds,” I whispered. Eliot lifted me higher and then pulled back just enough to lock eyes with me. “No,” he said. His face was dead serious. And I could tell that the last thing on his mind was how much I weighed. Usually, when Eliot and I made love, I closed my eyes tight. But this time, I needed to see him. All of him. After he leaned me onto the bed, we both began to help each other out of our clothes, pulling off pants and peeling shirts over our heads. “I miss you so much Jamie,” Eliot kept whispering over and over as he kissed me. And then, he stopped. “What’s wrong,” I asked. Eliot laid on the bed and pulled me close to him. I pulled away to look at him. “You don’t want to do it?” “Do you really want to have a baby Jamie?” “I mean, Eliot, I doubt it would happen today but— “No, I know,” said Eliot. “It’s just… I really want to know. Because if you do… then starting now, it’s just different. Y’know?” I straddled Eliot and kissed him on his neck. “Yes,” I said. “I know.” Eliot pulled me down to his chest and then rolled me over until I was on my side facing him. “Just come here,” said Eliot, hugging me close. “Let’s just chill out for now.” I squirmed and tried to hug Eliot but he held

me tight and I couldn’t move. “Stop,” Eliot said, his face soft. When I stopped moving, he kissed me. “Not tonight,” he said. “Are you sure?” Eliot nodded, his eyes closed. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I’m sure.” I moved as close to Eliot as I could and held him. It wouldn’t be the first time one of us had put boom chika chika time on hold. When we first started dating, the night it seemed like It was going to happen, I told him I couldn’t do it. I just wasn’t ready. He didn’t bat an eye. Even though things had gotten super hot and heavy at that point. He folded me up in his arms the same he was doing right now and we went to sleep. And in the morning, it was on. It was as if we’d been rehearsing in our sleep all night. On our wedding night, it was Eliot who asked for a raincheck. We were both tipsy. We only had four hours before our flight left for our honeymoon and we were both anxious and keyed-up from the festivities. I thought it was my duty to make it happen on our wedding night but I had been surprisingly relieved when Eliot told me to just get some sleep. And the next morning, before we hopped on that flight, it was on. And so it was, I lay with my Eliot, waiting for sleep to take us both. And rehearsing for the morning in my mind… # I felt the heat of the sun on my face and

turned away from it, burrowing deeper into the sheets, not ready to be fully awake. I slipped back into a light sleep but could feel Eliot stirring nearby. It was these early morning moments I loved best. When we were both on the cusp of waking up and our bodies were doing their best to bring us around in sync with one another. It was as if we were communicating with one another on an innate level that went beyond consciously waking up and then poking someone and saying hey you up? Lets get

brunch. And then with no warning, an ice cold fear enveloped me and I couldn’t figure out why. My heart just suddenly felt heavy, like something I couldn’t remember was weighing me down. It felt like the day after my grandmother died. I woke up that morning feeling weighed down and heavy and couldn’t figure out why. And then it popped into my head: my grandmother had died the night before. It was the first time I had been able to feel an emotion deep in my subconscious. I woke up knowing something was wrong on a visceral level, even though my conscious mind wasn’t fully awake. While I was trying to figure out why I had that heavy feeling, it melted away when Eliot began kissing my neck. He pulled me deeper into the bedding, rolled me over to my back and then began moving from one side of my neck to the other. A brush of satiny fabric came across my cheek and I realized he was blindfolding me. This was a new one. Once again, it was about to be on. I could feel him growing inside his boxers and when I touched him he groaned so heavily that I jumped. He chuckled and squeezed me closer to him.

Eliot began to get up and I protested, still buried under the covers with my eyes covered. But I felt him put a finger to my lips as he shushed me. In a moment, I heard water running in the bathroom. I smiled when I realized it was the bathtub and not the shower. I was always begging Eliot to take a bath with me and he always complained about being too tall to fit. In the brownstone, there was no excuse. Our bathroom was ginormous and the claw foot bathtub was big enough for four people to fit in comfortably. I sat up and stretched. I peeled the blindfold off and then I froze, my arms still stretched out and my mouth still wide in mid-yawn. I was looking at the ocean. Directly in front of me, where they should have been a wall, and beyond that, a hallway and a stairwell, there was instead, a full twenty feet of floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped around the room. And beyond those windows was nothing but blue ocean water as far as I could see. White waves were crashing against an empty beach with white sand. What the fuck. I looked around. I was in an all-white room that was twice the size of our brownstone bedroom. There were white-washed hardwood floors, white walls, white picture frames with black and white close up photos of people I didn’t recognize. All white bedding and all white furniture. The room looked like it had been plucked right out of a fancy home design magazine. Either that, or it was a high end hotel at a beachfront resort. “Baby?” I yelled out. “What’s going on?”

“Come in the bathroom.” I got out of the bed and ran to the closest wall, as if I wasn’t sure if the whole place would just cease to exist—or I could end up somewhere else— if I wasn’t physically holding on to something. I crept along the wall in the bedroom, following the sound of the voice I heard. Were Eliot and I now traveling together? What the hell was going on? Was this some kind of alternate reality where we were super rich? How? Why? I got to the end of the wall, just before the bathroom. I heard humming and then the pop of what sounded like a champagne bottle being opened. “Jamie!” the voice yelled out. I clasped my hands under my chin and prayed:

Please god. PLEASE. Please do not let this happen to me. Please oh please oh— “Jay? Where you at?” I straightened my back and walked a few steps closer to the bathroom door. With my hand on the doorknob, I took a deep breath and pushed it in. There was ‘Pac, laid out in the tub, covered in bubbles up to his neck. He held a champagne flute in each hand and his arms were fully outstretched. “Happy Anniversary baby,” said ‘Pac. “Now get them clothes off and get in here.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 29 The first thing I felt was the chill on my temples. I put my hand up to touch the side of my head and there was an ice pack resting there. I opened my eyes slowly and tried to pull myself up to a sitting position. My head was throbbing and my entire body was aching on the left side. I felt like I’d been in a boxing ring or some kind of car accident. “Jay?” I turned towards the sound of the voice. ‘Pac was sitting in an easy chair in the corner of the bedroom, facing the ocean view. He got up and came over to the side of the bed and took the ice pack off.

“You had me worried baby,” said Pac. He leaned in towards me and I screamed, moving back as quickly as I could. “Don’t touch me,” I said. “Please.” “What’s wrong?” ‘Pac asked. “Nothing,” I said. I got up from the bed and looked around for a way to escape. “I need water,” I said. ‘Pac stood up. “Lay down,” he said. “I’ll tell Mona to bring some up.” Before I could protest, ‘Pac walked over to the wall of windows and slid a door across. There was a deck right off the bedroom that looked like it wrapped around the entire house. ‘Pac stood on the deck and looked over the side of the house. “Mona?” ‘Pac yelled out, waving his hands around. “Can you send some ice water up?” Pac turned to me. “You want some tea?” Pac asked. “No,” I said. ‘Pac scrunched his eyebrows and made a face at me before turning back towards the deck. “And some tea too please? Yes. Lemon and honey. Thanks Mona.” Pac walked back inside and was sliding the door shut when someone called out his name. He went back out onto the deck and looked down again. “Yes, she’s okay. She just woke up. I’ll send her down a little later.” ‘Pac closed the glass doors and walked over to where I stood. “Bela wants us to have lunch with them today. Are you up to it?”

“Bela?” I asked. “My dad?” “You know anyone else named Bela?” “No,” I said, my voice choking on the word. “No I don’t.” Tears began to stream down my face and I sank down to the hardwood floors and curled my body up in a tight ball. ‘Pac was at my side within seconds. I sat up and swatted him away. “I said don’t touch me!” I yelled out, shrinking closer to the wall. I began sobbing and didn’t bother to try to hold it together anymore. ‘Pac moved back, stunned. “What did I do Jay?” he asked. “Are you mad at me?” This just made me cry even harder. “No no no no,” Pac said. “Don’t cry. Just tell me what to do. Tell me what’s wrong? I’ll help you. Don’t you know that?” I covered my mouth and nodded. “I just need a minute,” I said. “Can you… leave. Just for a minute.” ‘Pac opened his mouth to protest but I closed my eyes tight and put my hands over my ears. “Please Pac,” I begged. “Just give me a minute. Please.” I couldn’t tell if he was leaving or not. I stayed in a ball on the floor with my hands over my ears. I waited as long as I could and then unfurled my body and sat up straight. The room was empty and I could hear ‘Pac telling someone to leave the beverages outside the door. I stood up and walked to the glass doors but couldn’t bring myself to open them. My parents were down there? Where was Eliot? Why was this happening

again? I sat down on the bed to think. Last night, I was in bed with Eliot. Everything had finally seemed semi-normal. I had been back in my regular reality for TK. ‘Pac was gone and I had made my peace with that. I was with my Eliot and my dad was alive too. For the first time in a long time, I felt centered. Like I knew where I belonged. And now this. I inched over to the mirror in the bathroom and slowly leaned over to look at myself. My hair was the most shocking thing and my hands flew up to touch it. One side of my hair was shaved low and the other side had a funky spiky cut with blonde tips. This was not a hairstyle I concocted in my bathroom watching YouTube videos. I paid someone good money, regularly, to keep up with a complicated style like this. I ran my hands through my hair and then exhaled. I went back to the bedroom and walked around, chewing my cuticles. I leaned in to get a closer look at the two poster-sized black and white portraits on the wall above the bed. I clapped my hands over my mouth when I realized that the one on the left was me. I was naked, my arms crossed over my breasts. My head was tilted upwards and the shot captured mostly my chin, bare shoulders and neck and a bit of the swell of my cleavage. There was only one detail in color—a thin gold band on my ring finger. The other picture was Pac. I couldn’t see his face at all. The picture was mostly just his neck and bare torso. His hands were also folded over his chest. Again, there was one tiny detail that was in

color— a gold wedding band on his ring finger. “Jay? Can I come back in?” I turned to the door and began to back away. “No,” I said. “Not yet.” “Jamie, I have to show you something.” “NO!” I yelled out. “Listen to me,” ‘Pac said softly. “I’m going to leave something here at the door that I want you to see. And then I’m going to leave. And I promise you’ll be ready to talk to me once you read it.” I was silent. After a moment, I heard a sheaf of papers being dropped near the door. “It’s right on this tray near the tea,” ‘Pac said. I could tell he was leaning close to the door so that I could hear him. I could hear other people talking and laughing in the distance and it sounded like he was trying to whisper to me. “Please come out and see,” ‘Pac said. Then I heard his footsteps as he left. For a full twenty minutes, I sat on the floor and stared at the door. I couldn’t bring myself to open it and see what he’d left. But until I did, I wasn’t going to be able to do anything else either. I really wanted to close my eyes and wake up at home but I knew better than to think I could make that happen. I didn’t trust my body enough to get up and walk over to the door. I felt so wobbly that I was sure I’d fall flat on my face after two steps. Instead, I crawled on the floor to the door. I got up on my knees and turned the doorknob. I pulled it open as slowly as I could, keeping my head behind the door so I couldn’t see anything until I absolutely had to. I could see a silver tray on the floor with a

teapot, two teacups, a saucer with lemon slices and a tiny honey container shaped like a bear. Next to the teapot, a few sheets of paper that looked like they had ripped out of a spiral binder. I darted my hand out, grabbed the papers, slammed the door, locked it and fast-crawled back to the other side of the room. I clutched the papers to my chest and closed my eyes, taking time to catch my breath and start inhaling and exhaling normally. “Jamie?” I jumped up and then tripped and fell into the settee near the sliding glass doors. I twisted my ankle and yelped out in pain. “Go away,” I said. “No,” said Pac. I could hear him slide down to the floor. “Look at the papers.” “I can’t right now,” I said. “I’ll wait.” In each reality, my parents and Eliot were just slightly different in a few ways. But in every reality, ‘Pac was stubborn and forceful. I peeled the papers away from my chest and wiped my eyes so that I could focus. On the first page was something that looked like a diary entry: DateTK I don’t know why I haven’t told Jamie about the dreams. I knew she would help me figure them out. I think I’m concerned about freaking her out. And something makes me think that I’ll know when it will be time to tell her.

I turned that page over and started reading the next. Date TK I read something from TK today. There’s a theory that we communicate with our subconscious through our dreams. And TK believes we may be able to communicate with others through our dreams as well. What if Jamie is having the same kinds of dreams I’ve been having? Wouldn’t she tell me if she had those kind of insane dreams? I guess she could be thinking the same exact same thing about me. There was a soft knock on the door. I stopped reading and just looked at the door. “Just skip to the last page,” ‘Pac whispered. I exhaled and flipped the pages back. On the last page: Date TK So last night was very vivid. The dream ended with me sitting down writing about the dream. I woke up and thought I’d written it down already. I was looking all around for the paper and then I realized I’d only dreamt that I wrote it down. I was watching Jamie in my dream again. Although she looked different. Kind of… plain. And a little chubby. But she was still Jamie. She was married to Eliot and they lived in a brownstone in Brooklyn. There was some kind of tension when it came to me but I can’t remember exactly what that was about. So Jamie goes to sleep with Eliot and

then she wakes up here in TKCalabasas with me and— I stopped reading. “Where am I right now,” I said to the door. “Calabasas,” Pac said. I swallowed and fought back tears and then went back to the journal entry: —she wakes up in our bedroom, she’s confused. And she thinks she’s time traveling again but she thinks she and Eliot are time traveling together. And then she sees me in the tub and I say Happy Anniversary and she passes out right on the bathtub floor. So this year, when our anniversary comes up, I’m going to re-create the dream and see what happens. If she really does pass out when I say Happy Anniversary— I’ll know this dream journal is some serious shit. I sighed and placed the papers on the floor. “When did you write that,” I said to the door. “Let me in,” said Pac. “No,” I said. “Just tell me. When did you write that.” “I’m not telling you anything until you let me in.” I groaned and crawled back over to the door. “Don’t open it until I tell you to,” I said. “Okay.” “Promise?” I asked. “Promise, said ‘Pac. I unlocked the door and ran to the bathroom. I

closed the door, locked it and then sat with my back against it. “Now?” I heard ‘Pac yelled out. “Yeah,” I yelled back. The door creaked open and then closed. I could hear Pac walk in and then stop. “Where are you?” he asked. “When did you write that?” I asked. I could heard Pac walking towards the bathroom. He tried the doorknob and when he realized it was locked, I could hear him settling on the floor. I felt a slight pressure on the other side of the door. “A few years ago,” he said. His voice sounded as if it were sitting right in front of me, which he was. “Years?” I asked. “Yeah,” said ‘Pac. “And every year on our anniversary, I do the exact same thing.” “What exact same thing,” I asked. “I get in the tub with some Champagne. Tell you to come inside. And then I say Happy Anniversary baby.” “And then what happens?” I asked. “Every year you smile and take your clothes off and get in the tub and wear me out for an hour.” I started coughing so hard that I could feel blood vessels popping in my eyes and I couldn’t catch a full breath. “Jamie?!” Pac yelled out, shaking the doorknob. “Jamie open the door!” I waved my hands even though I knew he couldn’t see me. I focused on catching my breath

and in a few moments I was able to stop coughing. I stayed in place, clutching my hand over my chest. “Jamie open the door,” said Pac. “Now.” “No.” “We can’t help you if you’re gonna lock yourself in here.” “We who?” Pac hesitated. “I mean, I can’t help you.” “I don’t want any help right now.” “Well. I need help.” “With what.” “Understanding why something I dreamt years ago just happened this morning.” I was silent. In a moment, I heard a key turning in the lock. The door opened and Pac was standing in the doorway, looking down at me, still crouched in a far corner of the bathroom. “If you had a key all this time why didn’t you use it?” I asked. “I wanted you to let me in. Not force my way in.” “I didn’t let you in,” I said. “Yeah. So I had to force my way in.” “Nice,” I said. ‘Pac rolled his eyes and walked over to me. He knelt down next to me and put his hand on my head. “Hey,” he said. “Hey.” “You want to talk?” “Not really.” “What can I do?” he asked. “You could build me a time machine that goes back and forth through time and can make lateral

moves into different realities. After you build it, send me to a 2012 where my husband wears clothes that are too big for him, my dad is very much alive and TKs and YOU are dead. Can you do that?” ‘Pac glared at me. “You want me to be dead?” I stood up and dusted of the bottom of my pants. “Yup. I want to live in a world where you got shot up by some TKs because your dumb ass started some shit at The Grand.” I saw ‘Pac’s lower lip start to quiver and his teeth were clenched. “Word?” he said. I nodded. “I want to live in a world where you lived a short but passionate life,” I said. “And now, years later, I am healed. I want to live in a world where I miss you terribly but I’m moving on with my life with my awesome husband. And you continue to be beloved by your fans, young and old.” ‘Pac was silent. I stared at him, my hands on my hips. “So? Can you do that?” I asked. “I definitely can’t do that,” Pac said. “Well then,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Then there’s nothing you can do to help me.” “What did you just say,” Pac whispered. “About The Grand?” ‘Pac stared at me, his body very still. I could see his chest heaving a bit as he inhaled and exhaled. “You said something about an alternate reality,” said ‘Pac. “And me getting— Me getting

hurt at—” “Not just hurt,” I spat. “Killed. Shot in your TK and TK and TK. With bullets grazing your TK and TK. On your deathbed for— “—For seven days,” Pac whispered. “And then dying on the 13th of September.” I smiled. “Oh, so you know this alternate reality I’m trying to get back to?” ‘Pac rushed over to me, grabbed my upper arm and slammed me against the wall next to the sliding glass doors. “There’s nothing funny about this,” he yelled in my face. “You shouldn’t be reading my shit.” “What the hell are you talking about? Let go of me.” I twisted and turned to get out of ‘Pac’s grasp but he was much too strong. He barely had to put any energy into keeping me up against the wall. “That story about getting shot on the strip after leaving The Grand,” ‘Pac said. “That’s one of the dreams in my journal.” “Welp,” I said. “One man’s dreams is another woman’s reality.” ‘Pac shook my arm so hard that my whole body flopped around. “This ain’t a fucking joke, Jamie,” Pac said, his face in a tight snarl. He shook me again and the back of my head connected with the wall with a deep thwack. “What the hell do you want from me?” I asked. “Do you really think I read your journal? Is that what’s happening right now? You know better than

that.” I tried once more to snatch my arms out of ‘Pac’s grasp and this time it worked. I pushed him away and walked to the other side of the room. “Here’s what’s happening,” I said. “YOUR dreams? The ones in your little dream journal? They are MY stone-cold reality. Just like in your dream journal, I went to sleep last night in Harlem, with my husband. And I woke up here with a spiky haircut and a husband who is NOT my husband.” I watched ‘Pac’s face as he absorbed what I was saying. I knew this moment well. He was either going to believe me and start freaking out. Or he was going to call the men with the straight jackets to take me to a padded room. Or both. Pac covered his mouth with one hand and rubbed it backed and forth. Then he went to the bed and sat down, reaching over to a locked safe on his nightstand. He opened it, pulled out a journal and closed his eyes. He flipped to a random page and with his eyes still closed, he ran a finger down the page and stopped. He opened his eyes and looked down and read briefly, his mouth moving fast. “Okay,” Pac said, closing the journal. “I once had a dream that I was shot in Vegas. But I lived. And I ended up in jail for life for killing the dude that tried to kill me. I’m at MCC. And one day, you come to visit me. And you told me that I came to you in your dreams and told you not to buy a brownstone in Brooklyn. You bought it anyway. And then you fell asleep in the attic and found yourself traveling back through time…” I stood there, nodding my head as ‘Pac spoke. In another space and time, I would have been

running around this room screaming bloody murder. But now? I was over it. Life stopped making sense long ago. And now I just went with it. “You look like you know what I’m talking about,” Pac said. “I do indeed.” “You read my dream journal?” Pac asked. “No.” “Then how do you know?” “Because you just described something that really happened to me,” I said. “I went back in time. Tried to make it so that you’d escape getting killed. But when I returned to the present, you were in jail. And in that new reality, I came to see you in jail. And you said you’d been dreaming about me coming to the jail for years.” ‘Pac squinted and squeezed his temples with his palms. “Slow down,” he said, shaking his head back and forth. “I can’t process this.” I was finally ready to be less than ten feet away from ‘Pac. I walked over to where he sat slumped on the bed. His feet were on the floor but his upper body was splayed on the bed. I sat down next to him and squeezed his shoulder. “Want to try to figure this out?” I asked Pac. Pac climbed all the way into bed and then pulled the covers over his head. “Not really,” he mumbled. “Well. We have to. So get up and lets see that dream journal of yours.” “Wait,” Pac said. “I need something to drink.”

“What’s her name? Mona?” ‘Pac nodded, his eyes closed. I walked out to the deck and leaned over the side. “Mona can we get a drink up here for ‘Pac? “Yes ma’am,” I heard a woman’s voice say. “Ginger ale? Iced tea?” I looked over at ‘Pac, who was rolling around on the bed, groaning. “Just make it a double shot of Hennessy,” I said. “No ice.” ‘Pac whipped the blankets off his face and sat up. “You know I don’t drink!” ‘Pac said. I snorted and shook my head. “Nope, I didn’t know that. The last time we hashed out my time travel tales, you drank like a fish as I explained.” Pac groaned and pulled the covers back over his head. I went back out to the deck. “Make that a triple shot of Henny,” I yelled down to whoever this Mona person was. “A triple?!” she said. “Yeah, thanks.” I closed the sliding doors and ‘Pac was sitting up straight. “I am not drinking a triple-shot of anything,” he said. “Yeah I know,” I said. “That’s for me.” # After an hour of non-stop talking, (and three double-shots of Hennessy for me), I asked ‘Pac to

clear out the house so I could leave the bedroom and move the conversation to another room of the house. He nodded and left. He came back minutes later and told me the whole house was empty. I walked into a closet that was the width of a goodsized bedroom and looked around at what I supposed were my clothes. Seeing all the brand named stuff and trendy outfits made me feel a little queasy. I kept my eyes on the floor, found a pair of flipflops and followed ‘Pac out of the bedroom. “You don’t want to look around?” Pac asked. I shook my head. “Not really.” “You decorated the whole house. Did a really good job with it.” Before I could respond, ‘Pac grabbed my shoulder because I was about to take a tumble down a winding staircase I hadn’t noticed since my eyes were practically closed. He began to lead me down the stairs while I kept my eyes clenched tight. “In one of my dreams, you were in California with Eliot,” Pac said. “And you were freaked out because you kept seeing the same guy everywhere you went.” I stopped on the steps, gripping Pac’s hand, my eyes still shut. “You were holding on to Eliot just like this. With your eyes closed. Because you didn’t want to see the guy. And then you stood up straight and faced it all head on.You told Eliot you didn’t want to live that way— head bowed and body hunched over.” I let go of Pac’s hands, stood up straight and opened my eyes. I was standing at the mid-way

point of a grand staircase that led to an openfloor plan on the first floor. Straight ahead were more floor-to-window ocean views. The mansion seemed like it was on a private island because from every window I only saw empty pristine white beaches: no people or signs of people. The first floor was all-white as well. The floors, draperies, furniture, artwork, lighting, it was all a bright white that reflected the sun and made the space seem even larger. The only color for as far as my eye could see were fresh flowers in each room, mostly in shades of blue and tan to match the surf and turf view. “I need another drink,” I whispered as I looked around the palatial living room. “Let’s go in the kitchen,” Pac said. “It’s smaller. Less distracting.” I nodded and followed. “This is what you call small” I said to Pac. There were two side by side Sub Zeros and a foodprep island made of solid wood with built in burners running the length of the kitchen. There were not one but two informal eating areas on either side of the center-island. Including the stools that were tucked beneath the island, there was enough room for at least 25 people to sit and eat comfortably in that kitchen. “I mean, no. It’s not small,” said Pac, swinging open a refrigerator that was at least nine feet tall. “But compared to the place in Montecito its modest.” “The place in Montecito?” I asked. ‘Pac looked at me with a guilty expression. “Oh. Yeah… We didn’t talk about Montecito?”

“No,” I said. “We didn’t talk about Montecito.” ‘Pac disappeared into the refrigerator and came out with a carafe of something with fresh fruit floating inside of it. He splashed a healthy size amount in a heavy glass tumbler. “Sangria,” said Pac. “Mona makes it. You love it.” I gulped down half the glass and stopped for a breather before draining the rest of it. ‘Pac took my empty glass and refilled it to the top. I grabbed it and gulped again. “Am I an alcoholic?” I asked Pac. Pac shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “But you like your firewater.” “What’s up with Montecito?” I asked. “That’s where we live.” “This is not our house?” “It is,” said ‘Pac. “But it’s not our main place.” “Are you telling me this is our vacation home?” ‘Pac scratched his head. “I mean, we’re only an hour away so I wouldn’t call it a vacation home…” I waved my hand to silence ‘Pac. “I need to talk about something else,” I said. ‘Pac gestured to the island and I pulled out a stool and sat down. He took out the journal and opened it. Once again, he closed his eyes and flipped the pages. He stopped flipping and then jabbed a finger on the page without opening his

eyes. He looked at the page and read silently. Then he slammed it shut. “Okay. I only had this dream once. It was scary as hell because it felt so real. I was driving in a car with you and Bela in Vegas. Don’t remember why. And then this car pulls up and I turn to look and then bam I’m somewhere else.” “In a dusty attic,” I whispered, rubbing the top of my glass with my finger. “Yeah,” said Pac. “In a dusty attic. And then you show up. And you’re freaking out. But I don’t remember why…” “I was freaking out because I had traveled to the past and then I returned and I thought things were normal. Until I went to sleep one night and you appeared in the attic.” Pac closed his eyes. “Right. And for you, that really happened.” “For me, everything you wrote in your dream journal really happened.” “You have to some kind of theory on what’s happening.” “I don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I really have no idea what’s going on.” “I don’t believe that.” “Why not?” “I just don’t. I know you. You have thoughts on this.” “I’m done with you and that journal,” I said. “I have stuff I need to know from you.” ‘Pac swiped the sangria carafe off the counter and turned to put it away. Instead of coming back to the island where I was sitting when he was done, he walked towards a small deck off the kitchen.

“Is there a deck off every room of this house?” I asked. “Yeah. That’s what you wanted.” “Pac, why are you okay with this?” “Okay with what?” “This. Me. I’m not the wife you went to bed with last night.” ‘Pac looked like he was trying really hard to keep his face neutral. But there was something beneath. “Believe me, I get it,” said ‘Pac. “ Because last night you—I mean my wife—we um…” “STOP IT,” I yelled out. I jumped down off the stool and walked into the living room and threw myself down on a fluffy white couch. I felt ‘Pac sit down on the other side of the couch. “I’m sorry,” said ‘Pac. “I’m really sorry. This is hard for me too.” “But you do believe me?” “How could I not?” asked Pac. “Other times…. People think…” “That you’re insane?” “Yes.” “Well you’re not. I see that something’s off.” “Am I that much different than the Jamie you know?” “I don’t know,” said Pac. “I just know that the Jamie Belafonte Shakur that I married in TK is a big fan of our anniversary bath ritual. And you are unfamiliar. So something’s up. “I asked you very nicely not to go there,” I said. “It’s not just that,” said ‘Pac. “It’s the

journal. You know everything in my dream journal. And I’ve never shared it with anyone.” While I pondered this, I felt the Heavy seeping back inside me. Several times since I’d been in this reality I’d get this squeezing sensation in my chest. Something was very wrong. But my brain wasn’t yet processing it. I tried to explain it to ‘Pac but I couldn’t do a very good job of it. “You’re doing it again,” Pac said, pointing to me. I looked down and saw my hands clutching my chest. “Are you hurt?” he asked. “No,” I said. “I mean I don’t think so. I just feel— Something feels off.” ‘Pac opened his arms and beckoned me. “Can you come here?” I shook my head. “No,” I said quickly. “I can’t do that.” Pac dropped his hands and nodded. “I understand.” I focused on the heaviness for a few moments and then tried to let it go. “I need to rest,” I said, laying back on the couch. “I have to— I mean do you want to…” “What is it?” I asked Pac. “I have some things I need to do. But I feel weird carrying on with my day when you’re here and going through this.” “If the past is any indication, I’ll be here for at least a few days,” I said. “So by all means, act normal.”

“Do you mean that?” “I do.” As if on cue, a cell phone that had been resting on the coffee table buzzed. ‘Pac looked down at it and then up at me. “That’s actually your phone,” Pac said. I looked down and saw the name MONA flashing. “It’s Mona,” I said. “I don’t even know who that is. I can’t answer that.” ‘Pac picked up the phone and then stood up and began speaking. He walked over to a door and opened it up just enough to take something from someone standing on the other side of it. He brought a package over to me on the couch and set it down carefully. It was addressed to

Tupac Amaru Shakur c/o Jamie Belafonte Shakur. “I don’t know anything about who you are,” I said to Pac. “I’m assuming this package would tell me.” “Probably.” I sat up straight and pushed the package away. “I need to find out from you. Not random packages.” Pac shrugged. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” “Just answer some questions for me,” I said. “Shoot.” “Every other time I’ve Traveled, your life has been exactly the same up until September 7, 1996.” “Okay.” “So what happened to you on that day?” Pac stared at me with a blank look on his

face. “Hel-lo” I said, leaning over and waving my hand in his face. “Oh,” Pac said, “I’m sorry. You really don’t — “You said you believed me,” I said to Pac. “All of this is new to me.” “Right, right,” Pac said. “I do believe you. It just still catches me off guard.” “I can imagine,” I said. “Okay. So September 7th1996, I was at The Grand. You came up to me and told me not to go with Suge to the club. Said you have a bad feeling about it.” I nodded and gestured for ‘Pac to keep talking. “I gave in and we hung out at the hotel with Kidada and TK.” “We did?” I asked. “Yeah. Why?” “Never mind, keep going.” “The next day we went to TK to have breakfast with your dad and he didn’t seem like he was doing well. We took him to the doctor and it turned out he had a mild heart attack. Everything turned out fine and he’s healthy as an ox.” I swallowed hard and nodded my head. “So. Um. September 7th is also our anniversary.” Pac said. “That same year?” I asked. Pac shook his head. “Nah, that year you were still with… Eliot,” Pac said. “We got married a few years later.” “So why did we get married on September 7th?”

I asked. “Well, we’ve never really discussed this out loud…” Pac said. “But I think it’s because I realized that night that I had feelings for you that went beyond what I knew growing up. Although on some level I think I always knew.” “You always knew what?” “Jay, I’ve been in love with you since I was 12.” The Heavy hit me again and this time it was so intense that I couldn’t take a breath or even swallow. Pac came over to me and wrapped his arms around me. The love I felt for him that coursed through me as he held me was visceral and intense. I opened my arms and hugged him back as hard as I could. “You don’t feel that way about me do you?” Pac asked. I kept my arms around him and shook my head. “No,” I whispered. “I don’t.” Pac peeled my hands off his neck and held them. “It’s okay. Took me a while to bring you around in this world too.” I smiled and ‘Pac smiled back. His gaze was too intense and I had to look down. I turned my wrist a bit and noticed what looked like a tattoo. I snatched my hands away and turned my wrist around. “What is this?” I asked, thrusting my wrist into his face. “That’s the— We both have. Um, it’s from— ‘Pac stood up and began to pace. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“Just tell me,” I said, my eyes still on my wrist. “Please.” ‘Pac came back and knelt down in front of me. He took my hand and turned my wrist around and lined it up with his own wrist. We both had the same tattoo: the letters LAS in a scroll-like script circling our wrists. “What’s LAS?” I asked. ‘Pac looked down and rubbed my wrist over and over. I remained silent, waiting for him to speak. Minutes went by and he was still rubbing my wrist but not speaking. I felt drops of moisture dripping onto my arm and I turned my neck to the side to look up at Pac. He had his lips pursed together tight. He was crying. “What is it ‘Pac?” I asked. “Our son,” Pac said. He began crying, audibly this time. All I could do was move my arm from his lap and hug him. He grabbed me back so hard that I fell back on the sofa. He tightened his grip around my neck and rubbed my back, his body racked with sobs. “We lost our son Jamie,” ‘Pac said. “He was so beautiful. We loved him so much.” I knew what The Heaviness was. It was the pull of parenthood. My mother once told me that parenthood is having your heart walk around on the outside of your body for the rest of your life. It sounded sweet and cute but I didn’t get it until that very moment. Just like that morning after my grandmother passed away and I woke up with a heavy heart but briefly couldn’t remember why. In this world, the heaviness of losing my child was a part of me, even though I couldn’t

connect to the actual grief. “We had a son,” I whispered, more to myself than to ‘Pac. “Yes.” “What was his name?” “Lesane,” said Pac. “Lesane Amaru Shakur.” I looked back down at my wrist. “LAS,” I said. ‘Pac began crying again. I rubbed his back but I was completely numb. A son. We had a son. “Do you have pictures?” I asked. Pac cleared his throat and wiped his face with his hands. He nodded and walked across the massive living room to a wall of ceiling-high white builtin bookshelves. He pulled down what looked like a vintage book but was actually a box of photographs. Pac flipped through the pictures as he walked back over to the sofa and then stopped. “Are you sure?” Pac said. “Do you want to see?” I nodded. Pac came over to the sofa and took a few photographs out of the box and spread them out in front of me. I picked up one with my eyes closed, pulled it in front of my face and opened my eyes slowly. It was me, in a sparsely decorated bedroom. I was sitting up against a heavy wooden headboard. My hair was long and curly and I was using one hand to hold it back and out of my face. The other hand was cuddling a small bundle and attempting to shift it in the direction of the camera. I was holding a brown little boy with wide eyes that were staring at whoever was behind the camera. He was clearly just born. I looked exhausted but joyous.

“You gave birth to him here,” Pac whispered. “You didn’t want to go to a hospital. I nodded and reached for another photo. In this picture, I was kneeling down in the sand at a beach. I was holding the baby, who was now plump and grinning from ear to ear. His tiny fat feet were planted in the sand and his pudgy arms were reaching out for whoever was behind the camera. I dropped the picture and moved far away from it. “What’s wrong?” Pac asked. “I thought— When did he…” Pac watched me carefully. “What are you asking me?” he finally asked. “I thought something happened when he was… first born.” “No,” ‘Pac said, shaking his head. “We had ‘Ru for a long time.” “Ru?” I asked. “We called him ‘Ru,” Pac explained. “Short for Amaru.” “Why would you give him the first name Lesane?” I asked. ‘Pac’s mother Afeni had originally named him Lesane Parish Crooks before renaming him Tupac when he was very small. We had never been able to get a straight answer out of her on why she gave him such a basic and plebeian name before she named him after Tupac, the Inca warrior. ‘Pac had given up on figuring it out but he’d never volunteered the information about his true first name. I couldn’t imagine why he’d give his son that name. He’d never seemed too fond of it.

“Afeni finally explained where the name came from,” said Pac. “And I wanted to pass it on. We all called him Amaru though. He even called himself Amaru.” “So he could walk and talk,” I said, feeling the Heaviness grip my chest again. “Yes, baby,” Pac said. He moved around the photos in the box and pulled out an envelope. “He could write too,” he said, smiling. I picked up the envelope and turned it over. It was addressed: To MY mom. Frm AmaRU. I placed the envelope down and stood up and walked away. “Too much Pac,” I said. “Too much.” Pac picked up the envelope and held it close to his chest. “When you can,” he said. “You should read this.” I walked over to where the package addressed to me was resting. I picked it up, hesitated, and then ripped the envelope open and slid out a large packet of papers. On the very first page:

Timeless An original screenplay By Cheo Hodari Coker Directed by John Singleton Starring Tupac Shakur. “What is this?” I asked. “It’s a script. I just signed on to play the lead.” “You’re an actor?” ‘Pac’s eyebrows scrunched.

“You don’t know me to act?” “I do, yeah. But— ” “Juice?” Pac asked, pointing to a movie poster in the kitchen. “Poetic Justice,

Gridlock’d?” “Yes, yes,” I said. “I just— “Independence Day?” ‘Pac asked, “Men In Black?” “I said yea— Wait what? That’s not you!” I said. “That’s Will Smith.” “Who?” “WILL SMITH” I yelled. “WILL SMITH DID THOSE MOVIES NOT YOU!” Pac put his hands out in front of him and shushed me. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Are you talking about The Fresh Prince?” “Yes,” I said. “The Fresh Prince. After the show, he acted in movies. And he’s in Independence Day. And Men in Black.” “No,” Pac said. “Not here.” “So what happened to Will Smith?” “I have no idea” said Pac. “I think he’s on tour with some other hip-hop acts from the 80s and 90s.” I exhaled slowly and flipped through the script. “So you’re doing this film with John?” “This will be our tenth film together,” he said. I looked out of one of the windows at the beach. “That’s just what he wanted,” I said. ‘Pac clapped his hands together.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s it.” “What’s it?” “We’re taking a break from this.” “Maybe you can,” I said. “But I can’t.” “Yes you can,” said Pac. “Just try.” “What do I do?” I said. “Go upstairs and pack a bag.” I walked to the bottom of the steps and began to go up. “Where are we going?” “To The Summit,” said Pac. “What’s that.” “It’s a conference thing we do in Santa Barbara every year. “We who?” I asked “All kinds of folks. Athletes, politicians, musicians.” “And do what?” “It’s like a think-tank. We give out grants for people studying things that effect our community. During election cycles, we talk about who we will endorse. That kind of thing.” “And I go every year?” “You’re the one who pushed me to launch The Summit.” “Do you still make music?” I asked. “Not lately,” said Pac. “So mostly acting?” ‘Pac held up the script. “This will actually be my first film in a while.” “So what have you been doing?” I asked. Pac opened his mouth and then closed it and scratched the back of his head. He raised his

eyebrows and let out a heavy sigh. “Well?” I asked. “I’m in politics.” He said finally. I raised one eyebrow. “You. In politics.” I said. ‘Pac smiled. “Yes. Me.” He said. “You’re like, a neighborhood councilman or something?” “I was,” Pac said. “A few years back.” “And now?” “Turn around,” Pac said, using his chin to gesture to the wall behind me. I turned to look and saw a photo of ‘Pac, staindng up straight and wearing a navy blue suit. He had one hand one a Bible and he was facing TK. I was standing next to him, the baby on my hips. “What the hell?” I said under my breath. “US Senator representing California. Elected in TK. Reelected in TK and TK.” ‘Pac bowed and then smiled. All I could do is sputter. “Get upstairs and get packed,” said ‘Pac. Flight’s leaving in an hour. “How the hell can we make a flight leaving an hour?” I said, still staring at the photo. “We don’t go to the airport, babe,” said Pac. “The airport comes to us.”

# Out of all of the alternate possibilities I’d seen since I first Traveled, the Summit was the most TKamazing. At the opening night reception, ‘Pac had to keep jabbing me in the ribs because I was doing an open-mouthed stare every time someone approached us. Oprah walks up to me like we’re old friends and kisses me on the cheek and makes small talk about the tomatoes in my garden while ‘Pac is kicking it with Stedman about some bill he’s trying to push through Congress. And then Kobe and his wife Vanessa appear, talking about a PSA they just shot encouraging fostering and adoption as part of an initiative Tupac had started. By the end of the night, I looked so out of it that ‘Pac had to excuse himself and tell some folks I was under the weather and take me back to our room. I fell asleep without even contemplating the fact that I might travel and wake up somewhere completely different. I needn’t have worried. For the next seven mornings, I woke up in the presidential suite of the TK, where we stayed each year for the Summit. I made a solemn vow to stay away from the Internet during this Traveling session. I learned everything I needed to know about my new reality organically. Which was both easier and harder. I learned things as I needed to know them, which was

helpful. And it happened slowly, I didn’t hit myself over the head with five different new truths all in one article. But of course, the more I knew, the more I needed to know. And learning things organically instead of during one all-nighter led to a lot more of open-mouth-stare moments when I found myself having drinks with POTUS and FLOTUS who kept referring to ‘Pac as “Senator Shakur.” At the closing night ceremonies for The Summit, I finally got it together enough to stay throughout the entire event without going slack jawed while standing next to someone or getting dragged away by Pac for saying something weird. A few days after we returned, I was still wandering around the Calabasas house, avoiding the people who worked there and holing up in our master bedroom suite until ‘Pac came home from whatever he did all day as a movie-star slash politician slash superhero. “I’m not going to be able to keep your parents away much longer,” Pac said one evening after he gave the secret knock on our door and I opened it enough to take a peek and confirm that it was him. “I can’t do it,” I said shaking my head. “Other times you’ve traveled,” said Pac. “Did you see them?” “Yeah,” I said. “One time I traveled I lived with my mom for TKmonths.” “So why don’t you want to see them here?” “This reality is too different,” I said. “Before, I saw them at my childhood home. Surroundings I knew well. But here… With you…” “Ah,” Pac said, nodding.

“Ah what?” “This is about Eliot,” Pac said. “What do you mean?” “You’re not married to me,” Pac said. “You’re married to him. And you’d freak out seeing how close you and I are with your parents.” “Yeah” I said, “I guess that’s part of it. ‘Pac came over to where I sat on the deck, overlooking the water. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to me. “Do you want to know where Eliot is?” I swallowed hard and tears came to my eyes. I nodded. “I do,” I said. “I miss him so much ‘Pac. I’m sorry but I do.” ‘Pac let me cry without disturbing me. When I got myself together, I looked over at him. He had his knees drawn up to his chest and he was looking down at the water. “I’m sorry,” I said, sniffing. Pac passed me a tissue. “Don’t apologize. I know how you feel about Eliot.” “You do?” I asked. “You said you’re married to him right? Isn’t that all I need to know?” “I guess,” I said. “Are you guys happy?” Pac asked. “I can’t answer that properly,” I said. “Too complicated. I’ve been with too many different versions of Eliot over the past few TKs.” “What about before you traveled,” Pac said. “Before any of this happened. Were you guys happy?” “I’d like to think so.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.” “We were struggling about whether or not to have a baby.” “Okay,” Pac said, nodding. “I could see that.” “Really?” “Yeah. With the way you wanted a baby, if he was dragging his feet at all I know you must have been— “No,” I said. “I didn’t want a baby. He did. That’s why things were tense. I didn’t want to have a baby at all. And he was hurt that I wouldn’t even consider it.” “Wow,” said Pac. “Not like that here?” I asked. Pac’s eyes widened. “Not at all,” said Pac. “The opposite actually. You got off the pill before we even got married. And you had us getting it in every single— ” I winced and turned away. Pac reached out and touched my arm. “I’m sorry,” Pac said. “I know you don’t want to hear that kind of stuff.” I nodded. “Anyway,” said Pac. “You wanted a baby more than I did. And since Ru’s been gone, you’ve been talking about having another one and I’m the one who’s not ready.” “Really?” I asked, thinking of the Heaviness and wondering if part of the intensity is because of not just loss but of the desire to have another baby. “Yes, really,” he said. “It’s been an issue

for us.” “Do I know Eliot here?” I asked. ‘Pac nodded. “Yes,” he said. “You guys aren’t close. But you know him.” “We dated.” ‘Pac exhaled. “Yes.” “Until?” “Until the 7th of September, 1996,” said ‘Pac. “Why then? What happened?” “I don’t know. You never told me the whole story. I just know we were in the hospital with Bela after we found out about his heart attack. You left to take a call from Eliot and you came back to the room in tears. You told me later that you guys broke up that day but never really went into details.” “So the day me and Eliot break up ends up becoming my wedding anniversary with you? That’s weird.” “I told you that day was big on a lot of levels. And obviously in a lot of realities.” I put my hands up, a signal we’d developed that meant I needed to take a break from time travel introspection. “So you don’t want details about Eliot either?” Pac asked. “Well. Just that.” I said. “And then that’s it for now.” “He lives in New York,” Pac began. “Where?” “In Harlem,” said Pac.

I felt my breath start to come in ragged. “Where in Harlem?” “I don’t know for sure,” said ‘Pac. “I would assume you have the info in your phone or something. He called you before he bought the place.” “Yeah?” “He and his wife— “His wife.” “Yes, he got married before we did.” “Okay. So he called me before they bought the house… “Yeah. The owner accepted a super low bid and he thought it was too good to be true.” I groaned and closed my eyes. “You okay?” asked Pac. “Finish telling me,” I said. “He sent you the specs on the house. You looked some stuff up and told him to go for it.” I nodded. “And in your world,” Pac said. “That’s the house you guys bought together?” “Yeah,” I said. “And that’s the house with the time portal in it?” “Yeah.” “And every night that you’re here, you prepare yourself to wake up in that attic. With Eliot as your husband in that house.” I nodded. “So… Jamie. Um…. It’s been TK,” said Pac. “Don’t Pac,” I said. “But what if?” “What if what?”

“What if this is it?” I got up from the deck and went inside the suite. Pac followed behind me. “You know how many times I’ve thought that?” I asked ‘Pac. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve settled down and decided that I was in the ‘right’ present?” “I know. I just think that— “What you think doesn’t matter,” I yelled. “This could be it. Or I could settle in and then wake up back in the goddamn attic! Or in 1996, trying to convince you not to get in the car with Suge!” “Jay, calm down,” ‘Pac said. “I didn’t mean to get you all worked up.” “Well you did,” I said. “You definitely did.” “You want me to give you a minute?” “Yes,” I said. Pac nodded and went to our bedroom door. Before he walked all of the way out, I called out to him. “Do I have a laptop?” I asked. Pac gave me a look of concern. “Of course you do,” he said. “Where is it?” “I tried to give it to you a long time ago,” he said. “You said you didn’t want it because when you Traveled sometimes you got obsessed with looking up stuff. And people.” “Where’s my computer?” I asked again. “Are you sure you want to— “Where. Is. It.” “Under the bed,” said Pac. “I don’t know your

password though,” said Pac. The door closed behind him just the slightest bit louder than it needed to. I went under the bed, slid out the computer and opened it. I tried my birthday and it didn’t work. I thought for a minute. It was a MacBook. It looked identical to the one I had in the original reality I’d always known. In that reality, I used my husband’s password. So in this reality, I tried Pac’s birthday as the password. It didn’t work. I tried Eliot’s birthday. And it worked.

# I stared at the monitor as the phone rang. After a few seconds, I saw a small screen pop up in the corner of the monitor. I saw myself, my hair messy and undone. I looked at my image and swiped my hands through my hair a few times. I turned away to look for my some lip balm because my lips looked dry. But as soon as I did, I heard someone call my name. “Jamie? Is that you?” I turned around and there was Eliot, smiling and waving through the monitor. “Hey El!” I said, waving back. “Good to hear from you? How’s everything? How’s ‘Pac?” “Um. He’s good.” I felt my face growing warm and a lump formed in my throat. “And I’m good too. Just figured I’d check in on you.” There was a lot of noise in Eliot’s background

and he put a hand over one of his ears and leaned closer to the computer camera. “I’m sorry,” said Eliot. “I shouldn’t have picked up. We’re having a party for Sarah. But I saw your name and I had to say hello.” I wanted to ask who Sarah was but I knew I was supposed to know so I just smiled and nodded. “You go back to the party,” I said, reaching for the mouse to close the connection. “I just wanted to say— “Wait!” Eliot said. He left the view of the computer camera and then returned to view with a little girl, about two, on his hip. He held her hand and helped her to wave it in my direction. “Say hi Amaru!” My face fell. “What’s her name?” Eliot held up a finger and then disappeared again. While he was away, ‘Pac came into the room and sat down on the bed, out of view of the computer. “His daughter was born the same day Ru passed away,” explained Pac. “He and his wife asked us if they could name her after Ru.” I nodded. Eliot came back into view. “Are you okay Jamie?” “Yes, I’m fine. Good to see you Eliot. Wife’s good?” Eliot smiled hard. “You could say that,” he said. “Just found out we have number 5 on the way.” “Oh wow Eliot that’s wonderful,” I whispered. “ She was hoping this would be another set of

twins so we could have 5 and 6 out of the way in one shot like 1 and 2.” I laughed a fake laugh that sounded real since it was joined in with Eliot’s real laugh. I glanced over at Pac who was watching me from the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. He was shaking his head back and forth like he felt sorry for me. I made a quick motion for him to get out and he mouthed the word no. “Okay Eliot, I’m going to let you go,” I said. “You didn’t tell me how ‘Pac’s doing. How was The Summit?” “He’s well,” I said, nodding. “And The Summit was great.” “I keep telling Helena that I have to do something worthy so I can get an invitation to the Summit!” Before I could respond, several small children rushed into the room Eliot was in and tried to pull him away from the table where he was sitting. Eliot tried to push them out but there were too many of them and then the little one in his arms started to cry. Someone was moving the computer around because suddenly I couldn’t see anything clearly. I could hear Eliot yelling at someone to stop touching the monitor and then I heard a woman’s voice in the distance yelling out for Eliot. I watched, transfixed, as the images blurred together and then finally went blank. “Does he seem like the Eliot you’re married to?” Pac asked after I closed the monitor. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Not at all.”

“What’s different?” “He’s lighter,” I said. “Lighter?” “He seems happier. Much more so.” “You can’t get that from one short conversation over a computer screen.” “I didn’t get it from our conversation,” I said. “It was more just from looking at him.” “What did you see?” “It was something in his eyes,” I said. “A calmness. A peacefulness. He’s happy.” I looked up at ‘Pac. “He’s truly happy,” I said, bringing my hand up to my mouth. Pac got down from the bed and came over to where I sat. “Hey. Just because he’s happy in this reality doesn’t mean he isn’t happy in yours.” “My Eliot doesn’t look like that. Trust me.” “I don’t know if you can make the kind of judgment calls you’re trying to make.” “I’m not judging anything,” I said with a shrug. “I’m just saying what I saw with my own eyes. I know all of the Eliots I’ve seen since I started Traveling. That one right there is happy. Happier than any other version I’ve seen. Including the one I’ve been married to in my mind for over ten years.” I leaned over in my chair and cried. “Why the hell am I crying every ten-minutes,” I said, wiping my face. “I’m surprised you’re not crying every ten seconds,” Pac said, coming over to where I sat and putting his arm around my neck. “What you’re going

through is insane.” I moved away from Pac and sat down on the floor near the door. “I wish I could figure out where I’m supposed to be,” I said. “Maybe there is nowhere you’re supposed to be,” said Pac. “We’re all supposed to be somewhere,” I said. “Aren’t we?” Pac shrugged. “Says who?” “So it makes sense to end up in a different reality every few months?” “Maybe,” said Pac. “Maybe wherever you are at any given moment is where you’re supposed to be.” “What kind of life is that? Waking up with a different husband, a different way of life, different relationships, a different home…” “Are you different Jamie? When you travel, are you a different person? “No. I’m always me.” “Then maybe that’s all that matters.” “Maybe.” “You know what your dad always says,” Pac said. I looked up at him. “No matter where you go—” I said. “— There you are,” said Pac.

# I stayed in Calabasas for TK. It was more time

than I’d spent anywhere since the first time I traveled. But of course, I knew better than to think this was it. I began working. ‘Pac showed me all the projects I worked on as the first lady of this life. And it was fulfilling and exciting. I sold real estate, I worked on a freelance basis as a project manager for commercial renovations. I even taught a weekend class at Cal Tech on TK-ing landmark spaces with TK protection. Pac invited me to speak Congress about preserving landmarked homes in Los Angeles and my appearance was credited with getting a bill pushed through he’d been supporting for years. I began helping plan the next Summit and spent most days online, brushing up on the issues effecting those in need and how best the people involved in the Summit could help. I even agreed to meet with my parents, who lived nearby in a small but beautiful condo in Bel Air. My parents were so vibrant and healthy that I cried like a baby the first time we saw them. Pac told them I’d been going through a rough patch, missing Ru. They cried right along with me. ‘Pac still slept on an air mattress we kept in the corner of the bedroom. At one point, I started deflating it each morning and meticulously putting it away even though I knew we would have to inflate it once more at night. “Why bother doing that every morning,” Pac said one day, as he stood at the vanity and straightened his tie. “It’s silly.” “I feel insecure,” I said. “I don’t want people to see that we don’t sleep together.” “We could just start sleeping together,” Pac

said under his breath. “What did you say?” Pac kept messing around with his tie, trying to get it right. He finally just picked at the fabric and untied it until it fell around his neck. “I’m sorry Jay,” Pac sad. “I just miss her.” I stopped pushing the air out of the mattress and sat on it. “Her who?” “My Jamie.” said Pac. “I miss Jamie Shakur.” “Not a fan of Jamie Belafonté?” “You don’t do any of the stuff my Jamie does,” said Pac. “I asked you not to— “Oh stop Jamie,” Pac said, waving a hand in my direction and going back to his tie. “Stop acting like this is all about you. I don’t know what was going on with you and Eliot. But me and my Jamie were very intimate with each other. I miss that closeness. And I miss her. Period.” “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s fine.” “No it’s not,” I said. “What if I’m stuck here forever?” “At some point are you going to give in and— “No,” I said quickly. “You didn’t let me finish.” “Whatever you were about to ask, the answer is no.” ‘Pac sucked his teeth. “Fine Jamie.” “You can be with someone else,” I said. “What are you talking about”? Pac asked, a

look of disgust on his face. “I mean who I am to keep you to the confines of vows that I don’t even remember saying?” “You’re still my wife.” “I get that. But in terms of like, intimacy, I would be fine with you being— um, intimate with someone else. If you needed to.” ‘Pac took his tie off. And then his jacket as well. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and exhaled. “You really think this is about getting some pussy?” Pac spat. I hadn’t heard him talk like that at all in this reality. I had to remember that this was someone who was quite raunchy in his music years ago. “You think I’m frustrated because I want to have sex with someone?” Pac asked. “I would imagine so,” I whispered. “Well yeah I am. But I want to have sex with you.” I swallowed hard and looked away. “You mean you want to have sex with your Jamie,” I said. “I said I want to have sex with you,” said Pac. “Even though you’re not you. You’re you enough that I can smell your hair conditioner when you toss and turn in your sleep. And you’re you enough for me to want to hold you at night and kiss your neck…” I looked around the room, settling on anything I could that would keep me from being able to see any parts of ‘Pac out of the corner of my eye. I felt Pac moving close to where I stood. “You’re you enough to make me miss the shit

out of you,” Pac whispered. “You should go,” I said. I turned away and then felt Pac tugging on my arm. “Jamie,” said Pac, his arms holding on to the tattoo of our baby’s name on my wrist. “No.” I said firmly. Pac dragged his eyes up from my wrist to my face and locked his face on mine. “Please baby.” I twisted my arm but couldn’t get out of his grip. “Let my arm go. Now.” Pac dropped my arm and then I saw something shift in his face as he looked down at the floor. “Pac?” I asked. “You okay?” He looked up at me and put his hands up. “I’m sorry Jamie,” he pleaded. “This is hard for me.” I walked towards Pac and put my arms around him. “I understand,” I said. “I totally under— Before I could finish, Pac pulled me close to him with one arm and then placed one hand on the back of my neck, pulling my face close to his. “Can I kiss you Jamie. Just one time. Then I swear to God I will let you go. I swear to God I will.” Our faces were inches apart. I felt the Heaviness. I could feel the loss of losing ‘Ru pulsating from ‘Pac’s body. This was about much more than a physical connection. This was someone who wanted to connect with a person he made a child with. Someone he lost a child with. I saw tears

filling up in Pac’s eyes and then threatening to spill over. I reached over to wipe his eyes and he moved his face out of my reach. “Please Jamie,” Pac begged. “I know you’re not you. I know you’re not. But I need you. I need you so bad right now.” Pac began to cry and something stirred inside of me. The last time I’d felt anything similar was the last time I traveled. The night before I arrived here, I’d been with Eliot. We had been so close to making love. But he wanted to wait until the morning. Except the morning never came. At least not for me it didn’t. In Eliot’s world, did he wake up and make love to me that morning? If he did, would I consider that cheating if it wasn’t the me that was in Calabasas the next morning? Pac unbuttoned the top button of my pajama top and then stopped. He was still using his body to keep my body pressed to the wall. I kept my head low but I stopped pushing him away. He lifted my chin and looked me in the eye. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. “Please?” I nodded. He leaned over and kissed me on the lips, once and then again. I felt tiny explosions I hadn’t felt in months radiating through my body. Was it because it was ‘Pac? Or was it because I was human and hadn’t been touched this way in ages? Pac unbuttoned the rest of my top, slipped it off and then kissed both of my shoulders. He took my wrist and held it up. He ran his fingers across the LAS and then kissed each letter. “Such a good mom,” he whispered. “You are such a good mom to ‘Ru.” Pac cried again, this time harder than before.

I put my hands on his face and pulled him up to me. “Do you love me?” Pac asked. “Of course I do” I said. “You know that.” Pac shook his head. “Not like that. I mean, you’re really not the Jamie that fell in love with me are you?” “No,” I said. “That’s not me. But I do love you. And I miss you too.” Pac clenched his teeth and picked me up. He walked backwards until he felt himself hit the bed and then turned me around and dropped me down. I sat up and pushed back against the headboard. Pac peeled off his shirt. His torso was still tattooed. But it had been changed from THUG LIFE to LOVE LIFE. He took off his pants and then climbed onto the bed and laid down next to me. I felt my body quivering from head to toe. And I could hear ‘Pac breathing deeply right next to me. After a few moments, his breathing was so measured that I thought for sure that he was asleep. “Pac?” I said softly. In response, Pac’s lips were on mine. And then his body covered mine. He was everywhere. On me. Near me. In me. A primal force took over and for a moment, I knew nothing. Not my name. Not where I was from. Or where I belonged. I only knew where I was. And where I wanted to be.

CHAPTER THIRTY 30 I could smell smoke from a distance. It became deeper and more intense until I could feel myself on the verge of coughing. But the tickle in my throat did not break into a full-on cough. Instead, I rubbed the feel of smoke out of my eyes. And I cleared my throat but didn’t actually cough. I felt coldness on my thighs and butt and moved around to adjust myself. “You should sit on this.” I felt a rolled up ball of soft fabric hit my legs. I opened my eyes and looked around. I was in a small, grey, windowless cell. It couldn’t have been more than six by six feet. I was sitting on a bare cement floor and my back was aching. My fellow

Traveler was sitting on the far side of the grey cell, on a rolled up blanket much like the one he tossed to me. His clothes looked singed and sooty. And he smelled like gasoline. “Where am I?” I asked. “You want water?” the Traveler asked. “I want to know where I am. And I want to know who you are.” He sighed heavily and then turned and banged on the wall he was leaning on. “Can we get some water in here!” he yelled out. I took the blanket he threw at me, rolled it up and then sat on it. “We don’t have a lot of time,” said the Traveler. “Are you going to tell me why you’ve been following me throughout the universe and across time and space for the past TK.” “My parents sent me to find you.” “Your parents.” I said. The Traveler nodded. I squinted and leaned closer to get a better look at him. In my mind, all the times I saw him flashed before me. But then one scene kept replaying: Traveler at my stretcher, wheeling me into surgery. He’d kissed me and I felt that warm, pure love coursing through me. I stared at the Traveler, waiting for his identity to reveal itself to me. “Are you…” Traveler kept his eyes locked on mine, waiting. I knew if I asked in this very moment, he would tell me. But I wanted it to come to me. I wanted the truth to wash over me.

“Ru?” The Traveler smiled. His chocolate brown face collapsed with huge dimples on either side. “Mommy.” I leapt to the other side of the cell and cradled him in my arms. “My baby,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. I kissed his temple, his forehead, the top of his head. He held onto me tight and squeezed me as hard as he could. Then he pushed away just enough to reach for my wrist. My tattoo was still there and some kind of emotion came over his face when he saw it. I couldn’t figure out if it was fear or relief or a combination of the two. “I have to talk to you,” said ‘Ru. He took my arms down and held them. “Why do I feel like this,” I said. “Why do I love you so much. I don’t even remember giving birth to you. And you died when you were just a little boy.” “In this reality I died when I was a little boy,” said ‘Ru. “Not in all realities.” “So you really have followed me through space and time?” “Yes.” “Why?” Footsteps came down the hall and ‘Ru put a finger to his lips. Someone slipped a bottled water between the bars of the cell and ‘Ru took it. “I need two,” he said. “One cell. One prisoner. One water,” said the voice. And then there was the sound of retreating steps. ‘Ru opened the water and then passed it to me.

I took big heavy gulps and then passed it back. He put the top on it and placed it next to him. “Daddy needs an heir. A biological heir.” “But Daddy’s dead,” I said to ‘Ru. “Isn’t he?” “Yes. But he needs an heir.” “But he’s gone. And so are you. So there’s nothing we can do.” “That’s why I had to find you. And guide you.” “Find me for what? Guide me to do what?” “But I failed. I messed up everything.” ‘Ru looked afraid. And he managed to look younger than he did when I first opened my eyes. “Ru. You’re changing. Like, right now.” I moved away and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, ‘Ru was definitely younger. He had shrunk by at least a full foot and his eyes had a wide glassy childlike gaze. “I’m scared Mommy. I just want to do what you guys told me to do.” “Who baby? What who told you to do?” “You and Daddy.” I looked down at my wrist at the LAS tattoo. It was a bit more faded than it had been a few minutes ago. “It’s okay ‘Ru,” I said, watching the tattoo get lighter right before my eyes. “You’re going to be okay.” When I looked up, ‘Ru was younger, no more than five. He had his thumb jammed in his mouth and he was rubbing his ear, the same way ‘Pac did when we were little kids. One blink and he was even smaller.

“Ma ma ma ma mama…,” ‘Ru babbled, his thumb hanging out of his mouth. “Oh ‘Ru,” I said. “I’m so glad I get to see you.” ‘Ru began to walk over to me. But then, after just a few steps, he couldn’t walk anymore. And instead began to crawl, first forward and then backwards. I scooped him up and by the time I settled against the wall of the cell with him on my lap, he was a newborn once again. He had those same wide brown eyes I remembered from the picture in Calabasas. He clung to my pinkie with one tiny hand and cooed and smiled at me. I leaned in close, drinking in his new baby smell. “I love you ‘Ru Boo,” I whispered into the top of his hair. I knew for certain that in another time and space, I’d called my son ‘Ru Boo. I saw myself in the Calabasas house, changing his diaper and taking him out onto the deck and singing madeup songs about a boy named ‘Ru Boo. I rocked my son back and forth until we both began to yawn. The first time I yawned and then opened my eyes, ‘Ru was even smaller, like a fetus not yet ready to be born. I closed my eyes again and felt him growing smaller and smaller in my arms. Until there was nothing left except a warmth on my belly where he had rested. “Where do I go now,” I said aloud, as I felt myself drifting off to sleep. “Go home Mommy,” Ru’s voice echoed in my head.

# Tightness. That’s what I felt at first. Just something I could only identify as tightness. I felt like I was wrapped mummy-like. But not just in bandages. It felt like I was wrapped in something not just tight but sticky as well, like duct tape or paper machie. I opened my eyes and could only feel brightness. I turned my eyes right and left and all I was sure of was that my arms were propped up and wrapped in white gauze. And my face was also covered in something. Even when I got my eyes completely open, my face was swaddled to the point where I couldn’t see anything else but the gauze. Someone was near me. I couldn’t see them. The fabric on my face was blocking the view. But I could sense that someone was very close. I tried to focus on zeroing in on what I could. All I could suss out was that I was wrapped up, my arms were both bent at curious angles and possibly in a cast and someone was slowly patting my leg. “Am I okay?” I whispered. Whoever was nearby stood up and peered into my face. It was Eliot. “Hey baby.” Eliot reached up and put his hand on as much of my face as he could. “You’re not okay,” said Eliot. “But you will be.” I lifted my body up as much as I could, no more than inch or so. But it was enough to see that my entire body was wrapped from head to toe. The only skin I could see was the top of my toes

peeking out of white plaster casts covering both legs. “What happened?” I asked Eliot. Eliot stroked the top of my head and shushed me. “Right now you need rest.” I turned to look Eliot directly in the face. “What do you wear when you go to bed?” I ask. I saw Eliot turn and look behind him. I assumed there were other people in the room. “What?” he asked. “What do you wear to bed?” “Half the time I fall asleep in my clothes,” Eliot said. “And if not, I guess sweats? Boxers? Why?” I smiled. “Long story.” Eliot shook his head and kissed my forehead. “I thought we were going to lose you.” Eliot whispered. “I thought I was going to lose me too.” “Jamie?” I turned my head to the left and saw my dad peeking over and peering into my face. “Daddy,” I whispered. “You’re alive.” My dad looked over at Eliot and smiled. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to her?” “What happened to me?” “A fire,” Eliot said, his face solemn. “You were in a fire.” “What’s the last thing you remember,” my dad asked. I thought of ‘Ru Boo and the warmth of his newborn body against my body in that dark cell.

“I.. I don’t know.” “Just try,” Eliot said. “Think hard. What’s the last thing you remember?” I took my chances. If my other Traveling sessions were any indications, I’d only been separated from Eliot in this world for a few brief moments. “Last night,” I choked out. “No boom chikka boom.” Eliot laughed. “I’m outta here,” my dad said, disappearing from my view. “That’s right,” Eliot whispered. “No boom chikka boom last night. It was supposed to be on this morning.” “So what happened?” “We were laying together. And I heard something strange coming from the backyard. I went out with a flashlight to look around and I heard you screaming. And then there was an explosion. The entire house burst into flames.” “What?” Eliot nodded. “I tried to get back in but all the doors were locked. By the time I threw the patio chair through the deck door, the fire department was already on the way. They got you out. But when we got there, the doctors said you might not make it through the night.” Eliot stroked my cheek and I could feel wetness from tears hitting my face. “The house?” “What’d you say babe?” Eliot said. “The house. What happened to the house.”

“Forget the house Jamie. That’s not important. We’re just grateful you’re— “What happened to the house Eliot.” Eliot exhaled hard. “It’s gone Jamie.” “Gone?” “There’s nothing there. It burned to the ground.” I wanted to cover my mouth with my hands. But since my arms were stuck in place in front of me, all I could do was widen my eyes and my mouth. “We had insurance,” Eliot said. “We’ll have a new house in no time.” “The attic is gone,” I whispered. I saw Eliot trade a look with someone again. “Yes,” he said. “The attic is gone. The whole house is gone.” “This is it,” I said. “I’m not going to travel anymore. It’s over.” “Of course you’ll travel again,” said Eliot. “You’re going to recover and go anywhere you want.” “No, I meant I’m not going to—” Eliot’s look of confusion snapped me back to reality. All he knew about me and that attic was that I had a blackout moment the first time we went up there. And that I ended up sleeping up there by mistake and woke up freaked out. “Never mind,” I said. “You sure?” I did my best to smile although it made my cheeks hurt. “I’m sure.”

# Three weeks after the fire, the NYPD felt like I’d had more than enough time to recover and decided it was time I started answering some questions about the fire. Eliot said if they couldn’t wait until I got out of the hospital, they’d have to talk to me with him present—and anyone else he wanted there. So there we were, Eliot, my parents, two lawyers I’d just met a few days ago and two NYPD detectives. “And you don’t remember your husband leaving the bedroom?” the taller officer asked. I could tell from his demeanor, sitting close by, not taking notes, making direct eye contact, that he was supposed to the the Good Cop. Standing at the doorway, scribbling furiously in a notepad with his eyebrows all scrunched up, was the guy playing Bad Cop. “No,” I said. “I don’t remember anything but falling asleep next to my husband.” “You were soaked in gasoline,” said Bad Cop. “I would imagine you’d feel someone pouring gasoline on you.” “I didn’t feel anything.” Bad Cop closed his notebook and walked over to my bedside. “Your husband says he heard something in the back. He goes out to investigate. We have your neighbor’s security footage capturing that. But then somehow, while he’s out there, you end up soaked to the skin in gasoline and then the house explodes. Meanwhile he’s safe and sound outside.”

I didn’t say a single word. I just sat there staring at the cop, my lips set in a straight line. “Oh,” said Bad Cop. “And then, he can’t get in to save you because the door he just walked out of is now locked from the inside.” I glanced over at Eliot. His face was stony. I knew my Eliot. And he was seconds away from getting arrested for assaulting a police officer. I turned to face Eliot. “Do I have to talk to them?” Eliot opened his mouth to answer me and Bad Cop interrupted him. “You don’t have to talk to us. If you want we’ll leave right now.” Bad Cop was talking to me but he had his eyes on Eliot the entire time. Eliot kept his eyes on me although he knew Bad Cop was staring him down. “It’s totally up to you Jamie.” I turned to Bad Cop. “My husband didn’t do this to me,” I said. “Then who did?” “I think that’s your job,” I said. “Not mine.” “There were no signs of forced entry,” said Good Cop. “So we have to assume it was someone who was already in the house or had access to the house.” “Your neighbor said when they came out to see why Eliot was in the backyard, there was a figure in the attic.” My nostrils flared and my heart started pounding. “In the attic?”

I looked over at Eliot who rolled his eyes. “I thought I saw something too,” he said. “But it was nothing. We were looking up and we thought we saw a shadow or something but there was nothing there.” “Are you sure?” I asked. “We have more information,” said Bad Cop. “Since the last time we spoke to your husband.” Eliot looked like he had smoke coming out of his ears. “You could at least get us up to date before you start grilling my wife and trying to arrest me for setting the fire.” Good Cop stood up. “We know it wasn’t you. We have someone in custody. He was found not far from your house after the explosion. He was covered in gasoline and obviously was also burned before escaping.” Eliot and I locked eyes. “So that’s maybe who you saw in the attic,” said Good Cop. “How the hell did someone get into our attic while we were asleep if you said there were no signs of forced entry?” asked Eliot. “That’s what we were hoping you could tell us,” said Good Cop. “Are you sure you didn’t have any house guests in that attic.” “Very sure,” Eliot said. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. “Mrs. Belafonté?” I opened my eyes and looked at Good Cop. “I’m sure,” I whispered. Bad Cop opened his notebook and flipped some

pages back. “The man in custody isn’t talking. And his prints came back TKd. We have to run them again.” “Why?” I asked. Good Cop pulled some paperwork out of a bag. “His prints match a child who passed away years ago.” Everyone in the room noticed that my hands started shaking. “Jamie, you okay?” asked Eliot. I couldn’t speak. I opened my mouth and tried to force something out but I just sounded like I was choking. I felt like I’d fallen down a flight of steps and got the wind knocked out of me. I willed myself to calm down. “What’s his name?” I asked. “The young man in custody?” I nodded. “We don’t know yet. We didn’t get the right prints back.” “The little boy,” I said. “Who was the little boy.” Good Cop looked down at his paperwork. “Lesane Amaru Shakur. Born in Calabasas, California, 20TK. Died in Calabasas, California, 20TK.” Eliot took my hand when he saw the pained expression on my face. I squeezed it so hard that I felt his knuckles cracking. “I don’t want to talk anymore,” I managed to croak out. Good Cop and Bad Cop left the room. “What’s wrong,” said Eliot. “Please tell me.”

I looked around the room at my parens and the lawyers and a few nurses who had come in to take my vitals. “I need to talk to you,” I said to Eliot. “Alone.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 31 Eliot’s eyes were closed. He was humming something I couldn’t place and his knees were moving up and down so fast that they were like a blur. I felt at peace. I’d unloaded my entire story on Eliot. Everything. From ‘Pac telling me not to buy the house in a dream to waking up in a jail cell holding ‘Ru Boo. “So?” “So what?” Eliot asked. “Do you think I’m crazy?” “No.” “Do you believe what I just told you?” Eliot winced and then pinched the bridge of

his nose and turned his head back. “Do I believe all of this happened to you?” Eliot said. “No baby, I don’t. I’m sorry. I know it feels real to you. I want to believe in time travel. I want to believe you. And I do believe something weird is going on.” Eliot gestured to my wrist. The LAS tattoo on my wrist was still there. It was faint—very faint. But when I got to that part of the story and pointed it out to Eliot, it was there enough to freak him out. He’d grabbed my arm and ran his fingers back and forth across my wrist for a full minute. “But do I believe that some kid from the future that may or may not be a baby you had with Pac in an alternate reality is trying to kill you? No.” I nodded. “Are you going to have me committed?” I asked. “I will not,” said Eliot. “Under no circumstances.” “If the roles were reversed,” I said. “I’d be tempted to have you committed.” “I’ll let them commit me before I let them take you anywhere,” said Eliot. He pulled up closer to my hospital bed and took my hand. “You are my wife,” said Eliot. “I love you. I will help you. You are not a danger to me. You are not a danger to yourself. Until that changes, I’m riding with you. No matter what happens. Do you hear me?” I nodded, trying unsuccessfully to keep myself from crying. Eliot kept a stern look on his face

and flicked away my tears with his hands. “What about the baby thing?” I muttered. “The what?” “The baby thing. What if I change my mind and don’t want to have a baby.” Eliot sucked his teeth. “I don’t care about no damn baby,” Eliot spat. “Do I want to have one? Yes. But Jamie, I almost lost you. I need YOU. I need you to be happy, healthy and sane. And if it takes the rest of your childbearing years to get there, so be it.” “With the baby. The baby I… I feel like I had.” “Yes?” “I feel the loss Eliot. I really feel like I know what it is to be a mother. And what it is to lose a child. It’s imprinted on me.” “Is that why you think you might change your mind?” I nodded. “It is what it is,” Eliot said firmly. “Don’t think about it right now. Just focus on getting better.” Eliot leaned in and hugged me. He sat back and adjusted himself in his chair. “I mean, babies aside, it would be nice to actually… y’know… practice.” I felt my cheeks warm. “It’s been a minute,” I said. “TKdays,” said Eliot. “Really?” “By the night of the fire, it had been a while even back then. And you’ve been here in the

hospital for TK.” “I don’t think we’ve gone TK since the first time we did it.” “Think I could fit on that hospital bed?” “Doubtful.” We both laughed and there was a knock on the door. Good Cop’s face appeared. Eliot waved him in. “Am I under arrest?” “No sir,” said Good Cop. The cop’s demeanor made the hair on my neck stand up. “What is it?” I asked. “The suspect in custody,” said the Cop. “He escaped.” Eliot looked at me, back at the cop and then back at me. “What do you mean escaped?” Eliot asked. “This morning, his cell was empty.” Good Cop was staring at me. I had my eyes fixated on the wall in front of me. “Mrs. Belafonté?” the cop asked. “Are you okay?” “He didn’t escape,” I said to the cop. “And you know it.” The cop stayed still and didn’t speak. Eliot kept looking back and forth between the both of us, realizing that me and the cop were having a conversation he couldn’t possibly understand. “What’s going on?” Eliot asked. “He didn’t escape,” I said. “He just disappeared. You just don’t want to say that because it sounds insane.” Good Cop crossed the room and handed a

business card to Eliot. “Can you please give us a call if you think of anything we should know?” Eliot took the card and put it on my nightstand. “What about what my wife just said,” Eliot asked. “Did he really escape or did he just disappear?” The cop rubbed his chin. “The holding cell is directly in front of the guard’s station. There’s a security camera trained on it at all times. The guard was watching the monitor. He said he looked away for a moment, looked back and the cell was empty. Not a sound. Nothing. Suspect was just gone. And there was absolutely nothing found in that cell except a half-empty water bottle.” Eliot looked over at me. And then looked down at my wrist. The tattoo was completely gone. “If you want to talk to us about anything, anything at all…” the officer said. We both nodded and he closed the door. Eliot put his hands on his head and began pacing. “What’s going on Jamie?” Eliot asked in a voice so low that I don’t think he really expected a response. ‘Ru was gone. And I could only assume that meant he’d accomplish whatever he was supposed to. I just wished I knew what that was. # My main doctor, Dr. Edelman, came in with a bright smile on his face. He closed the door behind him and asked me questions while making notes on my

chart. He asked Eliot a few questions as well and he only hesitated when Dr. Edelman asked him his thoughts on my mental health. “Even before the fire I was going through some mental stuff,” I explained to Dr. Edelman. “I think its a separate issue.” “Mental and physical conditions are almost never separate issues,” said the doctor. “But we’ll focus on the physical for now.” Eliot squeezed my hand. “Physically, her recovery has been miraculous.” “Agreed,” said the doctor. He had my chart pulled up to his chest and he had a mischievous expression on his face. “What else?” Eliot asked. “Well. HIPPA laws prohibit me from sharing Jamie’s medical record from anyone that she has not explicitly authorized either verbally or written.” “My husband can hear anything,” I said. “Alright then,” said Dr. Edelman. “We’re expecting you to make a full recovery. As long as there is no infection after your final skin grafts, I see you being released in the next few weeks.” “Thank God,” Eliot whispered. He kissed the back of my hand and then grabbed my face and smiled. “I love you,” Eliot said. “I love you too,” I said. “There is only one factor that could keep you here longer than a few weeks,” said Dr. Edeleman. “What is it,” said Eliot, his eyes still on mine, his hand still holding mine. “Mrs. Belafonte is pregnant.”

Immediately, there was grief, rage and fear in Eliot’s eyes. But his mouth was still pulled back in a grin that now looked clown-scary. The smile slowly faded away. Eliot’s eyes remained locked on mine. I knew we were both replaying the same conversation from just a few minutes ago.

“I mean, babies aside, it would be nice to actually… y’know… practice.” “It’s been a minute.” “TKdays,” “Really?” “By the night of the fire, it had been a while even back then. And you’ve been here for TK.” The doctor sensed the tension in the room. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” the doctor whispered. I heard the door close. Eliot didn’t move. He was still staring at me. I swallowed hard and forced myself not to look away. I touched my hand to Eliot’s chin. He grabbed it and pulled it down. We both moved up to look at my wrist. In heavy dark script, the LAS tattoo was back, sharp and defined, glossy and shiny. It was so clear that it looked the ink would smudge if I touched it. “It’s Ru.” I said. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, Eliot was walking out of my room. The door slammed shut behind him. Dr. Edelman came in right after Eliot left. “Mrs. Belafonte, is everything okay?” I shook my head and placed my hands on my belly. “No,” I said. “No, it’s not.”