Jumping by Jane Peranteau Page B

yourself had come close to feeling forced to enter an unwanted marriage, but you'd been able to choose for yourself, to say no. Your family had seen to your education, so you had a way to be, on your own in the world. You recognized the ways we were alike, and I was made whole by that. By your being you , you showed me how to be me —calm and compassionate with myself, forgiving, understanding.
    “We do it because we love each other, now and always. I thank you. I thank you for honoring our bond, and making progress possible for both of us.”
    Kahil looks at me. I have tears in my eyes, and he does, too. “Did you see me the next morning in the mirror upstairs, when I came to say good bye?” he asks.
    “I think I did,” I say, surprised at the surging memory of another lifetime. “I remember seeing a face, surrounded by stars, with such a feeling of joy emanating from it that I was overcome.”
    “That was me!” he laughs. “You reintroduced me to my joy. I thought it was lost to me forever.”
    Miles stops us as this point, overcome by the last story. He pauses to pull out his handkerchief and noisily blow his nose.
    “Of course, I've heard about stories like that from that time—arranged marriages, cruel or indifferent husbands, the feelings of women disregarded—but never from someone who was there. Wow.”
    It feels very real to me, too. I have to get up and move around. I go to the window and open it, in search of fresh air to blow away the lingering effects of that story. I'm beginning to get a clue about the bond Duncan Robert shares with his cohort, though it's unlike anything I've ever heard of.
    I look at Duncan Robert and think about how he has all the indicators needed for a psychiatric explanation of what he's experienced—the missing father, the sometimes tense family life as a result, all begetting a childhood quest to be seen, heard, valued. As an only child, he'd probably have a strong imagination and be good at dissociation. I knew from my own research that his experiences would be labeled ‘anomalous,’ the equivalent of ‘crazy’ for us laypeople. His stories would be cataloged with alien abductions, extraterrestrial visitations, ghosts, spirits, and all the other trivialized other-worldly stories. Why was I finding value in it? Maybe I just saw it as a legitimate part of reporting, especially since these kinds of stories were increasing, across the world. In the past no legitimate newspaper would have even considered them. I liked to think I bowed to a higher god than sensationalism, but this is pretty sensational. How far could we go with this and still believe?
    “Let's order some lunch,” Duncan Robert says into our silence, calling us back to ourselves. “I've got some menus here. Take a look. I think I'm actually hungry.” He laughs.
    I realize I'm starving. Miles decides he's going to have a club sandwich, with fries, so I know he's hungry, too. I feel like breakfast, so I order scrambled eggs and toast, with a side of fruit. Duncan Robert orders a large bowl of vegetable soup and a side salad, which seems like a lot for him, too. While we wait for the food, we settle back into our places, except for Miles, who lies on the floor, to stretch his spine, he says. I stretch out on the couch.
    I ask Duncan Robert what it was like, to hear his life told to him in that larger way.
    “I don't know if I can explain it. First, I could feel myself expand,” he says. “I began to see myself as so much larger than I'd ever thought, spreading out across the Universe, touching time in various places, interacting with it in a way that fed my spirit. Then, I could see how the members of my cohort were spreading with me, and we were like a river through time and space. The fact that we weren't separate made us much more helpful to each other and to all those we came in contact with—even if they were killing us!” He laughs.
    “It isn't easy to play all the parts we do. Think about it.