1999
It all started at Rachel’s first real seder.
Until then, the only Passover seders she had attended had been at her Grandma Isabeau’s house, where she and several of her cousins—most of whom were older than she, and not very nice—sat at the end of the table while a relative of her grandfather (who died before Rachel was born) droned through incomprehensible Hebrew verses. The children were then conducted to their own table in the living room, where they threw pieces of matzoh at each other until one of the grownups came in and yelled at them.
This year, however, Rachel was also going to the second-night seder that Aunt Susan—who lived with Uncle Mark, Rachel’s mother’s brother—held every year.
She was a little frightened. Since, at age nine, she was going to be youngest person there—her best friend Annie, who came with them so Rachel wouldn’t be the only child, was four months older—Rachel was going to have to ask the ceremonial four questions.
“She’s a little nervous,” her mother told her Aunt Susan as they took off their coats. “I told her that she didn’t have to say them if she doesn’t want to.”
“Of course she’ll say them, Eileen,” Aunt Susan said, and she grinned at Rachel as though they were sharing a secret. “I’ve heard her recite. She has the makings of a damned good actress. She’ll do a fantastic job.”
Despite her nervousness, Rachel grinned back. Rachel liked her aunt and uncle, especially because they never talked down to her.
It was hard to move around in the living room, which was largely taken up with a long, rather unsteady metal folding table decorated with a bright blue paper tablecloth and white paper plates and cups. There were real knives and forks, and wine glasses, and two white-and-blue ceramic candle holders with tall blue candles in them.
A bright purple paperback book sat at each place setting; Rachel picked one up and paged through it. It was a Hagaddah, the book that was used for the ceremonies before and after the meal. But unlike the one at her grandparents’ house, which was only in Hebrew and had nothing of interest in it, this one had a lot of English in it, and had lots of pictures and photographs of foreign looking people celebrating the holiday.
Because the living room was so crowded, everyone had to sidle around the table in order to get to the dining room, which, because it was actually used as a sort of library, was nearly empty of furniture, and so had space for people to stand and chat. Rachel took the Hagaddah and she and Annie made their way to a corner.
“You won’t tell about the ribbon?” Annie hissed as soon as they were away from the adults. “You promise?”
“Of course! Don’t be silly. I’d get in trouble too,” Rachel said impatiently. “Here, let’s look at the pictures.” The two girls started to page through the book. But they lost interest quickly, and Rachel started describing the adults in the room to Annie in a careful whisper.
“The man over there, the one with the beard? That’s Abram, an old friend of Uncle Mark’s. They were both in high school together.”
“He’s bossy,” Annie observed. “And he interrupts all the time.”
Rachel shrugged. “I don’t like him,” she said. “But Mom says it’s not polite to say so.”
She pointed surreptitiously at a stout, smiling young woman who was talking to Abram. “That’s Yolanda, Aunt Susan’s best friend. She brought a pineapple for dessert. She’s studying to be a minister and used to live in Namibia.”
Uncle Mark came into the kitchen with a quick stride, holding a thin brown bottle, and thrust it at Abram. “Here,” he said irritably. “Kosher enough for you? Oh, hi, Eileen. Glad you brought Rachel and—Annie, is it?—with you this year.” He kissed his sister on the cheek and ruffled Rachel’s hair.
“Hi, Uncle Mark,” said Rachel. “It’s raining.”
“Really hard,” Annie added, unwilling to be left out of the conversation.
“Of course, it is,” said Uncle Mark. “God forbid we should have good weather on a holiday.”
Abram, who appeared not to mind Uncle Mark’s tone, was examining the bottle carefully. “I don’t see anything problematic,” he said. “The reason I had a problem with the glaze you used last year was the corn syrup. Things need to be kosher for Passover.”
“This from a man who has milk in his coffee with his hamburger,” said Uncle Mark, addressing the room at large. He grabbed the bottle back and returned to the kitchen.
“Time to start,” Aunt Susan said loudly, and everyone wandered slowly into the living room and began to sit at the table.
“So I was looking for something to watch the other day,” Abram said, as he started opening a bottle of wine, “and I stopped at a channel where a writer, a rabbi I think, was talking about a legend that there were originally only 600,000 souls in the universe. At some point after the creation, each soul broke into many pieces. Which means we are all actually made up of a piece of a soul, and when all the pieces of that soul find each other, part of the universe is healed and made whole.”
Yolanda looked thoughtful. “How many pieces were in each soul, originally?”
Abram shrugged. “I missed that part of it,” he said, handing her the bottle. “Some say that each soul was made up of two parts, and when a man and a woman find each other and marry, that is the entire soul. There is also some argument as to whether the souls truly blend during life or after death. But as with everything, it’s all a matter of interpretation.”
Yolanda handed the bottle to Aunt Susan, who poured some for herself and Uncle Mark, and then passed it to Rachel’s mother. “Here,” she said, reaching across the table to another bottle, “we bought some grape juice for the girls.” She poured generous helpings into their wine cups.
“Suppose that we’re all part of an original soul,” Yolanda said, leaning across the table, “is it possible that by coming together tonight, we’re helping to heal the universe? Would that include all of us?”
“I don’t see why not,” Susan said. “After all, in this presumably enlightened age, we can assume that whatever fractured soul is involved, all the pieces aren’t necessarily Jewish. Here, it’s going to be a while before we eat,” and she broke a large flat matzoh into two pieces and handed them to the girls.
Abram’s finger came up, a sure indication that he was going into lecture mode. “Actually,” he said. “Most rabbis would probably argue that the legends only refer to Jewish souls—not that they are saying that other souls aren’t valuable,” with a nod toward Yolanda, “but they aren’t part of the Jewish mythos.”
“My father’s not Jewish,” said Annie, distressed. “Can’t I be part?”
“Of course you can, Annie,” said Yolanda, frowning at Abram. “There is enough room for everyone.”
“How many?” asked Rachel, carefully biting her matzoh into a circular pattern.
“How many what?” Yolanda asked, puzzled.
“Rooms in heaven?” said Rachel, and the two girls giggled.
“Exactly 652 and a half,” said Uncle Mark, sitting down. “The half is a bathroom. Which everyone has to line up for each morning.”
The girls broke up and Susan blew a kiss at her husband.
“You know, maybe it’s more like a union,” Uncle Mark continued. “That would make us all official members of, say, Soul 2065.”
“Does our union have a good health plan?” asked Yolanda.
Rachel’s mom smiled. “Maybe we should have tee shirts. ‘Member of Soul 2065.’ Or hats.”
“Can I have one?” asked Rachel, immediately perking up at the idea of a present. Then she suddenly remembered. “Even if I get the four questions wrong?”
“Of course,” Aunt Susan said. “And you won’t get them wrong. I promise. Even if you make a mistake, just pretend you did it on purpose, and everybody will believe you did it right. That’s what actresses do.”
“Really?” Rachel brightened.
“Really.” Aunt Susan grinned. She stood and tapped her wineglass with her knife. “I hereby declare that this meeting of Soul 2065 is called to order.” She sat down. “Now, let’s start the seder.”
* * *
Ten years later.
Passover had come practically at the same time as Easter this year, which meant that Yolanda, who had pastoral duties in Minneapolis, wouldn’t be present. To make up for the loss, Rachel’s mom invited her friend Edward, who was getting a name for himself writing horror novels.
“You wrote Bite Me, Darling?” asked Annie, awestruck, as they took their places at the table. “That is just so incredible!” At age 19, both Rachel and Annie were heavily into vampires, and Edward’s latest, in which a Jamaican lesbian vampire works the late-night shift at a NYC cable station, was right up their alley.
“That’s me!” Edward beamed, delighted to have found a cheering section.
Rachel’s mom leaned over and whispered, “I’m sure he has a couple of copies of the book with him. If you want, I’ll ask if he’ll sign one for you.”
Annie grinned and hugged Rachel’s mom. “Oh, thank you so much!”
“Hey, I’m the famous author with the book and the autograph,” Edward objected. “Don’t I get hugged?”
“She’s 19,” said Aunt Susan, staring at him with mock sternness. “So you get bupkis.”
Uncle Mark came back from the kitchen, having taken the turkey out of the oven. “That’s what we’re having with the turkey,” he said. “Baked bupkis. With an olive sauce.”
“Should we start?” asked Abram. “It’s getting late.”
“You’re right.” Aunt Susan tapped her fork against her wineglass to get everyone’s attention. “This meeting of Soul 2065 is hereby called to order.”
Edward leaned over to Rachel. “Okay, what’s going on?” he whispered.
“It started ten years ago,” Rachel whispered back. “We decided we were all part of a single soul, and so every year, everybody tells everyone else about the most significant thing that happened to them the past year, because it affects us all.”
“Cool,” said Edward. He looked intrigued.
Aunt Susan continued. “One of our members couldn’t be here in body, but is here in spirit—and email,” and she waved a tablet. “Okay, Mark, you start.”
“I had a bit of a scare when I woke with chest pains a couple of months ago,” said Uncle Mark. “I went to the emergency room, but it turned out to be a bad case of acid reflux. Which isn’t good, but is a lot better than a heart attack.”
“Damn right,” said Rachel’s mother. “You gave us all a hell of a scare, you know that?”
“No comments allowed,” Mark reminded his sister.
“I reconnected with my sister after five years,” said Abram. “She called me out of the blue right after Yom Kippur. We talked for about a half hour, and I got her email address, so maybe we’ll stay in touch.”
“I tried out for a part in a Broadway show,” Rachel said. “They wanted a bunch of teenagers who could sing and move, and I tried out for that. I was so nervous that I went into the bathroom and threw up and had to make my face up all over again, and then I got eliminated in the first round. I was really upset at first, but then I thought about how much fun it was just to be there. Which was important.”
“You were wonderful,” said Annie. “She showed me what she was going to sing before she went. She was great.”
“Isn’t she a bit young to be running around to auditions?” asked Abram, looking as if he disapproved of the whole idea.
“It’s fine,” said Aunt Susan. “She’s over 18 and very responsible. Annie, it’s your turn now.”
Annie brightened. “I’ve been looking into my family’s history,” she said enthusiastically. “My mom has become a real activist lately.”
“Yeah, I understand Marilyn is now a second Emma Goldman,” Mark grinned.
“You were the one who said no comments,” his wife reminded him. “Don’t interrupt.”
“Anyway,” Annie continued, unfazed, “my mom’s been telling me about her grandparents, who were very radical, politically. I’m going to interview my grandmother so I can find out more about them, and the rest of my ancestors.”
Rachel’s mom looked down at the table. “There’s somebody I, well, sort of like,” she said. “I haven’t had the chance to ask him out yet. I need to do that.” She bit her lip as though she was going to say something more, but had decided not to.
“Yolanda writes,” Aunt Susan said, reading from the tablet, “I am slowly learning about how difficult and wonderful it is to be a minister, although I have to deal with red tape and bureaucratic idiocy, and some of these people test my patience. But it’s all worthwhile.”
Aunt Susan put down the paper and sighed. “Okay,” she said. “My turn. As most of you know, I lost my job, which isn’t something we need right now. But I’m getting some freelance gigs, and this gives me a chance to work on some of my knitting techniques.”
“You knit?” asked Annie. “Hey, I just started learning.”
“You know,” Edward said, “this one soul thing doesn’t sound bad. Can I join as well?”
“Don’t know,” Aunt Susan said, grinning. “Rachel, what do you think?”
Rachel propped her chin on her fist and looked at Edward thoughtfully. “You have to do something to qualify.”
“Like what?” Edward said, amused.
“Rachel…” said her mother, a warning note in her voice.
Rachel ignored her mother and continued to study Edward carefully. “I know,” she finally decided. “You have to write me and Annie into your next book.”
“Done!” Edward said.
“Cool!” said Annie.
* * *
Twenty years later.
The new apartment was in a rather inconvenient part of Brooklyn, but they were all there—all except, of course, Abram.
Even though Mark insisted on cooking the meal, Susan had asked several of the guests to bring side dishes to make things a bit easier. “I don’t want him to overexert himself,” she told Rachel’s mom.
“Of course,” Eileen said, and then smiled as Rachel, who had appointed herself and Annie the unofficial serving staffers, brought in some of the silverware. “And just think,” she added. “You have a famous actress shlepping for you.”
“So I understand,” said Yolanda, who was sitting at the table. “Congratulations.”
Rachel wrinkled her nose at Susan. “It’s so Off-Broadway that even a GPS could hardly find it,” she said.
“What Rachel isn’t telling you,” Annie said, “is that live theater is what everyone is into these days. They don’t want fake 3D—they want real 3D.”
“And they want 20-year-olds,” said Rachel. “I’m already too old for a lot of producers.”
“Modesty isn’t a virtue in an actress. I saw your notices,” Edward said. “Good ones, from major sites.”
“And she got interviewed,” said Eileen proudly. “It’s on at least 16 different streams.”
Rachel smiled tolerantly at her mother and leaned over to Susan. “It really doesn’t mean anything. You have to be on at least 30 to be noticed.”
“Give it time,” said Annie. “I think you’re starting to create a splash.”
“Could it go viral?” asked Yolanda. “Is that still a used term?”
“Occasionally,” said Edward. “And even if it isn’t, the general idea is the same. It’s what happened to my latest book. Especially after I did this,” and he waved his hand at the top of his head—he had shaved most of his hair except a small white round patch at top.
“It looks like a monk’s tonsure, reversed,” Yolanda said.
“Makes good video, though,” Edward said. “Especially the 3D version. It looks like a weird sort of halo.”
Susan tapped her glass. “This meeting of Soul 2065 is hereby called to order,” she said. Everyone quieted.
“I…I was thinking how to handle…” She paused, and cleared her throat. “We greet Abram and ask him to remember us,” she said. Mark looked down at the table. Nobody said anything for a minute.
Susan looked at Yolanda. “Things are going well with my new assignment,” Yolanda said, “although I still think that Minneapolis is too cold for humans. As you know, there has been a new movement among some of the more radical members of my faith to disallow female ministers; sometimes it feels as if we’re running backwards at a fast clip. But with any luck, this too shall pass.”
“I’m thinking of moving to Los Angeles,” said Edward. “My new series is doing well, but I can’t afford to be a one-shot wonder. Out west, I can diversify more. And—well, I think it’s better for me and for others.” He glanced at Eileen, who stared back coldly. There was a moment of silence.
“With Rachel no longer around, and my job being only part time, I find myself sitting in my apartment watching too many movies,” Eileen finally said in a careful tone. “I don’t think that’s healthy. I’m going to have to find something else to do. Somebody else to be with.” She looked away.
“I’m having a great time doing live theater,” said Rachel, quickly, “but it isn’t enough, even with the feeds. The pressures are just too great—if we charge as much as we need to in order to keep it going, nobody comes, and if we charge less, we won’t be able to keep it open. And only the big studios can afford to do a big PR push. So I was also thinking of going out to the West Coast—maybe even next month.”
“And I’m coming with her,” said Annie. “Oops—sorry, did I interrupt?”
Rachel smiled, and touched Annie’s cheek. “It’s okay. I was done.”
“Well, actually,” Annie said cheerfully, “so was I. Except that if Edward is going west, I think we should wait a few months, so he can get settled and then help Rachel out a bit.” She grinned at him.
Edward reached over and tugged a lock of her hair gently. “Honey, I’m too old to move quickly,” he said. “You go when you want to, and as soon as I get there, I’ll make sure Rachel gets in to see the right people. Promise.”
Annie smiled. “Okay,” she said.
“I’m tired of doctors,” said Mark. “I go, and I go, and they give me tests, and feed me pills, and nothing changes. I’m just…I’ve had it with doctors.”
“I want Mark to take better care of himself,” said Susan. “That’s all.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” said Mark. “Can’t you give it a rest?”
He stood and limped back to the kitchen.
“He’ll be fine in two minutes,” Susan said. “He just gets angry at not being healthy. He doesn’t think it’s fair, because he stopped smoking and has been taking good care of himself, and now this.”
Rachel reached over and took her hand. “He’ll be fine, Aunt Susan,” she said.
Susan smiled, and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Of course, he will,” she said, and then looked around the table. “Well, as soon as Mark gets back, we’ll start.”
* * *
Thirty years later.
There was no seder, because there was no longer a New York City.
* * *
Forty years later.
Susan kept saying that she would find someplace else to live. After all, she wasn’t all that badly off. She rather liked California, and Congress had finally come through with at least a small amount of compensation for former residents of NYC. She was sure she had enough to invest in a condo somewhere.
Rachel, who knew exactly how much income her aunt really had, and who also knew how much medication Susan needed to sleep at night, told her that she wasn’t going anywhere. Rachel and Annie had more than enough room in their house, and anyway, Edward depended on Susan to help him with his latest series.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Susan said, while she watched Rachel put the spinach kugel in a warmer. “You girls don’t need to have an old lady tottering around in your way, and Edward doesn’t need my help. He’s just trying to make me feel useful. Which is very sweet of him, but there is no way in hell…”
“Oh, for the sweet love of Shiva,” Annie cried, throwing down the towel she was using as a potholder. Annie had put on quite a bit of weight over the last few years; she insisted on blaming genetics, since, she said, she and Rachel ate the same foods and Rachel was still absurdly svelte. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? Edward has a writer’s block so big that you could run a truck into him and he wouldn’t feel it. He is driving us completely insane. You are the only one who can save us.”
“Besides,” Rachel added, “he said that once you and he come up with a new series, he could sell it as a dramatic stream, and I could star in it. So please, don’t do the oh-poor-me thing. Please, Aunt Susan.”
Susan sighed. “Well…”
“Edward is asking for admittance,” the house said. It had an Italian accent this week, which Annie said was in honor of her father’s family.
“House, yes,” said Annie loudly, and then turned back to Susan. “We’re agreed?”
“So,” Edward said, having just come through the security door, “have you told her that resistance is futile?”
Susan didn’t laugh, but one side of her mouth quirked. “Edward, stop quoting old TV series that Rachel won’t recognize,” she said. “It’s a symptom of senility.”
“Hey,” Rachel protested. “I’m an actress. I’ve studied the classics.”
Edward kissed Susan loudly on the cheek and gave both Annie and Rachel a hug. “Hey, baby doll,” he said to Rachel. “Were you able to get Yolanda to come?”
“She wanted to,” Rachel said, “but there was another transportation lock-down yesterday, and her tickets were cancelled. So she’ll just have to vid in.”
The house was sparsely furnished—simplicity was the fashion these days—and much of the furniture was foldaway, so it took only a few minutes to put away the couch and replace it with a dining room table and chairs. Annie fiddled with the display while the others set the table.
“I wasn’t able to find the Haggadah that we used to use,” said Rachel, putting a sheet of e-paper next to each place. “It was probably never digitized. But I did find a ‘roll your own’ Haggadah, and put together something as close as I could get it.”
“I’m sure you did a great job,” Edward said, settling himself into one of the chairs.
“Okay, we’re all ready,” said Annie. “Going to external visuals.” The display, which she had set up at one end of the table, brightened to show Yolanda sitting in an old-fashioned armchair in what looked like a living room. She grinned.
“Hi, there,” she said. “Sorry about missing the seder, but I’ve only got a third-tier priority in the airline’s lists, and got bumped at the last minute.”
“Of course,” Susan said. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Should we begin?” asked Rachel. “Susan, you start.”
Susan shook her head. “It’s your house,” she said. “You or Annie head the seder.”
Rachel was going to protest but Edward put a hand on her arm. “Go ahead,” he said.
Rachel took a breath. “This meeting of Soul 2065 is hereby called to order,” she said, a little huskily. “We greet Abram, my mother Eileen and Uncle Mark, and ask them to remember us.” She glanced over at Susan, but the woman was dry-eyed. “Yolanda?”
On the display, Yolanda nodded. “I’m doing well, although I still have moments where I become very sad at the loss of our friends, and of all those who died, even ten years later. As you know, I’ve been part of an organization that represents many of those who were forgotten in the compensation agreements. I’m also concerned at reports that the environmental damage may be worse than we were led to believe.” She stopped, and shook her head. “Sorry. I’m so involved in this stuff that I can get boringly didactic. Forgive me.”
Edward drew on the tablecloth with the tip of his finger. “On a more selfish level,” he said, “I haven’t been able to produce a lot that was worth anything for the last year or so. It could be just a temporary setback, but I’m a little nervous about it. I’m hoping that certain people will help,” and here he paused, and directed a long look at Susan, “and that next year I’ll be able to report several well-paid sales.”
Annie sat back in her chair. “I don’t have much to say about myself,” she said. “I’ve been helping Yolanda with fundraising. And I want to add that we’re doing well enough that certain members of this household should shut up about money and just remember how devastated we’d be if they left.” She took a deep breath and stopped.
Rachel reached out and smoothed Annie’s hair. “What Annie said. Especially the last.”
Susan looked down for a moment, and then said, “Thank you. I’m not going to talk about how much I miss Mark, and your mother,” looking at Rachel, “and everyone else who is gone now. I’m trying not to feel guilty that I happened to be visiting here when…when it happened. I’m trying not to feel that I should have been with Mark.”
She paused. The rest waited. “I remember my mother talking about how hard it was to outlive all the people she grew up with, and now I know what she meant.” Susan looked around. “But still, I’m luckier than many—I have you all now, and perhaps the rest of Soul 2065 to take care of me later. Who knows? Stranger things have happened.”
* * *
Fifty years later.
Although the seder had to be cancelled when Susan had a sudden crisis, after three days she had recovered enough that Annie and Rachel decided to hold what Annie dubbed a Late Seder. They called Yolanda and Edward, and two evenings later they all sat together in the bedroom and nibbled on matzoh.
“We greet Abram, my mother Eileen and Uncle Mark, and ask them to remember us,” said Rachel a bit too brightly; despite the help of the mechanized bed and the nursing aide who came once a day, she insisted on tending to Susan herself, and hadn’t been sleeping well at night.
She looked at the others and said, “I called my agent and told him that I was taking a vacation. I just don’t have the personal bandwidth to handle any jobs right now.”
“I disagree. I think Rachel needs to go back to work,” Annie said. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after things here, and the knitting shop practically looks after itself.”
“No,” said Rachel. “Just…no.”
“If somebody is offering you a part,” said Susan, “I don’t see why…” She started to cough.
“It’s not up for discussion,” Rachel said. She put a hand behind Susan’s back and supported her until the coughing fit subsided, and then settled her again.
“Actually, it is,” said Edward, and put up a finger when Rachel started to speak. “It’s my turn. I’m tired of the rat race. I’ve decided that I’m going to hang out here instead and visit one of the few people around who still remembers when I was young and good-looking.”
He smiled gently at Susan, who smiled back. “Thank you,” she mouthed.
Rachel stared at him. “Edward!” she said. “I can’t ask you to…”
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s a purely selfish act. I’m expecting you to mention my name to your public at least twice a week until somebody re-options one of my series.”
He grinned, and Rachel threw a pillow at him. “Ouch!” he protested.
Yolanda smiled slightly and simply said, “Susan’s asleep.”
They quietly stood and left the room.
* * *
Sixty years later.
Yolanda called Rachel and said that one of the members of her congregation—a former child survivor from New York—was giving a seder and would be delighted if she and Annie came. Rachel said she’d think about it. Annie glared at Rachel, then said that of course, they’d be happy to come.
“I can’t do that to your friend,” Rachel said impatiently. “Ever since I mentioned I attend an annual seder in that interview a couple of years ago, our systems are deluged every year by cards and gifts from fans. It’s a pain in the ass. We have to farm out part of our feed to avoid bringing the whole thing crashing down.”
“His wife works in communications,” said Yolanda calmly. “We’ve got it covered. Reserve your flight.”
Yolanda and her congregants lived a few miles outside of Minneapolis in a suburban community that was protected from airborne toxins by a large bubble of forced air and chemicals that surrounded several miles of territory. By the time Rachel and Annie had arrived, preparations were well under way. While the adults bustled around in the kitchen and dining room, the family’s children put on a play for their guests, who laughed and applauded.
“Kids,” came the cry, “Come set the table!” The children dashed away, leaving a sudden silence, broken only occasionally by the voices at the other end of the house.
“They’re great kids,” said Rachel. “But isn’t it strange for them, growing up in such an artificial environment? I mean, they never get outside. Really outside.”
“It’s healthier for them,” Yolanda said. “Better that than having to reach for an airsock every time the particle levels get too high. And we take them on trips in the cooler weather, when things are safer.”
They sat quietly for a moment. Suddenly, without speaking, Yolanda reached out to Annie and Rachel, and took their hands. Rachel took Annie’s other hand, completing the small circle.
“Go ahead,” Yolanda said to Rachel.
“We greet Abram and Edward and…” Rachel started, and then pressed her lips together. “I can’t,” she whispered. They just sat, heads bowed, remembering, while an errant breeze stirred the window curtains.
* * *
Seventy years later.
Rachel sat and stared at the ocean. These days, she liked to come to the shore as often as possible to watch the birds dip and soar, scuttle along the shore hunting for small shellfish and insects, or dig through the sand for leftover food from human visitors.
It was getting harder, though. Oh, Rachel could get herself to the boardwalk easily enough; her chair moved her around with only the twitch of a finger. But the discomfort—hell with that, the pain—was getting worse. At some point, even these days, medications could only do so much.
A few days ago, she had filled out all the necessary forms and had all the required interviews. They then fitted the small ampule in a special section of the chair.
Now, Rachel sat for a few more minutes, watching the birds and listening to their distant calls. A brown pigeon fluttered down in front of her chair and pecked at an interesting piece of shell.
After about half an hour, Rachel lifted her head and said, as clearly and loudly as she could, “Annie.”
The small holographic portrait appeared on the tray that extended from the left arm of her chair. Annie, gray-haired but still mischievous, blew a kiss and grinned at her.
“I’ll just be a few more minutes,” Rachel told her wife, dead these three years now. She tried to smile at the holo, failed, and shut it down.
It was a nice sunset. A few passersby walked along the boardwalk, and from a small building just behind her, there was a sudden spurt of sound: The raucous but pleasant noise of people singing badly but enthusiastically. Rachel had chosen this day and this spot purposefully—the building was a shared religious center, and tonight was the second night of Passover.
She listened for a moment. Had it really been that long since…? A sharp twinge bit at her stomach like a small arrow.
“Okay,” Rachel said out loud. “Enough of this shit.”
She reached down into the bag that hung from one arm of the chair and pulled out a pre-filled glass of wine. She peeled a layer of protective film from the top of the wineglass. She then tapped the glass lightly with the ring that she still wore on her left ring finger. It rang faintly but satisfactorily.
“This meeting of Soul 2065 is hereby called to order,” she told the pigeon. “I greet Abram, Yolanda, Edward, my mother Eileen, Uncle Mark and Aunt Susan, and my dear Annie, and ask them to remember me.” She paused. “No. I am the last living member, and so I ask them not simply to remember me, but to allow me to join them.” She paused and smiled slightly. “Along with any of our forebears who may want to join as well.”
Rachel placed her hand flat on her chair’s arm, and carefully recited the series of numbers and letters she had memorized. She felt an almost imperceptible vibration against her palm. Then she smiled and raised her face to the ocean. A breeze caressed her cheek.
“You were right, Aunt Susan,” she said. “If you just pretend you got it right, nobody will notice the mistakes.”
She sighed.
And part of the universe was made whole.
