This Time Around | L.C. Mohr
Loving someone is a gift. Loving the same someone for a lifetime is a rare gift. I have loved Jillian for seven hundred years. But, like some horribly long English farce, where people rush in and out of doors, forever searching for but just missing each other, Jane-Johanna-Jillian and I had been born, died and reborn fifteen times – fifteen lifetimes – without fulfillment.
Oh, we found each other several times – but we’d always been separated before we could attain our destinies. In medieval times we lived in the same village. But Jane died in childbirth at thirteen, having been married off by our clan. In another life I asked Johanna to be my wife, but I was killed at Gettysburg before we could marry. Jillian was killed in an air raid during World War II while I was still in college.
But now, here we were – both of us young, in the same place, and in love. Finally our lives had synchronized. She was still having trouble remembering me from our previous lives, but I knew. I always knew her when I saw her again.
Most people claim not to know that for each of us there is only one person we are meant to be with – the same person in every lifetime. Most people refuse to even remember their previous lives, let alone their search for their soul mate. But I knew – I remembered almost every detail of every life – and every loss.
This time around would be different. This time Jillian and I would live our lives together. We would have the happiness we’d been robbed of so many many times in the last seven centuries. And this time we could really enjoy it. We wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I was the son of wealthy parents in this life. Money may not be able to buy happiness but neither can bone-gnawing poverty. Believe me, I know.
Jillian was beginning to remember more and more about us each time we met. Just last night at dinner she’d remembered giving birth to our child. Her face had paled as the memory washed through her.
“Oh my God…” she was saying over and over to herself as I drove her back to her apartment. And when she called me this morning we agreed to meet in the park.
“Have you remembered more?” I asked eagerly when we met at the fountains.
We walked toward the lake – where lovers walked. Fortunately, we were alone.
“My darling,” I said.
“You bastard,” she answered.
“Every time we’ve met you’ve ruined my life.”
“In the 14th Century, your family gave me to an imbecilic old man and I died in childbirth. In the 17th Century you accused me of witchcraft and burned me at the stake. In the 19th Century you got me pregnant and then ran off and joined the Confederacy. In the 20th Century, you stranded me in London during the Blitz while you caroused with your student buddies in Oxford.”
I’d forgotten about Salem. “But…”
Jillian took a gun from her bag. “Not this time around,” she said.
L.C. Mohr has had many stories and poems in publications throughout the country and on the Internet. One story was nominated for a Derringer Award and is currently being made into a radio play. Her children’s novel, KRUMBUCKETS!, was published by Blooming Tree Press in 2009. Her picture book, MY RED HAT is available at www.lulu.com.