Джон Литтл: The Murder of Jesus Christ

I pressed the pedal harder, and raced even faster. The days sped by, a calendar fanning through time. I no longer questioned how such a thing could happen. That didn’t matter anymore. How and Why were just words. What mattered was Karen.

Three months peeled away, then six, and then I screeched to a stop.

“I love summer,” Karen said.

“The best time of the year, for sure.” I was temporarily surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth, but then remembered the conversation. I was back where I’d wished to be.

I was riding right behind my own eyes, able to take control when I wanted, but if I did nothing, my life rolled along as it had originally.

So far, I didn’t want to interrupt things. Karen and I were lying in the grass at Sutherland Park. It was the first hot day of summer, and we both embraced the warmth and our love. There was nothing that needed fixing here.

Having her so close reminded me how much I loved her.

I put my arm out, and Karen crawled closer to me. We rested and touched fingers and smiled and didn’t have to say a word. After a few minutes, I leaned over and kissed her, tasting the love on her tongue. That was me taking control. The first time we experienced this moment, I didn’t do that. It was the best kiss I’d ever had.

I loved re-living this day.

I wondered what would happen if I decided to stay here, not return to my home time. Would that work? Or was there some cosmic law that would make that impossible? There were lots of crazy laws in physics, and although traveling through time felt like magic, I knew it was some kind of scientific phenomenon we hadn’t yet discovered.

Even as I wondered, I could feel a tiny pull, which I understood to be my own true time wanting me back.

You will only have until my burial , Grandma had said.

Were the minutes ticking by at the same speed in my own time as they were here? If so, my time was limited. I would never forgive myself if I missed her funeral.

The first time I had traversed back, I returned to the same instant I had left. I wanted to trust that would happen again. The thought of leaving Karen was impossible.

I wish you’d told me about the Shelljah before this, Grandma .

“Let’s go,” whispered Karen.

We wordlessly got up and started walking back to her apartment. Neither of us needed to say much. We were totally comfortable together.

Except…

I shook that thought aside. My body was walking alongside Karen, and I wanted to pay attention to her, not to what had happened before.

This weekend was the only one recently that we’d had together. Her work at NASA kept her busy almost non-stop, including weekends. She was going into space, a monumental undertaking. The full training took a year, and she had only finished a few months so far.

Part of me wanted to tell her to give it all up and marry me. But, mostly, I wanted her to experience everything in life she could manage, and this was something that almost nobody would ever be able to boast about. She was going alien-hunting.

Earlier that day, Karen had told me all about what they did in training. The physical and mental challenges never seemed to end. I wondered if I would have the stamina to keep going, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t. I wasn’t proud of that, but I was proud of Karen for pulling it off.

We got to her apartment, and she took me by the hand, leading me to her bedroom.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said. I kissed her deeply as we sat on the bed. Then I undid her blouse, and she stopped to lift my T-shirt over my head. Within a minute, we were both naked and lying beside each other.

Karen reached down to take my hard penis in her hand, and I couldn’t help moaning with pleasure. It’d been so long…

I lowered her onto her back and kissed her neck softly and gently, then moved to kiss her breasts. Her nipples were erect and waiting for my mouth.

Throughout our lovemaking, I rode the earlier version of my body, remembering every move I’d made, every touch she’d given me, and every bit of love we shared.

It was the best we’d ever had, and the last.

That was what I needed to fix.

After we finished making love, we fell asleep, our bodies still tangled together.

Karen held onto my leg, as if to make sure I didn’t leave while she napped. I could feel her fingers on my skin as I fell asleep, and loved it.

After about a half hour, we woke, and I licked my lips. I looked at the girl beside me and marvelled at how beautiful she was and how fortunate I was to have found her again.

The tug of time wanting me back was stronger now.

I had first met Karen at a Starbucks coffee shop while we both were waiting for drinks. I’d ordered a cappuccino and she a mocha macchiato. We stood nearby and while we waited, she received a text.

Later, she told me what it said: Congratulations, Karen. You have been selected.

“Oh my God!”

At the time, of course, I had no clue what was happening. I heard this squealing girl beside me and turned to see if something was wrong. Her mouth hung open in shock, but she didn’t seem unhappy.

“Are you okay?” I asked. I wouldn’t normally get involved, but her open mouth had turned into a wide grin, and she’d looked up and caught my eye. I had to say something.

“It’s…” She shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“What is?”

She laughed and shook her head again. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but this was awfully close. I needed to find out more about her. She looked close to my age, long black hair, and that infectious smile would haunt me forever.

She held up a finger to say, “Hold on a second,” and texted back to her NASA contact. Totally thrilled!

At that second, Karen knew she was going to the moon.

After she sent the text, she looked up to me as if noticing me for the first time.

“Sometimes everything seems to just work out,” she said.

“Well that sounds like something worth celebrating!”

Later, I told her she’d misunderstood my comment. I meant that she should go celebrate with her friends. She thought I was suggesting the two of us celebrate together.

Best misunderstanding of all time.

“We can grab a table here if you want,” she said.

I have no idea why she agreed to that. It was totally out of character for her to sit with a stranger to have a coffee. Maybe the adrenaline rush of the news, or maybe it was God’s will, if you believe in that kind of thing. Whatever the case, she didn’t question it, and so I didn’t either.

“Sure, I’d like that. My name is David. David Abelman.”

“Karen Anderson.”

She didn’t tell me about the moon trip until we’d been dating for two weeks. Up until then, she said it felt like it was all a dream that could be yanked out from under her at any time.

Memories were made from shared lives.

I need to interrupt myself right now before we continue. The thing is, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. If you were a close friend or somebody else who I’d known my whole life, I wouldn’t need to stop here, but I have no idea who might read my story at some point (and it’s certainly possible it’s nobody at all, in which case this is a little pointless).

My grandmother was Jewish. So was my mother. And in theory, so am I.

In theory? Yes, because I was raised in a Jewish household, learned the various customs and traditions, was taught about Hanukkah and all about lighting the menorah instead of Christmas, observed Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and the rest, and for many years I was dragged to the local synagogue to listen to Rabbi Pfeiffer tell us all about the things we should know.