Other Options

The Christo-fascists march down Mass Avenue. You watch a livestream of them throwing rocks at your former city counselor’s house, shrieking obscenities at her four-year-old. It culminates at MIT, where they burn down the few remaining labs. You don’t know why they bother—they already won.

You switch off the stream and get your vial of Timeline. One drop of the tincture under your tongue and you’re out of this shit world, living in a parallel one, at least for a little while.

When you come back, Elana’s staring at you.

“They aren’t real,” she says, chewing every word the way she does since the attack.

No one knows that for certain, but you don’t care. Every alternate timeline, you have children.

* * *

In this timeline you have a three-year-old daughter. Judging by your bump, another is on the way. The three of you stroll Franklin Park Zoo, stopping at a bench by the otters for a snack and to rest your feet.

The world shimmers. Just before everything fades and falls apart, you spy something in the distance: a man wearing a t-shirt with an American flag sporting a black cross where the stars should be. Glaring at you and Elena with undisguised hatred. This isn’t supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be safe in this place.

You return to reality shaking in fear.

* * *

You weren’t there when Elana was attacked. The police were, but they didn’t intervene.

While Elana and her activist friends were counter-protesting outside Brigham and Women’s Hospital, you were at work, trying not to think about it. It had only been a month since the miscarriage. Even remembering the rest of the embryos cryogenically stored at the hospital gave you panic attacks. Yes, you told Elana, of course you’d try again. You just weren’t ready.

The groups clashed and Elana took a flagpole to the head. Meanwhile, a second fascist group broke into the hospital and “liberated” the embryos. Most would have ended up destroyed, they said. They were saving them.

Your embryos were implanted into “upright Christian women,” and strangers raise your children.

* * *

Under the influence, time passes like a dream, simultaneously lasting forever and occurring in an instant.

Two kids this time—two boys who never seem to stop running and yelling. Even in this dreamy state, it’s exhausting. But you love it. Love them. This is the way your life should be. This is the way the world should be. You wonder so often what would have happened if you hadn’t miscarried, if you’d started trying earlier. If you’d been more active politically when the Christo-fascists started taking over. If. If. If.

You hear a sound from the street. Without seeing, you know it comes from a van with speakers atop it. You’ve seen enough of them in your own timeline.

In these timelines, you’re merely a spectator. You can’t rush outside, chase down the van, berate the driver for scaring your kids. You never did these things in the real world anyway.

* * *

A few of Elana’s old activist friends stop by. There aren’t many of them left.

“It’s not too late,” Stacey says. You always had two minds about her—she’s fun, personable, but she pushes too far, takes too many risks. “We’re not talking hashtag resistance, but actual resistance resistance.”

Before Elana can formulate her words, you speak. “It’s too dangerous. We need to keep our heads down. Try and get away maybe.”

“No more getting away,” Elana says.

Your vial of Timeline is almost gone, and you can’t get more; the Christo-fascists aren’t big supporters of science or drugs, however quasi-legal they may be. The last time you took it, you were shocked at how little was left. When you bought the vial, you didn’t think you’d ever need a second. Drop by drop, it disappears, and suddenly it’s too late.

* * *

Two girls in this timeline. You bet that one is a mini-you and the other a mini-Elena. You see gray hair in the mirror and wonder how far in the future it is.

Cartoons on the TV, sun streaming through the windows, bagels with cream cheese on the coffee table.

The door explodes inward and black-clad men take you all away.

* * *

You lay in bed with Elana, stroking her palm.

“You’re right,” you whisper, though you aren’t sure if she’s awake.

No more watching other worlds, wishing for better days. No more expecting someone to save you. There are other options, and it’s time to explore them.