Intricate versions of the future and the past play forward and backward in my mind. I'm never truly astounded by the fall of a girl, the withering of a flower, the death of a pet, or even the sudden disappearance of Kevin's mother.

No matter how many lifetimes you live, no matter what you do, no matter where you go... no matter! There is never a way to be there when you're needed.

Infinitely, I've lived my lifetimes, believing that the very last iteration of my lifetimes was only present and valued in the moment I could save her life. Infinitely so, I believe I was wrong and arrogant to think this.

Recently, intermedia has taken a turn in storytelling. Time travel, universes, and timelines—something I always seem to be surprised about.

I sit in this room, surrounded by black-dressed adults, teenagers, crying men, girls, boys, and women who mourn. I sit and think. Clarity is more common now. But I sit and think. I am confused and look towards the casket we all huddle around like... I sit and think... I sit and think.

I'm scared, not because I'm afraid to fail, but because I sit and try to remember this. I try to summon the clarity for the next time. Let it be here faster. Let it be me who knows. Let me be a difference. I watch and consider what the meaning of timelines is. I consider if I'm simply a dream. And then, I cry.

I see a hand on my shoulder, something I never see, never expect, never consider, but it's there. Kwame smiles and holds my shoulder strongly. He gives me a wry but kind smile, and suddenly, I feel hope.

"I always hate this moment," Kwame says. And I agree. My meaning is deeper than his, but I can see that Bethie's death touches even him.

© Seakay Margiadanae