The time travelers all showed up one day last year, and we gathered around a table. I think there were twenty in all, although I know there were a couple who were lurking outside the windows but didn’t come in the house. They all filed in, quiet and more or less serious.
“Settle a bet,” said the one who wore a red shirt, and who seemed to be leading them. “We have to know. Do you like sourdough or rye on a reuben?”
I looked across the sea of my face, staring back at me expectantly.
“Rye is good, but I never have any in the house, so I usually have sourdough. If I’m out at a restaurant, though, I like rye.”
“Damn it,” I said and looked around the sea of me. “So it is true. We’re all the same, but with different shirts on. None of us could have ever been any different.”
“I could,” I piped up from the corner. “I could have quit that job at the book store when the boss threw me under the bus, and I never would have met Steve and Amy and worked for them, or found the job at the City later, so I never would have gone back to school. That would have made a huge difference.”
“Actually,” I said on the other side of the room, “I did quit when the boss threw me to the wolves. I got drunk at a party and complained, and the manager at Amy’s offered me a job. And I went over to the City, and back to school.”
Red shirt-me looked pained. “Don’t start again.” I leaned over to me conspiratorially and said, “They’ve been doing that for two days now. The story is always the same. Little details change, but the big stuff is always the same.”
“What about the sandwich thing?”
“That’s a thing that hasn’t happened to you yet. We figured you seemed the most likely to break the mold, but no. It’s always prefer rye but usually have sourdough.”
“Is there some kind of tragedy?”
“Not really. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
The oldest me in the room piped up, “he’s right. It’s not a big deal, really. You get through it ok, but you’re never getting that money back.”
Six of me looked at him and, together and coordinated, said “shoot.”
Red shirt chuckled, almost a giggle, in that annoying way I do when I think I’ve really pulled something off. Then a cloud settled over all the me.
Dejected, shoulders slumped, I filed out of my kitchen, not making eye contact with me. I haven’t been back since, I suppose because my lives are all pretty much Ok. That’s a comforting thought, anyway.