A Smile Towards the End

Peter ended the call; his food was downstairs and he needed to receive it. He looked at the busy screen in front of him, hesitating a bit, but quickly realized it was a simple decision. He locked the screen, took his keys, and went out of the apartment. He locked the door, and took the short walk to the elevators. After a short while, the elevator doors opened and he went in.

It was a short 20-second trip, but on the fifth second, there was a sharp twang and the elevator lurched. The single second that it held steady enough to quickly assure himself, except that was all it was: a single second of calm.

When Peter heard the second twang, he knew. Suddenly, he was weightless and the elevator began its free fall.

His life flashed past his eyes. The past years working as an analyst; his time in college with his friends both in his program and those in his organization; he remembered his years in high school, then grade school, nursery.

Peter remembered his last day: his small breakfast, the unproductive morning, a quick lunch, the calls he had in the afternoon, and his little spat with his girlfriend. It all seemed irrelevant when he was at death’s door.

He closed his eyes, smiled, and let it all go.

Don’t worry about it, buddy. It’s not your time yet. A voice seemed to say.

When Peter opened his eyes, he was back in his bed; his girlfriend Sarah was beside him. Dazed, he looked around double thinking his sanity. The phone he kept at his bedside, his laptop just an arm’s reach away on his worktable. There were the books on the wall shelf⁠—reference books, sketch pads, journals, fiction, every book he couldn’t afford to let go. In the opposite corner was his closet with the doors ajar, a handful of shirts leaning precariously.

Everything was just as he remembered it to be, just like the morning of his last day. It was a second chance; he can right whatever wrong he did today and survive to see tomorrow.

Peter kissed his girlfriend on the forehead and got up with a smile on his face. He took a bath, called sick to work, and prepared a lavish breakfast. Whereas he would usually eat cereal for breakfast, he now cooked bacon, eggs, sausages, and waffles; he even steamed some vegetables. He woke up his girlfriend, told her to call in sick as well, and asked her out on a date. She quickly said yes. They ate their breakfast, took a shower, got dressed and prepared to go out.

He grabbed his keys, and remembered. He remembered the elevator; how he got out of his apartment just like now, and walked into his death. He smiled and shook his head. He called Sarah over and they both headed out the door. They strode towards the elevators, waited, and went down.

Walking out of the building, Peter looked up and stared at the blue sky. He smiled again, and looked forward to the events of the day.

Their date was simple. They first went to the park. They walked, talked, got lunch, then visited the museum. It was similar to their first date two years ago, like travelling through time.

He had taken her to an art gallery, and they spent the day making exaggerated interpretations of different art pieces. They would fake appreciation that was more than what they truly felt about the art. Peter and Sarah both liked art, but they didn’t have a deep understanding of it. Yet it was this lack of understanding that made them fit each other so well. From then on, it became their thing.

Then, they went home.

Peter remembered the little spat they had when he first had this exact day. He’d been too busy to spend time with her. He worked remotely and he didn’t need to go to the office while Sarah needed to. For her, going home was a release; Peter made everything seem right in the world. She appreciated him and his little quirks. She finds it a pity how he becomes just a bit too preoccupied with everything that he often forgets to look around. Sarah always thought he only needed to relax and let go.

And that afternoon, he did. Sarah loved all of it, and Peter was happy that she did. She was his world, despite how little time he could afford these days. He wanted to give her a good life and if it meant suffering a little in the present, he would take it and look forward.

But even as he wanted this scene to play for eternity, Peter smiled with glistening eyes. He had still deliberately ordered food for dinner, and when the call came, Peter asked Sarah to stay while he went to receive it in the lobby. He told her he would be back in few minutes. Except he knew he couldn’t.

He didn’t take his keys; he simply kissed Sarah, joking that he’ll miss her and went out the door. He walked towards the elevator, and waited. The same elevator, the same moment.

Walking in, he closed his eyes, smiled, and felt reality lose control.

No, Peter. This isn’t your time yet. It was that same voice again.

When Peter opened his eyes again, he knew. There was no confusion in his eyes. He simply got up, and prepared himself for work. He got all his sheets, his slides, and his documents ready. He looked up all the data he would need; he already knew which ones are important for today.

When Sarah woke up, she saw him working already and pouted. She got up and took a shower. Even as she finished, Peter was still working. She asked if he had time tonight to spend with her and he just smiled apologetically. It annoyed Sarah. She just got dressed, told Peter she’d be getting dinner with friends, and left for work.

As for Peter, he just continued looking at his data. He listed everything that he might miss, and noted everything he didn’t. He was meticulous in his work. He revisited his backlogs, and finished his leftover tasks.

During his lunch break, he called Sarah. Peter didn’t want to have her think the worst of him on his last days. Even if he wanted to focus on work, he only realized more and more how much he loved her. And yet, even as he thought that, he also knew how his night would be.

And as it was, he would order his dinner, lock the door on his way out, walk towards the elevator, and wait. Then, it ends all over again.

No. Stop. It’s not your time yet, Peter. Even more insistent, the voice still called out to him.

But everything was the same. Peter hadn’t changed his mind. He would smile, shake his head, and go on with his day right up to the accident.

How about I give you more time? Don’t give up, Peter. The voice sounded.

When he woke up again, it was different. He was wearing different clothes. Sarah was still beside him, but just as different. It was no longer his final day.

Peter sat up and thought back. How far ago was it? He picked up his phone and checked the date: the day before the accident. He almost laughed. He shook his head and went about his day.

He had a slight spring in his step. There was an abundance of lightness within him. He made breakfast, greeted Sarah awake, and spent his time working happily. He knew what was going to happen and he had absolutely let go of his worries.

Sarah was happy for him. She thought he was finally getting his groove. Her happiest moments were when Peter was happy too. She got herself ready and prepared for work. She kissed Peter on the cheek, and went her way.

When she got home that night, Peter had cooked dinner for them. It had been ages since their last homemade dinner together, and it was easily the highlight of her week.

They ate their dinner, and followed with watching a movie together. It was her ideal night with the person she loved.

Come the next day, it seemed like Peter was the new happier person that he was the day before. He’d still prepare breakfast, wake Sarah, and kiss goodbye. Sarah was happy.

However, that night, as she was coming home, she saw a delivery person waiting at the lobby. They just got off the phone, and seemed to be waiting for the recipient to get the food. She shrugged it off and headed to the elevator lobby.

On the other hand, Peter was just on his way out of the apartment, locking their door. He walked toward the elevator, and waited.

However, this time, the doors didn’t open. Then, he heard the two succeeding twangs within the elevator shaft. He was confused. What happened? Who could have taken his place?

Then it hit him. He rushed back into the apartment, and grabbed his phone. He anxiously dialed Sarah over and over again but only ever got dial tones. His hands slowly loosened their grip. As his phone hit the ground, so did his tears fall out and his knees buckled over.

It was supposed to be him in that elevator, not Sarah. That conviction only got stronger as he wept, kneeling on the floor. He looked around his apartment, and he smiled. He fashioned a makeshift rope, and took his missed fate back into his hands.

The voice screamed. Peter, no! You can’t do this! It’s not yet your time!

But it did little to impede Peter’s actions. The voice was but a voice.

And so, Peter woke up again. He checked the date: this time, an entire week before. Yet, despite the abundance of time, he didn’t do anything different. He didn’t have that spring in his steps. The lightness was replaced by a suffocating heaviness of responsibility and of fate. Perhaps he could try to be a more loving boyfriend, but his life would essentially stay the same.

He would not do anything extra for work. He would submit his dues just as he remembered he did. He would have his nights with Sarah just as they did prior; a movie, an episode of a TV show, and, for a single night, they sang to each other. But all that was only what he used to do before everything lost focus.

And when the day came, he got out of the apartment, locked the doors, and walked towards the elevators. He’d smile, shake his head, and move towards his fate.

There was no voice this time . Peter just woke up again, but even farther in the past.

He thought he could change something given time, but that idea never lasted. He looked at Sarah sleeping beside him, and knew he shouldn’t change anything. He didn’t want her to take his place. He wanted her to live the full extent of her life.

A familiar month; one he’d experienced before, and the ending of which he’d experience multiple times. Onwards.

When Peter next woke up, it was one year back. Again, there was no voice.

Then, he would wake up before he got his job.

He’d wake up before he met Sarah.

He’d wake up to his college years, to his high school years, even back to when he was in grade school.

Peter would live his life over and over again starting from different points in his life.

Sometimes he’d do his best to do something differently. He would try to change the world, make it a better place. Sometimes he would let his worries and inhibitions go. He would seek his own happiness, and live life to the fullest. He would try to escape every now and then, but always, there would be something.

Because one thing remained the same: that day, a life was owed.

He always remembered which day and on what time his death was. Always, he would look for the accident; he would check roads, cars, stairwells, elevators. And in the absence of which, regardless of how fulfilled or happy he felt, he’d take his life himself before someone else took his place.

Sometimes, the voice still echoed in his head.

Yet, he would ignore it and continue to live his life. Every now and then, he would have a dream. His life would flash past his eyes; not the lives he lived after, but the first life he ever saw flash past. Peter cherished it. It was his anchor, and one that could never be taken from him, nor one he could lose even if he tried.

To Peter, it was already over. He had lived his life, or lives in fact. But it had long been time to move on.