May 19, 1995 [4]

Insects caught in the high beams of James' car zipped and spun like a schizophrenic meteor shower as he and Martha drove through the winding woods. She looked at him, face lit from below by the stereo playing Talking Heads. The past six months had been about as perfect as she could imagine. She'd gotten good grades – not that it matters. She'd made lots of friends – not that it matters. She'd even weathered the Chicago winter with ease – I guess the four decades as a paraplegic toughened me up a little... but not that it matters.

All that mattered was the boy sitting next to her.

She turned back to the road. The secluded, residential neighborhood they were meandering through was one of the wealthiest in their district. Homes were buried in the woods, hundreds of feet off the road with tastefully discreet mailboxes at the ends of their driveways the only means of finding an address.

"You've been here before?" Martha asked.

"Yep. Only about three... hundred times," James deadpanned.

"Wow. You're like a living, breathing Garmin. Just... not as funny," she volleyed.

James smiled in amusement which, for him, might as well have been a cackle. The time following Martha's triumphant return had been extraordinary – a point James had made again and again. Over the course of his many lives, he had tried to mix things up – overachiever, delinquent, jock, theater geek, and so on... But having a second ringer in high school with which to play and conspire opened a whole new dimension of possibilities.

It had taken some time for their classmates to separate James from the nefarious persona he'd built in this life leading up to her arrival. His shocking 'first' encounter with Martha had been a good start after it set the school abuzz with confused speculation.

Who was that girl?

Why'd she choose to make out with Creepy Jimmy Quinn?

Where the hell were they running off to?

Some thought she was a mental patient, but after she acclimated herself with her classmates, that was clearly not the case. Some thought they were from a hidden camera show, but why had the 'actors' stuck around like normal teens for the next six months? Some thought they were heading for Mexico, but chickened out... This theory had yet to be ruled out.

The only plausible explanation was the one Martha and James went with – it had been love at first sight. Beauty had tamed The Beast. The most romantically inclined students bought it immediately, but even the skeptics couldn't deny the gospel of their affection as the months passed.

While their legendary beginning and natural charm had endeared Martha and James to their classmates, what fueled their rocket to popularity most, in Martha's opinion, was the simple, if paradoxical fact that they could not have cared less. They were kind. They were funny. They offered encouragement or sympathy if and when the occasion arose. But if they didn't make a single friend outside of each other, they were perfectly content. And that kind of benevolent confidence was irresistible.

Presently, they passed a few cars parked to the side and James found an open spot. The road had no sidewalk and only a couple of feet of gravel for a shoulder.

He turned off the car and said, "Did I leave you enough space?"

Martha opened her door, looked down, and saw a foot of gravel before the ground sloped dramatically into black, tangled wilderness. "Not really, but you know, falling to my death might be fun."

James' mouth dropped. "Martha Beckett, sarcastic? No way!"

Martha closed her door. He put the key back in the ignition but she placed her hand on his to stop him. "Don't trouble yourself." Then she rolled down her window, arched her back, and squirmed her torso through. She came to a seated position on the window frame with her hands on the roof. From there, she pushed herself up then tucked her legs as they hung in the air.

"Seriously?" James asked.

"Shut up. I'm... concentrating," she stammered as she strained to perform the impromptu gymnastics, slowly curling her legs back and out the window.

After the outright euphoria of her arrival had died down, Martha asked James if he would begin training her. It was a perk of their condition she was looking forward to – making a list of skills she wished to master, then ticking them off, one by one.

The opportunity was fascinating and unique because of the freedom their lack of urgency provided. With one life to live, choices and compromises needed to be made. Want to be a grandmaster in chess? Say goodbye to a social life. Fancy playing in the World Cup? Your chances of also being prima ballerina would be nil. But for Martha, and James before, choosing one never precluded another. Time and mortality would not be an issue. So after some debate as they shuffled through his catalog of expertise, they settled on something she already had a head start on – jiu-jitsu.

James' murder in Berkeley three lives ago had been traumatic for Martha, to say the least. On top of the debilitating heartbreak from losing him, the shock of it left her in a constant state of fear. Even though Robbie, his murderer, had died there on the sidewalk as well, Martha felt him hiding behind every corner she approached, waiting to strike. In an attempt to cope, she began taking jiu-jitsu classes, continuing into her adult life and eventually earning a brown belt. Thankfully, she was never attacked or otherwise compelled to use it outside of class.

Starting her training in this life with her skills intact had been an exhilarating sensation. James was lifetimes ahead of her, but compared to her timid beginnings in her first life... I feel ready to kick some ass!

In addition to teaching Martha technique – and letting me throw him around the mat... SO FUN – James had put her on a strength training regimen of free-weights and Pilates. At present, she was stronger than she'd been in all her lives.

He stepped out of the car and said, "You don't have to do this."

"You don't have to speak," she grunted, arms quivering as she slowly lifted her knees to her chin and her toes up onto the roof. She raised her hands and stood up straight like she was posing for her Wheaties box. "Ta-daa! Whoop-" Martha looped her arms to steady herself as she nearly lost her balance.

"Oh... kay!" James held up his hands. "You were joking about wanting to fall to your death, right?"

"Relax. The only way I'm going to fall is if you drop me."

"What?"

Martha ran across the top of the car and yelled, "Catch!" Then she jumped feet first, her eyes on the night sky above. The moon passed into a thin cloud as she fell and then his arms were around her. Training alongside Martha had rebuilt his physique and she felt the grip of his muscles. "My hero," she said, stroking his cheek.

"I've created a monster," James said, smiling.

Martha bared her teeth and hissed, then scrambled over his shoulder and around to his back. She wrapped her arms around him and hitched up her legs. He held the back of her knees and began to carry her to the party on piggy back.

"Monster hungry for man-flesh," she growled, then rapidly kissed and play-bit James' neck.

"Well, that's what I get for dating an orc," he said nonchalantly.

Martha huffed. "So did you stop being ticklish before or after you stopped feeling the effects of alcohol?"

"Who says I'm not ticklish?"

"You are? Where?"

"And ruin the fun of finding the spot? I couldn't possibly."

"Fair enough," she said then lay her head on his shoulder, inhaling his scent and exhaling blissful contentment.

Author's note:

Thank you for reading!

So if you were in Martha's shoes, what would you start with?  Fighting?  Breakdancing??  Other???

Also, how do you think you would have reacted if you were in the cafeteria the day some random new girl arrived only to make-out, then leave with the school weirdo? 

I expect five paragraph essays answering each question on my desk Monday morning, class.  lol