"Okay, let's hear it," Martha said.

"Hear what?" James teased as he drove out of the parking lot.

"You already did that joke."

"Sorry." James slowed to a stop at a red light. "Let me get you home first."

"Seriously? What – it's going to blow my mind so much you're afraid I'll jump out of the moving car?"

He shrugged his shoulders and said, "It's... pretty mind blowing." The light turned and he accelerated.

"Now you're just being mean." Martha crossed her arms and turned her head away from him in a mostly playful show of protest. "I am so pouting the rest of this drive."

"No. Please. Anything but that," he responded with a deliberate lack of enthusiasm. His tone normalized. "You'll be fine. I just want to give you my full attention and if I did that right now I'd crash into something. Do you want me to crash into something? Because if you do, you're the one being mean."

The banter was helping to pass the time. In fact, the banter was the point. Eventually, he would tell her the secret to his trick, she would be impressed, then life would go on. She already knew he was clever. But talking with him, joking with him, effortlessly gliding on the same wavelength with him... As with Plato's cornball myth, she felt mended somehow.

Finally, they reached her street. He pulled to a stop in front of her house and turned off the car. Martha stared at James. James stared at the steering wheel.

"Here we are," Martha said impatiently.

James was unmoved.

"Yo!"

He turned to her. "Yes... Here we are." He took in and let out a deep breath. Something seemed off to Martha. He appeared to be nervous. She didn't know it was possible for James Quinn to be nervous. And this was supposed to be his moment to shine, to gloat, to bask in the glory of his grand machination. "Okay," he began. "So there doesn't seem to be any rational explanation for the two predictions I made."

"True."

"And you've wracked your brain trying to devise some way I could have gained advance warning of these events or orchestrated them somehow and you've come up with nothing."

"Also true," Martha said with growing annoyance.

James took another deep, slow breath.

"Oh my god stop stalling and just tell me!"

"I am," he said calmly. "The explanation is going to sound crazy. You're not going to believe me, at first."

"How do you know I'm not going to believe you?"

"Because... you never believe me."

"Huh? What are you talking about? I... always believe you, I think."

"And I appreciate your trust. But that's not what I mean. When I say 'you never believe me,' I mean that whenever we have this conversation, parked in front of your house... Well, sometimes we have it inside your house and occasionally you insist we pull over and have the conversation before we even get here-"

"What!?"

"Every time I tell you how I knew those events would take place, you don't believe me."

Martha sat in confused silence. "I'm sorry. Does this mean you're not going to tell me how you did it? Or... is this... another part of the magic trick? I don't understand."

"Right. Sorry. I'll be more direct. I have a... condition, you could say." Again, he paused, closed his eyes and took a breath. "Okay, I was born in 1977. Then, I lived my life like everyone else. Then, I died."

Martha squinted and cocked her head sideways. "You died?" Clearly he was joking – and it wasn't one of his better jokes if she was being honest.

"Yes. And then I was reborn in 1977 as myself. Then I lived my life and died. And then I was reborn in 1977 as myself in a... thus far, never ending loop."

He stopped and waited for Martha's response. Finally, she said, "So... you knew about Dahmer and the fire in China because you've already lived a life, or... lives?"

James nodded.

"Then yeah, your third prediction was correct as well. I don't believe you. By the way, whenever you're done with this, I'm still very curious how you knew about the headlines."

"I get it. Of course you don't believe me, because what I'm saying is unbelievable."

"Yep."

"But look at it like this – imagine you're a scientist. Imagine some lab across the world published research that stood what we knew about the universe on its head. You would be skeptical. You might wonder if the research was sound or flawed. You and your colleagues would scrutinize the study – test and retest until the scientific method bore the verdict."

"So you want me to test your baloney?"

"Yes."

"Okay, what happens in tomorrow's paper?"

"More on Dahmer, some stuff on the new Congress – nothing exciting. But that won't work anyway because that's tomorrow. We need to test it right here."

"How?"

"Ask me something about yourself – something I should have no way of knowing."

"Because you know everything about me?"

"Probably not everything."

"Because we've met before?"

"Yes."

"All right, but this is getting weird. Um... when was my first kiss?"

"Summer before sixth grade."

Lucky guess.

"In the backyard of your best friend Tiana's house, sitting on the side of her pool."

How did he-

"His name was Jason. He was too scared, so you kissed him on the cheek then he kissed you on yours."

Martha looked away from James. A knot had formed in her stomach. She hadn't kept a diary where he could have found a record of this. She supposed he could have gone to the trouble of calling Tiana or Jason or some other source but how could he have known she would ask that particular question?

"Then in seventh grade, you were with your boyfriend... Rick, I think, and some other kids in the mall parking lot. Ella – not your best friend – forced the two of you to kiss in front of everyone."

"Okay." She felt light headed.

"You hated it. In hindsight, you think Rick hated it too, but that sadistic bitch Ella made you feel so worthless-"

"That's enough!" Her heart raced and her chest felt tight.

"Here." He handed her a paper bag. "Breathe into this. Nice and slow – that's it. I also have water, or 7up, room temperature – if you like."

She took the bottle of water, opened it, and drank half. She wiped her chin dry and closed her eyes for a moment, then reopened. The car felt significantly smaller than when they first parked.

"You're experiencing a dissociative panic attack. But you are entirely safe." His voice was calm but firm and felt like salve on a burn. "There is one, small part of your reality that has been revised. The rest of it remains intact. Martha, you are safe and sane."

She took a deep breath then softly said, "I'd like to go inside."

"Okay. Would you like me to come with you, or should I leave?"

"Come with."

"Okay."

She couldn't sit with this alone. They left the car and walked to the house. Once inside, Martha walked to the kitchen and James followed. At the bottom of the pantry, she found a six pack of 7up. It had been a staple at their home for years – the go-to home remedy for an upset stomach. Something else he knew. She opened a can and took a sip.

They stood at opposite ends of the kitchen. James broke the silence. "Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

Martha couldn't help but chuckle at the question. James waited patiently. "All right," she said. "Why me?"

"Why did I choose to confide in you?"

Martha nodded.

"That's... a complicated question. Short answer is... I find you to be an exceptional person."

Martha brightened. An exceptional person. It wasn't Lord Byron, but the unmistakable flattery landed nevertheless.

He continued, "I've told other people – in previous lifetimes – and it almost never goes well. And for what it's worth, it's always difficult for you to hear, at first, but you usually come around and..." His eyes dropped to the floor as he appeared to lose himself.

Seconds passed as they stood in silence. Martha had long given up the fear that this was a prank. The greatest actor would have betrayed some hint of malicious amusement by now and James appeared somber and afraid. Angry and annoyed only minutes ago, Martha suddenly felt pity for the boy.

His eyes returned to hers. "Sometimes I don't tell you. I just hold the secret. But it's a choice that leaves me..." He shook his head. "It's a lot to explain. It's a long story – a very long story."

Martha took a drink of 7up. She considered James' earlier allusion to the scientific method. It was a smart move. Science was her religion and she had every intention of pursuing a scientific career. The evidence was mounting.

"Yeah. Okay," she said. "But I've got, like ten thousand questions so... Wanna' sit?" She motioned to the living room. James smiled and nodded. Martha sat on the couch and James took the lazy-boy. Her head swam with questions. James waited patiently. "So, we've done this before?" she asked.

"Yes."

"How is it going?"

"About average... maybe a little better. Sometimes you throw me out."

"Wow. Is it too late for that?"

James smiled. "You're the boss."

Martha shrugged. "Maybe later. So how many times have we met?"

"Hard to say exactly. Two... hundred, maybe 215."

"215 times?!"

"Give or take."

"Holy crap! You've lived 215 lives?"

"Closer to 240, I'd say."

"Oh. What happened in the other twenty-five?"

"Sometimes I run away from home. Sometimes I die before you get here. Sometimes you don't make it to-"

"That's right... you've died!" Martha interrupted. "God, that's crazy. What's dying like?"

"Well, if I'm dying a painful death, it's painful. If I'm dying a peaceful death, it's peaceful. Death itself? It's just... nothing. Like sleep without dreams."

"And then... then you're born? Or are you in your mom's womb??"

"Thankfully, no," James said with a chuckle.

"That would be intense."

"Yeah. No, I come to in bits and pieces as a toddler. Not sure why, but it seems to mimic the timing of long term memory formation. What's your earliest memory?"

"Don't you know?"

James smiled. "I do, actually. The linoleum in your kitchen was being replaced. You were unnerved by how much dirt and grime was underneath the old floor. And your dad has confirmed you were two years old when that took place."

"This is so crazy."

"Mm-hmm. But you don't remember every day thereafter, right? Your next memory is at a daycare roughly six months later. It doesn't normalize until you're around four to six years old."

"So you land back on Earth for good, sometime around four to six years old?"

"Yes."

"And then you what – go to kindergarten?"

"Yes."

"And you remember me and high school and college and whatever else you've learned or done, but you're stuck finger painting?"

James nodded.

"What's that like?"

"Awful. Childhood is awful. The absolute worst. The only reason people are nostalgic for it is that when you're a child, you don't fear death."

"But you never have to." The thought of James' immortality gave Martha pause. "I guess that's a plus."

James shrugged. A moment passed before he said, "Your dad's going to be home soon."

"Not an impressive prediction," Martha joked.

James rolled his eyes and continued, "I'm going to head out."

"What?"

"I know. You have unanswered questions. But we've got time. One thing this condition has taught me is patience."

"Okay," Martha conceded. "Same time tomorrow?"

"I'm not going to be able to miss any more practices this week. Don't worry. We'll work something out. But before I go, I want you to understand something, Martha." James slid forward to the edge of the chair. "There is no such thing as destiny. In every life I've lived, time has played out uniquely. Every choice you make is yours. You can take my advice. You can reject my advice. You can tell me to get lost."

Martha couldn't fathom wanting James to 'get lost,' but she understood what he meant and nodded.

"That said, I think it would be a good idea not to tell your dad or anyone else about any of this. It would complicate things."

"Okay." Martha hadn't planned on discussing it. As with the supposed magic trick, she was excited to hold the secret exclusively. "No one would believe me if I did."

"No, they wouldn't." James stood to leave. "Nevertheless, the secret can be burdensome. So thank you. Your confidence means a great deal... It means more than you could know." He smiled. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Martha said and James left.

She stared at the door. Her questions were too many to count. She decided to focus on how 'exceptional' James felt she was. It was a strong compliment, but also vague and generic. It felt like a placeholder she hoped he'd expand upon.

He wasn't who she thought he was. Though she'd met him a month ago, he'd known her for millennia. What had their relationship been? Were they lovers? Had they been married? Kids?? Ugh! Stop! No more!

The questions swimming in her head were now fluttering in her stomach as well. She stood and walked to the kitchen to find another can of 7up.

Author's note:

Well, that changes things a little.  So what do you think.  Blessing or curse?

Like, totally 90's detail:  Nothing jumps out so I'll take the opportunity to clarify that Martha and James are NOT boomers.  Okay?  They are Generation X – the middle children of history, as Tyler Durden put it.  Boomers gave the world Trump.  Generation X gave it Obama.  That about sums it up.