As I went to work on a few of the more attractive students I noticed that Nina, who was in the same class, would become morose and even throw some dirty looks my way. What was up with her? I wondered. Was Tracy right? Was Nina in love with me? I hoped not. She was my best friend and I was her best friend but I'd never done anything to encourage her to love me. If it was true, how could it have happened?
In deference to her feelings I tried to keep my flirtations discreet when she was around. There was no since hurting her. And if she did have some love-like feelings for me they would eventually fade, wouldn't they?
I was troubled by these thoughts but not too troubled. By my second week there I enticed a girl named Susan Kelly, a breasty brunette whose ambition was to someday work as a registration clerk, to my house after school. I was glad to find that I still had the touch after the long summer.
In September of that year the United States sent a force of Marines to Beirut as part of a peacekeeping force. I knew that tragedy would befall 240 of them at the hands of Muslim extremists. With their deployment came the opportunity for some experimentation on my part. I knew what was going to happen. Could I, in good conscience, simply let it occur without trying to stop it? I could not.
The question was, how could I stop it? I put some thought into the matter while I read as much on the peacekeeping force as I could. A plan developed in my mind by the end of September.
Using plain paper and pen I drafted a letter to the commanding general of the American forces there. I stated that I was an American Muslim and that I'd received information about an impending attack upon the forces there by way of relatives in Lebanon that were part of the extremists but not as radical as their friends. I explained exactly what was to take place and on which day. I made twenty-five copies of the letter and dropped each copy into a separate envelope, all of which I addressed and labeled CONFIDENTIAL.
I put stamps on all of the letters and then borrowed my father's car one Saturday morning, telling him that I was going to an all-day party. I promised him I wouldn't drink and he gave me the keys.
I left the house at 9:00 that morning, getting onto Interstate 90 and heading west. Four hours later I was in Seattle; a large, anonymous city that I'd never lived in. Careful was my watchword and if any feds tried to find the deliverer of the message, as I was sure they would, I wanted no trail leading them to Spokane. I dropped the letters into a mailbox in one of the suburbs. I had a quick lunch and then headed home. I'd taken my shot. My conscience was assuaged.
Of course I had no way of knowing if my letters had reached their destination and, if they had, if they would be taken seriously. I hoped that they were enough to at least take simple precautions. I listened to a news station on the radio all day on October 15, the day the attack was to take place. Nothing came across about a tragedy in Beirut. But towards the end of the day something else came across.
"U.S. Marines," Said the ABC announcer, "Have captured a group of Muslim extremists that were setting up heavy caliber mortars near the Marine Barracks, apparently with the intention of shelling the soldiers inside. A source tells us that the Marines were acting on information they received via an anonymous tip that the attack was to take place. General…"
I'd done it! I had prevented a tragedy! The Muslims that had been about to shell the barracks, destroying it and killing 240 Marines had been captured before they could do it. I had changed history!
I walked around in a state of elation for the next seven days, beaming with pride at what I'd done. What else could I change? The Challenger disaster was coming up in a few years. I could probably stop that also. In the course of that week I had myself believing that I could prevent the Persian Gulf War.
And then came October 23. I awoke to the news that a suicide bomber with a truck full of explosives had rammed into the Marine Barracks, killing many inside. My elation died the instant I heard that.
It was two days before the final death toll was announced. 240 Marines had been killed. 240! That number put an icy finger of dread upon my heart.
In my previous life the Marine Barracks had been shelled from outside the base by Muslims armed with Russian made eighty-millimeter mortars. 240 had been killed by the attack. In this life I'd prevented that from happening but a week later a suicide bomber had hit instead. 240 had been killed by that attack. I wondered if the death list of those 240 was the same in both lives. Instinctively I knew that it probably was. I had prevented nothing.
240 Marines had been killed, as if they were fated to die. As if they were fated!
I had prevented Tracy's death in this life. Was she too fated to die? Was she just going to be killed in some other manner now that I'd changed her original destiny? Was there anything I could do? Could I really change anything here? Was I fated to end up a paramedic in debt again? Was Mike fated to end up an unemployed loser? Was Nina fated to end up a bitchy emergency room doctor? If so, what had been the point of coming back? What had been the point?
I was depressed and edgy for the next week as news of the bombing in Beirut was swallowed up by news of the successful invasion of Grenada a few days later. Nina, who knew me better than anyone, picked up on my mood and tried to discover the source of it in her gentle, probing way. I told her nothing, claiming that everything was just fine. What else could I say? How could I possibly tell her what was bothering me? That I feared my sister had a death sentence hanging over her head. That I feared that everything I'd done over the last eighteen months had been meaningless.
"Do you believe in fate?" I asked her as we rode the bus to our ROP classroom one day.
"Fate?" She asked, looking at me. "What do you mean?"
"You know, that everything is pre-destined. That we have a schedule that we follow in life and that we're powerless to change anything?"
"No." She said. "You don't believe that do you?"
"I didn't used to." I said. "But lately I've been wondering."
"Are you okay Bill?" She asked tenderly. "You've been kind of, well tense the last few days. What's bothering you?"
"Nothing I can put into words." I told her. "I guess I'll get over it."
I turned my head to look out the window and as I watched the traffic pass by outside the bus I felt her hands on my shoulders. They began squeezing and kneading the muscles there, forcing them to relax. It felt wonderful and I leaned my head back and sighed.
"That feels good." I told her. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
"I've been reading on massage techniques." She told me. "Am I doing it right?"
"Perfect." I said, closing my eyes and letting the sensation take me away.
As I felt her squeezing and caressing me a thought occurred. Nina had put her hands upon me completely uninvited. She had simply reached over and done it. Nina, who'd been so shy once that she wasn't even capable of smiling in front of someone, who couldn't even bring herself to answer questions in class, who wouldn't have dreamed of touching someone with or without permission the day I'd first approached her in the cafeteria.
Nina had changed. She was no longer the mousy butt of everyone's jokes. She had friends now. Me, Tracy, Cindy, even Mike. She had learned to socialize with people even to the point of taking some bonghits at a party. I didn't think it possible that she would evolve into the Dr. Blackmore that I would one day know. She would become Dr. Blackmore but she wouldn't be the same person. She couldn't become that person at this point, the psychology that had formed her future personality had been altered. Was it possible that maybe things COULD be changed? That maybe they tended to fall into pre-destined patterns but that rule was not absolute?