Three Losses, One Second Chance

Chapter 2: The Inescapable Pit

Climbing out of bed, Ethan found that the rumpled clothes and shoes he had collapsed in after drinking were gone. In their place, beside the bed, lay a pair of faded jeans and a slightly wrinkled shirt. The bedroom door led to the hallway and the dining room, where the sound of Margaret Carter's grumbling echoed from wherever she had wandered off to.

Ethan dressed and stood up, looking at himself in the mirror set into the center of the wardrobe. After confirming the date on the calendar, he could hardly believe it was really him: Ethan Carter, seventeen years old, back in the year 2000.

The face in the mirror was young, yet unmistakably his. The familiarity of it sent a strange shiver through him.

For a moment, Ethan wondered whether this was a joke played on him by some advanced alien civilization, like the ending of Spielberg's *A.I. Artificial Intelligence*. But if it really was 2000, that movie wouldn't be released until next year.

He hurried out and found a bowl of steaming oatmeal waiting on the table, the smell of cinnamon and brown sugar filling the room, the soul-stirring aroma of home cooking.

Margaret Carter, who had been hanging laundry on the balcony all morning, came back in, grumbling, "What are you daydreaming about? I bet you won't finish your food and you'll be late for school. I'll just swing this wire hanger at you!"

Such twisted, absurd, yet emotionally charged and oddly coherent logic could only have come from the mouth of his real mother, Margaret Carter. That alien civilization had really gone to great lengths to study him!

Actually, at this moment, Ethan probably had plenty of things he usually kept bottled up inside.

Something more poetic, for example: "Margaret Carter, long time no see."

Something more passionate: "Mom, I missed you so much!"

Something more worldly-wise: "If this is a dream, then let it last. I don't want to wake up."

But looking at the hanger in Margaret Carter's hand, a length of thick wire twisted into shape, which had a surprisingly good ergonomic design when held at one end, Ethan blurted out, "Mom, you haven't hit me in a long time."

After a second of hesitation, Margaret Carter looked around, set the laundry she was holding on a stool, rolled up her sleeves, and swung the wire. "Looks like you didn't learn your lesson the other day. Still not convinced? I'll teach you to be unconvinced..."

After the sound of the wire cutting through the air and a cry of pain, Ethan sat at the table, shoveling oatmeal into his mouth. He didn't know whether he felt wronged or moved, but his expression was a mixture of gratitude and resentment, with tears welling up in his eyes.

Oh no, Mom. How am I supposed to feel the emotions of a reunion across death like this?

Beneath his shirt, the bandages on his arms were already crisscrossed with fresh red welts. He had never expected that when he saw Margaret Carter again after his rebirth, he wouldn't feel the warm embrace of his mother, but rather... pain, so much pain.

However, her sudden outburst hadn't involved any lightning-fast attacks or beams of light, which suggested it wasn't the alien civilization's attempt to deceive him. It seemed far more likely that he had simply been reborn.

After a hearty bowl of oatmeal, having grasped the situation, Ethan slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his escape.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

Ethan's home was on the second floor. Stepping outside, he was greeted by a sliver of sunlight streaming onto the stair railing that led down to the ground floor.

Pressing a hand to his rapidly beating heart, he continued downward until he walked into the light and shadow. Before him stretched rows of neat, three-story brick buildings, all with fresh paint.

Yes, this was the Halvorsen Manufacturing employee housing complex where Ethan lived. The apartments were company-subsidized, and the Carters had moved into their new home after New Year's of 1998, only two years ago. Everything was still brand new, nothing like the worn-out look it would have years later.

In recent years, employer-provided housing had become increasingly common. Following zoning approvals a few years earlier, new buildings had sprung up like mushrooms across company-owned lots.

Prices did surge. Later, after the housing bubble burst and the neighborhood slid into decline, the buildings grew old and dilapidated, with talk of demolition and redevelopment. Even so, it could be said that the residents had caught the wave of the boom.

The area was home to several of the region's biggest employers. Not far away, the large, somewhat modern white-walled complex belonged to the local Channel 8 television station, its landmark a saucer-shaped broadcast tower. Many local celebrities had come from there, and because of where he lived, Ethan had seen plenty of local TV personalities in person.

Next to it stood the Chamber of Commerce, the Arts Council, the old department store... In the years to come, they would all change dramatically. Some would become shopping centers, some would be gutted and rebuilt, and some would end up as decaying buildings in the middle of town. Right now, they were young.

Before Ethan stretched a familiar world that was about to become the stage for a very different life.

...

He rushed to Hartwell High School, sliding into his junior-year homeroom just as the first-period bell rang.

The room was already full. His homeroom teacher, Mr. Hoffman, glanced at him sideways. Seeing Ethan about to step inside, he immediately stopped him. "Hold it right there!"

"I've told you repeatedly to be here early for morning study hall and to treat it like a real class. This is the most crucial stretch for all of you. Next year you'll be applying to college, and you still don't take it seriously, still so carefree and undisciplined. Ethan Carter, you'll stand out in the hallway for the rest of the period. Be an example, and don't come back in!"

After the tardy bell finished ringing, Ethan leaned against the corner of the wall, looking dejected.

Thinking to himself: *Come on. Everyone else's rebirth is smooth sailing, but mine is nothing but obstacles. From Margaret Carter to Mr. Hoffman, the joy of seeing my mother alive again gets mixed with the sheer absurdity of life, and it's all so frustrating. Is my rebirth nothing but absurdity?*

Fortunately, Ethan wasn't alone. Two or three others had also arrived late. Just when he thought he'd at least find a couple of fellow sufferers to chat with, Mr. Hoffman simply nodded and let them in after they checked in at the door.

Wait a minute...

Mr. Hoffman, didn't you say you'd make an example of someone? Those two were late too. Funny how I'm the only one who gets to be the example.

Is it really this absurd?

Oh, right. Those two students' parents worked in local government: one was a city department head, the other the vice president of the school board. No wonder Mr. Hoffman didn't say a word.

He really didn't want to remember his old teacher.

His high school homeroom teacher, Mr. Hoffman, was "famous" for treating students differently depending on the gifts their parents gave him. Back then, teachers had a great deal of authority, and students and parents had few ways to challenge them.

*My rules are my rules!*

As long as things didn't cause a public outcry, minor ethical lapses were generally ignored, a stark contrast to later generations.

At the beginning of high school, Ethan had been banished to the last few rows of a thirty-five-student classroom because his parents hadn't given a "gift" when he enrolled.

After several mild reprimands, Margaret Carter belatedly realized this was the consequence of not giving a gift. In a sudden flash of inspiration, she came up with what she thought was a meaningful way to show her sincerity. Before dawn, she went out and stood in line outside the post office for three or four hours, eventually buying several sets of that year's Olympic commemorative stamps. Then, almost inexplicably, she stuffed them into a manila envelope.

So, as one might imagine, when Mr. Hoffman received the not-so-thin manila envelope from Ethan, he walked briskly and somewhat excitedly to the office after class. Upon returning to the classroom, he immediately berated Ethan and another student for their poorly written homework, punishing them by making them rewrite it ten times.

From that moment on, he maintained a hostile attitude toward Ethan throughout his entire high school life.

Ethan stood listlessly at the door, thinking: *Mom, oh Mom, even reborn, I still can't escape the pit you dug.*

...

One generation digs the hole, and the next has to climb out of it... Standing there anyway, Ethan's thoughts drifted, and he began to reflect on the grievances he had suffered in the past.

He had once harbored resentment toward Margaret Carter, always feeling that his mother was unreliable, overly serious about everything, and possessed of a strange sense of conviction, insisting on living her own way in defiance of social norms.

For example, in junior high, the Spanish teacher had been perfunctory in class but hinted that students should seek her out for paid tutoring on weekends. This touched a nerve with Margaret Carter. She didn't enroll him in the tutoring. Instead she taught Ethan herself after school, which left his Spanish pronunciation severely impaired and led to ridicule from his classmates.

These memories flooded back, the "trouble" and "embarrassment" Margaret Carter had caused him. Ethan had carried this shadow for a long time. Even after he graduated from college and started work, it lingered. His relationship with her was cold and distant, and he rarely went home, not even once a year, until... the news of her illness came.

These past experiences of being "harmed" by his mother, which had once left him helpless, resurfaced in his mind. But now, facing them as the reborn Ethan, they didn't seem so thorny anymore.

What had she really done wrong?

She hadn't reported the Spanish teacher to the school district because the teacher was pregnant at the time, and a complaint might have cost her her job. Margaret Carter had dealt with it in her own way.

Knowing that Ethan wasn't receiving much attention in high school because the family hadn't given gifts, she had chosen to stand in line for hours before dawn to buy a keepsake she considered meaningful. She saw it as a token of her sincerity, earned through the cold wind of early morning.

Mr. Hoffman couldn't see this at all. Could anyone say she was wrong?

She was indeed socially inept. She didn't understand that for Mr. Hoffman, cash would have been the most direct solution, not worthless souvenir stamps he would probably throw away.

But was she wrong?

Years later, Ethan, having come back, could finally give her an answer.

In the sunlight, Ethan raised his head, facing the golden morning light, and said, "Mom, how did I get so unlucky to end up with you!"

But... you did nothing wrong.

Then he straightened his back slightly, as if he had soaked up enough of the warm sunlight, turned around, and pushed open the heavy classroom door.

Mr. Hoffman's lecturing voice and the rustling in the classroom stopped abruptly.