text: “Marla Mead?” The receptionist’s voice snapped Marla out of her reverie. Hastily Marla stammered out a, “Yes, yes, that’s me,” and instantly flushed - *christ, who else would it be, I’m the only one here* \- “Follow me, please,” the receptionist said, before disappearing through the doorway at the far wall, the one with the sign above it whose inviting yellow lettering read, “*HINDSIGHT 20/20: Live Your Perfect Vision!*” Marla jumped to her feet, quickly gathering up her heavy winter coat and tote bag into a bundled mess in her arms, then hurried through the closing door. She jumped when it slammed shut behind her, the echo belying the stooped and narrow hallway before her. As she caught up with the receptionist, her mind searched anxiously for possible small talk to fill the air with something besides the rustling of scrubs fabric, or her own heels, whose rubber soles had long worn down to their metal bones. But her heart was pounding too powerfully with the prospect of possibility to think of even a single thing to say, too preoccupied with wondering what new life would unfold for her when she left here. She had no idea the specifics of how they did it, or how long it would take, but what did that matter, when- They had reached another door. The receptionist was turning the knob and pushing it open. An examination room lay beyond the threshold, humbly decorated with a plain desk along one wall, a black leather chair along another, and a beige exam table acting as the slanted centerpiece. “Sit there, please,” the receptionist said. She was nodding towards the exam table. Marla clumsily placed her coat and bag in a precarious pile on the black chair, then walked over and climbed up on to the exam table. She winced at the loud crinkling of the paper lining the seat beneath her, but the receptionist barely seemed to notice, merely placing Marla’s chart in the slot on the door, then closing it with a click and leaving Marla in a sudden swoop of silence. Marla’s eyes scanned the walls that were empty of paintings or windows; the only thing to hang in this room was ringing silence. She absently locked her hands, lined with swollen joints and veins, on her thin lap. Her feet dangled from the edge, revealing a run in her stockings peeking out near her Achilles tendon, above the faded scuffs of once-supple leather shoes. As if someone might notice, she crossed her ankles, hiding the run from sight. The door opened. Marla lifted her head to see the kind eyes and beaming smile of a doctor who seemed to radiate like a sun as he entered the room. Instantly, she felt awash with warmth from his rays; that no matter what happened from this moment on, she would be safe. “Marla,” he said, his voice a rich deep baritone that made her feel further dipped in butterscotch, “You must be Marla.” “Y-yes,” Marla managed, nearly speechless in her awe; he was taking her hands into his, as if they were long-lost friends finally reunited. “I’m Doctor Morton,” he said, and turned slightly towards a young, slender blonde nurse whose smiling dimples were contagious in their brightness. “And this is Anka. She’s training today, if that’s all right.” Marla shrugged in a dazed and happy helplessness, “Sure, of course.” “Great,” said Dr. Morton, pulling over the stool that was tucked beneath the desk to sit. He opened the chart he had grabbed from the slot on the outside of the door and looked at it for a moment, then folded it over and clicked a pen. “So, my dear Marla,” he said, “Tell me, what brings you here today?” Marla hesitated, “Well, I heard about this place - I don’t even remember how, actually - about how this place can...help people, reverse what’s gone wrong in their life.” Dr. Morton’s eyes were steadfastly on her, his head at a wonderfully attentive tilt, “Yes, in a matter of speaking. While I do not know the specifics of what you were told, what we can do here, Marla, is send people back to a time in their life. A pivotal moment, a crossroads, and give them, for lack of a better word, a do-over. Now, the science is not a perfect one, and of course, no future is predetermined once we send you back. And once you go back, you are back for good. There is no finding me again, there is no third chance at the life you want. Are you willing to accept that?” Marla swallowed hard, and nodded, “Y-yes, yes, I am.” Dr. Morton, looking quite serious now, nodded again, this time at Anka, who pulled out a clipboard from a drawer at the desk. “This,” Dr. Morton, “Is a small disclaimer, fancy-language of what I just told you. Once you sign that, we can begin.” Marla smiled weakly as Anka handed her the clipboard and pen with an encouraging but solemn bow of the head. Marla haphazardly signed her name at the bottom, then handed it back. “Excellent,” said Dr. Morton, pulling his chair in closer. “Now, what I want you to tell me, if you can, your crossroads moment.” “I was 21,” said Marla, “And...I had given up.” “I, um, I was in a very intense arts program, in college,” Marla continued, “Opera performance. And...I wasn't doing well. I had had cancer during my freshman year. The technique they taught was totally incompatible with my voice. I had a horrible, toxic romantic relationship that lasted nearly my entire time at school. I was falling fast into an eating disorder from years of body dysmorphia. I had acid reflux that was so bad I had to have a stomach surgery to fix it, another month-long healing process during my junior year. But all of that, I could have risen above. Even constantly being told and shown that I had no right to even attempt my hand at singing, at trying to do what I felt I would die if I didn’t...even that, I could live with.” Marla paused. She closed her eyes and choked out, “The worst part was...they were right.” “It was as if they knew from the beginning, and I was hiding it under a thin veneer of denial the whole time: that my vocal cords were weak, prone to injury. I couldn’t sing for more than 20, 30 minutes a day, without becoming tired. After graduating, it was more of the same, no matter how careful I was. Oh, when I stopped singing, I told people it was...a lack of love for performing that made me give it up. That I was happier doing other things. But in truth, the truth I could never admit? I was naturally predisposed to physically fail at the thing I had dreamed of doing since I was a child.” Dr. Morton said softly, “You know, as much as I wish it for you - doing this won’t change that.” Marla, vision blurry from tears, replied, “No, I know. But to be able to live a life where I don’t feel bad about shortcomings I was dealt, where I'm not haunted by this shameful secret I could never admit to the world, not without my heart breaking all over again...I want that. A life...without that.” Dr. Morton stood up and came to her side, “Well, we'll make sure you get it.” He smoothed down her hair kindly, then said, “I’m going to lower this table down now, all right? And Anka here is going to give you something to make you sleep. A vial of fluid, that allows us more ease in transitioning you to the place you want to be.” Marla watched as Anka approached her, hand holding a thin glass tube of clear, unassuming liquid. “Whenever you’re ready, Marla,” the doctor said. Marla stared at them both, then downed it in a single shot. It burned slightly, but finished on a sweet note. “Good luck, Marla,” Dr. Morton said, his voice growing faint. His smiling face was the last thing she saw before her world sank into blackness. \* “She’s there now, Doctor?” Anka said quietly. They were watching through the glass, standing in a room darkened by the passing of time. Dr. Morton nodded, “Yes. Permanently. We make it so the simulation plays out until the patient expires. Which, given that we are mining their bodies for...*resources*, doesn't take long.” Past the pane lay Marla Mead, in a room shared by dozens of others. All of them were asleep, strapped to hospital beds and riddled with tubes, faces white and smiles frozen, closed eyes seeing all they could ever wish to see - forever.