Another Life

a short story
by

E. Thornton Goode, Jr.

 Another Life

I felt rather strange when I was given the assignment.

They knew I was a good reporter. It’s why they sent me to
do it. They wanted a different twist on what could be a
somewhat mundane story and I was the one who’d make it
so.

It was Monday, about nine-thirty in the morning

when I walked into the institution. Checking in at the front
desk, I didn’t have to wait long. Doctors and staff knew I
was coming. I’d made arrangements by phone a week
earlier. Momentarily, the supervisor met me in the reception
room.

“You must be Mr. Canfield.” She extended her hand

to shake mine. “I’m Elizabeth Morris.”

“Hello, Miss Morris. Yes, I am. James Canfield.

Please, call me Jim. How are you today?”

“I’m well. Thank you. Please, call me Elizabeth.”

She smiled as we shook hands. “I understand you’re writing
a story on patients and their conditions.”

“Yes, but I’m looking to find something out of the

ordinary to get some insight into what the patient is
experiencing.”

“Well. We may have just the person for you. He’s

sitting out in the solarium. He’s a fine gentleman. Polite.
Cordial. Educated. Most of the time, you’d never know
there’s anything wrong. There are those occasional
incidences, though.” She tilted her head and rolled her eyes
as if recalling some past events. “You can form your own
opinion when you talk with him.”
 “What seems to be his problem?”

“You might call it a form of multiple personalities.

He is himself for some time but then, one day he seems to be
someone else. After a while as that character, he becomes
himself again. Then, down the road, he’s someone else.
He’s still Tarance Jackson but his whole demeanor and the
histories he tells. Totally different from that of the Tarance
Jackson we have in our files. He was a lawyer but he’s
slipped into so many backgrounds.” She shook her head.
“There was one time he thought he was a murderer. That
was unbelievable. He actually tried to kill several of the
patients. We had to restrain him until we knew the episode
passed.” She chuckled. “Then, there was the time he
thought he was a bishop. Going around, blessing everyone
and asking if anyone needed to go to confession.”

I could not help myself and chuckled. “Please

forgive me, but that is quite interesting. How long has he
been here?”

“Almost ten years. Unfortunately, his condition

seems to never improve. I think you’ll find his story
intreging.”

“I promise I’ll interview him with an open mind. I

try to give every story the benefit of the doubt.”

“That’s a good thing because it may take your mind,

stretching to the limit to comprehend it.”

She led me down several hallways until we entered a

wonderful, large, glassed-in room filled with lots of plants.
There were many small patio type tables and chairs placed
randomly throughout the space.
 On the far side of the room, sitting near the glass
outer wall, was a solitary man. He looked to be in his mid-
thirties, dark brown, wavy hair, beard and mustache. He
turned when he heard us enter the room and he gave a big
smile. He stood as we approached.

“Tarance. This is Mr. James Canfield.”

I extended my hand. “Hello, Tarance. How are you

today?”

“I’m quite well. But I guess that’s relative.” He gave

a big grin and a chuckle. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Canfield.”
He shook my hand.

“Please, call me Jim. I see you have a sense of

humor.”

“Thank you. Miss Morris tells me you’d like to talk

with me today.”

“Yes. I’m very interested in talking to you about your

story. Your history.”

“Please, sit down and we can talk.” Tarance gestured

with his left hand toward one of the chairs.

“I’ll send out a pot of coffee if you’d like that?”

Elizabeth smiled.

“That would be wonderful. I’d love some.” I

returned her smile.

Elizabeth left the room and we sat down. I placed my

pad and pen on the table.
 “Miss Morris is so nice. Everyone here is nice.” He
paused for a moment. “I’m really not sure how I know that.
I just do.”

This sounded really strange but I did have to

remember where I was. “Yes. She seems very nice.”

Tarance looked right at me. “I do have one question.

Am I sick? I mean, everyone I’ve seen here seems to be in
uniforms I’d associate with a hospital. I’ve been trying to
figure out why I was in a hospital.”

I could see he was serious. He truly didn’t know

where he was. “Tarance. You’re in... an institution. A mental
institution.”

“WOW! That’s really interesting. A mental

institution. Humm! I can only imagine what kind of
questions you have for me.” He chuckled again. “Okay. I
think I’m ready. But if I seem bewildered, it’s because I’m
trying to put it all together. Just give me a second. Okay.
Fire away.”

“Tarance. How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-seven. But I’m not quite sure how old

this Tarance is. I’m pretty sure he’s the same age.” He
smiled politely as if it didn’t matter.

“Miss Morris said you’ve been here almost ten

years.”

Tarance shook his head and looked down at the table.

“Well. That’s not true.” He looked directly at me.

Just then, an attendant arrived with a tray, containing

a large pot of coffee, two cups and saucers, spoons, cream,
sugar and napkins. He placed it in the center of the round
table. “Can I get you anything else?”

Tarance spoke up. “No. Thank you, Henry. We do

appreciate it.” He nodded politely to the attendant and
smiled. He turned to me. “Here. Let me pour.” He grabbed
the pot and poured the two cups full.

“Thank you, Tarance.” I poured some cream in my

cup, stirred then took a sip. “So. You have NOT been here
for ten years?” I set the cup down and looked at Tarance.

Tarance had been putting cream in his coffee. He

stirred and took a sip. “I do love a good cup of coffee.” He
looked back at me and smiled. “That’s right. Not ten years.”

“How long have you been here?”

“From what I can put together.” He looked up into

the air with a questioning expression on his face. “I arrived
here early this morning.” Without a flinch, he took another
sip of coffee.

I know my face showed an immediate look of

disbelief and I tried to quickly hide it. I looked down and
took another sip.

Tarance snickered. “I saw that.” He laughed a little

louder. “But I totally get it. I mean, now that I know this is
an institution for the mentally ill.” He looked right at me,
grinning all the while. He sipped his cup.

“Okay. You got me.” I gave an embarrassing

chuckle. “I’m truly sorry, Tarance. I don’t want you to think
I’m judgmental and not understanding. I came here to get
your story and I want to know it. Now. I’m all ears.”
 “First of all, what have they told you about me? I
mean, things about me?”

“I was told you’ve been here for ten years. You were
a lawyer but you have episodes of different personalities.
You seem to have different histories, professions,
demeanors.”

“Really? Very interesting! Now, it’s beginning to

make more sense. I’ve been sitting here since early this
morning, trying to figure out where I was and what was
going on. So. This Tarance is in the nuthouse and they think
he’s crazy. Humm. But you know? It makes sense.”

“Well. Tell me about yourself. Maybe we can figure

it out.”

“It isn’t easy to start at the beginning because I’m not

sure where the beginning really is. I don’t want it to sound
disjointed. I’m really not an idiot. But I do know it’s going
to sound totally off-the-wall.” He took a sip. “Let me see.
How should I start? I guess I should say first of all I
shouldn’t be here. I’m an artist. I live in Atlanta. Atlanta,
Georgia.” He looked questioningly at me. “I am in Atlanta,
aren’t I?”

I looked into his face. It was obvious he could see

the negative answer in my expression without me saying a
word.

“Now. THAT is very interesting and puts one more

piece of the puzzle in place for me. So, let me tell you what
I know. I just got here this morning. Well. To you, it’s
morning. But. For me, it’s probably night.” He looked up
into the air. “Damn. This really does sound… crazy.” He
laughed again then looked at me. “It’s probably night for me
because I’m… dreaming. You, me, this whole thing is a
dream to me. It’s another life. A parallel life. And it’s kind
of funny. This is the first time I’ve had a dream where I’m
trying to put it all together. I mean, what I think is
happening. Maybe you’re here this time to help me organize
it, so I’ll understand it. I just hope I can remember it when I
wake up. Strangely enough, I’m ‘me’ and not actually the
person in the dream, like it normally is. Maybe it’s so you’ll
understand and comprehend my line of thinking. Damn.
Does that make any sense to you?”

I watched and listened. “I think so. Go on. I’m

listening.”

“Maybe it’s because this Tarance is open to the

allowing of other Tarances to come into his life and he’s
THAT Tarance for a period of time. That must be the reason
they think he has multiple personalities. Yeah. That would
make sense. That’s why I’m still ‘me’. The artist and... not a
lawyer.”

“Over many years, I’ve had hundreds of dreams. A

lot of them so incredibly real. Just like this one is going.
I’m sure you’ve had those kinds of dreams.” He looked
intensely at me.

“Yes. I know the kind you’re talking about.

Everything in them is unbelievably real. I do have those
kind now and then.”

“I’ll explain by telling you about some of them.

There have been those dreams of flying. I just leap into the
air like Superman and off I go. Soaring above the trees and
buildings with no fear. And there’s the one where I was
driving a convertible along a high, winding mountain road.
Something happened to cause the car to go over a cliff. In
slow motion, I see the car fall below me, crashing on the
rocks below and I keep falling. Then. Just before I hit the
bottom, I wake up.”
 “One I had not too long ago, I was inside a trailer and
there were men after me. With guns. Why I have no idea
but I knew I had to hide because if they caught me, they
were going to kill me. I quickly hid behind a sleeper sofa in
the front of the trailer just as they came in the door. I could
hear them, walking around and saying something. I couldn’t
understand the words. I tried so hard to be quiet. I was so
scared, I was afraid the pounding of my heart would give
away my hiding place.”

“They moved down the hall, going toward the back

of the trailer. I knew I had to get out and run away before
they came back to the front again. If I didn’t, I knew it
wasn’t going to be good. So. I crawled out quickly and
quietly and walked carefully to the door of the trailer.
Opened it quietly. Stepped out and closed the door quietly
behind me. I ran as fast as I could down the steps and into
the nearby woods. I got behind a tree to catch my breath as I
saw them come out of the trailer. They stood watching it.
They had set it on fire. I turned and ran as fast as I could
deeper into the woods. That’s when I woke up.” He paused
and drank more coffee.

“Have to tell you. I was lying in my bed. My heart

was pounding and I was panting hard. What was that all
about? I actually laughed, recalling stories of people dying
quietly in their sleep. Bull shit! They didn’t die quietly in
their sleep. They had a damn heart attack and died of terror
and fright.” He laughed out loud as he reached for the pot
and poured himself another cup. “More?” He smiled at me.

“Please.” I had to laugh on the inside as I, too, had

had dreams where when I awoke, realized they’d affected me
physically.

Tarance continued. “For one thing. I have

acrophobia and can’t get on a flippin’ ladder without having
palpitations and shortness of breath. So, there’s no way I
could up, up and away over the city. Hell no! And this
falling thing. I think if I had hit the bottom, I actually would
have died.”

“So. Here it is. This is what I’ve figured out. These

intense dreams are times we cross over into a parallel
dimension or universe. We enter the person living that
parallel life and experience what he’s going through at that
specific time. We become that person and everything he is
and does. His occupation. His history. His likes and fears.
Somehow, in the world where I can fly, some kind of
mechanism must have been invented to make it possible.
And since I’m in the body of the ‘me’ in that world who isn’t
afraid of heights, I’m not scared. And the poor soul going
over the cliff. Hate to say it but I just know his life ended
just after I woke up. And these Tarances aren’t in the same
place. I live in Atlanta and there are no cliffs and I don’t
have a convertible. And the trailer thing. If I hadn’t gotten
out of the trailer, I would’ve been burned to death or been
shot when I tried to get out of it. I just hope the ‘me’ in that
life really did get away.”

“I can only imagine the many different lives I would

have. What would it be like to be a doctor? A policeman? A
lawyer?” He laughed out loud. “Yeah. A lawyer.” Then,
his expression changed. “What if I was a murderer or a
rapist or some other horrible person? Geez.”

“Another thing. It’s why everyone in the dreams

seem so real. They aren’t superficial. They seem to have a
history and depth. There’s a good reason why. It’s
because… they DO! It’s why you are real to me now. It’s
why when I’m entering another life and everything and
everyone in that life is... real. It’s because... they are!”

“The only way I can describe it is it’s like those

multiple reflections in a mirror. You know? When you stand
in front of a mirror and there’s another one behind you. You
see all the reflections of yourself, going into infinity? I see
those images and each and every one is another life. And for
a moment in time, I step into one of them… using the vehicle
of a dream.” He sipped more coffee.

“So, you see. The Tarance in this life is

institutionalized because he believes he’s caught up in many
lives. It’s because his mind is open to all of us other
Tarances. You’re real here and you have a history as does
everyone else here. That’s why I know I arrived just this
morning. But soon, I’ll wake up and be back in my bed in
Atlanta and I’ll live tomorrow who I really am. An artist.
You’re going to go home and try to write an article about a
crazy guy who told you an insane story, telling you, you
were just a character in a dream.” He snickered and drank
his coffee. “I wonder. What would happen if you came back
in a few days? Would the Tarance you spoke to then
remember your visit today? Humm. Now. That would be
interesting to discover. The Tarance you see and talk to then
won’t be me. And the artist me will have no idea if you
come back to see if it’s true. I’ll be gone. Holy cow. What a
thought. You may find out the truth. But since this is a
dream to me, I’ll never know for sure. What can I say?” He
laughed out loud.

“Interesting. I just may have to come back and check

it out.” I laughed along with him. “So, you’re an artist.
What do you do?”

“Oils on canvas. Pen and inks. Landscapes and still

life paintings and drawings. Portraits are a bitch. Tried one
once. Totally unforgiving. The ocean is another pain in the
ass. You can fake a tree but you can’t fake a face or ocean
waves. Here. Give me your writing pad there.” He reached
across the table and took the pad and pen I had laying there.
“Let me show you.”
 Within a few minutes, he quickly moved the pen over
the surface of the paper. He held it up in front of himself.
“Humm. Not too bad. Not great but not bad.” He flipped
the pad around.

I was flabbergasted. He’d done a complete still life

drawing with grapes and a wine glass. There was even a ‘C’
in an Old English lettering style etched on the glass. The
shading and shadowing were remarkable. It really was… a
work of art.

“See. I personalized it for you.” He smiled, pointing

at the ‘C’. “Just a second.” He turned the pad around and
placed it on the table. With the pen, he signed his name at
the bottom, dated it then handed the pad back to me. “I hope
you like it. Not a bad composition. Think I’ll paint it in oils
when I have some time.”

“Tarance. Thank you. It really is good. I can see

you’re quite the artist. I’m going to matte and frame it. I’m
serious. I will.”

“That’s cool. I appreciate it. And every time you

look at it, you’ll remember me.” He paused for a moment.
“No. Not this Tarance.” He looked at me then pointed at his
head. “Me! The guy having this dream.” He nodded.
Suddenly, he changed the subject. “Been doing reporting
long?”

“Yeah. I love it. Never boring. Every story’s a new

experience. But, hey! Who’s doing the interview here?” I
grined.

“It’s that this dream is so real. I want to remember

you. If I know a little something about those in my dreams, I
tend to remember them easier. You seem to be a nice guy.
I’d like to remember you. Wonder if you’re out there
somewhere in my world? And what kind of profession do
you have there?” He turned and looked at the clock on the
wall. “Well. I guess it’s time for you to go and I think it’s
time for me to wake up. I have to finish a painting I started
yesterday.” He looked right at me and smiled with twinkling
eyes.

I looked at the clock. “Tarance. I think you’re right.

It’s time for me to go. I have to admit. You have an
interesting theory and story here. It has made me start
thinking about some of my past dreams. I just might come
back soon and check out what you said.” I got up from the
table and got a questioning expression on my face. “I
wonder what I do in your world?”

Tarance got up and extended his hand. “It was nice to

meet and talk with you. Kinda wish I could read the article
you write. I’m sure it’s going to make a lot of folks ponder
their dreams from now on. Might even make them think
twice about folks in mental institutions and if they really are
crazy.” He grinned.

I shook his hand. “We shall see. Thank you,

Tarance.” I turned around and walked out of the solarium,
leaving him still standing at the table.

Reaching the reception room, I saw Elizabeth Morris

again. “Elizabeth. I do appreciate you letting me come
today. I must tell you. It was very interesting. I was curious
if Tarance had any of his artworks, hanging here in the
building. I understand he’s pretty good. I’d love to see any
paintings he’s done.”

“Artworks? No. Tarance has never done any

paintings. He’s never shown any artistic talents.”

“Really? Interesting.” I didn’t show her the drawing,

so eloquently done by Tarance. I decided it would make a
great visual for the article. “Do you have anything he has
written or signed? I’d like to see some sample of his
handwriting.”

“Yes. Just a minute.” She went and got some papers

from a file. She handed the papers to me.

I looked at the writing and there was his signature. It

was nothing like the one on the drawing. “Interesting. Very
interesting.” I whispered.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing.” I paused in my thought for

a moment. “I was wondering if I might come back in a few
days to chat with Tarance one more time?”

“I don’t see why not. You both seemed to hit it off

quite well today. What day can I expect you? I’ll tell
Tarance.”

“How about this Friday? Around eleven?”

“Okay. We’ll see you then. Have a great afternoon.”

“Thank you again.” I walked out the door and went

to the car.

Sitting there before starting the engine, I looked at the

extremely well-done drawing. “That’s unbelievably weird.
The man who drew this picture is a true artist. Not a damn
lawyer.” I set the pad on the seat of the car and drove home.

That night I was getting ready for bed. I went into

the bathroom to brush my teeth. Finishing, I happened to
look up into the mirror. I realized there was a partial
reflection from the mirror on the door behind me. I thought
of what Tarance had said, turned and shifted the door, so the
mirror was pitched at an angle, creating clear multiple
reflections.

I chuckled as I kept thinking of Tarance’s comment. I

looked hard at the clear multiple images of myself in the
mirror, seeming to go into infinity. Suddenly, I turned and
leaned against the vanity, grabbing my chest. My heart was
pounding like a sledgehammer. I was panting hard. A look
of shock filled my face. I couldn’t believe what I had just
seen. But there it was. It was real. While examining the
images in the mirror, I saw that the fifth one in had…...
blinked!

THE END