Rebirth

Part Nineteen: Reset

« Puis elle commençait à me devenir inintelligible, comme après la métempsycose les pensées d'une existence antérieure » ~ Marcel Proust, Du Côté de Chez Swann

Friday 17 June

Days passed, and a lull had begun to settle over him, as his mind reshaped, and legions of old memory dropped into an abyss. 'New' things that started to make more sense became commonplace. Monty felt less like he was being invaded, and more like the events manifesting in his head were his memory.

Still, he re-read the journal and didn't recognise what he'd written down, which was scary. He'd once had real recollection of all these things, and now they were becoming nothing to him. The thought made Monty shudder and clench the journal, knowing there was nothing he could do to reverse the process. He was powerless.

But, as he'd thought before, his headspace was becoming less and less liminal, settling into... reality. Understanding more of the world around him as time went on gave him confidence and made him feel like he belonged. Concepts that would've been nonsense to him before, like Ethernet, were second nature now.

And then there were his recovered memories of Waylon Sr, beyond what he'd watched on the tapes. The scenarios in his mind he could relay to Waylon, knowing they were true, they had happened to him and his old friend. Did that mean whatever he'd experienced in the old world wasn't real? Monty shook his head. He didn't have an answer.

"I'd have no issue with telling you stories of your father, now that I have the memories... returned, and I know they're real, of course," he said, perched on Waylon's sofa, "but..."

"Hm?"

"I can't help but wonder if... everything else between Waylon Sr and I in the old world simply didn't happen."

Waylon gaped at him. "What you experienced in the old world is real, though," he said. "Monty, I watched you struggle through losing your memories of it all..."

"Yes, I know." He remembered well.

"And what about the glasses, and the previous versions of us, our dreams?" Waylon's brow contorted. "And even though you can't remember the old world's version of my dad, it doesn't mean it isn't real."

"Yes, I... I know it was a real place and I was there, but it's beginning to feel as if I've never lived any life but this one... despite the evidence." He thought of the journal.
"Is that what happened in the beginning, back in... April?" Waylon asked, "except in reverse..."

Monty sighed. "You're correct, yes..." He tied his hands together. "The entire process is very strange. But, in any case..." He brushed a hand on Waylon's shoulder. "we can talk of this later. I wanted to share something with you." The story he had in mind he hoped that Waylon would enjoy.
"Oh, sure. Go ahead." Waylon nodded.

"It was the 24th of December, in 2098," Monty said, "and your father told me his child would be born the following day, in the morning." The words flowed from him, as the memory sharpened. "I remember being annoyed that he wanted to spend time with your mother, Evelyn, fussing over you, before he came to the winter holiday party that we were having on the 25th." Monty chuckled.

"Did he go to the party?" Waylon sipped his tea.

"He showed up, but not for three hours after it had started. Told me all about what he'd done, and showed me a few photos and videos of you. Mostly the photos were of you sleeping."

"Well, I'd just been born, so..." Waylon shrugged. "That doesn't surprise me."
"No." Monty crossed his legs. "He was very proud, you know, of you and of Evelyn, rather enthusiastic."