I saw him next when I was 18. In those two years there were times when I would forget about him. But that would never last for long. I would always end up remembering that day at the resource station.
It was my last day for schooling. My friends and family were all rushing about in a haze of lights from the photostops*. I could have cared less about having evidence of that day. The only thing that would be recorded in my Archive would be the year and what the name of my school is. If I grow up to be important enough these pictures might make it into a museum, but even that too will be destroyed before my next life.
I’ve lived enough lives to realize that now. It doesn’t matter what you have or what you leave behind after you die. Nobody will remember you in your next life anyway. You won’t remember you either.
I was standing aside from the groups of people roaming through the school when I hear a click and a flash of light blinds me.
“Mom I told you I don’t want any pictures taken!” I whirled around and he was there, an antique photostop in his hands.
“You were always like that. Didn’t want your pictures taken. But I always took them in secret when you weren’t looking,” he looked down and smiled at the photostop, “Too bad this little guy is so loud”.
I stood there for a moment and stared. He spoke so casually, like I was still Ana.
I cleared my throat and spoke, “Listen. I know who you are and who you were to my past self. I don’t know how I was born since you clearly still remember her but that doesn’t matter anymore,” I looked up into his eyes, “I would like it if you kept away from me in this life. Ana Blubarr is dead, and if you think stalking me will make me feel what she did, you’re wrong”.
He seemed startled by that, his feet shifting back. He stopped, looked down at the photostop, and then back at me.
“That’s fine. I didn’t mean for it to come off that way. But,” he paused, and the corner of his lips tilted up, “that doesn’t mean I won’t do it again, though”.
*A camera