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In Another Universe, I Said Yes
Who would I be holding now if I’d held you then?
The choices branch: Each “yes” in one universe becomes a “no” in another. Each “no” becomes a “yes.”
So, how did I get here, holding my infant grandchild?
Let’s say that the night I was in his arms — I was 18, he was 23 — and I didn’t have birth control, instead of “no,” I said “yes.”
Perhaps I became pregnant. And instead of saying “no” to teenage pregnancy, as I always assumed I would, I said “yes.” I had a baby when I was 19. I don’t know if I’d have finished that first year of college, but let’s say I said “yes” at least to that year, taking finals with a newborn in my lap. Afterward, however, a “no” would have been necessary: no more college — not then, perhaps not at all.
Imagine I returned home, and he met his child. Maybe this time the “yes” was both his and mine: Let’s say he said “yes” to the idea of marrying the mother of his baby. If he’d offered, I’d certainly have said “yes.” He might still have fallen for the wispy blonde he met at that first play rehearsal, but he is profoundly loyal, so, committed to me, he’d say “no” to that love.
