“That’s okay,” said Sean. “Everyone moves on their own timeline.”
“I actually told my parents this week,” said Nihal.
He had just returned from a visit to Chicago, where his parents had lived for the past three decades, ever since Nihal’s father was accepted into a doctoral program at Northwestern and the newlyweds emigrated from India.
“How was it?” Lea asked.
“Honestly? Tough.” Nihal sighed. “But they both believe that our bodies are temporary vessels for our souls, and that these strings only apply to our current bodies, so my soul will be reborn after this, presumably with a brand-new string. Another chance.”
“And you don’t share those beliefs?” Sean asked.
“Look, I love my religion. It has so much . . . joy in it. And freedom. We’re not bogged down by all the rules, all the fire and brimstone,” Nihal said. “And until the strings, I didn’t even spend that much time really thinking about rebirth. It was always just there in the background, while I focused on school or other things. And I know that my parents are only trying to help me, but now . . . I want more time in this life, not some new life, surrounded by new people.”
A few of the group members nodded, understanding.
“My parents think it’s part of this larger pattern of me turning away from my heritage,” Nihal explained. “And yeah, sometimes I resented my parents when somebody stumbled over pronouncing my last name or commented on the food I brought to school. But I’ve always been proud to be their son.”
“I’m sure they know that,” said Hank.
“But I hate fighting with them, because I actually wish I could see it the way they do,” Nihal said. “Maybe it would make things easier, being certain that this wasn’t our only chance at life.”
Listening to Nihal, Ben was reminded of his boss, one of the senior architects at the firm, who liked to say that buildings had “multiple lives,” perhaps as a way to cushion the news whenever a beloved building lost the bid for preservation and was slated to be redone. It was his boss’s theory of architectural reincarnation that inspired Ben’s own habit of including some homage to the former building—perhaps a pattern in the stone or a shape of a window—within his designs for any replacement. He liked the notion that even buildings could have memories, and could, in turn, be remembered.
“I just feel like my parents did everything right,” Nihal said. “They came to this country and built a life for themselves. And I listened to them, I worked my ass off to get into Princeton, and then I kept on studying while I was there, even when half of my classmates seemed to major in beer pong. I thought I did everything right, too.”
“And your string doesn’t negate that,” said Sean. “Do you think I did something to put myself in this chair? Or any of the people in this room did something to shorten their strings?”
“No, of course not,” said Nihal.
“Then why should you view yourself with any less compassion?”
Several groups concluded at the same time that night, their respective members spilling out onto the sidewalk in front of the school. Hank, Maura, and Ben lingered together on the corner.
“Well, that was a pretty heavy session,” Hank said.
“It’s been a pretty heavy year,” said Maura.
“What do you normally do to cope with things?” he asked.
“Um . . . I don’t really know.” Maura shrugged. “I guess I just keep living my life.”
“Do either of you have any sort of outlet? A way to blow off steam?”
“Isn’t that what this group is supposed to be?” asked Ben.
“Well, yeah, but talking can only go so far,” Hank said. “Maybe it’s because I’m used to working with my hands, but I’ve always needed something . . . physical, as well.” An idea seemed to dart across Hank’s face. “Why don’t you two join me the next time I go?”
“Go where?” Ben asked.
“Just trust me.” Hank smiled. “Next weekend. It’s best when you time it around sunset.”
The following Saturday, Ben waited at the address that Hank had texted him, a massive sporting facility that sprawled along the banks of the Hudson River.
In the lobby, a television screen was filled with flames, the reporter covering the Midsummer bonfires currently being lit throughout Europe. The typical late June tradition had been co-opted this year by a movement across the Continent, encouraging people to throw their boxes and strings into the fires. Since neither could truly be destroyed, the gesture was more symbolic than practical, but thousands had heeded the call nonetheless.