I ALWAYS LOST MYSELF IN THE EXPERIENCE, carrying on as if the world sprouted from my memory, from a point in my timeline onto which I overlapped, was happening in normal time, my world. 

My reality.

Everything about it, the sights, the smells, the sounds, the feelings, was as real as the physical world of the present reality. That’s what made Vacations in Time such a success, the reality far surpassing anything possible in trænSɛnd—that knockoff augmented reality system never did get smell right. I couldn’t begin to list its shortcomings in its attempts to provide tactility through a combination of sensory motivators and wearable tech to simulate touch. My overlaps replicated nothing, nothing synthesized or faked to trick the senses.

Reality, without the virtual or augmented.

My family, my life in this overlap, existed in greater realism than anything I had ever felt in normaltime. I wished never to leave, for this time never to end. Yet its finish came, as inescapable as death’s pursuit of all living things, my family would soon be gone.

Breanie turned twelve not long ago. Little Georgie, as rambunctious as ever, followed in her shadow at seven. How could I tell him where I came from and how his preciously short life wasn’t real and would soon be extinguished? He didn’t have the mind of his big sister. Even at her age she took the news surprisingly well and has been a rock for me, expressing her appreciation for me having her and her brother in my overlap, for giving her life—however it could be defined.

“Dad, did you remember the basil?”

“Don’t I always?”

Her yeah right smirk said more than words possibly could. I put my lips on her sweaty forehead without regret. “I got it Breanie, don’t worry. I promised my famous Pesto Genevese and that’s what we’re going to have.”

“Hi, dear.” Ellie glided into the kitchen. “Did they have the cheese this time?”

While everyone enjoyed the pesto when I last prepared it, it doesn’t feel complete without the parmesan. I nodded with a broad smile. “Where’s Georgie?”

“Da-a-d.” My little girl stretched the word into counsel.

“What? I can’t ask where my son is?” Before she could answer, my tickle-monster fingers induced deep laughter from my Sabrina. Only I called her Breanie.

“The two of you,” Ellie said with a delightful chuckle. “Marcus, you know he’s a big boy now. At least he thinks he is. He’s going by George to shed his childish persona.”

I summoned the human hurricane by his preferred name, smiled at the thunderclaps of hurried feet racing down the stairs, and blissfully took the full force of his flat-out run into me.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, sport. How was school today?”

“Great. We played volleyball in gym.”

“That’s wonderful, honey. Now did you wash up for dinner before storming in here and tackling your dad?”

“Yeah, Mom. Don’t I always?” He giggled infectiously.

“See, dear, there’s something you and Georgie have in common.”

“Mah-ahm.” Extended-name scolding was one thing Georgie could do as well as his sister.

“We’ve got lots in common, don’t we, champ?” The tickle-monster took its turn ravaging the giddy boy.

“Dad, we need to make the pesto. The potatoes and green beans are ready, and the pasta water is almost boiling.”

“Hey, young lady, you’re not the boss of me… That’s Mom’s job.”

A wet kitchen towel pulled abruptly from its dish-drying duty smacked me on my buttock. When I pulled it free a glowing angel reflected her glory in my eyes like an epiphany. Sweet lips gently pressed into mine, a gushing river of warmth swept me away, and nothing mattered but this moment. Overlap or not, we were a family. A real, loving family. Despite the raging mental wars devastating me and my trying every trick of reasoning and justification to call a cease fire and accept this as just another overlap, this was different. 

I wished this to always be my reality.