This is PAPERBACK format. Prefer a different format? Click Here. Christian Flager thought he had it all. A loving wife, an adoring son, and a comfortable life in a sleepy town. But a horrible accident changed all that. Now, he finds himself with an incredible and terrifying gift - the ability to relive any moment from his past simply by thinking about it. But, as he soon discovers, his newfound ability is more of a curse than a blessing, as it causes him to drift further and further away from the ones he loves. Desperate to break free from his prison of memories, Christian discovers a special treatment center that helps people with his condition. With the help of his new sponsor, Michael, he begins to confront his past in hopes of reclaiming his future. But as he gets closer to his goal, dangerous forces arise to stop him. Christian must battle his own memories and a mysterious enemy if he is to leave his past behind and win the fight ahead.Fans of Stephen King's The Shining and Dean Koontz's Watchers will love this psychological thriller with a Christian twist. Buy now before the price changes and experience the amazing journey that Christian Flager embarks on! What readers are saying about James Bonk's books: "This story had what looked like magic, but it really is the hand of God." "A glimpse into the supernatural realm that a true believing family faces." "Every chapter made me want to keep reading and loved the ending!" "This is a fantastic book!" "If you are really into Christian fiction that has a message, you'll like Christian's Look Back at Life." Enjoy a sample from Christian's Look Back at Life! Chapter 1 - Hello Christian "Hello, Christian. Welcome." "Please, call me Chris." "Chris. It's nice to meet you. I know you didn't get a choice in picking your sponsor, and to be honest, we don't get to choose as well, but I've looked over your material and I expect us to do well together." "I...I don't mean to be rude," Chris said as he fidgeted with his hands, "but I don't really need these extra sessions. Is there an assigned reading or something like that I can do? I don't want to waste your time, and I'm sure you can help plenty of others, the people who really need it." "That's nice of you to think of others. But to answer your question, no, there is no further reading than what you have already seen. And I disagree with you; this is exactly what you need. It's why you're here, and it’s why I’m here." Chris looked away from Michael as his arms loosely crossed and his shoulders slouched forward. "Please, have a seat." Michael motioned to the orange plastic chair that sat in the middle of the giant room with wooden floors. It was Chris's old high school gymnasium, where he could still remember first-period Personal Fitness class from nearly thirty years ago. It was also the same high school where Chris's son, Jake, was currently a senior. Chris shuffled his feet, reluctantly kicking them forward with every step. He was forty-six years old but always felt like a small boy in these sessions, like they forced him to sit in the dentist's chair and endure painful drilling. Michael was the second "sponsor" that Chris had met in the past five years at the modest mental health organization. They focused on helping those with rare mental disorders, and Chris had never heard of anyone in his condition prior to coming here. Five years ago, Chris was in a horrible traffic accident involving multiple cars. A strange condition developed immediately afterwards in which he could remember every moment in his life before the accident. From the most mundane to the most extreme, all he had to do was close his eyes and think about it, and he'd instantly be there, reliving it for as long as he wished until deciding to return to the exact moment he closed his eyes. It was hardly longer than a blink in his current situation, but he could be gone for hours, days, months on end if so compelled. At first, it felt like a superpower. He could walk by the grocery store and remember walking through it with his wife and son. He remembered the exact items, the exact price, and the exact time of day that Jake would help him put into the cart. But it was more than a photographic memory; he could remember his feelings, his thoughts, every single detail of the situation: the smell of the rotisserie chickens as he walked into the grocery store, the fresh and colorful berries in the produce section, the smooth surface of the wine bottle as he picked it up and balanced the weight, and all the times his wife squeezed his arm tight to stay close. As he walked past structures in the small, overcast town, he relived joyful moments over and over. The Super Bowl party back in his twenties with his soon-to-be wife as they watched his favorite team close out the big win. They were dating exactly a month at the time and he remembered forgetting the game when she kissed him in celebration. It was his first memory of love for his wife. She cared nothing for football, yet was as emotionally invested in the game as he was, sitting on the edge of their seats during the plays and laughing off the tension during the highly anticipated commercials. Other moments, such as golfing with his best friends. The joyful explosion when he sank the twenty-foot chip shot to save par for their group. The agony of landing three straight shots in the water as his friends ribbed his wild drives. However, as time went on, he spent more time in his head, remembering related moments of the past and being less in the moment. Gradually, he grew distant from his family. Whatever happened, he had a corresponding memory to slip off into, returning in body but unable to communicate the emotions from the past. His son was twelve at the time of the accident, and in the prior five years, they played catch or tag or whatever game of the season in their backyard countless times. However, in the five years since, zero. Chris couldn't even say “countless” anymore when he thought of playing with his boy. Given his mysterious condition, he went back and lived each moment. He knew that in the five years before his accident, he and Jake played in their backyard exactly nine hundred and thirteen times. He had the tallies on notepaper to prove it, averaging once every two days. Chris would relive the first time his son learned to throw a spiral, the first time he gave the baseball enough power for Chris's palm to tingle in pain, or the first time he put a spin on the soccer ball and watched it bend in the air. That was one of Chris's proudest moments, watching his son figure out not only the strength but the finesse required to put the proper spin on the ball. But after years of missing playtime, Jake was more wrapped up in his team sports, his friends, his own life. Father-son time was gone. The gap between Chris and his only child was not the only growing divide in the family. Chris and his wife, Evelyn, stopped communicating as well. Evelyn tried, Chris knew she was doing her best as night after night she would talk to herself as she willed Chris to care, to respond, to just be there. She would cry about how she missed him, for him to say something, say anything. But every time, Chris was speechless. He tried...he really did. But every fight led him into a memory. He'd return and know it'd all be fine. It would be okay. Evelyn would understand, she'd come around. She always did. When he moved out of the house, there was not a huge fight. No thrown dishes and curses. He didn't sit down with his son to tell him he still loved him, that he missed him and his mother. He never told Jake that it wasn't his fault, that sometimes things just don't work out. There was none of that. One day, Chris packed what he could carry and walked out of the house. He didn't go far, renting an apartment just over a mile away, but the communication remained closed. Every time he looked at the phone, he thought of calling. But every time he thought of it, he didn't want to bother them; he would see them soon. It would be okay...until it wasn't. *** After he moved out, Chris walked more than ever. Sunrise and sunset were his favorite times of the day. He liked to think it was the colorful skies and chilly temperatures that kept him out for hours at a time on most days, but deep down, he knew it was the lonesome apartment that he wanted to avoid. He'd walk by the local coffee shops and pizzerias, by the ever-rotating corner stores that seemed to shift from fashion boutique to frozen yogurt to whatever new attempt at commerce that the season brought with it. His most joyful, yet most painful, walk of each day was when he turned down the main road of his old neighborhood. Most days, he wouldn't go into the subdivision, but every week or two, he mustered up the courage to stroll past the gates and walk down his old street. He was never sure if he wanted to see Evelyn or Jake. What would he say if they saw him? Nothing, he thought to himself. Nothing - PERIOD. He spent years not saying anything, so why should this time be any different? Yet, his former home still drew him in as he remembered more of good times than the bad. The tickle fights with a five-year-old Jake. Picking up Evelyn and spinning her around when she hung up the call that announced her big promotion. As much as he tried to stay in the wonderful moments, he could not avoid drifting into regrets. The time he broke the lock on Jake’s door after the boy slammed the door in his face. He spanked the boy as hard as he could that night. The boy wasn't rebelling; he was just upset. Chris was upset himself, but Chris lost it and slapped his bottom so hard, his hand hurt. The sad memories of Evelyn: fights over money, forgetting their fifth anniversary, all those weekends where he just had to go into work. He never cleared the air after a fight with Evelyn; they eventually came to an unspoken understanding and went to sleep, restarting the next day fresh. The memory of Evelyn was the reason he first entered the facility and met his introductory sponsor. He tried to avoid that memory—it ate at him—but seeing his friends at a local restaurant/bar, The Evening Lounge, helped him deal with the memories. After Chris moved out from Evelyn and Jake, he went to the lounge nearly every night. He sat with his old buddies, the other regulars, and talked remember-when, shoulda-coulda, and if-only all night long. It was easier to talk here when there was nothing in particular to discuss. Chris would have his typical soda water and his friends would have their drink of choice: some would drink pop, others beer, and a few others hard liquors. Every night was the same, even down to the place's owner, Praeda. The tall Italian with jet-black hair and the shoulders of a former bodybuilder. He gave the same old sarcastic greeting, ribbing them about nursing drinks and never ordering enough food for a real bill. One night, as Chris finished his walk by approaching the lounge, a particular memory of Evelyn came to mind. It was one of the simplest memories of her that stuck with him and he relived it as he approached the bar. The brief memory, where Evelyn touched his cheek then gave him a soft kiss before resting her head on his shoulder, came into his mind, and he embraced it willingly as he walked. It stayed with his thoughts as he flashed back, not realizing that he didn't turn left to enter the lounge. Instead, he walked straight ahead and eventually landed in the group meeting in the high school gym. *** Chris hated the first meeting. His sponsor, Clara, was nice enough, but one of those perfect ladies who was so happy, it made you sick. Clara ran the group meetings and would immediately pull Chris into the group discussion portion. He forced himself to show up at least once a month. Evelyn would appreciate that he was trying. Clara urged him to show up more often, to be more engaged in the community to see the benefits. But in Chris’s point-of-view, showing up twice a week to hear how others talk about their feelings, the impact their conditions had on their family, and their renewal to embrace their situation as a gift? Ugh. Chris tried not to be heartless but rolled his eyes in the dragged-out sessions every time someone made a quote-unquote reborn breakthrough, as Clara put it. It shocked Chris to think it had been five years since his first visit; others had come and gone. They moved some that seemed to enjoy the sessions into other groups, and Chris lost track of them. Yet others who fidgeted and fussed the whole time gradually dropped out or moved into one-on-one sessions. Chris saw many of the dropouts at the lounge; they'd come and go, some angry and some sad with whatever troubles their conditions were causing, but all coming in to kill their time. "So," Michael said as Chris sat in the surprisingly comfortable orange plastic chair, "What's on your mind?" "Ummm," Chris stalled. He realized he was now one of those types moved from the group sessions into one-on-one coaching. He loved the idea of not having to listen to everyone else, but now he couldn't avoid the conversation. He couldn't hide his apathetic responses. Michael waited patiently for Chris's answer as he smiled, not a huge grin but a welcoming soft smile that showed calmness and caring. The expression invited Chris into the conversation as the two locked eyes. "Not to be rude," Chris broke eye contact, "but honestly, I wasn't thinking of anything." "Yeah?" Michael questioned as his head dipped and he looked over his glasses at Chris. "Yeah," Chris quickly responded. Michael nodded in acceptance, comfortable in what Chris viewed as a terribly awkward silence. Chris didn't admit it, but his actual thoughts were on how big Michael was. Praeda, who claimed to have won multiple European Strongman competitions in his younger days, was the most muscular person Chris knew. Michael did not have the obvious muscle definition of Praeda, but was at least 6'6" and solid as a rock, or maybe more like a small mountain. The glasses and button-up shirt took away from Michael's dominating physique, which rested under neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair and two-day stubble. Finally, Chris broke the silence with his curiosity. "Why did I get moved from the group? How does that work?" Michael's warm smile grew as he eyed Chris before responding, "To help those along who don't seem to respond to the group sessions." "So you think I need help?" Chris asked. "Everyone needs help, Mr. Flagler." Michael gave an inaudible laugh. "However, our organization’s choice is to work here with limited resources. The group sessions work for many, but certainly not all, so here we are." "Yes, here we are," Chris trailed off as his eyes wandered around the room. He saw the old gym bleachers, pushed up against the walls. The halls leading to locker rooms and restrooms were dark. Only the emergency lights, which always remained on in certain parts of the gymnasium, shined bright over Michael and Chris. Michael looked Chris over, studying him as Chris continued to avoid eye contact. Then Michael broke the silence with a firm voice. "Why did you show up?" "What?" Chris questioned, taken aback by the direct question. Clara was never so direct in the group sessions. "What do you mean, why did I show up? I want help with my condition. That's what you do, so I'm here." Michael nodded with his gentle smile. "No, you don't." Chris was confused. "What?" "No, you don't want help," Michael clarified. "I'm here, aren't I?" Chris stated in a defensive tone. "I do appreciate that. In the end, simply showing up is a major part of victory. But there is more, and you are hiding," Michael said without changing the tone in his voice. "Look, I'm here. What are we going to cover today? Can we talk about my memories and how to live with them?" "We won't be talking about living with them," Michael replied matter-of-factly. Chris was getting upset at how plainly Michael spoke. "And this is what we're covering; I want you to tell me why you came here today." "I came because…” Chris’s frustration mounted. “I want help with my condition, I’m sick and tired of not being able to…" Chris spoke bolder, losing his passiveness. "To talk to my son; to be with my wife. I...I...I WANT TO LIVE AGAIN!" Michael's light smile turned into more of a grin, and it only ignited Chris further. Chris stood up. "WHAT’S SO FUNNY?" "Oh, not funny. I'm happy." "You’re happy that my life is in shambles and I get NO resolution by coming here. Good. Glad you are happy." Chris sat back down, feeling bad for snapping at his new sponsor at their first meeting. Great way to start off, he thought to himself. Michael remained silent. "Look, I'm sorry," Chris relented. "I haven’t burst out like that before. I just don't know how to live with this anymore." Michael's smile never waned during Chris's outburst. However, it seemed to fuel it. "I think that is enough for today. Thank you for coming in." Chris spun his head, making eye contact again. "WHAT? We just started!" "It's not about the time, Christian. It's about the impact." "Call me Chris," Chris responded, putting his hand up in a stopping motion. "No one calls me that anymore. And how am I supposed to live with this if we only talk for a minute?" Michael politely stood up as Chris finished speaking. "I suggest you enjoy it while you can. And we won't be talking about living with your condition. We're going to talk about moving on despite it." Michael bowed his head as his tall frame towered over Chris. "Until next time, Mr. Flagler." Then he strolled out of the dimly lit gym.
