The bass line of "Take on Me" by a-ha pulsed through the tinny speakers of my aging Ford Taurus, a nostalgic thrum against the backdrop of a typical Boise, Idaho Tuesday evening. The sky was bleeding into that bruised purple and orange that always reminded me of cheap gas station sunsets, the kind I'd chased down Route 30 in my beat-up Camaro back in '86. God, '86. The year of big hair, even bigger dreams, and the naive belief that anything was possible.
Now, in 2025, the only thing big was the knot of regret that tightened in my chest whenever those memories surfaced. Life hadn't exactly unfolded like the John Hughes movies I'd once idolized. My marriage to Susan had fizzled out like a dud firework years ago, leaving behind a hollow ache and a collection of shared Tupperware. My career as a mid-level accountant at Peterson & Sons was about as thrilling as watching paint dry, a far cry from the rockstar aspirations of my youth (my air guitar skills were legendary, in my own mind at least). And then there was the height thing. Five-foot-four. One hundred and sixty-four centimeters of barely-there. A constant, simmering annoyance that had plagued me since puberty. I'd always felt like I was looking up at the world, both literally and figuratively.
I sighed, the sound swallowed by the melancholic synth melody. Another day, another dollar, another trip home to an empty apartment filled with the ghosts of what could have been. I glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of my thinning brown hair and the lines etched around my tired brown eyes. The youthful spark had long since faded, replaced by the weary resignation of middle age.
The traffic on Main Street was its usual early-evening crawl. I hummed along to Morten Harket's soaring vocals, tapping my fingers on the worn steering wheel. For a fleeting moment, I was seventeen again, cruising with the windows down, the scent of Aqua Net and possibility thick in the air. I could almost feel the phantom weight of my Members Only jacket and the rebellious energy that had once coursed through my veins.
Then, the headlights. Blindingly bright, filling my entire field of vision. They were coming fast, too fast, weaving erratically in the opposite lane. My stomach lurched. Drunk. Gotta be drunk.
My mind screamed a warning as a hulking black SUV swerved wildly, crossing the yellow line and barreling directly towards me. Time seemed to slow down, each millisecond stretching into an eternity. I saw the glint of chrome, the dark tint of the windows obscuring the faces of the occupants. Teenagers, my gut clenched. It always seemed to be teenagers these days, fueled by cheap thrills and a terrifying sense of invincibility.
Instinct took over. My hands yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, a desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable. The tires shrieked in protest, the car lurching violently. I braced for impact, a silent prayer escaping my lips, a plea for… what? More time? A different life?
The world dissolved into a cacophony of screeching metal, shattering glass, and the sickening crunch of colliding forces. A searing pain ripped through my chest, stealing my breath. Everything went black.
Then, nothing. Just a vast, empty void.
Or so I thought.
A faint, almost imperceptible light began to coalesce in the darkness, growing steadily brighter until it formed a soft, ethereal glow. As my senses slowly returned, a sense of disorientation washed over me. Where was I? Was this… it? Was this the great beyond? It wasn't exactly what I'd pictured. No pearly gates, no fluffy white clouds, no judgmental deity with a flowing white beard. Just… light.
The light resolved itself into a space. Not a room, exactly, but more like a waiting area carved out of pure luminescence. There were… others here. Shapeless figures, indistinct and silent, drifting aimlessly. A sense of profound stillness permeated the air, broken only by a faint, rhythmic clicking sound.
My awareness sharpened, and I noticed a figure standing a short distance away. A woman. She was strikingly beautiful, with long, flowing auburn hair that seemed to shimmer in the ambient light and eyes the color of a stormy sea. She wore a simple, elegant gown of a fabric I couldn't quite identify, and in her hands, she held a glowing clipboard that pulsed with an inner light. Her expression, however, was anything but ethereal. It was one of profound weariness, bordering on outright annoyance.
She sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of eons. Without looking up from her clipboard, she spoke, her voice surprisingly matter-of-fact, almost bored. "Soul designation: B749-Alpha-Gamma-7-epsilon-9-delta. Brian Wilson, deceased. Cause of death: vehicular collision. Age at termination: 53. Processing for Reincarnation Cycle 7.4. Initiate wish allocation sequence."
My jaw dropped, though I wasn't entirely sure if I still had a jaw. Reincarnation? Wishes? This couldn't be real. This had to be some kind of elaborate hallucination, a trick of a dying brain.
The woman finally looked up, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Yes, well, try to keep up. We have… quite a backlog today." She tapped the glowing surface of her clipboard with a stylus that hummed faintly. "Let's see… Brian Wilson. Soul processed as the ten trillionth for this cycle. Congratulations, I suppose." Her tone suggested anything but congratulations.
Ten trillionth? My mind struggled to grasp the sheer enormity of that number.
"As the… lucky ten trillionth," she continued, her voice laced with a sarcasm that seemed almost ingrained, "you are entitled to the rare privilege of three wishes for your next life upon reincarnation. Please formulate them promptly. I have… other souls to process." She gestured vaguely towards the drifting figures.
Three wishes. The words hung in the air, heavy with unimaginable potential. Any normal person, I imagined, would be overwhelmed, speechless, grappling with the cosmic significance of such a gift. But me? A giddy, almost childlike laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep within me. It was so unexpected, so utterly absurd, that all the fear and confusion of the past few moments just… evaporated.
"Wishes?" I repeated, a wide, goofy grin spreading across my face. "Seriously? Like… genie in a bottle wishes?"
The Goddess – and who else could she be, with the glowing clipboard and the casual mention of reincarnation? – pinched the bridge of her nose, her stormy eyes narrowing. "Not precisely 'genie in a bottle,' no. Think of it as… personalized parameters for your next existence. And please, try to exhibit some semblance of awe. This is a rather extraordinary occurrence."
"Awe?" I chuckled again, the sound echoing slightly in the luminous space. "Lady… uh… Goddess?" I wasn't sure what to call her.
"Lyra," she supplied, her tone clipped. "Goddess of Reincarnation. Now, your wishes, please. Time is, shall we say, a rather fluid but nonetheless finite resource."
"Right, right, Lyra," I said, still grinning like an idiot. Three wishes. My mind raced, the possibilities swirling like the colors of that gas station sunset. What did I truly want? What had I always longed for?
My gaze drifted down to where my feet would have been, if I still had a physical form. My height. It had been a constant source of insecurity, a silent whisper of inadequacy that had followed me throughout my life. I'd envied the tall, broad-shouldered guys, the ones who seemed to command attention without even trying.
"Okay, okay, I've got it," I said quickly, not wanting to lose this incredible opportunity. Lyra raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her expression a mixture of impatience and faint curiosity.
"My first wish," I declared, a newfound excitement bubbling within me, "is to be… one hundred and ninety-seven centimeters tall. Exactly. And… abnormally good-looking. Like, stop-traffic, turn-heads, unfairly handsome. With… with blonde hair and blue eyes." The image of my short, balding, brown-eyed self flashed through my mind, a stark contrast to the vision I was conjuring. The distaste was palpable, even in my incorporeal state.
Lyra scribbled something on her glowing clipboard with a flourish, her lips twitching almost imperceptibly. "Height: 197cm. Physical attractiveness: Abnormally high. Hair: Blonde. Eyes: Blue. Noted. Your second wish?"
My mind was already racing ahead. What else had I always yearned for? The physical limitations of my previous life had always frustrated me. I'd never been particularly athletic, always the last one picked for sports, the one huffing and puffing on the sidelines.
"My second wish," I said with conviction, "is to be… insanely athletic. Like, naturally gifted in any physical activity I try. Superhuman stamina, incredible strength, lightning-fast reflexes… the whole shebang." I imagined myself effortlessly excelling at sports I'd only ever dreamed of playing, my body a finely tuned machine capable of anything.
Lyra made another note, a faint sigh escaping her lips. "Exceptional athletic prowess. Very well. And your third and final wish, Mr. Wilson?"
This was it. The big one. The chance to not just improve upon my past life, but to completely rewrite a part of it. My mind flashed back to those cherished memories of the 80s, the music, the movies, the feeling of youthful rebellion. But those memories were also tinged with a sense of missed opportunities, of paths not taken.
Then, a specific image sprang to mind: the sun-drenched asphalt of the San Fernando Valley, the iconic crane kick, the resurgence of Cobra Kai. A world I knew, a world I had watched unfold on my television screen. A world where maybe, just maybe, I could relive a version of my teenage years, but this time, with a different body and a different set of circumstances.
"My third wish," I said, a thrill of anticipation coursing through me, "is to be born as 'Braeden Love' into a wealthy family in the world of the Netflix original show… 'Cobra Kai.' Specifically, two years after the birth of Daniel LaRusso's daughter, Samantha."
Lyra's stylus paused mid-scribble. She finally looked up at me, her stormy eyes widening slightly for the first time. A flicker of something that might have been surprise, or perhaps even… amusement?
"The… Netflix original show?" she repeated slowly, as if trying to parse the unfamiliar terminology. "You wish to be reincarnated into a fictional narrative?"
"Well, it feels pretty real to me," I shrugged, even though I no longer had shoulders to shrug with. "And yeah, two years after Samantha LaRusso. That puts me… what? Around 2003? I want to make my entrance during the first season's arc, so… roughly thirteen years after my birth there." I did a quick mental calculation. "Yeah, that sounds about right."
Lyra stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. The rhythmic clicking of her stylus against the glowing clipboard resumed, a soft counterpoint to the silence of the luminous space.
"Braeden Love," she murmured, writing the name down. "Born into a wealthy family in… this 'Cobra Kai' reality, approximately two years post-Samantha LaRusso's birth. Entrance into the primary narrative around thirteen years later. Height: 197cm, abnormally attractive, blonde hair, blue eyes, exceptionally athletic." She recited my wishes, her tone still laced with that weary detachment, but with a hint of something else now, something… intrigued?
"Correct," I said, my grin widening again. The prospect of this new life, this bizarre second chance, filled me with an almost giddy excitement. I could almost hear the opening chords of the "Cobra Kai" theme song.
Lyra finally lowered her clipboard, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "Well then, Brian Wilson… or rather, Braeden Love. Your preferences have been… noted. I must admit, this is a rather… unconventional set of requests. But who am I to judge the desires of a soul on its tenth trillionth journey?"
She tapped the clipboard one last time. A wave of warmth washed over me, a gentle pulling sensation, like being drawn through warm honey. The luminous space around me began to blur, the figures fading into indistinct shapes. Lyra's form shimmered, her stormy eyes holding mine for a fleeting moment.
"Enjoy your… show," she said, the hint of a genuine smile now gracing her lips.
Then, the light intensified, becoming blindingly bright, and I felt myself being pulled away, hurtling through a tunnel of pure energy. The sounds of the ethereal plane faded, replaced by a muffled, watery rush. Sensations began to flood back – the feeling of pressure, the warmth of liquid, the faint sounds of muffled voices.
My new lungs, still unused, instinctively drew in a gasp of air, a shocking, burning sensation that quickly subsided. Bright lights assaulted my newborn eyes, blurry shapes resolving themselves into concerned faces leaning over me. The scent of antiseptic and something vaguely floral filled my nostrils.
A woman's voice, soft and filled with a gentle joy, cooed above me. "He's beautiful! Look at all that blonde hair!"
A deeper, masculine voice chuckled. "He's a big one, too. Just like his old man."
Blonde hair. Big. The memories of Lyra and her glowing clipboard flashed through my newborn mind. It had worked. It had actually worked.
A wave of pure, unadulterated joy washed over me, so intense it almost overwhelmed my infant senses. Braeden Love. That was me now. And my new life, my second chance, was just beginning. The 80s might be a distant memory for this world, but for me, they were just around the corner. And this time, things were going to be different. This time, I was going to make the most of it. This time… well, this time, I was going to kick some serious metaphorical (and maybe literal) butt.
The world swam into focus, and I gazed up at the smiling faces of my new parents, a feeling of giddy anticipation bubbling within me. The Valley awaited. And Braeden Love was ready for his close-up.