Regina’s boyfriend, Mark McCord, was famous for one thing and one thing only: he pronounced “Nigeria” as “nigger-ria.” He used to laugh about it—he probably picked it up from his dad, whatever that means—but he kept at it way too long, and people started to attack him when he did it. So he quit doing it. But everybody still remembered him for it, and there was nothing he could do. He didn’t want to be remembered that way—he wanted to be remembered as a good, if not great, person. Regina Whitaker wouldn’t stand for any of Mark’s jokes, which left him feeling inadequate and unable to have sex. He didn’t watch pornography, which, according to many, makes you impotent, so there was really no explanation for anything—save that he was in a position where people not only didn’t think his jokes were funny—he couldn’t sleep with anybody anyhow—not so long as Regina wouldn’t laugh at this jokes, which, to be fair, no longer involved any form of racism.
Did Mark know about Regina’s time traveling? It’s hard to say—he was deathly aware of Regina’s schizophrenia, and the fact that, according to her, risperidone made her aware of the fact that she was dreaming, a state that can only be compared to a true believer that knows that this life is only the prelude to what happens after we wake up. Did Regina believe then—or, that is to say, was she extra-aware of something that was real? That too is hard to say. Regina sometimes frightened Mark when she talked about her travels—everything she said made it sound like she was really there, like what she was saying was true, but, of course, that was impossible. Even if there was an afterlife, this life, and the land of dreams, too, limited what you could and could not do. The laws of physics, Regina explained, changed when you left this world for the next—but that didn’t change the fact that there were laws you couldn’t keep yourself from obeying.
Mark had no interest in time traveling—even if it made him special; he didn’t like the idea of losing control, of living in a world that defied time and space, and it was a real conundrum for him: if he were schizophrenic, and he needed his risperidone to think clearly, he’d be confused. Give into a life in which you believed just about anything if it explained how people could tell what you were thinking—and, when you’re schizophrenic, you’ve always got an explanation, no matter how crazy it is, or take his risperidone and end up traveling to places and times that he didn’t want to acknowledge—realities that, in short, didn’t make any sense. He didn’t want to hijack his body in the past, and make things turn out a certain way—even if they would have turned out that way anyhow.
Mark tried to live in a state that superimposed what he and Regina did together, and what Regina did on her travels, since, call him old-fashioned, but he didn’t want Regina going back in time and sleeping with somebody—even if she already did it in the past—it was too much like cheating on him. So he paid attention when Regina talked about her travels. That way she’d be reminded of him when she was gone. But he had one major question about all this: where did her body in the present go if she ended up in her old body in the past? Or the future? What happened to that matter and energy? Regina tried to explain that when she went back in time before she was born her body in the present was the body she was using, and, because of that, everything balanced out—which made it seem like traveling into the deep past was necessary.