A Sampler Pack

by Jill Cooper

I open my eyes. I’m standing in the yellow halls of a cheerful school decorated with construction paper artwork. The hall waves in front of my vision as though I’m lost beneath the ocean, and my legs tremble. I slide my feet forward, so I can lean against a locker for support.

  I have no memory of what I did before this. I rub my temples. I’m missing something, and my head throbs. I flip through the papers I notice in my hand. It’s a pamphlet that says I have fifteen minutes to be in the past.

  Time travel?

  Flipping through the pages I see short-term memory loss is to be expected but will fade soon. I paid money to go back, but why into a school? Something about it is familiar, and I know the hall I’m standing in leads to a music room.

  But I don’t know how I know any of this. I just do. As if memories were uploaded into my brain.

  A photo falls from my papers and lands face up.

  Her face. Her eyes. It’s like looking in the mirror.

  I scoop the picture up and head down the hall. A piano chord strikes. The soft tone echoes toward me, and the digital watch on my wrist beeps. A rush of memories slam into my mind, knocking me off balance. I wobble on my feet as if the collision were physical. I retch, the vomit threatening to spill. Swallowing, it burns like racing lava. I check my watch.

  I only have thirteen minutes left.

  I don’t bother to look through the doors to find five-year-old me. Instead, I race down the hall, feet gliding across the linoleum. My hood flaps behind me as my body crashes into the elementary school front doors. Blinding sunlight greets me, and I am flying down the hill. My arms pump, and I suck in deep breaths of air, like I learned in my time as a sprinter at Cambridge High.

  Rounding the corner onto Mass Avenue, I see Tower Records off in the distance.

  Beep.

  I now have ten minutes to run eight blocks in time to save Mom. If I don’t make it, if I fail, I won’t get another shot.

  My chest aches, and in my mind, I see Mom. I’ve seen her in pictures, but my memories of her are pretty much gone. I want to remember her tucking me into bed and cooking me dinners. Now I am alone and have microwaved bowls of macaroni and cheese. Maybe it wasn’t Dad’s fault. Maybe he did his best, but I want more.

  I want a mom.

  My legs burn, and my lungs beg me to stop, but I keep going. I push harder and edge my body on until I’m desperate to collapse. A woman steps out from a store. I take a hard right to avoid her, clipping my arm on a brick wall. I groan and pause to bend over with my hands braced on my legs. I take a gulping breath of pain that my lungs reject. The woman comes up behind me and puts her hand on my shoulder.

  Shrugging her off, I sprint away.

  Eight minutes.

  I round the corner toward Tower Records with anxiety tight in my chest.

  This is where it happens. This is where Mom’s body will be found.

  My run slows to a trot as I stop beside the giant music store. I peer up at the towering skyscraper as I round the back, down an alley. Quiet shadows loom around the dumpster. A breeze sweeps by and blows a trash bag open. I catch the stench of decomposing meat, churning my stomach. My head pounds. I groan and grab my temples. Behind me I hear a woman’s voice.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her voice rings a bell only in my deepest dreams. My movements slow as I turn and stare into my mother’s face. Her eyes are blue like mine, and her face is framed with curls. The stillness of the sight shocks me. I knew I would see her if I was successful, but I wasn’t ready for how my heart would ache or how badly I’d want to hug her.

  She has a book in one hand and a cell phone in another. The phone is blinking, suggesting she’s been on a call and maybe whoever is on the other end might still be listening. But Mom doesn’t seem to care; her eyes are fixed on me.

  “I’m fine.” Despite my dry mouth, my voice sounds normal, but I am anything but. “Only a headache.”

  Mom smiles, and her warmth spreads to me. “Well it’s no wonder, being back here. Come out on the street where the air is fresh. We’ll get you a bottle of water.”

  I follow her on autopilot and watch her retrieve a bottle of water from her brown leather messenger bag. Around us, pedestrians walk by. Any one of them could be her killer, but maybe by being here I’ve saved her. Maybe I stopped her from going too far into the alley.

  I sip the water offered to me, and as she takes it back, Mom asks, “What did you say your name was?”

  “Lara,” I answer before I can stop. I squeeze my eyes shut. My heart skips a beat with regret.

  “That’s funny,” she laughs. “That’s my daughter’s name.” Her eyes aren’t suspicious. Her face is only kind.

  My wrist watch beeps. I’m down to two minutes.

  Mom turns towards the music store, and I follow. I see a man in the alley out of the corner of my eye.

  “Mom!”

  Mouth agape, her head whips toward me. “What did you call me?”

  There’s no time to answer.

  A gun goes off.

  I throttle her back, and she crumbles to the pavement. I take her place and feel a pinch in my side. My hand covers it instantly, and my legs wobble like jelly. I crash to the pavement, and my knees crunch under the impact. I grimace with my hand over the wound.

  For a moment, my eyes lock with the shooter. He has dark hair and brown eyes. His brow furrows, and his lip snarls. Whoever he is, in that brief moment I tremble in fear. Then he takes off running. Around me people scream and run for cover. The ones that don’t are by my side. Someone calls for help.

  My breath echoes in my ear. Mom is there, taking me by the shoulder. Her lips are moving, but I hear nothing. There are tears in her eyes and mine, too. I fall forward, my head cushioned by her lap. Unable to blink, I can only stare ahead at a red fire hydrant on the sidewalk. Everything grows dim, and my breath rumbles.

  I swear I see a shadow leaping over my body, but when I turn my head, no one is there. I don’t understand. There was no mugging, so why was I shot? Mom was supposed to be mugged.

  Beep.

  Time’s up. Everything goes dark as when a curtain closes on a stage, but I don’t think it’s from time travel.

  I think I’m dead.