by Nk Layne
I swallowed down a bitter bile and ran towards my home.
I opened my front door and lost my breath. I was greeted by my old dog, Kazak. I didn’t realize I would see my best friend again. The pup will pass in only a couple more months.
I pulled the dog close to my chest and took a deep smell of his rusty fur. Memories overcame me. I remembered cuddling next to Kazak every night for ten years. I remembered calling his name out until my throat was hoarse that time he ran away. When he did come back, I felt overwhelmed. I thought I’d lost him forever. I wanted to yell and hit the dog, but I ended up rewarding him with a juicy steak, in spite of myself. He finished that steak in under a minute and I laughed at him. I remembered the end, the tumor that was consuming him, and his agony, and his paralysis. In the car ride to the vet I held that dog tightly to my chest, as if he was my heart itself, as I said my last goodbyes.
Yet here he was. Here was Kazak, as lively as ever. His tail was wagging as he reached higher, and higher, as if he was trying to climb over me. His beaming smile reminded me of how lonely I have felt since he died.
Kazak jumped off of me as soon as his name was called, from a voice coming from the other room. I quickly bent down to his protruding forehead, before he left, and gave him a last kiss.
Then she entered the main hallway. She was breathing hotly, with her fists clenched, ready to punch me. Yet, despite this, I couldn’t help feeling an awe. It was her, really her. I felt like I was having a vision of angels while in the midst of a terror fit.
"What the f-- El, you scared me half to death." My Aunt Lily’s plump lipstick-red lips were agape. Her twitchy hands pulled on her wavy black hair as her thin eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m sorry.” I was cowering. For once, I was glad that my looks in the last eighteen months has kept the same, that it hasn’t created some sort of gaping inconsistency.
“No I-- I’m sorry. I’m not angry, Just, why are you home so early? Your Mom isn’t here, is she?” She reached down her hand and I clutched it, raising myself up. My Aunt’s brief touch shot tremors up my arm. She was so real, this was so . . . real.
“No. She isn’t here. She’s okay -- she’ll be here right on time.”
Aunt Lily cocked me a confused glance. “Are you okay? Here let me get you some water. I’ll be right--”
“No!” I shouted.
Aunt Lily twisted towards me and rubbed my shoulder. “El? What is it? What happened?”
“Just don’t leave me.” Please, don’t, I’m not ready.
“I’m right here, honey.”
I looked up at my Aunt Lily’s dimples, as deep and hollow as my mother’s and my own. My eyes were tearing; I lost all words.
“El, what’s up?” Aunt Lily shifted so I was cornered in my main hallway, “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m here to tell you. But. . . you aren’t going to believe me.”
“Just tell me, El.”
“I am El, but not.” I took a deep breath. “I come from eighteen-months in the future.”
“What? What are you saying?”
“Aunt Lily, you are going to die.” The confession was choked by my hysterical breath. My burning lungs constricted, my exhales had a fever. My vision blurred, causing her to only look more angelic, which only caused more blurring.
Aunt Lily blinked at me. “That’s it. I’m calling poison control.”
“No, I’m not on drugs, I swear.” Though, honestly, I understood my Aunt’s point. I was practically falling back on the floor, speaking morose things, being pretty emotional -- yeah, I looked whacked out. For my Aunt, drugs was the best case scenario here.
“Then what is this? A complete mental breakdown?”
“Possibly.” I grinned for a hot second -- until my Aunt’s completely petrified face brought me back to grim reality. “No, I’m just kidding. Here let me prove it.”
“Prove what? No, just-- just let me take care of you.”
“In a few hours, at Mom’s 40th birthday party, she’s going to have too many glasses of punch and try to belt into Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York, but right at the climax little cousin Stephen is going to start wailing because he dropped his toy in the toilet, distracting Mom from finishing her song. And-- and, also, in exactly one week, in the midst of your trip to Bahamas, you will spill a margarita on your skirt and when you go back to the hotel you will meet a man who is, in your own words, ‘the hottest piece of man meat’, who will invite you to play poker with him. And, I’m saying all this, Aunt Lily because I love you. Go see a real cardiologist and get yourself taken care of. There are preventive measures we can take. You don’t-- you don’t have to die. We need you.”
I reached and opened the front door, slipping away. My built up tears stormed out of me. How could I possibly doubt my love for my Aunt? This -- this enormity. When I was engulfed in it, I realize how deeply I loved everyone in my family.
I wondered how the world could even exist without her.
My cheeks ached from smiling. I have made it back to 2014 as a hero. I couldn't wait to go back home and talk to my mom about Aunt Lily in the present tense. This light high filled me, until I opened my front door and walked into the worst possible thing.
My mom was heaved over my fathers shoulders, choking like a drowning child.
"Move!" My Father shouted at me. I was frozen in the doorway.
I obeyed, warm tears already oozing down my cheekbones. "What happened?"
"Just come on! Follow me!" he said as he headed towards the car.
Her eyes glazed over.
I jumped from the back seat to the passenger seat. I shook her shoulders and screamed out her name. My snot fell down and stained her jeans. My mother did not respond.
At the hospital, I was forced to stay in the waiting room. My small hands clutched onto my father's burly ones. The background droned out.
I recalled the enthusiasm in my mom’s voice when she handed me my university’s letter of acceptance during my senior year of high school. When I asked her why the envelope was already torn open, she leaned into my face with tearing eyes and said she loved me. We took up so much of each other’s space, it was unnerving.
I recalled the evening that we brought Kazak home. My mother rocked the puppy in her arms like it was her child. She sang lullabies and I rolled my eyes. She laughed at my smug face and then explained that they were the same songs that she used to sing to me. I went up to the pup and commented on how cute the fluffball was. She kissed my forehead and said not as cute as me.
Why ... was this happening? Did I incite it? Yes, she had a weak heart but things were changing. Her echos were clear now. The doctor said it was pretty likely that my mom was home free, her cardiovascular risks were pinched off. He straight up said that she had a very likely chance of the long prosperous life she deserved. Is it possible that when I went back in the past something changed in my Mom’s wellness timeline? I didn’t know but I blamed myself. It was what I did best.
I lost my reflections when I heard a croaky voice call my name. I looked up and saw Grandmother Marie looming over me, holding her hand. And then it was impossible to pay attention to anything else. I was so transfixed on my weeping Aunt Lily that I forgot that she was crying over my mother.
At some point, a doctor entered. He wouldn't say anything until he took my father, grandparents, and I out of the waiting room and down the hall, to a door with my mother’s name on it. Gemma.
"I'm sorry to tell you this, but Gemma suffered a massive heart attack this afternoon and died. We did all we can do. We’re sorry for your loss.”
Family and nurses crowded me. I was numb. They kept on speaking but it was all a mumble to me. I had to excuse myself, to step out of the hospital, to be alone. I don’t know if they gave me permission, but no one seemed to follow. Once I exited those revolving doors, I breathed the crisp air and started to feel.
I started to feel like I fell into
a black hole.
I felt like there was a gravitational pull sucking my insides out. I felt empty of organs, of living parts. Death took its place. It’s like I was cut open and stuffed with naked twigs, and ripped dried leaves, and heavy rocks, and sharp glass.
I squinted my eyes tight together and imagined my mother's ringing laughter, her twinkling eyes, her soft voice, and smiley face. My fingers dug into my own dimples. It was the closest thing I had to touching my mother's expressions.
How could I be so stupid? How could I think that someone like me -- someone meek, and clumsy, and inexperienced -- could fix everything? How can I think there would be no consequences? Why did I think I was important enough to be my family’s personal angel? Look what my big-headedness and narcissism got me: a dead mother. And honestly, I probably deserved it. For being so fucking rash. For being so fucking idiotic. Did I think this adventure would make me an interesting person? Did I think people would like me?
I’m still mundane. But now I’m a mundane and truly alone.
Then my mania seized me. The voice inside of me was faint most of the time but when she shook she was violent. A whisper rang through my ears, “You were trying to save a life. You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t blame yourself. Blame divinity.”
That wasn't a complete answer, but my self-preservation latched onto it it.
My pout twisted into a toothed grin. No, this wasn't an answer. My mother dying wasn't an acceptable plot point in the demented narrative that the Lord wrote out for me. If God overcasted a fiery vindication for trying to control fate then he isn’t a God at all. In saving one life I lost the human being that mattered the most to me. My mother was the one who inspired me to open my eyes every morning, to go outside in the middle of a thunderstorm, to appreciate the complex beauty in even the most rugged situations-- but where was the beauty in this situation?
What positive thing could she possibly say about her own death?
What would she say if she knew that it was the spiteful result of her daughter trying to save her sister?
My Aunt’s resurrection wasn’t worth this. There wasn't a life on this Earth that I valued more than my mother’s.
I headed back to the machine.
November 2012 had kept nearly static: the snow was still shit-brown, the trees were still colorless and bare, and the breeze was still spine chilling. The only difference was there were now two of me pacing in the woods. The bitter me and the idealistic me. I was watching the other El, the one who was time-traveling for the first time, with stern precision.
Her movements were filled with anxiety, like a child lost in the woods. As I stalked her I became overtaken by the impulse to scream out ‘coward.’ I wanted to jump on that meek version of myself and push her head into a sharp rock. The impulse subsided.
A long vibrating howl bellowed out throughout the woods. Just like last time. The other El crumbled onto the ground on the cue’s first beat. But I stood still. I was studying her blind-submission to all things scary and was gripped with another dark impulse. I wanted to jump onto that girl, feel her throat quiver, put my palm on her vibrating lips, stare deeply in her tearful eyes, and choke her dead.
I swallowed down my bitterness and leaned into the crawl ball of my past self.
"El. Get the fuck up," I yelled while gripping her thick hair, pulling her upwards. I wanted to spit into my reflection's crumbled face and jutting pout.
"I want to kill you," I confessed out-loud, "but there is no need for vengeance if you follow my instructions."
"Thank you," El whimpered.
I rolled my eyes. Really? Your mirror reflection is threatening to kill you and you thank it? Ugh, that’s why I hate myself. That’s why I’m horrible. I was a pathetic doormat deeply controlled by fear. I should be asking what the fuck was happening. I should be questioning the surrealism here. Yet, I was too caught up with fear to show any sign of human curiosity. It was like I wasn’t even human -- just fear wrapped up with skin.
I swallowed my anger down and said, "Don't save Aunt Lily. If you save Aunt Lily, then you will come back to a dead Mom. Get back on that time-machine and go back home and forget that it ever existed."
El nodded and I momentarily felt powerful. I was in control of my destiny. The past, timid, version of me wasn’t calling the shots. Neither was anything divine. Especially nothing divine. I mean fuck -- I could time travel. I crossed over the metaphysical plane. I was my own God.
I was feeling all mania no depression, until I realized the howling had went up a notch. It was no longer one howl but a chamber choir of animalistic prayers.
“A wolf pack,” I said out loud. This additional threat marked the complete deterioration of my safe space.
I shook so violently that I fell into the thick mud. Here I was, side-by-side to the other El. I tried to huddle around her, but as I got closer, she shrunk back. Her big gaping eyes were staring at me, not the direction of the howls. Was I El's biggest threat? Did she find me more scary than a pack of wolves?
I felt heavy with a new level of self-loathing. Man, I must be a callous bitch to scare this girl so badly. And that’s all she is -- really. Just a lonely girl, trying to make her Mom happy. She didn’t deserve all this. We didn’t deserve all this.
My mother’s death flashed over my eyes, and I bit my lower lip. Okay, maybe being a homicidal psychopath wasn’t the best way to approach this situation. Maybe I should have talked to El with more calmness. She and I -- we had the same motivation. We were just trying to do the right thing and save our Mom.
It started snowing.
I tried to apologize to El, but I don't think she heard me over the crescendoing howls of the wolf pack. They were getting closer.
"El, we need to work together to get out of this," I said, loudly.
"You have a plan?" She stuttered.
I shrugged my shoulders. "If we can make it into the time machine, they won’t be able to get us," I grabbed El's hand, "If we dash right now, it'll be safe and easy.”
El shook her head no and pointed left.
I turned and met the pack. The gray wolves were staring diligently at us, leaning their weight on their long forelegs, that were stretched outwards. Their pointed ears and ashy fur were raised, lips receded, and snouts scrunched. It was pretty clear we were royally fucked.
I blinked a bit while scrunching deeper into myself. My nails dug deeply into my forearms; I lightly bled. It was El was who reacted proactively, to my surprise. She jumped up and said, “Hey wolf breath. You want something to chew? Eat this.”
The wolves ears twitched as they focused on the yelling El. She took a step towards the pack, “I’m ready. I’m fucking ready.”
A charcoal shaded wolf took a step towards El. She smirked -- setting them off. The pack of wolves moved towards her, in their movement their mangly winter weight was evident. They were scrawny and starving.
I spazzed towards El in my attempt to pull her away. “El, come with me -- now -- we have to go.”
She turned around, with half-closed eyelids and a parsed mouth. “No, just you. I’m the distraction. Plus, you alive makes this just a make-believe suicide. It is exactly what we need.”
I shook my head and pulled a bit harder. The wolves started to growl and El pushed me away. My face thumped on an icy piece of snow. It throbbed waves as I looked up.
Her suicide started; El was being devoured. A wolf on each one of her limbs. My gut crunched as my sticky pink vomit stained the ash snow around me. I was contorted over so my nose touched both my arm and thigh. My body smelt rustic... and wet. I backed off, and watched thick, bleeding gashes rip through my own skin. I’m sure it would be agony if I could feel anything besides shock. The wounds were growing and I needed sanctuary.
I made eye contact with one of the wolves. It twitched its snarl in my direction and I dashed to my time machine. It was a limp, but I was quick enough to survive.
Right before I closed the
door, El hollered her last word: ‘Why?’
Inside the machine, my skin started to rapidly heal. The cuts quickly scabbed and then disappeared. I stared past the phenomena, my attention focused on El’s last word. I took it as a prescription.
There was one last time traveling mission I needed to fulfill.
Why did everything happen the way it did? Why did my Aunt die? Why did my family have to mourn so harshly? Why did this time machine exist? Why did I find it? Why did my Mom die? Why did I get eaten alive? Why am I so special? Or am I so insignificant? Why do I hate myself? Why do I hate living? Why does living hurt so much? What is the point of any of this? Who is calling the shots here? Is there anyone out there? Can I hurt them?
I typed ‘The Start of All’ into the time machine, mumbled to myself, “If anyone is out there, fuck you,” and hit the enter key.
The familiar time-travel heaviness took over; I melted into a dream.
In my dream, all my anger dissolved. It was like none of this ever happened and the most exciting thing in my life was approaching summer break. I felt only the regular level of apprehension that always stuck on me, but nothing particularly stressful.
I was in my kitchen with my parents, talking about starting a vegetable garden. My parents said that the upcoming summer was predicted to be absolutely fantastic for gardening because there would be the perfect balance of sunshine and rainfall. They were excited to grow produce in the yard and eat what they sow. They wanted to feel connected to this planet in this way.
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” my mother asked, “Wouldn’t it be nice to garden with us, El? To feel like you are truly part of this magnificent world?”
I nodded. I did feel strange in this dream, like maybe this world was fantastic. That maybe it was okay that my freshmen year of college just ended and I didn’t make one friend. I still had my parents, and vegetables, and sunshine. Maybe nothing else mattered.
My parents’ smiles started to widen to unnatural level. It became the entire breadth of their face. Their lips were ruby red and their teeth were stainless white. Despite the eerie image, I didn’t feel nervous. I trusted my parents completely.