Anything

by Michael Baron

  Melissa put her lips against the receiver until she seemed to kiss it. “This is really secret, but Tommy asked me out yesterday. What? In the lunch room. He asked if I wanted to get some pizza or something with him.”

  My heartbeat soared. I’d always been a little jealous of the men in Melissa’s past, even though I knew none of them took the place in her heart that I did.

  “Of course I said no, silly.” My heartbeat dropped below Mach I. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll make him try a little harder. I don’t want him to think I’m too easy. He should ask me two or three times.” Her grin would have chilled any teenage boy. Then I laughed myself. Maybe she wasn’t being kind to poor Tommy, but it was nice to see that she played hard to get. I didn’t remember her playing hard to get with me.

  Melissa’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  “She what? She offered you a joint? You didn’t smoke it, did you? Good thinking. You really can’t afford to get involved with that stuff.”

  This had to be a different Heidi. The one I knew spent three months in rehab after the breakdown of marriage number two. Melissa was right, of course; Heidi couldn’t afford to get involved with that stuff, but I guessed it wasn’t very long before she started doing exactly that.

  Melissa’s voice dropped lower still until I could barely hear her from two feet away. “No, I would never take a hit. Do you know what my father would do if he found out that I took drugs? He has a plan to win the war on drugs, and it involves nuclear weapons. Besides, I don’t want to mess up my mind. Yeah, I know. That Matt Pizimot – he’s a pothead. In gym class yesterday, the boys were playing basketball, and he just sat on the bleachers against the wall with a big smile on his face. He looked like such a doof.”

  Melissa turned her head, and noticed that her lamb was lying askew on her pillow. Her left hand reached out and straightened it until the lamb’s head lay snugly in the center of the pillow.

  “Ron offered you a beer? Don’t tell anyone, but the Honor Society got together after school and we all shared a six-pack. Everybody thinks we’re nerds, but see, we have some fun. No, Heidi, we really, truly aren’t nerds, thank you very much.” She sat up on her bed and glanced at the wall clock. “Anyway, I have to finish my homework soon. So, how long do you think I should keep Tommy waiting?”

  A century will be fine, Melissa.

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea. If he really wants to go out with me, he has to sweat a little bit. He really is cute, though. I know Teri has her eyes on him. I can see it. After Tommy walked away at lunch, she gave me a look.

  “Say that again? That’s the kind of guy you like? No, thank you. Big muscles and a tattoo are okay, I guess, but that’s hardly the man of my dreams. The man I marry will be good-looking and smart, and he’ll really like me.”

  The jury was out on the good-looking and smart part, but I definitely really liked her. More and more every second.

  *

  This time the fog was so deeply dark that it swallowed all light. I found myself in a hallway of dingy gray floor tiles and apple-green walls. The dismal colors combined with the odors of sweat, ozone and floor polish to reveal I was in a school. I looked around and saw a glass case filled with trophies and footballs and basketballs. The jocks at Thomas Jefferson High School had done well the past few years.

  Two tall boys ambled down the hall in shorts and basketball jerseys. Once their footsteps faded, everything was strangely quiet, except for a faint murmur of voices from the other end of the building. Strange how I remembered high school as a noisy place, even after school. Now, echoes traveled down long corridors.

  This hallway was lined with doors to classrooms. Some were lit and some were dark. I peered through a rectangular glass pane into a door. The room was dotted with black tables with little spigots rising out of them like sunflowers. A large chart on the back wall displayed the periodic table. Memories of chemistry class flooded my mind in a shower of Hg, Au, and Cl symbols. I shuddered – history and English were my favorites. Chemistry was just plain painful to me.

  I noticed a clock on the wall. It was just past five, and most of the teachers and students were gone. A door opened down the corridor, and a green-uniformed janitor emerged pushing a wheeled bucket and mop. He was white-haired and stocky, with an anchor tattooed on his left forearm. He whistled tunelessly as he slowly pushed the bucket in that unhurried, timeless way of school custodians. I waited until he passed, then listened for a clue to where Melissa was.

  A melody floated through the air, soft and incongruous in the impersonal, institutional atmosphere. I could not identify the piece, but whoever was playing that piano was blessed with a deft touch. A sudden suspicion led me to track the source of the sound. It came from behind a green door marked MUSIC ROOM. I bent down and peeked through the narrow window in the door, with a terrible feeling that the principal was going to see me and make me stay after school for a week. However, the window was covered with brown wrapping paper, no doubt to keep smart alecks from harassing music classes. Not that I ever did anything like that, I thought with a grin.

  The piano tinkled again with a few random notes. I put my hand on the doorknob. It felt cold and vaporous. How do you open a door if you are not really there? Was I supposed to just walk through it?

  The door abruptly opened, and out came Melissa. For the first time, I saw the woman I was going to marry. She was nearly fully grown now, with midnight-black hair trailing down to her waist. Her figure was slender and curvy under a red sweater. A red sweater? First pink and now this. Almost all of Melissa’s sweaters were black or white. I always imagined her in high school with her collection of black sweaters growing, filling her closet month by month, year by year, until she’d personally depleted the world’s supply of black wool.

  Melissa drank from a water fountain and returned to the music room. I quickly slipped in before she closed the door. Folding chairs crammed the room along with music stands. Melissa sat at an upright piano and absently ran her fingers over the keys, stroking them like a favored pet. Then her fingers seemed to pluck at the keys at random, as if searching for a lost object that lay tantalizingly close. For the first time, I noticed how lithe Melissa’s fingers were, long and supple like cat’s whiskers. Why had I never noticed them like that before? It shouldn’t take time travel for a man to notice the little things.

  Melissa’s fingers suddenly hovered over the keyboard, ready to pounce. She stared at a piece of sheet music for a few seconds. Then her face composed into a mask of pure concentration. Her back rose fully erect as she plunged her hands into the keyboard.

  Rock-and-roll was my speed, not classical. I wouldn’t know Brahms from Beethoven. But I knew Melissa’s playing was special. Her sounds were transporting. They were stars in a ballet where the dancers were notes that floated like angels.

  It’s not the instrument that makes music beautiful – it’s the musician. Revelation blossomed inside me as I watched Melissa merge with the music. She swayed to it as if the every note was an ocean wave. The concentration on her face evaporated, replaced by a look of contentment that could only come to someone who is truly expressing herself. I’d been surprised several times on this journey through Melissa’s past, but nothing was more surprising than this. Even to my untrained ear, it was abundantly clear that Melissa was a truly skilled pianist. How could she ever give it up? How could she never have mentioned it?

  I barely heard the door open. I turned to see a woman step into the room. Her thin, bony body was draped in a gray jacket as severe as her face. She paused to stare at the young woman playing so magnificently. As Melissa swayed again to a high-soaring note, the woman’s tongue arced over her upper lip.

  Melissa stopped and rested her head against the piano. Perspiration glinted on her forehead. She looked up and caught sight of the woman.

  “Miss Hoffman,” she said, flushing slightly.

  Miss Hoffman m
arched to the piano with precise, high-heeled steps.

  “Mr. Evans obviously knew what he was talking about when he called you his star pupil,” the woman said. She put her hands on her hips. “I have trained many students and I can tell you that, for a mere girl of fourteen, you have great talent. If you cultivate it, it will take you far. Unfortunately, the taxpayers of your town do not allow your school sufficient funds to pay for my services on more than a part-time basis. I suspect that is why Mr. Evans left. Perhaps you should ask your parents about private lessons.”

  Melissa smiled shyly. “Would you take me on? We’ve only had two sessions so far, but I feel like I have learned a lot from you already.”

  Miss Hoffman nodded curtly at the compliment, as if it were too obvious to be mentioned. “You have the gleam in your eye, Melissa. I can see the music burns in your blood. So many of my pupils view the piano as a form of torture devised by their parents. It is a pleasure to meet a girl with a genuine love. Again, I must warn you that if you wish to cultivate your talent, you must devote the proper amount of time for study and practice. We must spend a great deal of time together.”

  Miss Hoffman was an odd bird. Anyone who bumped into her would probably turn to ice. Still, Melissa looked at her teacher with eager eyes. “I haven’t told anyone yet, Miss Hoffman. But I’ve decided that I want to be a concert pianist. You’re right. My parents made me take piano, and for a while it seemed like a chore. But now I feel like music is my life.”

  My invisible jaw dropped. Melissa never told me she’d planned to be a musician. Her mother’s mention of it when she brought out those recently rediscovered photos was the first in my presence.

  Miss Hoffman nodded understandingly. “Play for me as you played when I entered.”

  Sound again caressed my ears. Miss Hoffman closed her eyes and listened to the music, enraptured. When Melissa finished, the instructor wiped her glasses and flexed her fingers. Those digits were narrower than they should have been, curving slightly and tapering at the tips where sharp, scarlet nails gleamed. She looked her student up and down, appraising her more carefully than it seemed necessary. I didn’t like anyone looking at Melissa that way.

  “To play an instrument, you must be comfortable with it, yes? You are much, much too stiff. Here, let me help you.”

  She walked behind Melissa and rubbed her shoulders. Melissa closed her eyes and sagged against her teacher. “Wow, that feels really good. You have very strong fingers, Miss Hoffman.” After a minute, Melissa sighed. “That’s fine. I’m feeling relaxed now.”

  Her teacher kept one hand on her left shoulder and used her other hand to rub the center of Melissa’s back. Melissa tensed as a flicker of concern crossed her face.

  “I said I’m feeling more relaxed, Miss Hoffman,” Melissa said, though it was obvious she was feeling anything but relaxed. Her teacher’s face reddened. Her lips were pursed as if she were whistling. But no whistle came, just rapid gasps from her thin, heaving chest.

  Melissa suddenly rose from the piano bench, and as she did her teacher shoved her against the wall.

  “What are you doing?” Melissa said, sounding desperate.

  “Hush, my darling. Listen to the music.”

  I grabbed at Miss Hoffman’s neck, but my hand passed through cold vapor. Damn you, Stephon.

  “No,” Melissa said, her voice pitched, her face frantic. Everything happened so quickly. Miss Hoffman was in a frenzy, her face twisted and hands probing under Melissa’s clothing. The teacher’s own dress rode up her legs as she pressed herself and writhed insistently against Melissa’s body, seeking out her perverted form of pleasure.

  There was nothing I could do. I swear I tried to stop it. I yelled and cursed but no one heard. I vowed to dismember the woman piece by piece, but these thoughts did nothing to deter her. All I could do was pound the wall with an invisible fist and swallow the bile in my throat.

  It was like watching Jekyll and Hyde. When the monster finished, heaving as she clawed at Melissa’s most private places and pistoned against her, she straightened her dress and refastened the loose strands of her hair. Her face lost its flush and solidified into the stern visage of the severe piano teacher – all except for a faint smirk.

  “That was very nice, Melissa. As I said, you have wonderful potential that needs only be developed. I will assist you in that process from time to time.” The monster walked to the door and paused. “I suggest that you tell no one about our lesson today,” she said without turning around. “They would not believe you. And you would not want me to be angry with my most promising student.”

  Melissa sat with her back against the wall. Behind the disheveled black hair shrouding her face, her mouth opened and closed in great gasps of breath as her eyes stared into space. She tried to rearrange her skirt, but her fingers wouldn’t work properly. At last, she simply locked her hands around her legs and buried her face in her knees.

  I knelt beside her and put my hand on her shoulder. I grasped cold nothingness, but I still squeezed as hard I could, as if I could bend the fabric of the universe into a bandage for her pain.

  “I know you can’t hear, Melissa, but I’m going to make this all right. You’ll see. I’m going to make this all right.” I kissed her cheek. Her head moved and her eyes looked straight into mine. Their deep blue was moist and dazed. Then she looked back at the door and sobbed.

  Darkness spread merciful wings over the horrible scene, then dawned into the sparkle of gleaming metal. The next thing I could see clearly was Stephon standing behind his jewelry counter.

  I let out a scream of anguish. I never felt more frustrated in my life. “Did you know?” I said, my voice a barely restrained growl. “Did you know about this?”

  Stephon seemed a little intimidated by my ferocity. At that very moment, I didn’t care. “I never know how these things are going to turn out,” he said. “Did you see something disturbing?”

  “I just saw my fiancée molested by a disgusting deviant. That’s more than something disturbing.”

  He looked down at the counter. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Timian. As I warned you, these sojourns sometimes reveal unpleasant aspects of a loved one’s past. I only hope that now you have more insight into why your fiancée is the person that she is. This knowledge can only strengthen your relationship.”

  “Strengthen our relationship? Do you think I can just live with this knowledge as if nothing happened?” I moved toward the counter and leaned against it. Stephon seemed a little taken aback that I was confronting him this way. “Stephon, I need to ask you something, and I desperately need for your answer to be yes.”

  He regained his composure. “As I told you before your journey, I will try to answer any questions you might have. But you don’t even need to ask this one. The answer, I’m afraid, is no. I do not believe that it is possible for you to travel to the past to undo whatever terrible event you saw.”

  “You don’t believe? What the hell does that mean? Can I or can’t I?”

  “I told you that what you ask is impossible.” There was uncertainty in his eyes that made it obvious he wasn’t telling the truth.

  “You’re a better magician than you are a liar.”

  Stephon seemed worried and more than a little confounded. “There was one occasion many years ago when I found a way to send someone back for a reason like this.”

  “Then do it again.”

  “You might think you want me to, but you really don’t.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “I can’t tell you. I guard his privacy as jealously as I will guard yours. But you are thinking about entering virtually uncharted waters, Mr. Timian. Think of time as a tapestry woven by the most skilled weaver imaginable. Its threads are so tightly bound that to undo one of them is to undo the whole tapestry. You wish to go back in time and change one event, but you cannot be sure of the outcome.
Perhaps Melissa’s life will be for the better, however you define what better is. Or it may be worse. Because Melissa has touched your life, your life may improve or it may become worse. A gambler would hesitate to take such chances, if he were clever. So perhaps it would be better for you and your future bride to continue on as before.”

  “Stephon, I saw something terrible happen to the most important person in my world. I would do anything to erase it. I would take any chance. Do you understand me?”

  He looked at me carefully and for a moment I thought he was through talking to me.

  “I understand how important this is to you. I strongly believe it would be a terrible, terrible mistake, but if you really want this, I will help you. But with one condition. You must go home tonight and tell your fiancée what you discovered and what you plan to do. Because it is her life that you wish to tamper with, you must obtain her consent. Then, if you still wish to embark upon this journey, return here tomorrow at noon.”

  “I’ll be here. Trust me, I’ll be here.”

  Chapter 7

  From a Fading Sun

  I made my way home in a daze. I couldn’t go back to work, I couldn’t walk around the city, I could barely drive. What Stephon showed me – and there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that what I saw had actually happened – so completely tore at me, so completely changed me, that I was incapable of functioning beyond the basest possible level.

  My Melissa, the woman I adored more than any person I’d ever known, the woman who mattered to me more than anything in the world, had been carrying a traumatic burden her entire adult life. Did she think about it every day? Had she so completely sublimated it that she didn’t think about it at all – only carried the weight of it? I felt horrible for her. I ached as though the ordeal was my own, while at the same time I realized that there was no possible way I could understand how terrible it was for her.