Time After Time

by Tamara Ireland Stone

  The photo album is still buried deep in the bottom of the drawer, but I dig it out and flip to the very last photo—the one of Anna and me, lying on her rug in her bedroom. Her arm is extended in the air and we’re both smiling. I bring my fingertip to the plastic and close my eyes. This is where I need to be.

  I close my eyes. I open them. Again and again.

  After six more attempts, I slump down on the floor next to my bed, feeling sick and utterly spent. The next thing I know, I’m waking up and the morning sun is streaming in above me.

  I have no idea what’s happening back where Anna is. All I know is what’s happening here. The days keep beginning and ending and I’ve spent four of them trying desperately to get back to the day I left Anna in the woods. I’m closing my eyes, opening them, repeating the same actions over and over again, and hoping for a different result. I think Einstein was the one who called that the definition of insanity.

  It’s been three weeks and four days since Emma’s birthday party, which means that homecoming weekend has come and gone. Even worse, I’ve left Anna exactly the way I did last time: alone, without any warning. Just like I swore I wouldn’t do again.

  Mom lets me skip school on Friday and again on Monday, but by Tuesday, she insists that I look just fine and completely capable of a day full of learning. So I drag myself from the parking lot and head straight for AP World Civ. I’m not the first one in the room but at least I’m not the last.

  I pull my notebook and a pen from my backpack and start doodling while I wait for the bell to ring.

  “Hey, stranger.” I look to my left and find Megan taking her seat. “Welcome back.”

  “Thanks.” I smile at her and go back to my drawing.

  A minute or so later, she leans over across the aisle. “You missed the midterm yesterday. It covered all the material so far.” I stop drawing and look over at her. “It was pretty hard, but…” She shrugs. “I think I did okay. Anyway, if you want to borrow my notes…”

  Mrs. McGibney walks in, her briefcase swinging by her side, and looks right at me. “Mr. Cooper,” she says flatly. She drops the case next to her desk and it lands with a thud. She starts writing the day’s agenda on the whiteboard, but I can tell she’s still talking to me when she says, “You missed an exam yesterday. You can come in at lunch and take it.”

  I sneak a peek at Megan as she grimaces.

  “Today?” I ask.

  “Yes, sir. Today would be perfect.” She takes her eyes off the board to look over her shoulder at me. “Don’t worry, you can bring your lunch.” She returns to writing.

  “I was kind of hoping for a couple of days to brush up.”

  “I announced this test last Wednesday, Mr. Cooper. According to my records, you were here last Wednesday. Judging from the scores, everyone in this class spent the last few days ‘brushing up.’ If you didn’t, that is not my problem.”

  “But I was sick.”

  More writing. “I’m offering the test today at lunch. Otherwise, it won’t be fair to the rest of the class.” She finishes the agenda and brings the dry-erase marker to the board, punctuating the last line with a loud period. “Sound good?” She turns around and stares at me.

  It doesn’t matter. Today, next week, the grade I get on this test will likely be the same either way. I nod.

  “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  I spend the next forty-five minutes cramming. Every time McGibney turns her back, I thumb through my notebook, desperately trying to recall all the things I’ve learned about world civilizations since school started. The notes are fairly detailed in some places, but I honestly don’t remember writing many of them. In other places, I find page after page with nothing but doodles. Apparently, a few weeks ago, I spent an entire class trying to figure out what to name my garage.

  The bell rings and everyone rises from their seats and heads for the door. As I turn into the hall toward my next class, I spot Megan leaning up against the locker bank, smiling and clearly waiting for me. “Man, that was harsh,” she says when I’m within earshot.

  “Remind me not to get sick again.”

  She smiles. “Here.” She reaches into her messenger bag and hands me a black-and-white composition notebook. The cover is bent and the pages are frayed, and as I turn it over in my hands I notice that it looks a lot more battered than mine does, as if she’s actually been using it to take notes in class and then refer to them later on.

  “Really?”

  “Sure.” She closes her bag and readjusts the strap on her shoulder. “Maybe you could skip your next three classes and go study in the library.”

  Under normal circumstances, that’s exactly what I would do. And after I was finished cramming, I’d go back to the beginning of the day to do it over. The second time around, I’d be ready for both the test and for McGibney’s question. When Megan wasn’t looking, I’d slip her notebook back into her pack before she even realized it was missing. This conversation would never happen, and Megan would never know that there was a version of events that I wiped out, where she stood in the hallway and offered to let me borrow her notes.

  But these aren’t normal circumstances. I don’t know if I could go back four hours even if I wanted to. If I had the ability to travel again, I certainly wouldn’t be here at school, worrying about a test. I’d be with Anna.

  “Thanks,” I say. I shove the notebook into my pack and start thinking of excuses for missing my next three classes. “That’s really cool of you.”

  “No problem.” She stands there, looking at me like she has more to say. “Well, I’d better get to class. Good luck.” Before I can respond, she turns on her heel and walks away. I turn on mine and head for the library.

  I’ve been sitting in the same carrel, staring at the same page and trying not to stare out the same window, for more than an hour now. Megan’s notes are clear and detailed, but the words seem to leave my brain faster than I can bring them in.

  I twist my pencil back and forth between my fingers, thinking about Anna and the last words I heard her say: You’re not supposed to be here until Friday.

  But I can’t get to Friday. And I can’t get to Wednesday and I can’t get to Thursday either. Every time I try, I open my eyes in the exact place I closed them. And suddenly it dawns on me. I’ve been trying to get back before homecoming so I don’t let Anna down. But what if I’m trying too hard to go back to a precise moment, when I should just be trying to get back?

  I grab my phone but leave the rest of my stuff at the carrel, and head for a computer kiosk. I look up a 1995 calendar and find the month of October. I open up the calendar on my phone to today’s date and hold it up next to the screen. The calendars are nearly identical, only a day off. In 2012, it’s Tuesday. In 1995, it’s a Monday.

  I head straight for the men’s room and lock myself in a stall. I leave my phone on the back of the toilet and close my eyes. I think back to the layout of Westlake Academy, trying to remember the quiet spots I found to hide in every time I felt like I was about to be knocked back to San Francisco.

  Right outside our Spanish building, there was a rarely used path obscured by overgrown plants and shrubs. I brought Anna there once, the day we cut class and I told her the last part of my secret.

  I have no idea if this will work, but I close my eyes, mutter the word “please,” and picture the location.

  My skin prickles from the extreme drop in temperature and I breathe in fresh air that couldn’t possibly exist in a men’s room. As soon as I open my eyes, they dart around the empty field and I let out a gasp. I’m actually here.

  I bring my hands to the sides of my face and peek through the glass doors. It’s quiet, and even though I landed where I intended to, I’m still not sure if I landed when I intended to. I pull the door handle and it opens. At least it’s a school day.

  The hallway is empty. I look around for a clock and find one just above the next locker bank. I’ve timed it perfectly. I’m only a few feet away from whe
re I need to be and I make it there with a minute to spare. I’m leaning against the lockers, trying to look like I belong here, when the bell rings. That’s when I realize that I’m the only one who’s not wearing a uniform.

  Up and down the corridor, classroom doors begin opening and people start spilling out into the hall wearing the traditional Westlake black-and-white plaid. The girls are in skirts and white blouses. The guys are in slacks and dress shirts. I spot the occasional tie or V-neck sweater.

  The rules are clear in this circular hallway dubbed The Donut, and because everyone’s required to walk clockwise between classes, they all head in my direction at once. A few people notice me standing here, looking out of place in my street clothes, and shoot me a questioning look as they pass.

  I’m combing the crowd for Anna, but I don’t see her anywhere, and as the activity level dies down, I’m starting to question myself. Maybe I was wrong about her class schedule? But then I see her come around the bend, talking with Alex, and my heart starts pounding hard.

  When she’s within a few feet of the classroom door, she finally spots me. She stops cold and covers her mouth with her hand. Her expression is impossible to read, and as she takes long strides in my direction, I can’t tell if she’s relieved to see me or furious that I didn’t show up when I was supposed to. I brace myself for the worst, but as soon as she’s close enough, she throws her arms over my shoulders and squeezes me tight. I’ve never been so happy to see her. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper in her ear.

  Alex walks past us into the classroom, and mutters the word “asshole” under his breath.

  “Ignore him,” she says as she buries her face in my neck.

  I try to release her so I can see her face, but she tightens her grip. “I’m so sorry I missed homecoming.”

  “I don’t care. You’re here now.”

  The Donut empties out and I can tell the bell’s about to ring. I take a step back and rest my hands on her shoulders. “I need to talk to you.” I point with my chin toward the double doors that lead outside, and I can tell by the look on her face that she knows exactly what I mean. “I can’t bring you back this time though. You’re going to have to miss Spanish, for real. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah.” She says it with a little laugh, as if it’s the only possible answer.

  We follow the path up the slope until it ends at the big tree at the top of the ridge. We sit down next to each other, exactly the way we did last year when I told her the third and final part of my secret, and she became the fourth person in the world to know everything there was to know about me. But now, there’s nothing but pain and worry on her face, and I can’t help but wonder if I made the right decision that day.

  “I didn’t know what to do.” Her voice is shaking and so are her hands, and I reach for them and scoot in even closer to her. “You were just standing there in the woods that day, all excited about something, and then out of nowhere you just collapsed. What happened? Why couldn’t you come back?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. There’s some stuff…missing. Was that the last time you saw me?” She nods but she’s clearly confused as to why I’m asking when this is information I should already know.

  She’s breathing faster now and I can hear the panic in her voice. “Yeah. You got knocked back home.”

  Not home. Not right away at least. If I wasn’t here and I wasn’t there, where was I, passed out in the garage for twenty-two hours?

  Over the next fifteen minutes, I talk nonstop, telling Anna about everything that happened last week—the news story and me on my skateboard, the two little girls and my dad on sidekick duty—and that I have no idea where I was for nearly a full day, and how I’ve spent the last five days trying to get back to her. Her face contorts when I tell her how painful the returns have become, and how they got progressively worse and a hell of a lot bloodier.

  “It’ll be fine now.” I put on my best smile and hope I sound reassuring. “I’ll just go back to doing what I’ve always done. Apparently, as long as I use this ridiculous thing I can do for my own selfish purposes, I’m free to come and go as I please,” I say.

  Anna takes my face in her hands and makes me look her in the eye. “You have to promise me. No more do-overs, okay? Never.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the message I’m supposed to be getting here.” I let out a laugh, but Anna doesn’t join in.

  “Promise,” she says.

  “Yeah. I promise.” As I say the words, I wonder why it’s so easy to make this promise to her when I can’t make it to my own parents.

  I sigh. “Well, at least my mom and dad can now agree on one thing. They’ve both made it crystal clear that I’m not to travel ever again.”

  “Not even to see me?” she asks, and I stop laughing.

  “No…well. Yes. Not exactly.”

  Anna drops her hands and leans away from me. “What does that mean, ‘not exactly’? Did they tell you that you couldn’t come back here anymore?”

  I look down at the dirt. “Actually, they did. But that was five months ago.”

  She waits for me to explain, but I have no idea what to say next. This conversation was inevitable, and there have been plenty of times I walked through it in my head, but having it today was the farthest thing from my mind.

  “My parents don’t…exactly…know about you.” I suck in a deep breath and wait while she stares at me for a painfully long time.

  “They don’t know about me?” I can’t tell if she wants to cry or punch me. I shake my head no and Anna’s eyes narrow in disbelief. “What about your sister?”

  “Brooke knows,” I whisper.

  “Brooke?” Anna’s voice cracks as she says her name, and there’s a questioning tone at the end, like she can’t believe that there’s only one person in my world who knows she exists.

  “Listen, please. My parents wouldn’t understand. And I can’t tell my friends…I mean, what am I supposed to tell them?”

  “Tell them that I live in Illinois. Just like my friends think you’re a normal guy from San Francisco.” She scoots away from me, looking both confused and disgusted at the same time. “You don’t have to tell them I live in nineteen ninety-five.” She says that last part so quietly that I have to strain to hear her. But then she finds her voice again. “Look, I know you have a thing for secrets, but I thought we were done with that.”

  “We are. I don’t have any secrets from you.”

  “No, just that I am one.” She lets out a sarcastic-sounding breath.

  She looks down at the dining hall windows, and this time, I’m sure she’s wondering why she ever entertained the idea of letting complicated me into her rather uncomplicated life.

  “Look,” I say, “last June, when I was stuck in San Francisco and couldn’t get back here, I thought I’d never see you again. I didn’t know what to say to my parents or my friends.”

  Anna gives me a hard look and shakes her head. “Everyone in my life knows about you, even though they don’t know your big secret.” She says the last part sarcastically, wiggling her fingers in front of her face for emphasis. “Nobody here gets it. None of them understand why I’m in a relationship with a guy who lives two thousand miles away—and they don’t even know the half of it.” She huffs. “But they know about you.

  “I could never keep you to myself.” She says the last part quietly, but loud enough for me to hear.

  I rub my forehead with my fingertips as I try to find the right words. “I didn’t want to hurt you. And, I swear, I was going to tell them eventually, but it was just…easier not to.”

  Her head snaps up and there’s that look again. “Easier?” she asks. Now I’m pretty sure she’s about to punch me.

  “Not more convenient. Easier.” I bring my hand to my chest. “On me. Look, you seem to enjoy torturing yourself with photo albums and things that remind you of the two of us, but I don’t. That only makes it worse. It’s easier for me to pretend you’re not real wh
en we’re not together.”

  A tear slides down her cheek and she quickly brushes it away.

  I reach for her hands, and I’m a little surprised when she lets me take them. “Do you have any idea how much I hate being there without you? When I’m supposed to be doing homework, I go for drives instead. I take the top down on the Jeep and turn up the music and cruise around the city I’ve always loved, and all I want to do is show it to you. I want to bring you to my favorite café in North Beach, where they serve lattes in bowls instead of mugs. I want to show you this wave organ that’s built into a bunch of rocks and has an insane view of Alcatraz. I want to bring you to my school and introduce you to Sam and the rest of my friends, so you’ll know them the same way I know Emma and Danielle and Justin. But I can’t ever do that.” She squeezes my hand. “We’ve already tried and it was a disaster. I guess I figured, the less I had to be reminded that you couldn’t be there, the easier it would be.”

  Anna releases my hands so she can wipe the tears from her cheeks.

  “Look,” I say. “All I want is a normal relationship with you, and when I’m here, it feels like I have it. But when I’m there…I just miss you. All the time.”

  She grabs one of my hands in both of hers and squeezes it tight.

  “I’ll tell them about you, okay? I’ll show my mom and dad your photo album, and I’ll tell them everything. And I’ll explain that I’m done with do-overs—that they’re the only reason I’ve lost control—but that I need to keep coming back here to see you. Okay? I promise.”

  The bell rings but neither one of us move. Eventually the dining hall below starts filling with people, and I spot everyone taking their usual places and their usual tables and starting in on their usual conversations.

  “Great,” Anna mutters, watching the scene below.

  “What?”