Timeless

by Rachel Spangler

  “Twice as hard as that?”

  She didn’t answer, but the sadness in her deep-brown eyes spoke of things I couldn’t even conceive of.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “I can’t just let that slide.”

  “Stay out of it,” she whispered, fear evident in her voice for the first time. “Don’t even look at him wrong, or you’ll only make things worse for both of us.”

  I wanted to argue. I wanted to scream. I wanted to file a lawsuit or call his mother. I could go to Jody, but Kelsey was right. There was no justice for the Michael Redlys of the world. None I’d seen, anyway. Bullies in high school grew into bullies as adults. They became teachers like Drew Phillips, or dirty cops, or crooked politicians, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop them.

  Especially in a dream.

  I forced the bile in my stomach to stay there and set to work on my assignment. Hitting the computer keys harder than necessary, I once again finished well ahead of the rest of class, but instead of pretending to proofread, I took a risk and got on the school’s stronger Ethernet connection to look up information on comas. The exercise was probably futile, since I couldn’t access anything in a dream that wasn’t already in my brain to begin with, but I had to do something.

  I threw out random search terms, from “coma,” to “coma-induced dreams,” all the way to “alternate realities.” I learned plenty of technical terms, but nothing seemed to fit my situation. As a last-ditch effort, I searched for “mental breakdown.” The results were not affirming. Hospitalization could be long-term and didn’t sound fun. Then again, high school was turning out to be considerably worse than I remembered, and that was saying a lot. Hopelessness weighed down my limbs and stiffened my joints. How much longer could I go on like this?

  *

  I left the computer lab with no intention of returning after lunch. I’d never cut school as a teenager, but I knew other people got away with it. Except I bet they had cars. I slammed my locker, and the loud clang of metal on metal would’ve been more satisfying if Kelsey hadn’t been standing on the other side of the door.

  “What?” I asked a little harshly.

  “Are you from the future?”

  My blood ran cold, the ice in my veins fortifying my defenses. “Are you insane?”

  “Maybe.” The accusation didn’t seem to bother Kelsey. “But you don’t act like you used to.”

  “I have a concussion.”

  “Right, you said that, but then you search for comas and alternative realities.”

  I should’ve known she’d notice. What a stupid risk. “That was for a science project.”

  “I’m in all the senior science classes. You aren’t taking any of them.”

  “It’s a personal project,” I said weakly.

  “You’re also doing a monologue that’s not online. You type way faster than you did a week ago.” Her voice rose as her argument gained steam. “You act like you’ve already done all the assignments before.”

  “All right, just shut up.” Other people were starting to notice us.

  “It’s okay if you’re from the future. I won’t ask you to tell me anything, but I’m interested in time travel.”

  “There’s no such thing as time travel.”

  “We don’t know that. It hasn’t been disproved. I think you’re a great candidate.”

  “I am not.”

  “Okay, but you’re gay though, right?”

  I clutched her shirt and shook her so hard her back landed with a hollow metallic thud against a row of lockers. The flash of terror in her eyes must have mirrored my own when I realized what I’d done. I let go immediately, and we both stared at each other open-mouthed and breathless. The hallway fell completely silent, and everyone turned to stare. Finally, Michael started to laugh a deep, loud, frat-boy belly laugh. “Geller put the little freak in her place.”

  Other students joined in, and I noticed a mix of surprise and approval on their faces. I turned back to Kelsey. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sure you are.” She turned to go, then added, “I thought you were different.”

  “I am.” I was pleading.

  She rubbed the back of her head. “Doesn’t look like it any more.”

  I needed to run. I needed to get out of there. I needed to go to the hospital, or the loony bin, but I couldn’t leave her like this. Dream—or coma—aside, I couldn’t leave things on a bad note with a girl who wouldn’t survive the next few months.

  I stepped in front of her. “We need to talk.”

  “So talk.”

  “Not here.” I looked around. “Meet me in the library in ten minutes. Please?”

  “Fine.” She shrugged, her eyes hidden behind her hair. “It’s not like I have other plans.”

  I stepped out of her way and watched her go. I had to catch my breath and calm down.

  Nikki approached cautiously. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I lied.

  “Someone said you punched Kelsey Patel.”

  Great, the story was already spinning out of control. “No, I just knocked into her and she hit the locker. It was an accident.”

  “Really? That’s all?”

  No, that wasn’t even half of it, but what else could I say? “I’m going to stay in for lunch.”

  “Did you forget your money again?”

  “I just need to get some work done for this afternoon. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Do whatever you need to, but let me know if you need help.”

  “Thanks.” I wondered why we hadn’t stayed in touch. She’d been a good friend to me, and I’d never returned the favor. Maybe I could go about righting that soon, but now I had to find a way to explain to Kelsey things I didn’t even understand.

  *

  The library was as silent as libraries usually are. Kelsey had taken a seat at a table in the back. With everyone else out to lunch, I didn’t have to worry about being heard, but I didn’t know where to start. How could I even begin to explain the meltdown I’d just had?

  Kelsey looked up at me expectantly, clearly not about to let me off the hook.

  “I’m sorry.” I voiced my most prevailing thought, and also the easiest one to articulate. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m under a lot of pressure, and you scared me, but that’s no excuse for violence.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

  “I know, and that’s all the more reason for me to be gentler. You asked some questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.”

  “I wasn’t judging you, you know? I support full equality for gays and lesbians.”

  “Really?” Had Rory and Michael both seen something I missed?

  “I know what you’re thinking, what everyone says about me. But I’m not gay.”

  I slid into the seat beside her. “Then why don’t you defend yourself against the rumors?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being gay, so I don’t get particularly offended by people suggesting I am. And besides, what good would it do? If I let them get a rise out of me, they’d only scream louder.”

  She was so depressingly enlightened. It didn’t seem fair for her to take the abuse that should’ve logically been directed at me. At least I could speak on the issue of sexual orientation with authority and conviction. I owed her that much. “I am gay. Every slur is a punch in the gut, so I think you of all people can understand why I don’t want the rest of our class to know I’m a lesbian.”

  She nodded. “It’s your choice. I never intended to out you. I just thought you might need someone to talk to.”

  Tears stung my eyes. How could this kid who was constantly under fire be so selfless as to worry about the burdens I carried? “Thanks, but honestly I made peace with my sexuality years ago. I’ve got bigger issues right now.”

  “‘Cause you’re from the future?”

  “Kelsey,” I said through clenched teeth, then forced myself to t
ake a deep breath. “You have to understand how certifiably crazy you sound.”

  “People thought Galileo and Plato were crazy too, but that didn’t keep them from being right,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I stared at her, disbelieving. I’d never met a teenager with such certainty about her views and what they meant for her. Surely if she could see her own place in the context of great minds, she understood the uphill battle ahead of her. Maybe her resignation stemmed not from temporary trials of youth, but from her understanding of what lay ahead.

  “Time travel, from what we know, is a physical improbability but not a proven impossibility.” She continued to logically discuss absurdities. “I’m really into science and science fiction. I don’t think they’re as far apart as others do.”

  I had friends who wrote science fiction. I didn’t read their work because it wasn’t my thing, but some of them were among the smartest, most educated writers I knew. Some of them bordered on tortured genius. “Fine. Say time travel was possible. How would it happen?”

  “I don’t know if anyone can say for sure, but two major categories of thought exist. The first is that time is something we could learn to manipulate or bend to our wills. To do this you’d build a machine or harness some sort of power. Do you have a Tardis?”

  “No.”

  “A flux capacitor?”

  I rolled my eyes. “This is ridiculous. Those things are from movies. They’re fiction, make-believe.”

  “Don’t you think fiction is the best way to teach the hardest lessons in life?”

  “Of course I do. That’s why I’m a writer.”

  “You’re a writer? What do you write?”

  “Novels and plays, literary fiction mostly, with a hint of romance and…” I realized I’d just given away too much.

  She grinned with a sense of accomplishment. “Admitting it’s the first step.”

  “I admit something’s off. I have memories of the future, or a life I don’t seem to have lived yet.”

  “But you’re not a Time Lord?”

  “No.” I replied emphatically.

  “Did you come into contact with anything like radioactive ooze? Or, I don’t know, a wizard?”

  I needed to get out of there or just pull this conversation back into the real world, whatever that was. “I just…I passed out at an awards assembly in the gym and I…I…” I still wasn’t totally sure why I went down. There might have been a lot of contributing factors, but none offered a complete explanation.

  “You lost consciousness and woke up in a different time.”

  “I don’t think I woke up. I think I’m dreaming. I think you’re a dream.”

  She reached over and pinched me so hard I yelped and pulled my arm away.

  “Nope, not likely a dream. You’re too aware, and you feel pain.”

  “I could feel pain in a coma.”

  “Possibly, though a coma dream would likely function much the same way as a normal dream. They serve the same restorative purposes. Though maybe a coma dream would last longer due to the length of sleep.”

  “This has been a long dream, and more exhausting than restorative.”

  “Can you read numbers?”

  “Yes?”

  “See colors? Write? Move freely? Have all your normal bodily functions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you do anything now you couldn’t do in normal life—like fly, or play the piano, or jump from place to place without explanation?”

  “No.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a dream,” she said resolutely.

  I put my forehead down on the cool surface of the table, thankful for something tactile amid my swirling emotions and abstract fears. “Time travel isn’t real.”

  “Why does the idea bother you so badly? You of all people should understand just because something isn’t common or easy doesn’t mean it can’t be right or real.”

  My head hurt. “Are you suggesting that because I’m gay I should be more comfortable with losing eleven years of my life?”

  “Well, if you’ve just jumped back, those years aren’t lost. They’re still there.”

  “But I’m not a Time Lord!” My voice rose in frustration. “I don’t know how to get back.”

  Kelsey continued, clearly excited by the possibilities that distressed me. “I think you fall into the second category of time travel, the archetypal or mythical kind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “An archetype is like a universal story or symbol.”

  “I know the definition of an archetype. I’m a writer, remember?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not just fiction. Philosophy, religion, psychology, and even some branches of science and medicine recognize the value of an archetypal pattern.”

  Clearly my extra decade of experience couldn’t compete with her understanding of science and culture. “But what does any of that have to do with me ending up back in high school?”

  “I don’t know enough to be sure. No one really does, but it seems like you’re on a quest of some sort. How to put this delicately?” She rubbed her forehead. “I think you probably fucked up.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t get put back in someone else’s life or another part of history.” She continued laying out her argument calmly even as my blood pressure rose exponentially. “You got sent back to a specific moment in your life. You’re getting a do-over. The universe, or a spirit guide, or maybe your own psyche is offering you another chance at something, which probably means you missed an opportunity or did something wrong or chose the wrong path.”

  “I have a great life. I’ve got everything going for me.” Well, maybe not everything, but most things. “I’m, at the very least, on the right path.”

  She held up her hands. “I’m just saying what it looks like to me, and honestly, what do you have to lose by considering the possibility?”

  The idea of time travel seemed insane, but so did everything else in this scenario. “I just want my life back.”

  “Well, if this really is a prolonged dream, then finding some satisfactory resolution might help end it. The same is true for a quest. If you figure out how to right the wrong, you’ll end the ordeal. Whatever definition you choose, dealing with it is the quickest way to return to your future life.”

  “And what if there’s nothing to go back to? What if I’ve had a mental break?” My voice shook as I finally admitted my worst fears. “What if everything I loved was a lie, and everything I hate is the truth?”

  Kelsey’s expression once again grew dark and serious. “Sometimes insanity is a survival skill. If you’re really crazy, do whatever you have to do to hold onto that, because when it’s gone, you’ve got nothing left to live for.”

  Her words chilled me. I had to say something. If there was even the slightest chance I’d time traveled, I had to tell her what happened to her own life, but how did you tell someone they’d kill themselves in a month’s time?

  The bell rang, startling us both.

  “We’d better go,” Kelsey said casually. “I’ve got a science lab.”

  “You’ve got a science lab? Seriously? You tell me I’m on a time-travel quest and then leave?

  “That’s really all I can do until you figure out why you’re here. Do that, and then maybe we could talk after school.”

  If only it were that simple. People dedicated their entire lives to figuring out the meaning of life and still failed. How the hell was I supposed to do it before school let out?

  *

  I sleepwalked through the rest of the day. Thankfully I didn’t have any more work to do since we were just practicing our monologues in theater class. Some students paired up, while others recited their work to the walls. I remained in my seat, pretending to read quietly, and occasionally allowed myself to steal sidelong glances at Jody.

  We hadn’t spoken since I’d forced some distance between us yesterday afternoon, and I missed her. Perfunctory comments in class didn
’t offer me the comfort I’d come to associate with her. It seemed funny to think about her in those terms since, until last week, I hadn’t seen her in years. But she had such a calming effect on me in so many times of recent turmoil I’d come to feel closer to her than we actually were. I wished I could’ve talked to her about my conversation with Kelsey. She always seemed to know what I needed, even if I couldn’t give the same to her.

  She weaved her way around the classroom, talking to various students in various stages of memorizing and practicing their pieces for class. She engaged each one—or tried to. Several of the students were disinterested and a few even seemed hostile. Deelia acted like Jody had cooties when she leaned closer to examine something in the script. I remembered Michael’s comment about accusing Jody of sexual harassment, and my palms began to sweat. My urge to protect Jody overrode my own troubled thoughts, and I raised my hand to get her attention.

  She smiled broadly, sending a tingle up my arms as she headed my way. “Stevie, I thought maybe you weren’t speaking to me after this morning.”

  I searched my jumble of memories. Oh, yeah, the conversation she forced me into that left us both branded as anti-American. Funny how long ago that seemed now. While I wasn’t ready to concede the possibility of time travel yet, I had to admit my sense of time was certainly warped. “It’s okay. You didn’t know what you were getting into.”

  She arched one of her elegant eyebrows. “Didn’t I?”

  Had she purposefully thrown me under the bus?

  “You’ll be in New York in six months. It’s time for you to find your voice.”

  “What makes you think I haven’t found it already, and I’m judicious about where and how to best use it?”

  “Who gets to decide what’s best? Best for you? Best for the people around you? Best for your community?”

  “You want me to be Rory.”

  “Rory?” She angled her head to the side as if considering the name. “I don’t know anyone named Rory.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You will. She’ll bowl you over. She’ll be the hero this town doesn’t even know it needs, but I’m not her.”