Timeless

by Rachel Spangler

  As if summoned by my musings, Kelsey entered my room tentatively. “No fainting on me, okay?”

  I smiled in spite of my confusion. No amount of disconnect could temper my happiness at seeing her alive and well and apparently successful. “Sorry about earlier.”

  “It’s okay. The nurse told me it was 2002 for you earlier today.”

  I sighed. “It sounds pretty crazy.”

  “Maybe, but people thought Galileo was crazy too.”

  I eyed her suspiciously. “Do you believe in time travel?”

  “I don’t know. Do you have a Tardis?”

  “I think we’ve had this conversation before.”

  She shrugged and took the seat beside my bed. “It’s not impossible.”

  “Really? Do you remember it?”

  “No, but I can’t imagine all the conversations I’ve forgotten since I last saw you.”

  “I feel like I just saw you yesterday but also a very long time ago. What kind of doctor are you?”

  “I’m a neuropsychologist. I deal with the intersection of brain functions and psychological processes.”

  “Wow. I have a hard time believing there’s much call for that in Darlington.”

  “There’s not. I’m based out of St. Louis University Hospital. I only see patients for consult here once a month, but when I heard you were in, I had to come check on you myself.”

  “Why?” I sat up and tried to search her eyes for any clue as to what connection we had to one another. “What do you remember about me?”

  “Honestly, it seems like so long ago now I’m having a hard time recalling a single specific encounter. It’s like waking up after a dream. I remember how I felt rather than what happened. Still, I think you were nice to me in high school when no one else was.”

  “And that’s enough for you?”

  “The mind is a funny thing. We understand only a small part of our brain functions and even less about our emotional response patterns or their triggers.”

  “So you don’t think it’s impossible for me to have time-traveled, but you think it might be impossible to know for sure what happened while I was unconscious?”

  “It’s a funny, funny business, and those aren’t the answers I generally look for.”

  “Right. You wanted to run some more tests.”

  She smiled, an expression I didn’t think I’d ever tire of seeing from her. “I just did.”

  “And? What’s the prognosis, Doc?”

  She rose and patted my hand. “The only thing standing between you and a full recovery is your willingness to open your mind to experiences that defy logic.”

  I snorted. “You have a prescription for that?”

  “Yes.” She chuckled. “Time.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I slept fitfully, each time I roused fearing I’d awake in a different decade. I frequently startled myself into awareness with a lurch that caused my stomach to revolt and my brain to hammer against my skull. Somehow, reentry to the present was even harder on my body and mind than going backward had been. I didn’t recover nearly as quickly or painlessly this time around.

  Perhaps it was harder to face all the inconsistencies in this transition. At least when I’d gone backward, I’d done so all the way. Jumping forward seemed to change parts of my life while leaving others untouched. Trying to figure out which things fell into which category left me fighting a kind of emotional whiplash to accompany my physical symptoms. Then again, maybe I continued to struggle physically simply because I wasn’t eighteen any more.

  I stared down the neck of my mint-green hospital gown to see that my breasts and stomach had lost both their form and firmness. Frowning slightly, I glanced up to find Jody watching me, amusement curving her mouth and crinkling the corners of her eyes.

  I grinned sheepishly. “You caught me comparing my present-day body to the one I had yesterday. You know, when I was eighteen.”

  “Ah, well, we’ve all been there.”

  “Really? You don’t look very different than you did then.”

  “I doubt that. It feels like ages ago.”

  “Not to me.”

  She pulled a chair right up next to my bed and sat down. “I can’t imagine what you must feel like. You’re jumping from one point of your personal history to another, losing people and picking them up again along the way.”

  “That’s very sympathetic of you, especially since none of that actually happened.”

  “But you believed it did. I could see that so clearly yesterday. You were completely convinced Kelsey had died, and you mourned the loss no less than if she had.”

  “You don’t think that makes me insane?”

  “No more than me feeling sad or lonely when a good book ends.”

  I searched her eyes, finding signs of exhaustion and frustration similar to the ones I felt. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She smiled, then shook her head. “I’m just tired.”

  “Why do you always do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Pretend you’re okay when something’s bothering you.”

  “Occupational hazard, I suppose. If I’m going to be there for my students, I need to focus on their needs. I have to be fully present for them both in the physical sense and the emotional one. I can’t take my problems into the classroom, especially personal issues that might come to the attention of the administration.”

  “But I’m not one of your students. Not anymore. You don’t have to pretend with me, and you don’t owe me anything. I don’t want to be any more of a burden than I’ve already been. Let me help you.”

  Her lips parted silently, and her chest rose with a deep inhalation. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me.”

  I smiled sadly because I thought I’d said something like that to her, but this moment wasn’t about me. “Then this conversation is long overdue. What’s on your mind?”

  She stared at the ceiling. “This is going to sound crazy.”

  “Crazier than my coma dream?”

  “Actually, in a way, yes.” She sighed. “Because I spent all night lying awake wondering what you saw in your dream to make you so happy I’m still a teacher.”

  “Why?”

  “I know it wasn’t real, but right now I’m looking for any reason, any sign to tell me whether I should keep putting myself through this, and you seemed so certain about my place as a teacher yesterday when you weren’t certain about anything else.”

  “Jody, believe me when I say you’re saving lives.” I wanted to cup her face in my hands, to pull her close and make her feel my sincerity. Instead I reached for her hand. “You said it yourself. You would remember if you’d lost a student on your watch. It would rip you apart. You remember every student who ever struggled in your classroom. I bet you’ve even considered adopting a handful of them.”

  She grinned shyly. “I may have looked into the foster-parenting a time or two.”

  “See, you’re made for this work, and you love those students like they’re your own children.”

  “You’re right,” she said, not sounding overly happy about it. “I can’t imagine who I’d be if I weren’t teaching. Thank you for reminding me.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” I eyed her more carefully, stifling the urge to brush a stray strand of blond hair that had fallen from her ponytail. “A few days ago you seemed so much more resolved, or maybe resigned. What happened to bring on a new bout of questions?”

  “I don’t know if they’re new questions. They’ve been lingering since…well, forever, but I thought things would get easier with time.”

  “And they didn’t?”

  “They did until Drew Phillips became principal three years ago. Things have gone steadily downhill, and then—” She seemed to catch herself.

  “Then what?”

  “He’s just been on a tear for the last few days. It’ll blow over.”

  My stomach knotted. “What you mean is he’s made your lif
e hell since I passed out and ruined the assembly you worked so hard to plan.”

  “It’s not your fault, and if not for this, he would’ve found something else.”

  What a son of a bitch. Two days ago I’d worried about him finding out I’d kissed her. Eleven years later I still felt guilty for putting Jody at risk for his wrath. No matter what the date or circumstance, the thought of him hurting her made me nauseous. “He’s a bully, the worst kind, because he’s actually got the authority to hurt you. People in a position of power should have a higher standard of care, not a lower one. I honestly don’t know how you’ve survived for ten years. I didn’t even last ten days before I snapped on him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the past, or whatever, I couldn’t stomach his attitude, which is strange, because he didn’t bother me any more than any other redneck the first time around, but this time he seemed much more oppressive. I felt like I’d been stuffed into a pressure cooker and had the heat cranked up until I blew my top.”

  She scooted closer, her eyes attentive. “What happened?”

  “I totally unloaded on him and anyone within a fifty-foot radius. I drew quite a crowd in the high-school hallway. I called them losers and said I was headed for a better life. Then I told Drew I was ‘gay, very, very gay,’ and he needed to get used to it.” I smiled at the memory. “I also told him he was bad at sports analogies.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

  “A week ago it wasn’t.”

  “What changed?”

  I blushed and stared at my lap. “You did.”

  The room suddenly turned unnaturally quiet for a hospital. When I finally glanced up, the blue in her eyes had turned dark with emotions I couldn’t read. “I wish I could’ve been there.”

  My chest ached. “It’s strange now, because I spent most of my time in the past praying everything was a dream, only to wake up and find myself wishing it had been real.”

  “Why does that matter if everything ended well either way?”

  She was right of course. She’d remained a teacher, and Kelsey had lived to reach her full potential. From what I’d been able to discern since waking up, all appeared right with my world. Soon I’d return to New York, to the life I’d longed for, the life I’d been content with a week ago. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I just…I felt like a different person when I woke up. It’s disorienting to find out I’m not.”

  “Aren’t you?” She sounded concerned. “You don’t think this experience changed you?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know if it did or not. I had a moment of courage and purpose while knocked out, but that’s over. Once I woke up, I returned to confusion, or at least uncertainty, about who I am and what I want. Any changes from the experience were temporary.”

  “They don’t have to be. You’re in control of your own story. You can edit it any way you want.”

  A tingle of excitement ran up my back and tickled my neck. “You actually said something like that in my dream.”

  She smiled playfully. “Dream Jody sure sounds smart.”

  “Only because Dream Jody is based on real Jody. The rest of the experience was much more fictional. Kelsey was never in any real danger, you never quit teaching, and you never…we never.” I blushed profusely. “I never kissed you.”

  Jody turned a delicious shade of pink. “Well, I suppose there is that.”

  “Yes.” I pushed on awkwardly. “It’s hard enough to make life-altering changes even when you’ve got all the reason in the world to take the risk, but it’s virtually impossible to maintain that kind of courage when you’re not even sure your reasons for doing so are real.”

  Jody nodded slowly, pensiveness creasing her brow before she reached into her school bag and pulled out a book. “I brought some reading for you.”

  “Oh?” I didn’t understand the abrupt shift in topics.

  “I initially picked it because I remembered you saying you liked it a long time ago,” she said, then added, “but now I’m wondering if something more wasn’t leading me to this choice.”

  “Why?”

  She laid the book on the bed beside me, revealing her old, weathered copy of The Things They Carried. “Because I think maybe you need to exert a little less energy trying to figure out what’s real and focus a little harder on trying to determine what’s true.”

  I stared at the cover, a hundred different thoughts spinning through my pounding head.

  Why this book?

  When had I told her I liked it?

  Was this a sign?

  From her? From the universe?

  Thankfully, Jody didn’t expect any answers or even any response. She simply smiled as she rose, letting her hand rest lightly on my shoulder before saying, “Happy reading.”

  I was so lost in thought I barely looked up to see her go, but when I did I got the sinking feeling I’d just let the last tie to my sense of purpose walk out the door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I rocked back and forth slowly. My feet never left the ground but simply rolled from heel to toe with the rhythmic ebb and flow of Beth and Rory’s porch swing. I inhaled the cool, crisp breeze filled with the scent of earth and impending rain as if it held some healing property. The symptoms of my concussion had faded considerably in the last three days. Movement and light bothered me now only when sudden or excessive, and reading provided more solace than pain. If only I could sleep without fear of the past, I’d probably feel at least as good as when I’d arrived.

  “Hey, McFly,” Rory called as she bounded up the porch steps. She’d taken to employing a wide and varied arsenal of time-travel nicknames to keep our conversations light. “Can you answer an honest question for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “When you went back into the past, did you kill John Connor?”

  I rolled my eyes and stifled a laugh. “That’s a new one.”

  “I just thought of a bunch of Terminator references while on my run.” She perched nimbly on the porch rail, leaning against one of the large support columns with her feet crossed casually in front of her. “Don’t worry. I’ll spread them out over the next few days.”

  “Well, that’s something to look forward to.” I’d been released from the hospital yesterday but wasn’t cleared to fly for two more days. “Are you sure you don’t want me to get a hotel room? You know what they say about guests and fish starting to smell after three days.”

  “Not at all. I haven’t gotten to use any of my Peggy Sue Got Married jokes yet.”

  “What a way to pass the time.”

  “Did you finish your book?”

  I glanced at Jody’s copy of The Things They Carried, which hadn’t been out of arm’s reach since she’d lent it to me. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be finished with this book, but I’m having a hard time processing it in my current context.”

  “Cut yourself some slack. You’ve been through a lot. You’re going to need some time to reorient yourself.”

  “Time. I’ve got more time than I can handle until I go home.”

  “What does it matter where you are? The questions will be the same in New York as they are here. I’d venture a guess that the answers will be the same too.”

  “Any ideas what those answers might be?”

  “Sorry. I’ve got nothing for you there, but if the dream was a product of your imagination that might be a good place to start looking for some resolution.”

  She made the comment casually, her logic seeming effortless, but I got the message. Whether unintentionally or subconsciously, I’d created a variety of worlds for myself to navigate. I was the only person who could map the meaning of those experiences. “I suppose you’re right. I’ve got a lot to sort out. I might as well start now.”

  She stood and stretched her lean form. “You’re a writer. Don’t you people lock yourself in a room and wax philosophical about the greater lessons of life until your eyes bleed?”

  I shook m
y head. “You give me too much credit. My eyelids droop or turn to sandpaper, but I always stop before they bleed.”

  “Fiction writers.” She shook her head as she went inside. “Must be a cushy life.”

  I remained on the swing, pondering her suggestion. I’d spent the last couple of days trying to figure out if I should go back to what I used to know or create something new from my experiences, but maybe I’d given myself a false choice. Perhaps I needed to combine what I knew with what I wanted to make sense of.

  I pulled out my MacBook Air. Typing still gave me a headache, but maybe I could talk about my experiences as a way to construct some meaning. I doubted any coherent work of literature could stem from such confusion, but at least the exercise would help kill my remaining time in Darlington.

  After opening my dictation software I stared at the blank page. Where to start? The first sentence of any project was always one of the hardest, but here it involved more than prose. I needed to figure out how I’d gotten off track, or maybe put back on track, which meant I needed to figure out how the whole ordeal started.

  Did everything begin when I fainted at the assembly? Perhaps it started when I chose not to kiss Jody, but even that moment needed context. Maybe the adventure began when I saw Jody at the restaurant and the rest of the world faded around us. No, even that memory seemed incomplete, or at least not mine to own. Out of so many pivotal moments, I needed to find the one where I’d made a decision, the one where I’d had the ability to choose another way completely and didn’t.

  I closed my eyes and sifted through the memories until I heard a question, a statement. No, a command. “You’ve got to put yourself out there more, Stevie.” Edmond’s voice burned through the haze of my mind and plunked me down in a specific time and place, the last one left untouched. I replayed the conversation, speaking to my computer, and watched the story unfold on the page before me. I spoke my version of the events that led me here, not just reliving them but examining them from the perspective of a viewer, or a reader, a personal historian.