by Lissa Staley
Over the next few weeks, I got to know the members of my cohort since the instructors placed a high value on group work. I learned very quickly that the majority of my counterparts were seriously striving to be in the top 20%. The fiercest competitor was Lysa Washburn Harrison, an overachiever who never seemed to repeat an outfit. Her endless wardrobe was only rivaled by her boundless energy level. Lysa was a favorite among the students, but she was far from my favorite.
Though we shared many things in common, I am not sure what I did to earn what was clearly Lysa’s distaste. Our parents both worked at Stormont-Vail, the local hospital. Our brothers both played in the city soccer league, and I had been to her house for dinner. No matter what the topic, assignment or class, it seemed Lysa and I were destined to be paired. I could tell she was more bothered by it than me. I got on her wrong side from the beginning, and she didn’t hesitate to remind me.
Then, there was the day of the incident. Of all the days during my Test Year, I can still see that day play like a movie in my head.
“No, just let me do the talking, Turia. You mumble like a scared child when you present,” Lysa said as she reviewed the assignment list.
“I don’t mumble. Just because I don’t do cartwheels off the walls, like you, doesn’t mean I can’t present.”
“Well, I think it is settled. I will continue to do cartwheels off the walls so we can get the best grade and you can coast on my success. Happy?”
In true Turia form, I scrunched my face up, tilted my head and gave her the finger. I completed the pose with a fart noise, just to add an extra dash of annoyance.
“And, that is why you will be cleaning my house at the end of this Test Year.”
Lysa started to gather up her computer and purse. It was clear I had gotten to her which is part of the reason she didn’t see the chair behind her. Before I could even call to her, she turned, tripped and lost everything in her arms. Her fall made such a loud noise that the whole school seemed to stand still in its aftershock. But, it wasn’t the fall that upset her the most. It was that the fall had projected all of her purse’s contents into plain view. Her tampons, her breath mints and several prescription pill bottles that didn’t belong to her. She lunged for the orange bottles like a mad woman as they rolled under desks and into corners. It was evident from her hurried grabbing that something was not right. Instructor Tam was quick to pick up on the situation and escorted Lysa to the administrator’s office.
When Lysa did not return to class that afternoon, the rumors spread fast. Each story was slightly different, but with one common denominator…me as the villain. In one version, I had planted the pills in Lysa’s purse in hopes she would be dismissed from the Test Year. Another tale told of how Lysa was taking the blame to cover for my pill addiction. Of course, my personal favorite was the rumor swearing I was an aspiring drug dealer hoping to turn my cohort into satisfied customers.
Their theories had added weight since my mother was a pharmacist at the local hospital. Of course, no one seemed to mention that Lysa’s father was the head nurse in the ER. In the end, I never confirmed or denied the rumors when people asked which is why so many defected to Team Lysa. I just wanted the whole day to be erased from my memory. I knew that whenever Lysa returned, everything would be ten times worse. And I was right.
When Lysa returned to Randolph, her short sabbatical did not seem to change the spring in her step or her fancy outfits. I will never know how she rallied everyone’s support so quickly. Lysa’s disdain infected my peers. I saw a shift in the air as a result of her whispers. Soon, less of my cohort talked to me. My presence seemed to make people uncomfortable. It had become clear. It was me against the rest of the school.
On one particular day, I was treated to a heavy dose of isolation during lunch. The out of place feeling filled the entire school and my heart. Feeling lost, I visited the school library out of a simple desire to be invisible.
In a virtual world full of electronic texts, tests and talks, the library made me feel safe. A musty and potent smell of old books permeated the room. I found it comforting along with the towering stacks that embraced me. I ran my fingers along the book spines just to feel a connection to something. Just like the printed words in the library, I felt overlooked and forgotten.
A small section of the library called Kansas History drew me close. My mother had spoken about an ancestor, Carrie Nation. She was a woman involved in the Temperance movement in Topeka. During the 1900’s, she was known to take on drinking, head-on and with a hatchet. She was a feisty woman for her day. I remember my mother saying, “We Nations have rebellion in our blood.”
I stumbled upon a book with a black-and-white picture of Carrie Nation. Something about seeing her face called to me. It almost felt like there was an electric current in my blood. I pictured the image of this woman, swinging a hatchet around a bar, and smiled. She was the kind of woman I wished I could be: emboldened, radical, free.
A massive bang and a click woke me from my daydreams. I heard laughing from the hallway. I had a sick feeling in my stomach that I knew what had happened. In fact, I almost didn’t want to try the handle for fear it would confirm what my gut already told me: I had been locked in.
There were no cameras in this room, and few ventured here. I knew I would be found eventually and probably within an hour. Once classes started back after lunch, then the monitors would note my absence. When I was found, I couldn’t say I did it to myself. Nor could I rat on my cohorts. Defeated, I slid down against the wall and sat on the floor.
As I was flipping through the pages, a sheet of paper fell from the book still in my hand. It was strange that I had not noticed it earlier. It was a yellow piece of paper folded in half. I could tell there was writing on the inside.
I opened it up to read the word “Freedom.”
There was a crackle in the air. The hairs on my legs, arms and neck all seemed to stand up at once. If I hadn’t been sitting down, I would have sworn the ground shifted to the left and then the right. My ears popped, and my stomach did a flip. Then, two things happened at once. A strange and powerful light appeared, and suddenly someone was in the room with me.
“Turia? Turia?” A voice called to me. It was my voice, yet I hadn’t spoken out loud.
I looked up and focused in on eyes that were only too familiar. A hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet.
“Freaky. Absolutely, freaky. We do look exactly alike,” said the familiar voice.
It was true. It was me standing in front of me. Same height. Same brown hair. Same brown eyes; my nose and my chin. It was unbelievable. I started to talk but was interrupted rather quickly.
“Okay, I am sure you don’t know what to say. I get it. I am just going to come out and say it. My name is Turia Shepherd Nation. I was born February 17, 2030, in Topeka, KS. And, I am you. Well, I mean, the other you. I live in an alternative universe. Yes, parallels worlds are real. And, in my world, time travel exists. We haven’t perfected it yet. But, it has been around for a while.”
It was strange how much I was following what she was saying. I mean this situation was bizarre; but at the same time, I felt in my bones that she was telling the truth. There was something so genuine and confident about the other me. She brought me a sense of relief and peace. I couldn’t help but trust her.
“Okay, how do you know about this world? Have you been here before?” I asked.
I was a little surprised that it was my first question, as though I were blindly accepting the time travel theory as law. Why was I so calm?
“Right, okay,” the other Turia continued. “Yes, I have been here before. Actually, a few times. I read about it in the books in this area. I can’t always stay long. I mean, with time travel there is a one goes, one comes rule. Meaning I can’t stay in a world unless someone switches places with me. The someone has to be my other–or you. Bad things happen to the people who don’t follow the one goes, one comes rule. Let’s just say it gets ug
ly.”
“So, there just happens to be a hole between our worlds in this building?”
“It is a leak more than a hole, and it is in this book, not the entire building. A time leak isn’t supposed to happen, but they do from time to time. Generally, my government finds the holes and fixes them. Mainly because they don’t want an unexpected traveler crossing over. Again, it is the whole one goes, one comes rule. But, here we are a few months later, meeting for the first time. It almost seems like fate, right?”
“Months! You have been traveling back and forth for months?”
“Well, really it has been weeks. When I first stepped over it was September 9th. I believe it was your first day here. I was drawn to you, or I sensed you were close. I was curious. Who you were, what you did, you know, everything. I wasn’t sure if we should meet, but I just couldn’t help it. I can feel this connection to you. It is strange, but it’s like we are twins or sisters. I just had to meet you.”
I thought back over the last few weeks trying to remember anything unusual. She said she was drawn to me. For once in a long time, I felt important or unique. She was everything I wanted to be--A real Nation with rebellion in her blood!
“I want to help you out. How about we trade places for a few weeks? Maybe I can help you change your status around here. I am good at standing out, but fitting in. And you, well, you get to experience life in another world. My world is so different. Science, technology, life, love – it is alive and thriving. Anyone has the freedom to do whatever they want. You don’t have the government setting a life for you before you are even 18. You don’t have the pressure of trying to socialize with people like Lysa. I think it would be good for you to see things from a different perspective.”
Her perfect words struck me at an imperfect time. My mind was made up the second I met the other me. Honestly, I don’t think I ever considered saying no to her offer.
So, the truth is easy to guess now: I am writing all of this down from the alternative world. I took the other Turia up on her offer. We switched places and decided on a date and time that we would meet back at the time leak. I would go to the other Turia’s world, the world of time travel. The other Turia would go to my world and experience my Test Year.
As soon as I went through the time leak and exchanged places, the portal seemed to seal completely. At first, I thought maybe it would just reopen later and especially on the chosen date and time. Like perhaps the time leak was listening and would save the date in its mind. But, before I could take more than five steps outside of the library, I was surrounded, handcuffed and transported to a facility called the Menninger Clinic where I met Dr. Malcolm.
You see, the other Turia was right. Her world, or this world, is trying to perfect time travel. In fact, they are in the final phase of their research: the human trials. I am human subject #006. Apparently, they have completed this testing with five other subjects with varying degrees of success. For each trial, they were able to collate a database of information referencing a new world. That is how the other Turia knew so much about me and my universe. They coached her (or coerced her) into doing what she did.
Dr. Malcolm told me how the other Turia was chosen due to her extensive criminal record. By being involved in the human trials, she was given a chance at freedom, even if it brought death. If they treated her the way they are treating me now, then I can’t say I blame her for tricking me. I was right; she did have rebellion in her blood.
I still can’t help but be angry at the other Turia, at my world, at this damn place, and especially Dr. Malcolm. What I hate more is knowing that when I die, I won’t be Turia Shepherd Nation. Instead, I will be known as patient #006. To make things worse, Dr. Malcolm’s words continue to burn in my memory.
“I am happy to report both that you and the other Turia are doing well. Her vitals are stable and you are transitioning well into this world. This gives our people so much hope for crossing over.” Dr. Malcolm has taken to sitting on my bed when she visits. I have to fight the urge to kick her.
“Oh, you mean, when you will violently take over my world?” I didn’t have to play up the angry teenager stereotype. My angst and sarcasm poured out of me naturally.
Dr. Malcolm tells me, “Turia, you need to think big picture. This research will be able to save thousands, if not millions, of lives. We are doing what is best for the greater good. We are blessed that our technology enables us to research and explore all possible options for a better existence.”
I am never convinced by Dr. Malcolm’s statistics, research or opinions. I can see from their news and media that the people of this world have turned on each other and the planet. To put it in the other Turia’s words, “let’s just say it gets ugly.” They need a way out and they want to trade places with my home, my family and my world. Some days, I can see the parallels between our worlds; and it makes me miss my parents and brother. Damn, sometimes I even miss Randolph School and its brick path.
It is just too ironic. I traded one Test Year for another. I didn’t think I would make it through mine successfully; and, now, it looks like I won’t get out of here alive. But, I can’t help hearing my mother’s voice, “We Nations do have rebellion in our blood.” History does have a way of repeating itself.
Proclaim the New Name
Duane L. Herrmann
The new hats for 1909 featured wide brims holding up piles of ribbons and possibly a feather for excitement. Dresses were floor length, with long, slim lines. A three room house in Topeka rented for $6.00 a month, a five room for $13.00. A two story, six room house, just two years old, with a bathroom and good barn, was for sale on Clay street for $2,550. The Hilty family lived at 829 Monroe.
They had been living in Topeka for three years, having moved from Enterprise, KS, so their daughter, Lovelia, could attend Topeka High School. She had earlier attended Kansas School for the Blind, so far away no one felt she should travel back and forth on the train alone. And, she didn’t like it there.
The move had meant leaving baby Iona alone in her grave, but Lovelia’s needs were greater. She is twenty-one now and has to be able to support herself; we certainly can’t. Felicia reflected. But, now that Leonard has the Apex Café, we have more steady income.
Louella has been married for six years now. We no longer needed to worry about her. Being blind, Lovelia is another matter.
These were her thoughts that evening of May 18, 1909, as she cleaned up after supper. Leonard was reading the evening paper, the Topeka State Journal.
“Look at this,” Leonard said to her as he pointed to a headline. “It says the Bahá’ís are going to build a temple. This wasn’t mentioned in the class we attended in my mother’s home.” Together they had attended this class in 1897, in Enterprise. The teacher had given the name of the religion only to those who, at the end of the class, had stated that they had agreed with the teachings. Leonard had said it didn’t make any difference to him. To Felicia, it had.
The teachings were not difficult: there is one God, the Creator, who has a personal relationship with humanity and periodically sends special Messengers to guide humanity, including Moses, Jesus and now Bahá’u’lláh, each the fulfillment of the one before, the “return” so to speak. Now, here was news of it in the Journal.
Mother Ehrsam and Mrs. Frey, who had also attended, are so far away, Felicity regretted. She recited the First Commune. She knew prayer was important and she tried to live in a manner that was worthy; but with no other believers around, it was difficult. She wished there was a book she could read, but she didn’t know of any.
The dateline of the article was Chicago. Ten years earlier Felicity had planned a trip there to learn more, but the need for surgery had prevented it. She had recovered fine, but the urgency for the trip had diminished and later there was no time or money. Financial difficulties seemed never to end.
Once Leonard had to declare bankruptcy and twice his paying with bad checks made things worse. She had wanted to learn more
about her religion, but there was no opportunity.
Abilene had seemed like a big town, but not nearly as large and confusing as Topeka. Still, they had settled in and learned their way around the Capital City.
She finished reading the news article: “The temple to be called ‘Mashrak-El-Azcar,’ will be a mixture of modern and Oriental architecture. It will be modeled after a similar temple in Eshkabad, Russia, the plans for which were drawn by Baha-Ullah, father of the Abdul-Baha of Galilee, the present prophet and leader…
Felicia tried to imagine such a building, but she could not. How could a design combine contemporary and Eastern elements? Would there be arches? A dome? Columns and pillars?
‘Abdu’l-Bahá, she remembered. In 1905, the year before we moved to Topeka, I signed a petition with hundreds of others around the country, asking Him to come to America.
“Nine walls and nine fountains…” That would be interesting, she mused. A nine-sided building —the shape would be circular. She clipped the article and put it away, then became involved in other things. Strawberries were blooming and the first lettuce and radishes were ready to pick. Her life was in full swing once more. There was hardly time to pause.
The next summer she was surprised again. “UNCLE SAM ISSUES RELIGION BULLETIN, was a headline on Sunday, August 14, 1910, in the Topeka Daily Capital, the morning paper. A paragraph several down the column was even more surprising than the one on the temple had been the year before. It not only mentioned the Bahá’í Faith, but said:
“This is a comparatively new sect, growing out of the teaching of a Persian leader of the middle of the last century named Ali Mehammed. He claimed to be the forerunner ‘of him whom God would manifest.’ And called himself ‘Bab’ or ‘the Gate.’ Later came Baha Ulla, who claimed to be the one who’s coming had been foretold, and from him the real name of the body is derived. In 1906 he had 1,280 followers in the United States who worshipped in 24 places through 14 states...”