The Forgotten World

by R Gene Curtis

  I scoff. “So, you do need me?” Is she serious? I almost stayed? “Well, you’ll have to find someone else to help you with it.” I unlock the first bolt on the door.

  “You’re an idiot.” Tara laughs. “I give you the setup of a lifetime and you’re just going to walk out?”

  I unlock the second bolt. “This isn’t the setup of a lifetime. This is a shallow business deal where you get good grades and I get a prostitute.”

  She slaps me across the face. Hard. It stings. Her arms are strong. I guess that’s another benefit of working out as much as she does. “You’ll never have anything else, you idiot.” The venom from her words sting as hard as her slap. “Good luck with your life of loneliness. Hope you enjoy being fat, alone, and overworked for the rest of your life. Let me know if you ever talk to a woman again.”

  She slaps me again, this time on the other cheek. That one hurts, too.

  I remember watching Andrea run down the mountain, away from me, away from us. I’ve hated her for years for that.

  I was stupid not to follow her.

  “Good bye, Tara.” I step into the cold and slam the door. The cold is even more brittle without my coat, but I don’t stop at the office. I walk all three miles to my house.

  By the time I get to my apartment, my entire body is numb. I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel some parts of my body ever again.

  But I do feel something inside.

  Pride. Maybe I’m not as shallow as I thought.

  And I’m going to call Pearl tomorrow.

  Just as I’m drifting off to sleep, I remember how the doctors said that Sam was poisoned. Tara was there, right when it happened. Coincidence? I shudder at the thought, and I have a tough time believing that Tara would do such a thing. But, is that reality talking, or is biology getting in my way of rational thought again?

  19 Road Trip

  Lydia

  28 hours at the wheel in two days. I yawn and roll my neck. The small screen on my phone says the exit to Waunakee, Wisconsin is still ten minutes away.

  Might as well be an eternity. An eternity of looking at miles and miles of empty cornfields.

  But, I’m glad I’m here. Brit is a mess; she hasn’t touched the steering wheel once since we left Seattle. It’s been up to me, and Brit will make it home before her brother’s funeral.

  My left leg throbs. It ached last night at that Podunk hotel, and the pain has increased throughout today. Brit might need a stretcher to bring me into her house. If she manages to get out of the car. Anything I say drives her further into her shell. She’s withered like an etiolated plant, just a shell of the vivacious young lady, the girl who has been instrumental in Washington’s first place standing in the PAC-12. I wonder if I was the same way after Mom died. At least Brit didn’t head to the pub like Dad.

  Right now, she’s curled into a ball with a blanket over her head.

  Hopefully, being home will help her recover. At least she told me she did okay on her midterms. Nothing can stop that girl from keeping her scholarship.

  “You have arrived,” the GPS announces as I pull up next to a small blue house. A huge tree obscures most the house from view. Snow covers the ground and the sidewalk leading around the tree to the house.

  “We’re here.” I touch Brit’s shoulder.

  She stirs and the blanket lifts up as she looks dumbly out the window. There is only one Waunakee in the world; I know we’re in the right place. She finally mumbles, “We’re the next house up,” and slumps back under the blanket and into her seat.

  She said something. Progress.

  I reignite the engine, and the car rolls forward 50 feet. I stop in front of a small, two-story house, white, and similarly covered in snow. I kill the car again, and Brit wanders out with her blanket around her shoulders. I pop the trunk. She opens it and starts pulling out suitcases. Gently, I open the car door and slowly maneuver my left knee onto the road. Even the slightest bend sends pain up and down my leg. I take short breaths while pain subsides, and then I stand up slowly, using the car for balance.

  A door slams behind me and a woman, presumably Brit’s mother, runs out of the house.

  “Brit! You’re home!” The lady has short, curly black and gray hair. Her face looks like an older version of Brit.

  After a long embrace with her daughter, she approaches me. “You must be Lydia! I’m so grateful that you would help Brit. I’m Beth.”

  Before I can reply, I’m enveloped in a hug from the large woman. I can’t remember the last time I got a real hug from anyone, and after two long, lonely days it’s more than I can do. Tears splash onto my cheeks. Beth smells like baking bread. Safe and inviting.

  “I’m happy to help,” I whisper.

  “Do you need help getting in? Brit told me what a number you did on your knee.”

  I can barely move, but I shake my head. “I can manage.” I wipe the tears off my face and motion to Brit. Beth smiles knowingly and returns to the trunk to guide Brit into the house.

  It takes a few minutes, but I make my way on crutches to the door. Every muscle in my body fights me every step. Pain sucks.

  ✽✽✽

  I plunge my hands into the warm water. In the cold of Wisconsin winters, washing dishes warms up a body better than anything else I’ve found to do here. I’ve helped with the dishes for all three meals since I got here, and I don’t intend to stop until I leave.

  Despite the cold outside, the warmth inside Beth’s home has gradually broken through Brit’s dazed stupor. Beth has the magic that only mothers have. Mom had it, too. Watching Beth has deepened the ache I feel for Mom, and I know I can’t stand to stay here too much longer.

  Beth joins me and rinses the dishes I’ve washed so far.

  “Thanks for doing this. Again.”

  “I’m happy to help.”

  “On one leg, no less.” Beth has a cheery way she talks that makes it easy to smile when I’m around her.

  “Your other daughter arrives tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes. She called me a few minutes ago to say she was stopping for the night in Springfield. I don’t know why she doesn’t just come the rest of the way tonight, but her baby has been screaming for the past two hours.”

  “I’d have given up an hour and fifty minutes ago.”

  “I just want her home. Having Brit here has done wonders for me. It keeps my mind off Jacob and on her.”

  I stop washing for a few minutes and dry the dishes Beth has rinsed. Once I get caught up, I go back to washing the last few pans.

  “It was so awful with Jacob,” Beth says. “Your mother died, right?”

  I freeze, the water suddenly turns to ice, and I’m drowning.

  “It was a car accident,” I finally get out.

  Beth sighs. “What a tragedy. I sat there in the hospital for hours with Jacob, watching the life go right out of him. I hope”—she stops and wipes tears away with the back of her wet hand—“you didn’t watch your mother die like that.”

  “She was dead when the police came to my house.” Even though my phone has been dead for years, I don’t want to take it out when my hands are wet. I remember the screams. I remember the silence.

  “I don’t know if that is better or not,” Beth tries to laugh, but instead she sobs. She hugs me—something I’ve gotten used to—and she cries. I feel the tears build up behind my own eyes, and suddenly years of pent up emotion run down my cheeks. I squeeze Beth, and she holds me tight. She’s warm. I’m safe.

  Too soon, Beth pulls back.

  “You’re really going to leave tomorrow after the funeral?”

  “Yeah, I need this trip, and I want you to have time with your family. My leg has finally loosened up, so I should drive somewhere and get it all stiff again before I get used to it.”

  ✽✽✽

  I pull up in front of the Mellon Institute in Oakland, PA just after dark. It doesn’t seem real that I’m here, a world away from Seattle—I’ve never been this far away from home
before.

  Unless you count the meadow. And I have no idea how far away that is.

  I put the car in park and grab a copy of Lovina’s history. I’ve also made a copy of Lovina’s sketch of the blue flower. Karl’s a biologist, maybe he’ll be able to make sense of it.

  What if Lovina’s history is true? If so, it partially explains my story. If I’m from the forgotten world. But how did I get here without a traveling companion? Is Karl also from the other world? Does he know it?

  He has to be connected. His bright blue eyes are just like Kinni’s. Karl couldn’t have been more than six years old when I showed up, so it seems unlikely he’s the traveling companion who brought me here. Still, according to my dreams, he’s the only one who can take me back.

  I need to talk to Karl, and I need to go back to that meadow. I felt something there that I’ve never felt before. If I go there, I’ll find out who I am and where I came from. I know it.

  The institute is a large building with a lot of steps that ascend to a set of double glass doors. The entire face of the building is lined with columns. Half black and half white; each column is stained on the side that points toward Pittsburgh. Is there that much pollution here? I hold my breath for a minute, but then I decide I won’t make it to the top without the oxygen in the air—clean or not.

  I put some quarters in the parking meter and look around hopefully for another entrance. I don’t see one anywhere in sight, and traveling around the building to look for one is definitely out of the option. So, I spend ten minutes maneuvering my way up the steps. Finally, I make it to the top and move over to the large glass door and pull. It doesn’t budge.

  Locked.

  That would have been nice to know before I came all the way up here.

  My light Seattle jacket is made to repel water, not the cold that seeps through it now. I don’t really want to go down all those steps.

  But, after a few seconds of shivering outside at the top of the steps, I’m convinced that I want to go back to my car. I carefully put my crutches onto the first stair. Then the doors open behind me.

  I whirl around as Two students leave the building. They’re so busy talking to each other they don’t notice me as I awkwardly scramble past them and get my crutch into the door before it locks shut again.

  Inside the building, I find more columns, these located inside a tall, marble hall. These columns are a dark gray and unstained. A carving on the far side of high ceiling displays a bunch of ancient looking men and a dove. The beginning of scientific knowledge, it says. Weird. My crutches echo around the entryway as I make my way through.

  It feels eerie, as if I’m sneaking into a museum after hours instead. It doesn’t feel anything like the academic buildings back in Seattle.

  But I know I’ve found the right place when I find signs pointing to Karl’s department and then find his name listed under room 104 in the directory. This is it. Will he remember me? Will he take me back to the meadow?

  Of course, the door to room 104 is closed, as is every other door in the office.

  I should have thought this through better. It’s Friday evening, what did I expect? If I really wanted to find Karl today, I shouldn’t have stayed for the lunch after the funeral.

  I knock on the door just in case. I hear scuffling inside. I hold my breath.

  A red-headed girl swings the door open, her hair pulled back in a pony. Boxes line the room. She doesn’t look happy to see me.

  “Can I help you?” she asks in an English accent.

  “Yes, I’m looking for Karl Stapp. Is he here?” I try to look around her into the room, but she closes the door so all I can see is her face.

  She eyes me up and down, her face is drawn into a tight scowl.

  “No.”

  Okay. This is awkward.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back? I mean, is he out for the weekend?”

  The girl’s eyes narrow into slits. “How do you know Karl? I’ve never seen you before.” Her voice is soft and venomous.

  “I, uh, met him a couple months ago. Down in Moab. I don’t know if he remembers me, but I have some things I need to talk to him about.”

  The girl gasps. The door is now open just a crack—I can only see one of her eyes now.

  But I don’t need to see more than that to sense her inexplicable hatred radiating at me. “And are you a graduate student? A professor?”

  “A student,” I say. I don’t think that this girl is going to help me find Karl. “We just bumped into each other in Moab,” I say. “I was in the area today and hoped to see him.”

  “Oh! I’m sure you bumped into each other,” the girl says. “He told me he was going out to ‘see his sister’.” She slams the door.

  Okay. I will try again on Monday. In the late morning. Hopefully more people will be here. Other people.

  As I reach the end of the hall the door opens again, and the girl steps out into the hallway.

  “I didn’t lose to you,” she shouts. My mind flashes back to the night Dad knocked me over. This girl won’t do that to me. I’m stronger than she is. But maybe not as desperate. However, I’m on crutches. I round the corner and try to move faster.

  “He was with me—the whole time. You’re a worthless nobody. He’s a fool, and I hope you have another place to stay because I don’t think he’s straight. Unless you’ve slept with him already.”

  I keep going, and I don’t say anything. I don’t have any idea whether Karl is straight or gay, and it really doesn’t matter to me.

  The door slams, and the echoes reverberate down the hallway.

  What did I just step into?

  ✽✽✽

  Despite the rude welcome, Pittsburgh turns out to be a fun city with plenty to see. The next morning, I find a 48 Hours in Pittsburgh website and spend a couple hours planning a weekend that takes me around to the best parts of the city, and to a second-hand store to purchase a winter coat.

  Saturday, I visit the Pittsburgh zoo and aquarium (fortunately they have little carts I can ride around in) and ride the Mt. Washington incline. On Sunday, I hit the Cathedral of Learning on Pittsburgh campus. Since all the students are away for the holidays, the area around campus is quiet, cold, and not nearly as rainy as U-dub’s campus. It’s fun to see the sun in the middle of winter. Not that I’d want that all the time, but it’s nice for a day.

  Aside from my adventures, I spend time taking warm baths and nursing my sore knee. I try to feel confident, traveling alone and exploring the city by myself. Mom and I went on so many trips together to watch soccer games, but I haven’t traveled since she died. I think she would be proud if she saw me handling myself like a grown woman in a strange city. I haven’t found the best soccer facilities yet, but other than that, this trip is just as good as any I took with her.

  I wake before my alarm on Monday morning, anxious about my next trip to Carnegie Mellon. Though it seems like it can’t go worse than my first trip, I don’t have a compelling reason to believe that Karl will help me. I’m just operating on hope.

  After a bath, I stare for a long time at the fancy outfit Maria bought for me to meet Karl in. I put it on and walk by the mirror a few times, but then decide I can’t do it. Today, I’m just going to go as me. I’m limping in a knee brace, and I’m wearing a warm blue sweater with black stretchy pants. I’m comfortable, and besides, if Karl is gay, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing anyway.

  When I get back to the institute, I drive around and manage to find another entrance with a door that isn’t locked. When I get to the hallway, most of the doors are open, and one of them is Karl’s. I stand at the end of the hallway and review what I’m going to say again, taking deep breaths to calm my nerves. I should have followed Maria’s dad’s advice and memorized this testimony as well.

  Then I start the long hobble.

  Karl’s desk is against the same wall as the doorway, and so it isn’t more than a few hobbles before I see him sitting hunched over a laptop. It’s him.
He’s here. I take another breath and force myself to keep moving forward.

  At least I don’t see any sign of the angry girl. One thing has gone right so far.

  Karl looks up as I approach, and my breath catches. But, his fingers don’t miss a beat in their typing, and his eyes go right back to his computer screen.

  Not a good sign.

  I put on my best smile, thinking about Maria meeting Brian. Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I tap lightly on the door.

  “Are you Karl Stapp?” What a dumb question! Would I be there if he wasn’t?

  He looks over his computer screen at me. Does he recognize me? His eyes flit back to his computer screen without the slightest signal of recognition. I’m not sure he even looked at me.

  “Yes,” he says, as his fingers start to fly again.

  “I’m Lydia Miller,” I begin. “From Seattle. We...”

  “I don’t have the midterms graded yet,” Karl says. “And no, you can’t influence your grade at this point. What’s done is done.”

  He stops typing and makes a few clicks with his mouse.

  “I’m not here about a midterm.” Is he going to pay any attention to me? Maybe I should have worn that outfit Maria picked out.

  He keeps his eyes glued on his computer. “I’m really busy right now,” he says. “I have a paper that I need to get done by midnight.” I wish he would look at me. Everyone recognizes me.

  “For school?” I ask. Maybe if I’m friendly he’ll look at me.

  And he does. He looks at me like I’m the dumbest human he ever set eyes on. Then his expression changes, and he looks startled. Finally! He looked at me long enough to recognize me.

  The look of recognition changes to something that looks a little more like panic. His eyes move away from me and then dart around the wall in front of him.

  “For research,” he finally says. “My time taking classes ended a few years ago.”

  Perhaps I’m as dumb as he thinks I am. What was I thinking, driving across the entire country for this?

  “I came here from Seattle to see you.” Time for another approach. “You haven’t answered any of my calls.”