One time, in a Minnesota sports bar, we landed pretty deep in the soup. I’d set up shop at a pool table, shooting poorly to present an easy target when the bell jingled and Toby strode in. He was immediately stopped by the bouncer, who slapped an “x” on the back of his hand in Sharpie. Toby rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest. We were used to that. My hand didn’t bear the mark of shame this particular night, but I still got carded about three-quarters of the time.
Anyway, Toby meandered oh-so-casually around the bar, checking out all the Vikings paraphernalia. I shook my head subtly and snorted under my breath; he was going with annoying teen drifter tonight. Bumping into patrons and apologizing loudly until they looked up in annoyance, he made his rounds and eventually hefted a pool cue and approached the red felt table.
“Mind if I join?” he requested loudly. A few of the men at the bar glowering in his direction. In character, I shrugged and set up the triangle. I opened the game with a clean break, and two of the solid pool balls rolled lazily into the pockets.
“You’re solids, huh? That’s cool, I like stripes anyhow,” Toby snorted. “Put some money on this, guy?”
There was a slight stir of interest at the bar, and one particularly burly individual turned to watch our game. Tossing down our cash on the edge of the table, we got down to business. Toby gave it his best shot, as always, but he was outclassed. He played it up, celebrating when he sent a ball into the pocket and cursing me out when I promptly sunk two in retaliation. Over the table, we occasionally exchanged looks of suppressed satisfaction. The fish were snapping at our bait; the hefty gentleman at the bar was eying my game with interest.
I called my shot with the eight-ball and with a satisfying thunk, my cue sent the shiny black orb into its resting place. Instantly, Toby threw a fit, like an obnoxious kid would, throwing his own cue against the wall and swearing like a sailor.
“Hey, chill out! You break anything, you’re paying!” the barkeep warned him.
Toby advanced on him.
“You let cheaters like this in here, huh?? He’s stealing my money!”
“Oh God, would you shut up?” The burly man at the bar rasped. The bartender slid away from Toby while he was distracted. “You lost, brat, now grow a pair and move on.”
“Oh, you think I lost? Let me tell you something, bear claw,” Toby said brashly, jabbing a finger into the man’s gut. Had to hand it to him, the kid was fearless. “I don’t lose. Ever. So unless you think you can do better, get out of my face!”
With an exaggerated sigh, the big dude swept Toby out of the way effortlessly with one arm and stood, stretching to his full height. They’re pretty big in that neck of the woods, lemme tell you. His dull, heavy footsteps echoed as he strode over to the cue box. He ran his fingers along a few then made his selection with a satisfied grunt. Meanwhile, his friends jostled each other and chuckled in anticipation. Toby shot me a look, which I interpreted as “You can take this joker, right?”
I lifted an eyebrow smugly and smirked in his direction. I wasn’t concerned. I had no doubt this beer-bellied behemoth was good, but I was better. We made our bets and he took the first shot, pocketing one off of the breaking shot.
“Take this guy!” Toby cheered for him, his voice far too loud. My opponent rolled his eyes in annoyance and missed his next shot.
I played carefully, not showing any more skill than I had to. I had a feeling we could exploit this guy’s ego, and from the devilish gleam in Toby’s eyes, he knew it too.
With five balls left on the table, we were rapidly approaching the end game when Toby started getting antsy. He paced back and forth as he chewed out my much larger adversary.
“C’mon, you were supposed to crush this cheater! Thought you were supposed to be good at this game, you oversized hillbilly!”
Irked, he thrust the cue under Toby’s nose threateningly.
“If you don’t shut up, your money won’t be the only thing you’re missing, kid.”
Eyes wide, Toby ducked out of range. The burly man settled back into shooting position, focusing intently on his next shot. I smiled, knowing full well what was coming. Just as he was about to connect with the ball, Toby shouted from a safe distance.
“This guy’s gonna walk with your cash, too, chump!”
Startled, the guy whiffed on his shot. He slammed down his cue and stabbed a finger in Toby’s direction.
“Enough out of you!!” he roared, spitting in all directions. He whipped back around to face me. Fighting the urge to smile, I kept my face a mask of bland disinterest. “Double or nothing!”
I pretended to consider it for a moment, laughing internally. That Toby……he always knew which buttons to push. After a second, I shrugged and slapped a few more bills down on the table. He did too, breathing heavily through his nose like a deranged bull. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t have been so easy to manipulate if he hadn’t downed a pint in the time since Toby and I had arrived, but we weren’t picky.
I lined up my shots, ricocheting my last two balls before the 8 into their respective pockets. I could practically feel the hot anger radiating off my opponent as he frustrated himself trying to find a shot. I hadn’t left him with any. With no other options, he fired off blindly, and with victory in my grasp, I finished him off.
He screamed blindly in what I can only describe as animalistic fury and broke the cue over his knee as I counted the money.
“Hey!” the barkeep protested.
The enraged man flung a piece of the cue at the distressed bartender and missed, shattering a bottle of something alcoholic behind the counter. The crash yanked me back into the moment as I suddenly realized that this wasn’t a good situation at all. Bloodshot eyes glared at me like veiny headlights as he lumbered towards me, intent on mayhem. I tensed, ready to dive out of the way, but the bouncer latched onto the crazed man and yanked him back, buying me a few precious seconds as the guy’s friends joined the party.
Toby raced out while he could. I was jealous; I had to traverse a writing ocean of flailing arms and legs before I could escape. I leapt up onto the bar in an attempt to determine the path of least pain, but a hand shot out from the pig-pile of bodies and yanked my foot out from under me. I slammed back first against the bar counter, sucking the wind out of me faster than a vacuum. I groaned dully as my head dangled upside down over the edge of the bar. As my vision cleared itself of dancing, flashing lights, I made eye contact with the terrified bartender for a split second before I got pulled viciously off the counter and into the fray.
After this many years, I’d picked up a trick or two for fighting without time-travel. I was just out of practice, because I’d never actually had to fight without jumping. Well, now was that time. The breeze from a wild haymaker wafted cool air over me, followed almost instantly by a flash of impact on the other side of my face. I reeled back, wobbling out of range of his other blows. Luckily, I cleared my head in time to dodge the chair flipping through the air at my head. Something moved out of the corner of my eye and I lashed out blindly, connecting hard with soft flesh. A pained yelp later, and my attacker fell to his knees and then into the fetal position. I winced when I realized where I’d hit him.
“Sorr-“ I managed to say before I was bulldozed into a table. I found myself face to face with my adversary as he growled like a pitbull on crack. I slammed a fist into the side of his head, once, twice, but there was no effect. He didn’t even change expression. Bewildered, I snatched up the closest thing, a large Parmesan cheese shaker, and smashed the thick glass cylinder against his temple. It shattered, and I thought I was screwed, but after a fearful moment, he wobbled unsteadily on his feet, clutched his head, and tipped over with a groan. Groaning myself, I gingerly felt myself up, checking for any injuries I didn’t know about. Satisfied with my self-diagnosis (everything hurt), I shuffled lamely towards the door and waved to the horrified bartender.
“Have a good night,” I mumbled. The door smacked me on the way out.
&n
bsp; ****
That little mishap was undoubtedly the most action-packed of our adventure together, and it also fell toward the end of the journey. Lady Fortune favored us with a friendly truck driver named Ernest who gave us a lift straight through to Michigan. He was an interesting character, always ready with a yarn to tell, even if we weren’t listening. One time during the drive, I woke up to find Ernest laughing and telling the story of his mother and their hostile chicken, Henrietta, to no one in particular. Toby was out cold, and I pretended to be. We heard that story so many times over the hours that I can still recite it to this day. I won’t, don’t worry.
I had to tell a few of my own stories to satisfy the inquisitive Ernest. He must’ve asked me how I got the shiner over a dozen times. Toby didn’t mind expounding on that one for me; he got a kick out of the whole thing. Deciding it was better than the chicken story, I let him run with it. Needless to say, I was relieved when we said goodbye to our exuberant friend and his stories of irate barnyard animals.
Toby and I walked for miles to reach Scottsdale. As we walked, we recycled the same conversation over and over again.
“So why are we here in Nowhere. Michigan?”
“I told you, we’re here to see an old friend of mine.”
“Right.” He kicked a loose pebble ahead of him down the sunlight road. “And this is the friend that won’t remember you at all. Why is that again?”
“His memory isn’t great,” I lied.
“And we’re visiting him because…?”
“Because I want to,” I snapped. “And you can stay in Scottsdale while I visit him if it bothers you so much. In fact, I wish you would.”
He threw his hands up in surrender.
“Fine! I’ll drop it.” He walked silently for a moment, but I could feel mischief rolling off of him in waves. “Amnesiacs give me the willies anyway,” he grinned. I shoved him, smiling despite myself. I’d told everyone at the ranch that my addiction to “drugs” had cost me a lot of memories of the past few years, which had helped keep probing questions to a minimum. Toby’s playful barb was his way of apologizing.
We arrived in Scottsdale around mid-afternoon. I had to swallow a lump in my throat as we strolled through the familiar streets. It was centuries later, but I still knew the town like the back of my hand. My earliest pleasant memories since the real 2012 were in this town and in a cabin a few miles into the woods. I turned to Toby behind me, about to say something, when I saw him playing with his phone.
“Expecting a call?” I teased.
“Actually, yeah,” he said. “I left Mama Jean a message a few days ago, just to let her know we were ok and all.”
“Sure.” I waited for him to continue.
“It’s just…it was a few days ago.” He glanced up at me nervously.
I knew what was troubling him.
“Look, bro, I’m sure it’s fine. Yes, it’s not like her, but she’s probably swamped with new arrivals at the ranch or something.”
“Yeah,” he said, unconvincingly at first, but then he shook himself out his stupor. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Nothing could keep him down for long.
“So you gonna go talk to Memento?”
“You make him sound like a nutcase,” I complained. “Yes, I’m going to go see my friend now. Just hang out here, and try to stay out of trouble, ok?”
“Please,” he snorted. I wasn’t sure how to take that.
As I wound my way through the woods, I strained for that first look at the cabin. When I finally won my battle with the shrubbery, the sight stopped my heart for a second in the best way. The setting sun graced the rustic building with a flattering light, rimming it in gold. A small figure knelt in the garden patch, diligently working away at the weeds. With a burst of energy, I sprinted the rest of the way there. The weathered, craggy face with its sparkling emerald eyes looked towards me curiously as I caught my breath.
“You alright, lad?”
I wanted to laugh giddily at the sound of his lilting voice.
“It is so good to see you again, Chaplain,” I said earnestly as I crushed him in a hug.
He patted my back gently and waited until I released him. He chuckled softly and raised his eyebrows.
“Well, I’m not sure if you’re just friendly or we have a case of mistaken identity, but that was quite the hug.”
My face twisted. In my excitement, I’d forgotten what I’d been drilling into my skull the entire trip up here; Chaplain didn’t remember me. He couldn’t. Everyone except me got a mind wipe at year’s end, freeing them from the curse of the loop. They didn’t suffer because ignorance was bliss. Unfortunately, that meant every bond that I’d had over the decades, good or bad, was erased as soon as the world reset. That was a tough hit to take.
Chaplain saw my anguish. He patted my arm with a dirty hand as he tossed his trowel into the bucket of weeds.
“C’mon, son, why don’t you tell me what history we have together.”
I wanted to, more than anything, but I didn’t want to bury him under the weight of my story for a second time. He’d had time to digest it all when we’d first met, but my time here was limited and I just wanted to spend it with my old friend.
“Sorry, I’ve just heard so much about you from my friends in town. I get carried away some times,” I said with all the nonchalance I could muster.
“Mmm,” he nodded, but in a way that let me know he wasn’t buying it. I silently thanked him for not pressing the issue.
“I love this place. You built this yourself?”
“I did,” he said proudly, just like he used to.
We spent a couple of hours talking about the cabin and gardening and anything else that popped into mind. He was amazed and quite pleased by my knowledge of plants and herbs, which I was just reciting from a year of his teaching. Eventually, our conversation began to wind down, and Chaplain put down his empty teacup.
“So how did you come to hear about me, lad?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. No doubt he wanted to see what I’d come up with. “I know I’m not exactly the talk of the town.”
“Oh, you know,” I blustered. I reached for the first reasonable excuse I could think of. “I’m friends with Rachel.”
Chaplain almost dropped the dishes he was carrying back to the tub he washed them in. I flinched as I realized that was the worst possible thing I could’ve said. With their secret familial bond, Chaplain might assume that I knew the truth. I peeked at his back, watching for a reaction.
“The poor lass,” he sighed heavily. “Their family’s been through a lot, no two ways about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t know?” He seemed shocked. “They lost the little one of the family in a home fire.”
“Cecilia?” I choked out. “No, she…….she isn’t dead. She can’t be,” I whispered.
Chaplain limped over and placed a tired hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry you heard it from me, lad. I just figured that you knew.”
My head reeled from the scope of it all. I’d always known dimly that the loop process made me a ghost, a shadowy figure that vanished from people’s minds as time rewound, but the weight of that reality had never struck me until just now. Cecilia was dead; I hadn’t been here to save her this year, or last year, or for the past centuries before that. Every crime that I’d prevented last year in Chicago had continued uninterrupted without me there. Wait. That meant in less than a month, Toby and I wouldn’t be locked in the withdrawal room together, which meant I wouldn’t be there to stop him from-
I slammed the door on that train of thought as I stood dizzily. Chaplain had to reach out and steady me as I almost toppled back onto the couch.
“I gotta go,” I stammered as I regained my footing. I flung the cabin door open, blinking at the sudden darkness. I started to run off, but on an impulse, I spun around and hugged the confused Chaplain. “Listen, I-…..um..,” I panted. “I’m sorry, this d
oesn’t make any sense, but we do know each other. You mean a lot to me. You’ve been like a father. Just remember that.”
I forced myself to let go and sprinted off into the night in search of Toby. I called back over my shoulder one last time.
“Remember!”
****
I found Toby sitting morosely in a diner booth, staring at his phone. His head jerked up along with everyone else’s as I burst through the front door. Ignoring the bewildered looks of the diner’s patrons, I crushed Toby in a hug, squeezing the smaller boy until he gasped in protest.
“God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I babbled. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”
“To me?” he asked brokenly. His tone caught me off guard. When I looked at him, I saw dried tear trails that he hadn’t bothered to brush off. Confused, I glanced down and saw his phone scattered in pieces across the table he’d been sitting at. A towering wave of fear crashed over me, and I clutched his shoulders and shook him a little.
“Toby??” my voice cracked.
His face contorted as fresh tears rose.
“She’s dead, Ry!” he burst out. “Mama Jean’s dead!”
****
The sun beamed ironically as we all shuffled past the coffin. As soon as I’d recovered from the mind-numbing shock, Toby and I had high-tailed back to Montana, throwing all of our money into train tickets and bus fares to get there on time. We barely talked the whole ride there; hell, we barely even stopped to eat. It was just so hard to believe.
Toby did fill me in a little on the details. His call hadn’t been ignored after all. Mama Jean had been hospitalized that day after she suffered a brain hemorrhage. The folks in the house at the time had dropped everything and rushed her to the hospital, but she never regained consciousness. Now, here we were, all of her kids, past and present.
After the funeral, we all went back to the ranch. There was no formal reception; we had been the only real family she had left and the news had come so suddenly that there hadn’t been anytime to throw something together. Not that we felt like having any festivities, even if it was in her honor. The loss just ran too deep. She had saved all of us from ourselves, although she’d have said she just gave us the tools to save ourselves. That was something we would all carry with us for the rest of our lives.
The Jump Journal Page 19