by Ellen Smith
I should have thought of this. I should have had a plan.
“This is my suggestion, Will. This is what I suggested to the superintendent, and he thinks this sounds like a good plan. The school year’s almost over, when you think about it. You’ve been through a lot with your wife’s health issues, and I’m sure the stress of the bomb threat and the code red lockdown have been difficult for you. I can see the stress is getting to you. Just weeks ago, you opened up to your class about your experiences after the code red, but now you’re reticent to share again at our school assembly. On top of that, you’ve got these rumors to contend with. It would be very understandable if you needed to take some time to take care of those issues.”
Will’s mouth went dry.
“The school board doesn’t want to make a statement, and we don’t want to invite any controversy from the parents or the students. We can offer you the rest of the year off—with pay.” Cliff hastened to add. “With pay. If you are indeed having a timeline rectification, I’m sure you can use the time to, ah, prepare. And if not, you take some time, deal with the personal issues you’re facing, and we can discuss your continued employment over the summer, when things will hopefully have died down.”
There was something. He and Mara would have insurance and a paycheck until the time wreck. If there was a time wreck. And if there wasn’t . . .
If there weren’t a time wreck, then he’d be a liability. Who was going to want a middle school music teacher who had been all over the news? Even if Will could convince everyone it was just a rumor, parents would still recognize his name.
I can get the union involved then. If the time wreck doesn’t go through, I’ll call the union. I have tenure. They’ll make sure I keep my job.
Another thought hit Will like a speeding train. No, they’ll make sure I keep a job. They could always put me in a different position . . . put me in a different school . . .
Cliff was watching him. His eyes were so wide they might just take over his whole face. He wants me to say yes. Say I understand. He wants me to make this okay for him.
But Will just couldn’t manage to say anything.
“What do you think, Will?” Cliff asked. He threw an arm around Will’s shoulder again and gave it a squeeze. “Have yourself a little vacation. Take care of the missus and take a break. You deserve one.”
Don’t fight this, Will’s intuition said. Go along with it. Hang on to your insurance.
“Right,” Will said. “Sure.” When Cliff still didn’t let up, Will added, “Thanks for looking out for me.”
“Atta boy, Will,” Cliff said, delivering a hard pat on his back. “You know we’re all here for you, don’t you? We’re all behind you.”
Will nodded. Sure you are.
Kickass Chronic Pain Survivors Web Forum
Admin note: This is a public forum designed for chronic pain survivors to come together and talk about the realities of life with chronic pain: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Feel free to share as openly as you wish, but no hateful, insulting, or bullying speech will be allowed. Voyeurs, sympathy vampires, and all other trolls will be banned.
Date: April 12, 2011
Subject: So WDYT of the Mara Sterling Time Wreck? WWYD?
By: BeautifulRide
Hey all,
Has anyone else been following the news about the supposed time wreck for Will and Mara Sterling? I know “of” them vaguely—my sister was at Adams Morgan University in 2002. I remember being so relieved when I realized my sister was already driving home for fall break when the shooting happened! My parents didn’t want her to even go back to the school afterward, but she did anyway.
My sister wasn’t personal friends with them or anything, but she had a couple classes with Will and saw Mara around campus. As a fellow chronic pain sufferer, I found myself thinking about Mara sometimes over the years because I remember in one of the early news stories it said she had a lot of nerve pain from her shoulder injury.
Anyway . . . if you were offered a time wreck that could “undo” your pain, would you take it? I have fibromyalgia so there’s not exactly an “event” that we could go back and rectify—it’s just the way I am—but if it was possible, I feel like I would. I mean, I do all kinds of other treatments trying to manage my pain so I feel like how is this different? But on the other hand, I really like the life I’ve built and my pain is part of that. I wouldn’t have met you guys if we weren’t all kickass chronic pain survivors, for example. I’d probably have my same job, but I probably wouldn’t be a blogger, and that opened a whole new outlet for me. I dunno. If you were Mara Sterling, what would you do?
Comments:
Abby1010 said:
Honestly, I was so mad when I read about that. I didn’t know about the shooting before but just reading her brother-in-law’s FundItUp and newspapers from over the years, Mara kind of strikes me as a whiner. I think she’s someone who probably could have dealt with things a lot better and been a lot happier if she’d just accepted what happened and moved on instead of being so bitter. Will seems nice, but I wonder if he’s the one pushing for the time wreck? Probably wants to unload her sorry butt or at least stop her whining.
MissInforMed replied:
@Abby1010 Geez, Crabby Abby. I read the same articles and I don’t get that vibe off her at all. Projecting a little on someone else’s situation, are we?
Moderator replied:
@MissInforMed @Abby1010 All right, settle down. Comment on the subject of the thread or not at all.
LionelTheLion said:
This isn’t even a debate for me. She was SHOT. Are we seriously debating whether her life is better off because she was shot? Seriously?
My pain is from an injury too, but it was an accident. I had to work hard to forgive the other driver even though she had no intention whatsoever of causing a collision. If she’d intended to? If she’d calculated and committed a crime with the intention of hurting me? You better bet I’d want her to take it back given the chance.
LillyLove said:
Ehhhh, this isn’t about her pain or her injury for me. If it was a cut-and-dry choice between “life with injury” or “life without injury,” that would be one thing, but it’s about the appropriate conviction for this criminal. Have you guys read up on Jason Mann (the shooter whose crime they’re resentencing)? He is the epitome of young, white, male, rich privilege. His lawyer has pulled out all the stops to keep Jason from having to take any responsibility for his crime. I don’t personally object to timeline rectification on principle, but it sure as heck bothers me when I see people using it as another way to scam the system.
RamaDamaDingDong replied:
@LillyLove So what, Mara just has to live in pain forever because you aren’t sure Jason has learned his lesson? Entitled brats are everywhere. I don’t care if Jason Mann is an entitled brat in jail or in public as long as he’s not shooting anyone.
Chapter Twenty-One
MARA
April 13, 2011
7:31 a.m.
Robyn: Hey, time wrecker! How are you holding up?
Mara: Heh
Mara: Hiding in the family room. Trying to stay away from the windows.
Robyn: That . . . sounds bad
7:35 a.m.
Robyn: Because of the time wreck? Are there people outside your building?
Mara: Dozens of them, and more keep pulling up.
Robyn: ☹
7:40 a.m.
Robyn: Text me when you have a minute, ok?
7:48 a.m.
Robyn: Mara?
* * * * *
Mara stood to the side of the kitchen window, trying to peer through the spaces in the blinds. How long before one of the neighbors pointed out which apartment she and Will lived in? How long before someone counted the floors and rooms and zeroed in their cameras on their window?
The first news van had pulled up less than an hour after Will left for work. How
was he going to get back home? Would he be able to sneak through the crowd undetected? Not likely. His height set him apart from any crowd, even when he wasn’t at the center of a scandal.
Mara’s throat tightened.
Well, now the judge has to approve our case.
Mara tried to remind herself of what she and Will had talked about last night. It was never too late. Even if they didn’t get the time wreck, they’d be able to put their lives back together. She could find a new job. Hopefully. Eventually. His family would be glad they’d turned away from sin and maybe even keep talking to them. Her parents would sweep it all back under the rug, like they always did. Everything would go back to normal.
But I can’t go back to normal.
Living through the shooting, the injury, the unemployment—it had all been easier to deal with when there hadn’t been a choice. But now there was. Could she really sit across the Thanksgiving table from Bonnie and Chris, knowing that they wanted her—lobbied for her—to suffer? Could she ever accept her parents’ praise for being strong when she knew how weak she really was?
And what about Will?
Their love story felt tainted now. Will had been the first person to see her broken down and to love her anyway. What if he didn’t love the unbroken Mara?
Stupid. There was plenty wrong with her, with or without the help of Jason’s bullets. It might take her longer to let her guard down, but there was no perfect Mara in any life map.
Mara tiptoed from the kitchen to the living room. It was foolish to act as if anyone could see her in there, safe inside the apartment. The news vans were out in the parking lot. The journalists couldn’t get past the front steps, unless someone from the building let them inside.
Mara flopped down in her recliner and instantly regretted it. Her shoulder was seizing and her pain pills were about to wear off. She could take more of the pills, but the dose was so high. She didn’t want to deal with any more of this nausea and tiredness when she could be taking the lower dose instead. Curse that pharmacist for refusing to fill the prescription yesterday. Curse all the pharmacists. Curse Chris for putting photos of her and Will on that stupid FundItUp campaign.
It still didn’t give them the right to horse around with her medication, but what was she going to do? Complain? Sue? They were up for a time wreck, anyway.
Will was going to swing by the pharmacy alone and try to get the prescription filled on his way home from work. “Maybe I should go,” she’d told Will this morning. “It’s not like I have a job anymore.”
“You need to get some sleep. If you can hang in there until I get home, I’ll do it,” Will had responded. It was true she hadn’t slept well the night before, but then, neither had he.
Now that the news media was stalking their building, Mara definitely wasn’t planning to go back out.
Mara got out of the recliner and peered through the edge of the living room window. The slats on these blinds were longer and wider. She could get a better view of the outside. Maybe that meant someone outside could get a better view of her.
Mara backed up a few steps. The man was still out there. It looked like he was talking to Mrs. Hiddleston.
Mara gently turned the rod, pulling the slats of the blinds a little closer together. The room grew darker, but some of the sunlight still streamed in around the edges of the window. The sudden shadows made the living room look eerie and the quiet of the apartment only made it worse. Mara huddled back in the recliner and turned on the TV.
Golf . . . cooking shows . . . home decorating . . . sappy movies . . . Mara clicked through the stations until she landed on the last moments of an Engaged or Enraged episode. They were down to three couples now. It looked like they’d just done a makeover episode where each partner had to create an outfit for the other. Mara looked at the woman who was wearing bike shorts and a bikini top, and winced. “Hope your fiancé doesn’t go into fashion design,” she muttered at the screen.
The episode ended. Up next was a repeat episode of Déjà Deirdre.
That’s timely.
Mara pushed up the foot of the recliner and propped a pillow under her shoulder. She’d stay right here until Will came home. With any luck, she’d manage to doze off a bit too.
* * * * *
Mara was watching the third episode in a row of Déjà Deirdre when Will came in the door, with her prescription in hand.
“You’re home early,” Mara said. “Like, really early. What’s wrong? Why aren’t you at school?”
“Take these first, and then I’ll tell you why.” Will opened the paper bag and passed her the orange pill bottle.
“How did you . . . ?”
“Dr. Ricci called in and confirmed the prescription to the pharmacist while I was standing right there,” Will said. “It was ridiculous. The pharmacist still tried to argue they didn’t have it in stock, but then the supervisor ‘miraculously’ found the exact amount you need.” He rolled his eyes.
“Everything else okay?” Mara asked. Please say you just took the day off. Please say you haven’t been fired too. Please . . .
“First things first.” Will shook out three of the pills into her palm and walked to the kitchen. “Ginger ale or water?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Neither, thanks,” Mara took all three pills dry.
Will brought her a packet of crackers and a glass of water anyway. “To answer your question: I’m on paid leave for the rest of the school year.” Mara’s stomach clenched and she let out a gasp. Will held up a hand to stop her from saying anything. “I know. I know. But look at it this way: I’m getting a paycheck, and we’re keeping our insurance. If we’re still in this life map when the next school year rolls around, I can call the union then. And for now—geez, I don’t know how I’d be able to get in and out of this building every day.” Will ran a hand through his flyaway hair, making it stand up even more. “I barely managed to get through the entrance without anyone following me into the building. I called the social worker as soon as I got inside,” Will said. “Remember her? Traci Bryant? She said to sit tight and she and Nayana would think of something.”
Mara took a deep breath, trying to force her knees and elbows to stop shaking. It didn’t work. “Do you think they’re going to be able to move up the trial? How long are we going to have to live like this?”
That was the wrong thing to say. Mara felt the wrongness of it, hanging in the air between them.
“As long as we have to,” Will said grimly.
Mara reached for her smartphone. The screen was lit up with text messages and missed calls, but she navigated away to the web browser. What she saw made her stomach churn.
“Will?”
“You aren’t looking online, are you? Don’t, Mara. Seriously. People can say what they want, but we don’t have to read it.”
Mara held out the phone to him. It shook a little in her outstretched hand. “You might want to read this.”
IS MARA STERLING PREGNANT?
April 13, 2011
Anti-timeline rectification advocacy group One Life, One Time has taken up the cause of one Chris Sterling, whose FundItUp campaign to prevent his brother and sister-in-law’s time wreck has gone viral this week. Now, OLOT has raised new concerns about the time wreck case at the center of the media firestorm. Those closest to the couple have raised their own suspicions that Mara Sterling may be pregnant.
Neighbor Sarah Hiddleston told the Associated Press, “It just makes sense. Last week, I had to help her up the stairs because she was so nauseated. We can hear her throwing up all the time too. These walls are terribly thin, just terrible.”
If Mara Sterling is pregnant, One Life, One Time is even more justified in taking up the cause against this time wreck. Altering the course of the Sterlings’ life map would almost certainly eradicate the possibility of this pregnancy. Particularly when a child is at stake, a time wreck is far too great a risk.
“This can’t be happ
ening,” Will said, passing the phone back to her. He moved the blinds slightly to the side with one finger and peered through.
“Are there more people out there?” Mara asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
Will’s cell phone buzzed, and Mara’s stomach clenched in response.
“It’s Traci,” Will said, relief flooding his voice. He flicked the phone on to speaker.
“How are you two holding up?” Traci asked. She sounded breathless.
“Like goldfish trying to hide in a fishbowl,” Mara said.
“I don’t know how we’re going to leave the apartment again,” Will said. “There are people camped out front.” That was enough to make Mara jolt out of her chair, rubbing her throbbing arm as she did. She walked over to the window, ignoring Will’s whispered plea. Don’t look.
Dozens of people were crowded onto the sidewalk in front of their building. She could see one of the neighbors—Mr. Sylvan, the sweet old widower who lived two floors up—elbowing his way through. At every turn, someone was shoving a microphone at him or trying to take his picture. Out in the parking lot, a van was just pulling up. Another reporter, Mara thought, until a group of young girls with poster board signs piled out.
It was a strange thing, seeing her face and Will’s plastered next to handwritten slogans. “One Life, One Time,” several of them said. One had writing too small for Mara to read. Another had a picture of Jason’s mug shot and read, “Keep criminals in jail.”
“We know,” Traci said. “Nayana and I have been monitoring the situation. The level of interest in your particular case is certainly unusual.”
The protestors with their poster board signs approached the sidewalk. Several of the reporters turned their cameras toward them. Mara closed her eyes and barely listened to Traci until she heard her say, “The judge has approved an immediate trial date.”