by Ellen Smith
“Grab some T-shirts too,” Mara said. “And your razor and shaving cream.”
This was his Mara-in-charge. In the next life map, she could be a military strategist. Or an event planner.
She could be anything she wanted to be.
I hope she’ll still want to be with me.
Will threw the contents of a dresser drawer into an old duffel bag. That should be enough clothes for both of them. When he returned to the family room, Mara had a gallon-size plastic bag of pill bottles in her good hand. She was staring intently at a framed picture by the TV.
It was their wedding picture. Mara looked like a china doll, dressed in white with lacy sleeves covering both arms. She’d tossed her veil over Will’s head, too, and they were kissing under it.
That had been a good kiss. Will reached forward to recreate it, but when he lifted her chin, he saw that Mara’s face had crumpled.
“I can’t,” she said. “This is so wrong, Will. The time wreck—it’s almost worse than the shooting. We’re letting Jason take away everything we’ve built.”
“But we’ll get it back,” Will said. “Even better next time. Same us. Same you and me. No shooting.”
Mara didn’t say anything.
“Right?” He was hedging now, trying to push her to say the words.
“I’m not like you, Will,” Mara said. “I can’t just believe in something, no matter how much I want to.”
It was now or never. “So what did you tell Dr. Hendrix that day?”
“I lied. I said I was willing to go through with a time wreck no matter what.”
Will’s heart stopped.
“But only because I thought you were.”
“What?”
“You came back from your appointment so quickly. I thought that maybe the PTSD was so bad you would do anything to get rid of it. And I wouldn’t ask you to—”
“No.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to live through the shooting and the nightmares and everything else just for me. I would never ask that.”
“But I would do it,” Will said. “In a heartbeat. I would never give you up.”
“But what if you’re wrong?” Mara asked. “What if we don’t meet in the next life map? It’s a possibility, Will. We have to deal with it.”
Okay, Will wanted to say. Let’s call it off. We can run away if we have to. Start over again far away from everyone and everything. We’ll give ourselves new names and new lives. It won’t matter where we are or what we do next as long as we’re together.
Yes. It would matter. Once the shock of it all wore off, when the media storm was a thing of the past and they were a long way away from their fishbowl life in DC, Mara would resent him for letting her give it all up. She’d think back to the time when they could have had a choice not to be in pain and chose to be together instead.
He couldn’t let her do that. And she wouldn’t let him do that, either.
“Okay, one step at a time,” Will said. “We’ll start somewhere else. What about our engagement picture?”
“What about it?” Mara laid the plastic bag on the top of the piano and unzipped the top with one hand. She retrieved the large bottle of chalky antacids, popped the top, and shook out two tablets.
Will took the silver-framed portrait off the top of the piano. Their smiling faces were covered with a fine layer of dust.
“This is going to happen again,” Will said. “Exactly the same way. Right?”
“I want it to,” Mara said softly. “I really, really do. I hate that we’re risking this at all.”
Will pointed to the picture again. “Look, we’re sitting on the lawn at Adams Morgan U. See?”
Mara nodded.
“Jason didn’t change that. Even after we do the time wreck, we’ll still be going to the same school. Do you really think you’ll be able to resist this face for four whole years?” He held the frame under his chin and batted his eyes.
“If I see you, I’ll fall in love with you,” Mara said. “That’s pretty much what happened in this life map.”
“So I’ll make sure you see me,” Will said. He waited for her to contradict him and say, “You can’t promise that or how can you be so sure?”
But she didn’t. “Perfect,” Mara said, and she leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him.
Will pulled back. “Hold up. Since when do you believe in fate?”
“I don’t,” Mara said. “But I believe in you.”
A kiss could say a lot of things. I love you and I miss you and goodbye, usually. Sometimes it could say you’re the best thing that ever happened to me or I want to spend every last minute of this life with you.
Will tried to make this kiss say all of that, plus one more thing:
I wish I could give you what you really need. God help me, I’m going to try.
I Was Almost Mara Sterling:
How Would Her Time Wreck Change My Life?
By Katie El Doran
On October 18, 2002, I was a junior at Adams Morgan University. For the first time, I had elected to stay on campus during fall break instead of going home. I had an internship that semester and I needed the time to catch up on my schoolwork.
Sounds exciting, right?
On October 18, 2002, I watched as my roommate and all my friends left for long weekends at home, road trips, and concerts. Then, as the dorm became eerily silent, I sat at my desk to study.
I didn’t emerge from my room until late that night, when I realized that I desperately needed something to eat. Sure, I could have walked to a nearby pizza place or hit up a local store, but I didn’t want to walk around DC at night. I decided to stay on campus, where I felt safe. There was only one place that was still running over fall break: the Student Union.
I’ve gone over the events that happened next so often over the last eight years that I can no longer distinguish which memories are mine and which are scenarios I have imagined. I wasn’t expecting anything noteworthy to happen that night, and therefore, I took no mental notes. I was probably still thinking about the work I had left to do, but who knows? Who remembers now? Maybe I was thinking of calling my family to say hi, or wondering what my friends were up to on their various adventures.
Here’s what I do know: on October 18, 2002, I walked by the mail room. I checked my mailbox. I think I remember stopping and looking at the bulletin board by the Career Center. It’s possible that I stopped by the student art gallery, as I often did. I know that I went to the café and picked up a small salad, a soda, and a pint of ice cream. I know that I checked out at 9:02, because I still have the receipt. And I know I decided at the last minute to walk out the back door instead of going back around, through the mail room, to the front exit. I knew I was going to be hitting the books as soon as I got back to the dorm room and I thought a quick walk would help keep me energized.
What I remember next is impossible to forget. I remember seeing a security guard running back to the Student Union. Then I saw another. And another. The friendly faces that so often checked my student ID or waved at me on my way to class were now stern. Serious. Maybe (in retrospect) even scared.
I stood still for a long time, trying to think of what to do. I didn’t know what was going on. I heard sirens in the distance.
I was still rooted to my place when the police and paramedics arrived on the scene. That was when someone saw me, a lone girl standing awkwardly in the middle of a sidewalk. A police officer sat me down and asked me question after question, all while I tried to explain that I hadn’t seen anything, didn’t know anything. I understand now that he was trying to discern if I had been involved in planning the shooting. At the time, I was simply shocked and confused.
After the officer was satisfied that I was as confused as I said I was, he told me that the campus was on lockdown and I needed to go inside. A security guard escorted me to my dormitory and walked me all the way up to my room. Once I was alone, I remember turning on
the TV, and that was when I found out what had happened.
As I watched the horror unfold on the local news, five little words have haunted my every waking moment:
That could have been me.
Did I see Will Sterling when I walked through the mail room? Sometimes I think I did and other times I’m sure I was alone. I didn’t know Will then and I still don’t. Perhaps we passed each other without noticing. Perhaps I was there just before he arrived.
Did I see Mara Sterling (then Gaines) in the café? I know I saw another girl there, but I’m not sure if it was her. I don’t know Mara, either. I believe I saw Mara simply because no other girl has said that she was in the café that night. But then, who wants to relive October 18, 2002?
Jason Mann does. And apparently, Will and Mara Sterling do too.
I can’t say I blame them. On paper, timeline rectification looks like a dream come true. I don’t begrudge Will and Mara wanting to live their lives without this shooting. I admire Jason for being willing to work to change what he did.
My concern is in whether the timeline rectification will truly have the results that they desire. What if Jason hasn’t truly rehabilitated? What if he decides to shoot again? What if this time, I don’t make that split-second decision to take the long way back to the dormitory? What if this time, it’s me, not Mara, who sees Jason first?
These are fair questions. I’m disappointed that the Justice Department hasn’t been more forthcoming in assuring the public that the rehabilitation process is effective or that all the variables of the crime have been considered. We are all affected by the ripples of these tragic events. Jason, Will, and Mara are the principal players—but they aren’t the only players.
On October 18, 2002, I could have been the victim of Jason Mann’s shooting.
On October 18, 2002, I could still be the victim of Jason Mann’s shooting.
Categories: #YSOLO, Perspectives, Politics, Millennials
Chapter Twenty-Three
MARA
Trial day. Mara remembered before she even opened her eyes. She kept them closed a little longer, trying to soak in the feel of her body against the mattress, the sun from the window hitting her face, and the sound of Will’s long, slow breathing.
Chris hadn’t come after all. Mara didn’t know whether to feel relieved or scared. If he hadn’t come to the apartment, had he somehow found out that the trial had been moved up? Was he planning to confront them there? Mara pictured the dramatic standoff on the steps of the courthouse, in front of the people and the cameras. Mara felt the heat rising in her chest.
No, he was probably just en route. Maybe he’d gotten to the District late last night and decided to wait until the morning.
Except this morning was already too late.
Mara started to roll over before the pillow she’d wedged under her right side stopped her. Good thing too. The deep ache was already burning in her injured shoulder. She should get up. Take her meds. Take a shower. She should eat some breakfast to keep the nausea at bay. She should get dressed for court.
Should, should, should.
Mara lay still on her side of the bed, watching Will sleep, trying to memorize the spread of his hair on the pillow and the pattern of light, golden stubble dotting his jaw. Where they were going today, there were no guarantees they’d end up together—however much Will seemed to believe there was.
But they had right now. No matter what happened at the trial today, she had Will right now. She was going to soak up every last minute.
* * * * *
Over the years, Mara had come to think of it as “their” courthouse. It was the first place she had remembered seeing Jason Mann in person after the shooting. She was grateful that she couldn’t remember the night in the Student Union, but the pictures of Jason she’d seen in newspaper clippings and online articles had painted a vivid picture. She’d expected a teen with bloodshot eyes and his bleached hair sticking out in all directions, like his mug shot.
In that first trial, though, he hadn’t looked anything like she expected. Someone had made Jason get a haircut. It had been smoothed down and gelled into a classic good-boy hairstyle. He wore a navy-blue double-breasted suit and khakis that fit him more naturally than the dirty T-shirt he’d been wearing in the mug shot. He’d looked like the kind of boy she might have run into at her parents’ country club, the kind of boyfriend her family had probably envisioned for her. If things had been different.
After that first trial, she’d mostly heard of Jason from the endless series of updates from her lawyer. Jason—or more specifically, his lawyer—had appealed the length of the sentence. Asked for him to be tried as a minor, since he had only just turned eighteen. Asked for house arrest instead of jail time. There seemed to be no end to the special exceptions Jason felt entitled to.
Well, he’s getting a special exception this time. If we get this time wreck—if he gets this time wreck—he’ll never even know that he was once a school shooter. And neither will we. Mara gritted her teeth as she walked hand-in-hand with Will into the courtroom. Courtroom C, the placard said, but it hardly looked like the courtroom they had been in before, for Jason’s first trial. It had gray walls and Formica tables instead of rich wood paneling. It was smaller, too, with just enough room at the table for her and Will with Nayana, Traci, and Dr. Hendrix.
A shuffling sound at the door behind them made Will tense. Mara tried rubbing his hand with her thumb, but he appeared to be focusing just on his breathing.
It was Jason. Mara turned and watched him walk in, accompanied on one side by a guard and on another with someone Mara assumed was his rehabilitation officer. They sat at the other table. None of them so much as looked their way.
Probably for the best. Mara swore she could see the blood draining from Will’s face.
“Hey,” she whispered, giving him a nudge. “We’re okay.”
Will seemed to snap to attention. He gave her a wide, warm smile and squeezed her hand back. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he whispered back. “I’ve got you.”
I’m not the one who was worried.
Mara looked left and right again, waiting for someone—anyone—to say something. The loudest sound in the room was the rehabilitation officer pouring a glass of water. Traci caught her eye and gave her a big smile, as if they were friends meeting for lunch instead of waiting for a judge.
When the judge entered the room, even that was anticlimactic. His robe flapped unflatteringly behind him, making him look like a short, squat boy playing dress-up in his father’s clothes. The judge didn’t seem impressed at all by the idea of timeline rectification. He didn’t blink when Jason’s charges were read aloud. His eyes didn’t linger over Mara’s shoulder.
Jason’s lawyer began talking at length about his progress and rehabilitation. It was the same lawyer Mara remembered from all the other trials. What a windbag.
Nayana looked as if she were paying close attention to every word, but Mara could see her foot slowly tapping under the table. Traci was less discreet. She sighed loudly and then tried to cover it up by faking a coughing fit. Mara nudged Will to see if he noticed, but he was staring down at his hands as if the hangnail on his thumb was the most interesting thing in the world.
Mara felt that someone was staring at them for five long minutes before she was brave enough to turn and check. Sure enough, Jason was looking right at them. Normally, people looked away quickly when they were caught staring, but Jason simply met her gaze. She wished she could read his face. She wished she could read his mind. Was he staring at them because he was seeing, for the first time, how much hurt he’d caused them? Was he hoping he’d get a chance to make it right? Or was he just staring them down, hoping they wouldn’t mess up this last chance for him to have his freedom?
Maybe neither. Maybe both.
Mara couldn’t tell.
“Before hearing remarks from the timeline rectification specialist assigned to this case
,” the lawyer said, “is there anything you would like to tell the court, Mr. Mann?”
It sounded to Mara like he was chastising a young child. Say you’re sorry and go take turns on the slide. Jason stood up, buttoning the top button of his suit coat as if he were the lawyer.
“Your Honor, I would just like to express my personal regret for my actions on October 18, 2002. While it’s true that I was young and experiencing difficulties of my own at the time, I did know better than to discharge a firearm in a public area. I also deeply regret the impact of my actions on Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, who I did not even know at the time. I hope that I will be allowed a chance to take back what I did.” The lawyer moved forward as if to shush him, but the judge nodded for Jason to continue. “But regardless of Your Honor’s ruling today, I am deeply sorry for my actions and for the hurt that I have caused.”
The whole room seemed to shift at once when Jason sat back down. Traci and Nayana both cleared their throats, but only Nayana stood up. Dr. Hendrix started jotting notes on his yellow legal pad, but when Mara peeked at the page, she saw he was just doodling. She gripped Will’s hand tighter. This is it.
Now Nayana was speaking. Her voice sounded clear and sure as she said all the little phrases Mara had come to hate:
“Disastrous, life-changing consequences.”
“Incurable chronic pain.”
“Suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“Both parties would clearly benefit from a timeline rectification.”
Mara waited for the judge to say something, like, “Really? They look fine to me.” Or else, “Well, it doesn’t seem like anything they can’t handle. They’ve done a great job so far. I’m impressed.”
But the judge just nodded, looking back over some of the papers. Her victim impact statement was probably in there. Hers and Will’s. Mara realized she was holding her breath.
“The court has considered the nature and circumstances of the offense. I have also heard and considered the aggravating and mitigating factors of the original offense for Mr. Mann. The defendant has no prior criminal history, did not attempt to conceal his involvement when he was discovered, and has successfully completed a rehabilitation program. The permanent impact of Mrs. Sterling’s physical injury and Mr. Sterling’s psychological distress have also been considered in determining the propriety of resentencing Mr. Mann to complete a timeline rectification.