And together our hands shot out in front of us, mimicking the choreography, and without warning to anyone else in the boutique, we lent our voices to the worldwide sensation that was N-Sync. “Tearing up my heart when I’m with you, but when we are a part I feel it too-ooo…”
Becky grabbed her chest and swayed. “And no matter what I do I feel the paa-aainnn, with or without you!” It was fabulous.
We changed back out of the dresses, making note of our favorites and apologizing to the lovely attendants, who did little more than laugh at our antics and wish us a nice evening.
I drove Becky home, stopping in her driveway.
“Thanks for the ride, girlie,” she said, winking.
“Anytime, Beck,” I smiled.
She leaned over and hugged me, “Love ya, don’t get too frisky with Brad tonight, you’ve just got a few more weeks…” she laughed slyly.
I laughed, “You think I’m the one we should be worried about?” I scoffed, “I think not,” and laughed again, “Love you!”
Becky grinned and hopped out of the car. Her curls fell, bouncing around her face. The sun was behind her, and it fell in between the little tresses, giving her a very ethereal appearance. “I’ll see you later,” she said. But I never saw Becky again.
She scampered off into her house, her floral skirt dancing around her legs, and her little backpack tucked casually over one shoulder. I waited for her to get into the house, and then I backed out of the driveway, turning to head towards my home. I was so elated after our day, I had almost forgotten about the secret curdling inside my family, and the fear and remorse that always crept up on me as I pulled into the driveway, unsure of what I would be coming home to. Or what I wouldn’t. But that particular day, I didn’t give anything a second thought. I was sincerely happy.
I rolled the windows down, and weaved through the neighborhood, making my way around to my house. As I turned the corner, and started heading in towards my driveway, I saw a man standing in the middle of the asphalt. It was my father.
My heart stopped in my chest. I hadn’t seen him in months. This would have been peculiar, but for the past few years, his whereabouts had been so obscure, and his appearances so few and far between, this was nothing less than usual. Nevertheless, I was filled with emotion. It never got easier, no matter how regular his departures became.
I sped up to the driveway, and stopped the car on the curb. I threw off my seat belt and whipped the door open, running up the driveway. My father was very pale, and looked rather ill. I burst into tears.
“Daddy! Dad!!” I rushed over to him, flinging my arms around his chest. As soon as he had seen the car pulling up, a soft smile had crept over his face.
“Alice,” he said warmly, softly. He sounded so tired. Like he was evaporating.
“I can’t believe you’re back, I missed you so much,” I was sobbing into his chest, holding on so tight I thought I might knock him over. Whenever he returned from an excursion, he was always inexplicably exhausted. It generally took him a day or two to fully recover. I can imagine the mental and physiological stress of repeated time travel would have been almost unbearable.
I felt his arms close around me, very lightly. It was as if he was composed solely out of air, but he was gently deflating. I was terrified of letting him go. I thought sure he would vanish within my grasp, or collapse onto the ground.
“Dad…Dad, I love you, you can’t go again, you can’t go,” I wept, tears streaming down my face, my nose dripping on his shirt.
“Alice,” he said again, “I love you so much.”
I looked up at him, and he put a hand on my head. His face contorted ever so softly, and he began to cry. “I wish I could make it stop.”
I buried my face in his chest. “Please, please don’t go,” I sobbed. I thought if I begged him, maybe the gods, perhaps the universe, something would let him stay with me. I sniffled, wiping tears from my eyes, but not letting go of him.
“Dad, I’m graduating.”
He smiled again, but it was constrained, holding back more tears. “I’m so proud of you,” he wept quietly, “Alice, I don’t know what to do.”
“Stay,” I said, “Just stay. I know you can’t control it, but, Dad, I don’t want you to leave anymore,” and my face contorted inward, and I grabbed hold of him as tightly as I could. I felt his arms strengthen, and wrap around my shoulders. From behind us, I heard the sound of the front door opening, and my mother scream, “Conner!”
Then suddenly, I felt sicker than I have ever felt in my entire life.
My stomach lurched up into my chest, and I watched as everything around me blurred, and then shifted like the static across a television screen.
We vanished. To this day, I imagine my mother standing there aghast, in the empty driveway by herself. Staring at nothing, tears coursing down her face.
1900
I couldn’t breathe. Everything around me was spinning, and my stomach felt like it was tied in a thousand knots. And it was cold, it was very cold, and the first thing I remember being aware of was the smell of the earth, very strong. Something dripped onto my forehead, and I blinked my eyes and my vision slowly came into focus. I didn’t know it then, but after that moment, my life would never be the same again. The fog does not linger over this memory. The harsh reality of regret has forced me to relive these moments over and over again, wishing there was something I could have done—or some way I could have gone back—to change it.
I looked up to see where the drip had come from, and realized I was in the middle of a forest. I felt more water droplets dripping down from the trees, running down my face and my body—and suddenly I felt cold to my bones. I grabbed my arms around my chest, and gasped. I looked down and became conscious of the fact that I was stark naked.
I squealed, and tried to stand up to hide, but fell backwards into the brush. Little thorns pricked at my skin, and I felt my feet sink into the rocky mud underneath me. Then I heard my father’s voice, calling for me.
“Alice!?”
“Dad!” I shouted fearfully.
My father poked his head out from behind the tree just a few feet behind me. He was naked too, hiding awkwardly behind the trunk. It was apparent from his face that despite his sincere concern for my well-being, he was also extremely ashamed and embarrassed.
“Alice, are you okay?”
For no reason that I can explain now, beyond pure fear and confusion, I began to cry, naked and cold in the mud and bushes. “Yes,” I sniffled, “Don’t look!”
My father was staring at the ground. “You’re not hurt?”
“No,” I said. I was shaking. I could see my breath condensing in the air as I spoke, painting a shy little cloud in front of me, which quickly retreated as the temperature crept up to it. I suddenly recognized how cold it actually was. My teeth started chattering, and I could feel my tears cooling on my cheeks.
Then it hit me.
I started to panic, and my breath stopped in my throat. I couldn’t even speak, the words would not come out. I looked at my father, eyes blank, glazed over in fear.
“Da-ad,” I coughed quietly. The words crept out between my shortened, stifled breaths.
“Alice, it’s alright...” he put a hand in the air, “Just breathe honey, it’s okay...”
“Dad...” I mumbled, my lips quivering and my eyes welling up with tears. My skin was turning an ashy blue in the chilled air. “Where are we?”
My father looked at my face, still hiding behind the tree. “Alice, I’m not sure where we are...” he paused. I knew exactly what he meant. “But it will be okay.”
I blinked, staring at him. “Dad...are we? Did we?” My voice cracked. I couldn’t bear to say it.
My father nodded. His face grew very pale. “I’m not sure how this happened. This has never happened before...” he looked down at the ground, “I’ve never brought anyone else back with me.” His voice started to quiver, and I could see the guilt and the hurt build up behind
his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Alice,” he whispered quietly, looking into my eyes, “I never wanted to bring you into any of this.”
I just stared at him. Hiding my body. Freezing in the wet cold. I felt numb. I had no idea what to do or say.
“I promise it will be okay,” he said, composing himself a bit. “Alice, it will be alright. I love you.”
My father’s reassurance settled my nerves a bit. He had done this so many times. He was my father. He would keep me safe. I nodded. Sitting and staring blankly behind the bushes.
My father started rustling around behind the tree. He was looking out into the forest.
“We have to get clothes, and we have to get you warm,” he said, peering out from around the tree again. He vanished back behind the tree again, and I could see his head swiveling around, staring out through the trees, looking for answers.
I remained where I was. The cold wasn’t important, it was a mere inconvenience. I was still in shock. I didn’t want any of it to be real. It couldn’t be real.
“Alice,” my father said, “There’s a clearing up ahead. I think I see a house through there.” My father pointed through a narrow patch of trees a couple hundred feet ahead of us. I thought I could see smoke rising up, but I wasn’t sure. The sky was very gray, and concealed what it wanted behind the clouds.
“I’m going to go up to the house and see what I can find. I’ll be right back, okay?”
I nodded deftly, and remained shivering in the mud. My father scampered out from behind the tree, covering himself as best he could. I could hear his feet moving through the forest, walking across the broken sticks and jagged rocks, the little thorn bushes reaching out and tearing at his legs.
This moment runs round and round in my head like the second hand on a clock. I’m not sure what my father was thinking. I can only imagine that he must have assumed that he wouldn’t experience another shift for a while, giving him enough time to procure cover for us. He couldn’t predict when the shifts would happen. He must have known there was a risk leaving me. In the moment, it didn’t cross my mind at all. I honestly wasn’t thinking about much. I was stricken with fear and alarm, and was focusing only on the fact that I knew I was real. I had no idea what else might be. Perhaps it all was a figment of my imagination. But I should have recognized the danger. To this day I ask myself why he left me.
A few minutes later I heard twigs snapping in the underbrush, and saw my father hustling through the foliage, carrying a big wool blanket.
“Alice!” My father was running towards me, as best he could through the dense forest.
“Dad!” I stood up, crouching behind the bushes and covering myself to the best of my ability. But the fear was overwhelming. I had the sudden appreciation that my father had returned, and that I should not leave his side.
He ran up to me and wrapped the blanket around me, hiding himself behind the bushes.
I started to panic again, seeing him standing there shivering, wondering what we were going to do next. “Dad...Dad, what do we do?”
My father opened his mouth to answer me when a cry let out in the near distance, followed by the ring of a single shot from a pistol.
“Alice—.” My father’s image started to blur and shift, the static hissing in and out.
“Dad!” I reached for him, lunging and grabbed his hands, but mine passed right through them.
In a moment his image had dipped in and out again, and then fizzled quickly over once more. He was gone.
I stood there, clinging to any hope I had left, in horror and disbelief. “Dad, Dad!!”
I was screaming. Hysterically, I began to run through the forest, darting behind trees, looking for my father. “Dad! Dad where are you?!”
He couldn’t have gone. He couldn’t have left me. It wasn’t real. I couldn’t believe it. Despite the blanket, the cold crept over me. I felt fear puddle in the pit of my stomach, and I bent over, and my stomach lurched, heaving yellowish bile into the dirt and snow.
Everything was spinning again, and I dropped down, capitulating, into the mud. My shoulders tightened up, and my diaphragm contracted inward. I gasped, and my face contorted. I cried out to no one, and began to sob.
What must have been about ten minutes later, but felt like eons, I heard another rustling in the forest. Abruptly, I stopped weeping, and wiped my face on the blanket. Fearing the owner of the pistol might be near, I hid behind one of the trees, crawling further into the blanket.
Then my heart stopped; what if it was my father? Perhaps he had fallen back through? He had come after me.
I poked my head out from around the tree, and saw a young boy standing in the forest, hunting around for something. He was not carrying a gun, and had to be just about a year younger than I was, give or take. When I saw his clothes, my heart sank even further. He was dressed in very plain garments, tattered around the edges, and stained just so slightly from years of wear. His shirt was a discolored white, a peasant frock that reminded me of movies about the Industrial Revolution, or perhaps the Civil War. He had brown suspenders holding up darker brown slacks that looked just a little too large for him, and worn, black leather boots.
He called out.
“Hello? Hello there?”
I sank back, shivering, further into the tree. Clearly, he had heard my father—or perhaps seen him steal the blanket? Confusion, fear, and guilt rushed over my mind. I didn’t know what to do, whether to remain hidden, hoping that my father would return to the woods to find me. Or to give myself up.
The boy was moving closer. It became apparent that he was going to find me, whether I wanted him to or not. I could run, or I could come out.
I stuck my head out from around the tree.
The boy saw me, and stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh—ah—hello,” he said nervously. He saw my frigid face, and my small form, wrapped awkwardly in the blanket.
He took a step closer, running his hands through his hair. I felt like a wild animal, about to dart away at any second. It felt like he was trying to tame me.
“Miss,” he said quietly, “are you hurt? Are you alright?”
I stared back at him. This was not the question I was hoping for. The pain and the dread crept back up in my throat, tugging at my heart. I felt my face heat up, and the tears begin to make their way irrepressibly from behind my eyes. My lips quivered and the boy reached out to me.
“Mother!” He looked over his shoulder and called out into the woods. I heard another body come tromping through the thicket, and saw a form appear a few hundred feet in the distance. “It’s a lady!” The boy held out his hand, his face painted over with pity, and concern.
By the time the woman made her way through the brush, I had reasonably collected myself. I assessed her figure, observing her colorless guise, and tightly braided hair, complemented with a little lace cap in the back. Unless this was all a hallucination—which I wished nothing more than for that to be the case—my biggest fears had become a reality.
The woman stepped up to me and grabbed my shoulders. I did not expect such close contact, and stretched back as much as I could without offending her. Her eyes were also filled with commiseration, and she made little cooing noises as she approached me.
“Oh my, my dear what happened to you?” she said. Her voice was very gentle.
I stifled back tears, and sniffled. I was quiet for a moment, thinking about what on earth I could possibly say to them. They both watched me, silently.
“I, um, I’m not sure what happened,” I told them.
The woman shook her head, frowning, “But dear, you have no clothes, in the middle of the freezing woods,” she sighed, “You have no idea what happened?”
“I…I…” The tears started to flow again, which aided me in my case. “I think I was robbed. I’m not sure what happened, I didn’t see them. They came in the night, and left me here. I hit my head—.” I touched the back of my scalp, tenderly, and I began to cry harder again, from the pure calam
ity and disbelief of the entire situation.
“Oh dear me, you sweet, sweet girl.” The woman shook her head, horrified by the images of what I must have endured, in her mind, “We will help you. You don’t have to be frightened. Everything will be okay.” She smiled at me, reassuringly. The boy stood behind her, smiling and nodding, offering his condolences for what I must have suffered.
I didn’t answer them. As they walked me back to their house, I remained tacit in my weeping. My father had said everything would be okay. It was anything but that. I smiled when they spoke to me, and expressed my gratitude for their help. But inside, I was falling apart. The ache was overwhelming. I was in an expanding state of denial, waiting to suddenly wake up, or for my father to materialize in their kitchen, and take me back to 1997. To Becky. To my prom dress. To my mother.
The woman sent her son to contact the police, or the authorities, as she had stated, and her son sat with me while we waited. She gave me a dress to wear. I felt ill as I slipped it on. I felt like the more I participated in their world, as soon as I put on their clothing, took part in their lives, that I was accepting the reality. I was accepting my fate. I stood, confounded by the little patches of white lace that covered my body, with the little zipper up the back and creeping up my neck. I felt like it was strangling me. Slowly taking away the life that I knew, and holding me hostage in another world. In the past.
A few hours later, an elderly police officer arrived at the home. He walked very purposefully into the kitchen, with one hand in his pocket, and the other carrying a newspaper. He was wearing big, lumbering black boots up to his mid calves that clunked loudly on the hardwood floor as he walked.
The woman whispered something to him, and pointed towards me. The officer had a very large handlebar mustache, speckled with flecks of gray and white age. He stepped towards me, and nodded his head. “Miss, I’m Officer John Sullivan. I heard you’ve run into a bit of trouble. I’m very sorry for that, and I’m here to help you. We’ll get everything straightened out.”
His tone was very calming, the first thing that had actually felt reassuring since hugging my father in the driveway. I was still in shock, and my tears had all but run dry. I was very pale, and my lips were chapped. I just nodded back at him.
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