The Clay Lion

by Jahn, Amalie

  As I was lacing up my skates, I heard a girl’s voice calling to Branson from across the ice. Jill Overstreet was arriving with a group of her friends and I watched my brother’s face light up as he acknowledged her with a wave and a smile.

  “Who’s the girl?” my dad asked as he adjusted his scarf securely around his neck.

  “Her name is Jill,” I responded, not sure how much I wanted to share with my parents about Branson’s crush.

  “Do she and Branson have something going on?” he pried further.

  “I don’t know, Dad. I’ve seen them talking at school together. I think they have a few of the same classes. You’ll have to ask him, though,” I declared, unwilling to divulge Branson’s secrets.

  After seeing Branson’s drawings of Jill in the previous timeline, I made an effort to observe them together at school. It seemed that the feeling was mutual between them and I had encouraged Branson to sneak a stuffed bear into her locker for Valentine’s Day the week before. Apparently, she had been charmed by the notion, as I had seen them together frequently ever since. I also heard Branson chatting with her on the phone several times over the past week.

  It was suddenly obvious to me why Branson had suggested that we go skating instead of bowling as he had in the other timelines. He was aware that Jill would be skating. Perhaps they had even planned to meet up. The thought of Branson being in love warmed my heart but also dredged up the longing I felt when I thought of the loss of love in my own life. As I stood on the edge of the rink, adjusting my earmuffs, I knew that Charlie, only a few miles away, was celebrating his grandmother’s birthday. I was painfully aware that I was not a part of the celebration.

  I pushed away the dull ache that thoughts of Charlie brought to my stomach and stepped out on to the ice. The slickness beneath my blades encouraged me forward, and I closed my eyes and made my way gracefully to the center of the rink. I was joined by Sarah, who clasped my hand as she glided by, whisking me out into the throng of fellow skaters making their way around the rink. Skating, unlike most things, came quite naturally to me. There was something about the speed and the freedom of the ice that had always appealed to me.

  We dodged and weaved around the others on the ice, laughing and trying to outdo one another. We passed Branson, who was clearly attempting to show off his skating ability to Jill. There were small children, clinging anxiously to their parents’ legs. I caught sight of my parents, lazily skimming across the glassy surface, hand in hand, my mother laughing openly at something my father was saying.

  Eventually, Sarah and I moved to the center of the rink and spent quite a while practicing our spins and jumps. After some time, I noticed that my family was no longer on the ice. I scanned the perimeter of the rink and discovered them seated together at a picnic table with Jill. My brother was crouched down with his head between his knees.

  Instantly, I knew what was wrong. I pushed myself as quickly as I could across the ice, nearly taking out several children along the way. Sarah called after me, but I continued toward Branson without responding. As I approached the table, I could hear Branson’s strained breathing. He wheezed loudly with each intake of air. My mother was behind him, rubbing his back in an attempt to get him to calm down. I squeezed past Jill who was standing by his side and crouched in front of him.

  “What happened?” I asked my parents.

  Jill responded quietly, as if Branson’s condition was somehow her fault. “He was fine, and then all of a sudden he said he was getting tired and that he needed to sit down. I made him keep going and then he started coughing. He made it over here, but now it’s like he can’t catch his breath. I didn’t know he had asthma. I’m sorry.”

  “He doesn’t have asthma,” I barked at Jill, and then to Branson I said, “Close your eyes and concentrate on filling your lungs. Slowly. It’s going to be okay.”

  Somehow, I remembered the instructions Dr. Rudlough spoke to Branson at his initial consultation in the original timeline. Within a few minutes, Branson’s breathing had returned to normal and the coughing had subsided. In the wake of the episode, he was left weakened and embarrassed. Jill left quickly with her friends and my parents headed to the parking lot. They decided it would be best for Branson if they pulled the car around closer to the rink so he would not have to make the walk. As we unlaced our skates together, he turned to face me, looking directly into my eyes.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For talking me down. I don’t know what that was, but it was scary. I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

  I was careful in choosing the words I wanted to say to him in that moment. I knew that I would be going back to the present timeline in the morning and that my hours with him were numbered. I also knew that, yet again, Branson would not be there to greet me when I arrived. However, I had learned during my journeys that my reactions had the ability to set the tone for how he would deal with his illness for the duration of his battle. For him to feel brave, I would need to be the one to show courage. I pulled my collar up over my neck, shielding it from the cold air.

  “When I had my accident, it was scary. But when I was laying there in the coma, listening to you talking to me, the scariest part wasn’t that I thought I might be dead. The scariest part was that you thought I might be dead.” I paused, taking his hand in mine. “Life is crazy Branson. Today, everything might be fine. Tomorrow, everything might be a disaster. But whatever happens, we have to have faith that we are on the right path. That we are living the life that was made for us. And we have to have courage, even if life doesn’t play out how we want it to. Promise me you will be brave Branson. Whatever happens, I believe in you. You can handle it.”

  Branson thought for a moment as he took his hand from mine to finish lacing his shoes. Finally he spoke, “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. You just… you never know.”

  “Tell me,” he demanded as we headed across the parking lot toward the car.

  “I don’t know Branson!” I exclaimed, averting my eyes from his glare. “It’s just, maybe I’ve been through what I’ve been through so that I can help you get through whatever it is that you will need to get through.”

  “So you think this thing, this cough, or whatever it is will be something I am going to need to ‘get through?’”

  “I don’t know Branson,” I said.

  “But you want me to promise that I’ll be brave?”

  “Yes.”

  He stopped as we reached the car, the engine running with my parents inside. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be brave.”

  Knowing that I had only a few hours left in my life to spend with Branson, it was all I could do to keep from openly sobbing throughout the remainder of the evening. I found though, despite the sadness, that I was still ready to move on to experience the rest of my life. Branson’s death no longer felt quite so much like the ending of a play, when the curtain drops and the lights fall away. It had become more like an intermission of sorts, in that, I was able to recognize now that there was more to come.

  So with heavy heart, on the final night of my trip, I said goodnight to Branson, and also, in my own way, goodbye for the very last time. I retreated to my bedroom where I allowed the tears to flow freely as I listened to him coughing from the room next door. It was hours before sleep finally came, but as the first ray of morning light shone through my window, I was instantly awake, excited to be returning home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  The present day that I returned to was very different from the one I had left behind at the beginning of my third trip. With a burst of light, I was torn from the past one final time and was restored to the present. My bedroom was the same as I had left it, and yet, I noticed several differences immediately upon my arrival.

  There was a large stack of text books on my desk. I read each title and flipped casually through them. There were two biology texts, an American history text, and a few
novels, all British. Also on my desk were several envelopes. They were all previously opened and I slipped the letters out of the envelopes one at a time. Each letter offered me acceptance to an individual college for the coming fall semester. State’s letter included a class schedule, my new roommate’s name and contact information, and a scholarship notification.

  I scanned my room, looking for other indications of how my life had played out in the fifteen months that had passed since I had been in the present. There was a photograph on my nightstand of me and Branson sitting together. He was in the hospital, wearing an ill-fitting gown and I was beside him on the bed. His face was gaunt and pale, but his eyes were bright. Despite the circumstances, we were smiling into the camera. My heart ached.

  My tablet was also on my nightstand and I powered it on. As it came to life, another photo of Branson was being used as the background. Based on what we were wearing, I could only assume that the photo was taken before prom of my senior year. I was kneeling beside Branson, wearing a long chiffon gown, my hair pinned elegantly on the top of my head. Branson, sitting stoically in his wheelchair, was wearing a tuxedo and bow tie. It was large on his frail frame, but he was delightfully handsome just the same. Jill Overstreet stood flanking Branson’s other side, a vision of loveliness in an emerald sequined gown. In no other timeline had Branson gone to prom. I could only imagine that his fondness for Jill inspired him to make the effort. I was in awe of my brother.

  As I scrolled through my tablet, there were several other photos of us together, along with new applications and journal entries. I stopped immediately as I encountered my calendar. I scanned the list of activities on my agenda from the past year. There were outings with Sarah, coinciding with college breaks. There were lunch dates with my mother. Every Tuesday, I had been to see Dr. Richmond for what I could only assume were therapy sessions. Three days a week the label PAS was typed.

  Puzzled by what I was involved in each week, I took another glance around my room. A set of scrubs was tossed on the floor and I picked them up for a closer examination. On the lapel was an ID badge with my photo listing me as a volunteer at Perryville Animal Shelter. I smiled at how my planning had paid off. Everything had come together and life appeared to be going well.

  I ventured out of my room into the unknown world of which I would have to become a part. The smell of coffee and waffles wafted up the stairs and I silently prayed that I would find both my mother and my father the kitchen. Before I made my way down to find out, I turned toward Branson’s room.

  I opened the door. Bright sunlight streamed through the window, bathing me in its warmth. The room was clean and bright, having been kept free from dust and dirt in the months since his passing. I could not help but smile at seeing the bed crisply made, as I could never recall it having been that way when Branson resided in the room. Soccer trophies and track medals lined the walls and his many books were piled neatly on his shelves. I brushed the spines with my fingertips as I walked by them. All of his favorites were there – historical fiction, travel journals, and geographic encyclopedias. On the bottom shelf was a small wicker basket full of trinkets. I carefully spilled the contents onto his bed.

  The treasures before me told the story of our lives together. There were ticket stubs from movies and concerts we attended. There was a yo-yo that had been a prized birthday present the year he turned seven and a harmonica he won at Boy Scout camp in the fifth grade. I flipped through photographs of our family frozen in time, smiling brightly from various locations during our childhood. We stood before the Capitol building, were buried to our necks in sand at the beach, and had our hands high over our heads on a roller coaster. The final photo was the most recent and was stamped with a date. It was from the spring of the year that he died. It moved me to know that he had kept his promise and we had ridden the coasters together on opening day after all. Each was a moment in time that would never be forgotten.

  Finally, among the fishing lures, key rings, and post cards, I spotted the clay lion. I picked it up carefully, as if it were sacred. It seemed incredible to me that he had kept it over the years, in the special place with all of his most valuable possessions. I wondered how Branson would feel about me taking it and decided that he would want me to have it. After returning the rest of the artifacts to the basket on the shelf, I placed the lion in my pocket.

  As I turned to leave the room, I noticed the spiral top of Branson’s sketch book peeking out from underneath his bed. I slid it from beneath the box spring and sat down to look through the pages. Each of the drawings I had seen before were still there, including the portrait of myself at the end.

  As I flipped through the book a second time, I found that the many sketches of Jill made me uncomfortable. I had been haunted by the belief that, because I had encouraged Branson to develop his relationship with her in the weeks before his illness began, I had caused her undue pain when she was forced to witness his passing. It was an action that could not be undone and I was plagued with the burden of my decision.

  I closed the sketchbook and carried it into my room, having decided there was a better place for the drawings than under Branson’s bed. I gave the lion a place of honor on my desk beside the college acceptance letters. I smiled to myself, knowing it would accompany me on my journey to State when the time came in a few weeks.

  I was jostled from my thoughts by the sound of my mother’s voice calling to me from the kitchen. I hurried down the stairs and was relieved to find both my mother and father seated together at the table.

  “Good morning, Glory,” said my father brightly.

  “Hi Daddy,” I replied. “The waffles smell good Mom.”

  “And I’ve got homemade syrup from Cooper’s,” she said. “The farmer that sells it had a little stand set up outside the store as I drove past yesterday afternoon. I know how you love real maple syrup!”

  “Cooper’s Hardware? It’s still open then?” I inquired.

  “Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” my father responded.

  “No reason,” I mumbled. Then I added, laughing at myself, “I must have dreamt that something happened I guess.”

  I had decided that I would not be sharing the knowledge of my trips with my parents. I saw no reason to concern them with all that had transpired over the course of my travels. Surely no good would come of it and I felt that we had all been through quite enough. I would spare them the truth.

  As I dove into the plate of waffles, they were even more delicious eaten with the knowledge that the hardware store was still standing and more importantly, that the Coopers were alive and well. It dawned on me, as I enjoyed my breakfast, that there would be much more to discover about what events had transpired during the fifteen months I had missed. As soon as I finished eating, I hurried off to fill in the missing pieces of my life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  PAS was clearly labeled on my calendar for the date of my return, so after breakfast, I dressed in the scrubs that were in a pile on my floor and drove to the Perryville Animal Shelter in the next town over. I was both pleased and saddened to discover that somehow, over the course of the missing months, I had acquired a new pre-owned car, the very same make and model as Charlie’s. My heart ached with longing as I started the engine, remembering our time together. It was bittersweet that I had chosen a car so similar to his. I wondered what my motivation had been.

  Upon my arrival at the shelter, I was greeted by a lone employee. Her nametag read Brenda. She seemed pleased that I was there and launched into a monologue about what needed to be done with the animals during my shift. When she was finished, I asked several questions about how things were to be done, to which she responded, “You act like you haven’t done this a hundred times before!”

  I laughed along with her, citing exhaustion as the reason for my lapse in memory. After a few minutes, she left me alone to check the health of several of the new kittens that had arrived overnight and to clean out cages. The kittens were sweet little
balls of orange and white fluff that mewed happily as I approached them. I checked each of them carefully for mites and fleas, felt their abdomens for distension, and looked in their ears for signs of infection. My summers spent at the veterinary clinic had served me well. The kittens seemed healthy enough, and I fed each of them from prefilled bottles of formula.

  I spent the next couple of hours cleaning out the cages and pens of the various animals that called the shelter home. I found the work to be relaxing and almost therapeutic, as I completed one cage after another. As I worked, several families came through the shelter, inquiring about adoption. They “ooh”ed and “aah”ed over the cats and dogs, each child more excited than the next.

  I was spraying down the last of the pens when I heard voices toward the end of the hall. It was a man and a child. The man’s voice seemed strangely familiar to me. I leaned around the cage door in an attempt to see them, but both had their backs toward me, so I returned to my work. I listened to them getting closer and closer as they meandered down the long corridor, stopping to look at each of the animals along the way. Finally, they arrived at the last pen. I looked up into the face of the grieving father from the hospital.

  He looked different than he had in the hospital courtyard all those months ago. His hair was almost completely grey but the color had returned to his complexion. I noticed that, after all the time that had passed, he still had not fully recovered from the accident as he was using a cane to walk. Beside him was a small boy, still in grade school, eyes wide with the delight of their excursion.