by Gaby Triana
I bounce in my seat, smiling at him. “I owe you, no matter what.”
eight
As great as it’s been meeting Jason, there’s a huge downside to all this.
My future dad is wondering where I am by now.
He’s probably already notified Disney security. They’re scouring the campground right at this very moment. It might even be morning, since it’s turning to dusk around here. Then again, do I exist in the future if I’m here now? The thought makes my stomach hurt.
Jason weaves his cart through the streets with the same expertise Dina did yesterday, if you can call it “yesterday.” And he’s right. There are no log cabins now. Just loop after loop of trailers all in a row. On the seat between us is a folded-up newspaper—the Orlando Sentinel. The date—July first, 1982. There’s a review for the movie Blade Runner on it: “Futuristic Thriller Fails to Make the Cut.”
Wow. The cult classic my dad’s always talking about? Got a bad review? For shame, Father. I want to take a picture but remember the dead battery. Ergh. Mental picture instead.
“So you came to enjoy the Fourth of July weekend and ended up getting in a fight with your old man instead. That stinks. Where you all from, anyway?” he asks.
“Jupiter.” Ugh, that was supposed to be Atlanta!
“Jupiter, neat. I’ve driven through there a few times,” he says, making no joke about my town’s name being the same as a planet in our solar system like every other person always seems to. “And you’re a what? Junior? Senior?”
“I’ll be starting my senior year.”
He nods, pressing his lips together. I’m not sure what that means, whether he’s disappointed that I’m still in high school, or whether he’s happy we’re close in age.
“What about you?” I play with the frayed hem of my shorts.
“I don’t know yet what I’m going to do,” he says pensively.
“You’re not in college?”
“I don’t know if college is right for me. I was thinking the army might be better.”
“Wait, what? Why don’t you think college is right for you?”
“’Cause. I don’t know. I thought maybe I’d keep working for Disney, maybe climb the ranks, since my foot’s already in the door. That’s sort of always been my dream. But we’ll see.”
What he’s saying makes me sad. I mean, he seems pretty smart. He would make a good computer programmer, engineer, or something. I’m pretty sure you can’t do that without a degree. Part of me feels relieved, though. At the thought that if I stay here, he won’t be leaving for college right away. Though what business I have thinking we might have an attraction or that I might be staying here is just bizarre. No, my goal is definitely to wake up or find my way home.
“Is that a bad thing?” he asks, turning down a street named Terry Trail. “Not having any aspirations? I guess that must sound lame to you.”
“No. I think for some people it’s normal not to know what you’re going to do after high school. But had you gone to my school, they would’ve pounded you into a career path before graduation. My school is all about focus, focus, focus.” Maybe that’s a generational thing. Maybe they didn’t have career fairs, FCAT, and IB programs in 1982.
“Well, that’s sort of why I was hoping to join the army. I could learn a thing or two while figuring out what I want to study.”
“I guess that might work.” It occurs to me suddenly that Jason must be alive somewhere in the future, working for the army. He’s three years older than my dad. Common sense is screaming the word illegal at my brain, so I should therefore abandon any thoughts of romance. But when I look at the kid sitting next to me at the wheel, that’s all I really see—a kid. Older than me, yes, but only by two years.
Because here’s another thought . . . what if I’m not dreaming? In the future I might be a missing person right now, while my parents kill each other over whose fault it is. But here, now, life continues. With Mom, Dad, Erica, Willy, and Alice there. And me here.
I may be stuck here.
Jason makes a turn by a trailer with a big American flag in the front window and stops in front of a beige trailer with a red racing stripe across the middle. “Well, this is it. You can stay here for now, two days tops, or until you think your dad has learned his lesson.” He smiles, then looks down at his feet. “But, uh, Haley, you’re going to have to go back eventually. You know that, right?”
He has no idea. “Yes, I know. Whose trailer is this? I don’t feel right intruding on—”
“No one,” he interrupts. “It’s empty. I mean, you might find my brother trying to get in without the key, but I’m going to do everything I can to prevent that.” He sees my momentary confusion, as I try to figure out why he would have a key to an empty trailer, then leans against the siding. “Geez, this is embarrassing.”
“Oh,” I say, clucking my tongue. “I got it.”
This makes him look even more perplexed, as if a girl shouldn’t understand anything about guys sharing a private place, a booty place, to be more specific. “Nah, I don’t think you do. It’s guy stuff. You wouldn’t—”
“First of all, I might be a girl, but I get it. Second, you don’t have to explain anything to me. It’s none of my business.”
He shakes his head. “Now, don’t go thinking it’s mine, because it’s not.”
“Of course not. You just hold the keys for your brother, right?” I chide, but somewhere inside I do feel a little jealous of all the girls he’s probably brought here, even though he denies it. Why that should bother me, I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to believe that Jason was different. Call me crazy.
He looks genuinely offended. “As a matter of fact, I do. The raccoons that live out here are more responsible than he is. One day they’ll drain River Country and find all of Jake’s dropped keys and lifeguard whistles sitting there at the bottom of the lagoon.” He laughs, then runs up the steps to unlock the trailer.
His words sting. Not because I care about his brother, but because it’ll happen. River Country will cease to be. He can’t even imagine what I saw. It’s frustrating knowing a world of information I can’t share with him. Not only would I ruin his vision of the future if I did, but it’d ruin our relationship, too. And even though I know I shouldn’t start one, I don’t want any ruination of one just yet.
The trailer is laid out pretty much the same as the cabins that replace them, with kitchen, bunk beds, bathroom, and everything else. “I’ll get you some clothes from the trading post, enough to last a couple of days. What, uh, size are you?” he asks.
“A four if it’s shorts, a small or medium if it’s shirts.”
“You know what?” He pulls out his wallet and hands me a fifty-dollar bill. “This should get you a few things. They might have Fort Wilderness logos on them, but at least you won’t look like a castaway anymore.” He smiles so sweetly, I want to run my hand along his face.
I stare down at the money. This is nice of him. “Jason, I don’t feel right.”
“Just take it, Haley. Your dad can pay me back. Or better yet, get me the insider scoop on that new Commodore 64. Listen, I have to go check in with my folks. But I’ll be back soon. Don’t go sliding off slides by yourself, okay?” Blue eyes and dimples send me swooning.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll take the bus to Pioneer Hall, the campfire, or something. I won’t be alone. Don’t worry. Go do whatever you gotta do.” I’m shooing him away, but I really want him to come back. He’s kind of grown on me. I would definitely spend more time with him if I were in the future. But I’m not. So this needs to stay friendly.
“There’s no bus. You gotta take the tram. Okay, but if I don’t see you again later, look for me tomorrow by River Country. I’m always there,” he says, and my heart falls a little. I was kind of hoping he’d come back later and, I don’t know . . . hang out with me . . . or something.
Because now that I think about it, I may not be here tomorrow. I may not be here tonight. But I can’t hang out with him. I really have to figure out how to get home. “Of course. Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I can feel him thinking the same by the way he’s blinking slowly. Maybe he’s wondering if he’ll see me again. “Hey, you said your birthday was coming up,” he says, leaning back against the door. “I remember because you wanted your dad to buy you something. . . .”
An iPad. I nod. “Yeah, good memory.”
“So you’ll be how old?” Ah. A guy doesn’t ask how old you are unless he’s having thoughts of hooking up with you. At least I hope that’s what he’s thinking.
“Eighteen.”
He closes his eyes for a second, and maybe it’s just me, but he seems really relieved. “Eighteen. Okay. Rad.”
“Rad. Okay, Jason-Jason.”
He smiles that wide, gorgeous smile of his. “All right, Haley-Haley.” His gaze lingers on me a moment. Then he taps the door frame, scuttles down the steps, and drives off in his cart.
I lean against the railing with butterflies in my stomach and watch him go. He’s really cute. Like, really cute. But NO . . . I can’t.
I close the door and scan the trailer. How plain can you get? Hey, at least the AC is running. I need a nap. I feel like I’ve been awake for days. Yet I’m terrified to drift off. Do I really want to sleep in a bed that Jake brings girls to? But more important, what if I wake up back in the present?
And then I’ll never know.
How this dream—this crazy time-travel hallucination where I met a really sweet guy one summer in 1982—was ever supposed to end.
nine
Exhaustion catches up with me, and I sleep on the couch until it’s dark out. I have no idea what time it is when I wake up. The day’s events come back to haunt me. Waking up on the beach, my tongue hurting, realizing where I am . . . when I am. I’m stuck in the past, with nothing but a dead cell phone and fifty borrowed bucks.
Part of me wants to get up and join the world. Another part of me, the part that’s winning, wants to keep sleeping. I’m vaguely aware of my muscles. I’m sore and probably bruised. Did I really slide down a waterslide when I passed out? Was it the action of sliding that got me here, or the seizure itself, regardless of where it happened?
Thinking about it makes me doze off again. I’m not hungry nor do I have any desire to get up. I just sleep. And dream about an empty baseball diamond as the sun descends into an orange field. A dream within a dream. And of my dad sitting up late into the night, regretting letting me drive off alone, hoping to see his baby girl one more time.
***
There’s a knock on a metal door. Again, and again. I hear it for a while before I realize it’s not a dream. My eyes pop open. “Haley?” Someone’s calling me from outside. Then, a sharper tap on the window. “Haley, you in there?”
I stumble to my feet. Feels like someone hit me over the head with a two-by-four. “Coming,” I mumble. Where am I again?
“Haley?” He doesn’t hear me.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I shuffle over to the door in the darkness and peer out the window. Jason—now I remember. He’s in his River Country uniform, holding a drink cup and some clothes. From the lavender-and-golden sky outside, it looks to be about dusk, the same time he dropped me off. So I must’ve slept only a few minutes. I open the door.
“Well, good morning, sunshine.” He’s looking fresh and gorgeous as ever. He hands me the cup and what appears to be a folded shirt and shorts. “You want some Coke? Those are my mom’s, by the way. I need them back.” He switches on a lamp, and I’m almost blinded.
“Thanks.” I take the cup and let him in. I sip the Coke, plopping back down on the couch. “How long was I asleep?”
He sits on the edge of the couch cautiously, as though gauging whether the proximity would bother me. “I don’t know. What time did you go to sleep?” he asks.
“Right after you dropped me off.”
His eyes and mouth fly open. “You’ve been asleep since yesterday? Holy crap, woman!”
“I have? I guess my body needed to recover,” I mumble. My stomach feels tight and rumbly. “Yesterday? Really?” I wince at him.
He nods. “You must be starving. I’ll go get you something to eat. Unless you want to keep me company.”
As much as I want to go with Jason and have another bite to eat, the thought of my dad, and maybe even my mom by now, worrying about where I am slaps me back to reality. I can’t, Jason. I have to go home now, I want to say. Somehow I have to make it happen. “How about I meet you near Pioneer Hall later. Or wherever you’ll be,” I tell him.
“Sounds good. The shower works, by the way, and there’s toothpaste and an extra toothbrush in the bathroom.” He points down the hall of the trailer.
I smile at him softly. “Thanks. You’ve been really nice.”
“Hey . . .” He peers into my face. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just . . . I don’t know how much longer I can be here. I think my dad might be worried.” I press my palms against my forehead and rub the sleep out of my eyes.
“I can imagine.” He’s quiet for a minute. “A daughter that looks like you. I’d be terrified.”
I look at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’d flip if you were my daughter. I mean, look at you. It’s not like you’re hard on the eyes. Any number of sickos would love to get their hands on you. It’s scary.”
His words pierce my heart. They really hurt. One, because my dad would never have left me on my own, but it was the only story I could think of. Two, because he thinks that of my dad, and three, because my father is probably fearing the worst right now. It’s not fair to keep him waiting like this.
I can tell this isn’t easy for Jason, either. On one hand, he probably wants to do the right thing by getting me back to my family, and on the other, he seems to like me, as much as I like him, and probably wants me to stay. “I’ll find you later, after I’ve had a chance to freshen up. Is that cool?”
He smiles and stands up. “Cool. See you later, Haley-Haley.”
“Jason-Jason.”
I think he’s lingering, maybe to see what my next move will be. It really kills me, because in a different time, I would’ve made the next move and maybe even kissed him. But it’s not the right time, nor place. “Thanks for the drink. And the clothes,” I say, holding them up in my hand.
“I hope they fit.”
We stand there a moment more looking at each other, and it occurs to me that I may not see him again. If I find my way home tonight, that is. I record his face in my mind so I can always remember the boy who went out of his way to help me. Then, I lace an arm around his neck and hug him hard, feeling his arms squeezing me back.
After a moment he slips away down the steps to his cart. “Later, Haley.”
“Bye,” I whisper.
I close the door behind him.
Don’t cry. Do not.
I unfold the clothes. There’re a pair of pink elastic-waist shorts, a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, and something else that falls to the floor. I pick it up. A pair of white panties. Ha-ha. I can imagine Jason’s mortification at rifling through his mom’s stuff just so I would have something clean to wear. They smell like someone else’s drawer. Clean, but not mine. Better than me right now, that’s for sure.
I take a long shower, letting the hot water rinse the soreness away, and towel off in the dark brown-and-beige bathroom. It looks so old, but it serves its purpose. His mother’s clothes fit me okay. The shirt fits fine, but the shorts are a little tight. I decide to keep the underwear on but to wear my shorts instead.
I pocket my dead cell phone and venture outside, leaving the key to the trailer underneath the mat. Logical enough place for Jason or Jake to find it aga
in. I have the fifty-dollar bill in my pocket in case I need it. My stomach is really rumbling now. Maybe I should’ve gone to eat.
Too late.
In the hot evening, I walk to the nearest station and wait for the silent tram to arrive. It’s full of people returning to the Magic Kingdom for the nighttime parade and fireworks, I’m guessing, since we’ve done the same so many times. I hop in and enjoy the whoosh of the silent takeoff. We snake through the streets until we reach the Pioneer Hall station.
I jump off the tram and stand there, as everyone else around me walks ahead. Where exactly was I when I fell through time? Standing at the top of the Whoop ’n’ Holler slide in River Country. I have to make it back there.
I have to try to make a seizure happen in the same place again. Maybe there was a—what do you call it?—like, a vortex of energy there. I’ve heard of places like that, where there’re extraordinary amounts of energy, and strange things happen in these spots. Maybe if I re-create the same conditions, it’ll happen. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the most logical solution I can think of right now.
Except I can’t just walk into River Country. It’s closed now. I could go in the same way I did the first time, swimming through the lake. But it seems to me there’re easily five times as many people here today than there are in the future. I guess River Country kept the campground busier in general.
To my left there’s a petting zoo, and behind that a service road. A truck is turning into the road. It seems to lead behind Pioneer Hall, which means behind River Country. I check around to make sure no one is looking, then run through the petting zoo under the curious stares of chicken and sheep.
A little goat saunters up to me. I pat him on the head but keep moving. There’s a noise behind a shed. I run to the edge of a barn to hide. Someone is walking out with someone else, a man and a woman, in blue plaid shirts, talking about what they overheard some guest say earlier. They don’t see me.