The Possible

by Tara Altebrando

  “Then I heard about the podcast and your mom and all.”

  “Stop calling her my mom,” I said, unable to hide my irritation, my cartoon brow surely furrowing.

  “Anyway, I thought you’d be cool.”

  Krak came into the house again and called out, “Everybody decent?”

  Bennett said, “Afraid so,” and I got up and said, “I need a ride back to my car.”

  •••

  “You’re not even thinking about asking me, are you?” I said when I was getting out.

  “Asking you what? Oh.” He looked away. “Here’s the thing.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I get it.”

  •••

  What if the guy you liked more than you’d ever liked any other guy turned out to be a jerk?

  What if you were wrong about everything? What if it wasn’t the first time?

  •••

  I got into my car and started it and cranked up the AC, then turned it down again because it was too loud. I called Chiara.

  “Well, ugh,” she said. “But if we move quickly, we can still get you a date.”

  “You could at least feel a little bit bad for me. I thought we were going to like move to California together.”

  “Sorry your dreams are crushed,” she said. “I guess I didn’t see it. From the beginning. Didn’t see you with him.”

  “I don’t even know what happened. Was he just into it for . . . sex?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Did you think maybe you should?”

  “Yeah. I mean, he’s hot. But something didn’t feel right.”

  “Well, you can’t force it, and anyway, sounds like it’s for the best.”

  “You can’t tell Aiden,” I said, surprising myself.

  “Why not?”

  “Just don’t, okay? I’m embarrassed.”

  •••

  I called him myself later, wanting to hear his voice.

  “Hey,” he said, sleepily.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “Nope. Reading. Lazy afternoon.”

  “Yeah,” I said, picturing him in his bed. “Here, too.”

  “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  “I need a reason?”

  “No one calls anyone anymore.”

  “Then come over.”

  “Really?” Now wide awake.

  •••

  “What happened here?” he said, when he spotted a bunch of balled-up tissues. I’d let myself have a good cry.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like I’ll be going to junior prom with him. Or anywhere with him. Or to prom with anyone.”

  “It’s only a dance,” he said. “And I am absolutely not going to say that thing people say sometimes. Like when they told you something.”

  “I know, I know. You told me so.”

  “I didn’t say it!”

  “Technicality.” I sat down at the kitchen table. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  We played Yahtzee and I wondered what my grandmother’s life would be like now if my grandfather were still alive. Would they have moved into the granny pod together and played Yahtzee happily for years? Would they be going for power walks on the grounds of a condo development in Florida? Would they have ever gone to Paris to eat croissants and drink wine?

  Aiden was tallying scores.

  Up on the shelf behind him, I saw another small puddle beneath Paris. I got up to get a paper towel and put it under it.

  The AC cycled off, alerting me to the fact that it had been on in the first place.

  “Do you think you’d ever want to live in a granny pod?” I asked.

  “Um,” he said, “I have no idea. I mean, it might not be up to me.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be up to you?”

  “I mean that the right choice might be obvious—if I’m alone and my body is failing or whatever. But that’s if I ever even have kids and if they have kids and if they still like me enough to want me in a granny pod in the backyard, if they even have a backyard. There’s a lot of ifs there, you know?”

  “I know,” I said.

  “What’s bothering you?” he said, putting down the small pencil he’d been using. “And you won, by the way.”

  “I don’t know, really,” I said. “Just wondering when, if ever, your life is really your own.”

  “I think maybe there’s like one summer after college and before you have to get a job?” He smiled.

  “How depressing is that?”

  He shrugged. “It’s late. I better go.”

  •••

  What if, just like that, you could go several days without laying eyes on the person who you’d once pinned all your romantic hopes on? What if it was that easy to separate your worlds again? What if it was almost as if it had never happened?

  •••

  What if one morning you were walking past his locker and he held out a textbook to you and you took it and opened it and the pages all fell out in sharp diagonals?

  What if he said, “You did this?”

  What if you said, “Of course not”?

  •••

  What if just like that you could become the player who fades to the background? Who sits in the dugout with a ball in her hand but never gets sent to the mound?

  •••

  What if one afternoon Coach Stacey’s car pulled up by the field right as a bunch of birds were taking off for somewhere better and one flew into her open window and she yelled and got out of the car like it was on fire?

  What if the bird had ended up dead in her purse?

  What if she screamed, “How the hell am I going to get it out of there?” What if she looked at me, as if I knew, or could help? Or had caused it?

  •••

  What if he had no problem turning up at the swim club and flirting with other girls like it had never happened? Like he’d never been interested? Maybe he hadn’t been.

  •••

  “What happened with you two?” Princess Bubblegum actually asked me that Sunday—a full week since I’d tried to raise a storm in Paris.

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  •••

  What if Mr. Griffin miraculously found reason after reason to keep you out of the lifeguard chair? Projects in the supply room? Because what if the Miller twins’ mother had threatened legal action, an investigation?

  •••

  What if you got a text like this?

  •••

  •••

  What if local papers started calling and asking for interviews?

  What if The Possible was everywhere you turned?

  Article here, there.

  More and more downloads and fans and headlines.

  What if you once got ambushed by a reporter type on your way home from work and all you could think to say was “No comment”?

  •••

  When episode two uploaded, I was wide-awake and ready. Alone in my room, lights off.

  •••

  LIANA: One would think that the whole Telekinetic Teen episode was enough drama for one lifetime. Right? I mean, there’s your fifteen minutes right there, Crystal. You either have some kind of special powers—or you don’t—and you were famous and maybe hoaxed everybody and no one’s sure, but we’ve all moved on, so that’s the end of your time in the spotlight. Right?

  Wrong. As we mentioned last week, there’s more. There is, many years later, a murder.

  MAN: I’ll never forget it. It was a heartbreaking scene, for sure. I mean, the boy was just lying there, you know, not moving. And you can just . . . tell. You know? It was bad. And the girl was sitting next to him, holding his hand. She was humming, you know? Like she thought he could still hear her, like she was comforting him. “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” I remember thinking, Jeez, how the hell am I going to tell this kid that the boy—her brother—is dead? But then she saw me and she let go of his hand and stood up and said, “His name was Jack.”
And I said, “What happened?” And she said, “My mother killed him.” You never forget that. I mean, who could forget something like that?

  LIANA: That was retired police officer Randy Burton’s recollection of the night Crystal’s two-year-old son ended up dead. The girl he speaks of, Jack’s older sister, Kaylee, is seventeen now. But more about her later. Today we’re talking about the criminal case. Because Crystal still insists that she’s innocent. But she took a plea. So who did it? Why did she take the plea?

  WOMAN: Well, she was looking at the death penalty. So we had decisions to make.

  LIANA: That’s public defender Susan DeCrista. She was right out of law school, basically, and had been working at the DA’s office for seven months before being given Crystal’s case.

  DECRISTA: Nobody thought it was a capital case. But then the daughter was allowed to testify. That was . . . well, nobody was expecting that. My boss suggested the plea deal and I thought he was crazy, but Crystal was pretty much homeless at this point and didn’t have a lot of options, so she went for it. I was young. I wasn’t sure how to argue with my boss, you know? And I didn’t have any better ideas.

  LIANA: And your boss at the time, Benjamin Clarke, passed away shortly after the trial, correct? Of natural causes.

  DECRISTA: Correct. He had a heart attack.

  LIANA: And has there been any sense, over time, that Crystal may have had grounds for an appeal? That your boss’s guidance was, for lack of a better word, misguided?

  DECRISTA: Well, as is often the case, a few people have taken up Crystal’s cause. But there isn’t a ton of actual evidence to prove any kind of legal malpractice or negligence, if that’s what you mean. It was a judgment call and Crystal was part of that call. She knew what she was doing. Why? Is she saying now that she wasn’t?

  LIANA: Well, yes and no.

  •••

  During the commercial break, I went down the hall to pee. My parents’ bedroom door opened abruptly.

  My mother. “I want you in bed, asleep.”

  “I was in bed.”

  “I know you’re listening.”

  “So what?”

  “Everything else comes first. Sleep. School. Us. Everything. We’re not letting this thing take over our lives. Understood?”

  “No,” I said, and I could feel my toes gripping the shaggy carpet of their room. “I don’t understand. And I’m going to go to visit her on Saturday. Liana said she’d bring me but she can’t. So you can either help me figure out how to get there and come with me, or you can hide here under your covers and pretend this isn’t happening.”

  My father stirred and reached for his bedside lamp, turned it on.

  “Oh, Kaylee,” he said. “What have you done?”

  •••

  I listened to the rest.

  Earbuds in.

  Lights off.

  Interviews with people who knew Crystal when I was a baby, who told stories of her drug and alcohol abuse.

  An abrupt exchange between Liana and Crystal’s parents, who threatened her if she ever called them again.

  And then this:

  •••

  On our next episode, we’ll talk more about the photograph that made Crystal famous and start to chip away at the mystery of the broken friendship that some argue triggered the initial telekinetic phenomenon.

  We’ll also hear from Crystal, who has a new theory on who actually hurt her son that fateful day.

  You’re not going to want to miss it.

  Next time, on The Possible.

  •••

  A new theory? What was that about?

  •••

  “Can I ask you something?” My mom appeared in the doorway to my room the next morning. I’d showered and was sitting at my laptop with a wet head. “Do you think you have . . . whatever people call them . . . special powers?”

  “Of course not.”

  She nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  “Do you think I do?” I asked, thinking it was sort of funny because Mom was so not the type.

  “Of course not,” she said, too seriously—not getting that I was making fun of her.

  •••

  What if one time, when you were maybe five years old, you were at a playground and you desperately wanted to swing? But your mother wouldn’t push you. What if you begged and pleaded and whined about it but your mother said, “You’re old enough to do it on your own. Pump your legs!”

  What if it didn’t work? What if your legs didn’t know which way to go or when? What if you screamed, “I just want one push!” so loud that everyone in the playground stared? What if the energy around you seemed to gather like a storm until you would have sworn you felt a hand on your back just as your swing surged forward?

  •••

  I spent all week thinking about nothing else.

  I wrote and then rewrote a packing list. And then did it again.

  •••

  Packing list:

  Makeup

  Toothbrush

  Change of clothes/jeans and top

  Change of shoes

  Socks/underwear

  Phone

  Charger

  Earbuds

  Pajamas

  Two forms of ID (license and birth cert. photocopy)

  Visiting regulations sheet (read on plane?)

  •••

  Finally, it was time to check in for my flight and print my boarding pass.

  •••

  •••

  Before bed, I texted Coach Stacey.

  •••

  THEY LET ME HAVE THE window seat. It had seemed silly that they both insisted on coming with me but now that we were here, I was happy about it. I wasn’t sure which one of them I would have picked anyway—my mother, the martyr in the middle seat; my father, the go-getter, helping people with their luggage in the overheads. So this was better. There were two of them to discuss the best strategy for rental car pickup and the best route to the prison and the best place to have dinner that night and they had each other to talk to about it all.

  While they did that, I stared at clouds.

  I thought about planes and how easily they can drop from the sky.

  I got scared by those thoughts and had to make myself stop thinking them.

  I decided maybe it was time to quit softball.

  •••

  Rules for visits:

  •Inmates are informed of changes that may occur in visiting regulations.

  •It is the responsibility of each inmate to inform his/her visitor(s) of these changes.

  •Any violation of visiting regulations may result in the suspension of visiting privileges.

  •Vehicles must be locked while on prison property. Windows must be rolled up/closed, and all equipment must be secured in or on your vehicle (such as ladders, toolboxes, etc.).

  •Never bring any gifts or money for the inmate.

  •Cell phones and/or pagers are not permitted inside facilities. They must be properly secured in your locked vehicle prior to entering the facility.

  •Any kind of device, whether worn or handheld, that has the capability of audio and/or video/photography recording and/or cell phone capabilities is NOT permitted. This includes, but is not limited to, eyeglasses, tie tacks, lapel pins, wristwatches, pens, etc.

  •No purses, bags, diaper bags, etc., are permitted.

  •It is possible that an inmate may not wish to have a visitor even though the visitor is at the prison. The DOC cannot force an inmate to conduct a visit if he/she does not wish to do so.

  •To ensure visitors get at least one hour with their inmate, visitors should arrive as early in the day as possible. In order to ensure a visit, visitors MUST arrive at least one hour prior to visiting room closure time.

  •Visitors should realize that some inmates have to walk across the prison compound to the visiting room area and then be processed for the visit—all of which takes a significant amount of time.
So arriving early ensures the best visiting experience.

  •Profits from the visiting room vending machines benefit the facility’s Inmate General Welfare Fund.

  •Inmates shall never use/operate a vending machine. Visitors may purchase vending machine items for the inmate to consume during the visit.

  •Although vending machines may be available, visitors should not depend upon them being filled or in working order.

  •Visitors requiring medication during the visit (such as inhalers or insulin injections) must advise the visiting room officer and the lobby officer upon arrival at the prison and follow appropriate procedures. Visitors are responsible for providing their own medication(s).

  •Visitors with any kind of orthopedic hardware need to present a card from the attending physician documenting the hardware in order to be granted a contact visit.

  •For prisons that allow money in visiting rooms, nothing larger than coins, $1 bills and $5 bills are permitted, with a total limit of $50. All cash must be contained in a clear plastic bag or small clear change purse. Staff will not make change.

  •Visiting rooms are smoke- and tobacco-free areas. Electronic cigarettes are not permitted.

  •••

  We had no time to spare. We landed and beelined it to the car rental place, where Dad has some Emerald membership and we could walk up to any car we wanted on that aisle and get in. Mom held printed directions—my father called her quaint—and we drove.

  The land was flat, green, corn. The houses like barns.

  I couldn’t imagine what kind of people lived here, and the world seemed too big or maybe my world was too small.

  My stomach churned peanuts and pretzels.

  •••

  The prison was set into a grassy hill, surrounded by a thick silver fence. We had to show ID at the main gate and were directed to a visitor parking lot. I peered out and up through the panorama skylight of the rental—some Kia—and searched for faces in the prison’s tiny windows.

  Inside a main entry that smelled of cafeteria food, my parents were shown to a waiting room and I was processed. “We can’t go in with her?” my mother asked, high-pitched.

  “You have paperwork?”