Blog, Web Log, Diary, Current Events, Past Events
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
6:43 p.m.
I begin this blog as one would begin any good story - Once Upon a Time
"Hindsight is 20/20." At least that's what my mother used to say whenever I wished I could change something I'd done wrong. That's me. Forever wishing I had done it differently.
Nothing centers your life and brings you down to earth quite like children, and I had two. Two wonderful boys. They were 10 years apart and sometimes that drove all of us nuts, but they were good, well behaved children. I could take them anywhere and know without a doubt that they would not embarrass me.
Like the day I went into Kroger's to buy groceries. Hayden sat in the buggy, as always, singing and talking to passers by. Two year olds are supposed to be terrible, but my little Hayden started his terrible two's at about ten months, so we had already gone through most of the bad stuff. Zachery was somewhere reading comic books. I warned him that he was getting too old for them, but like most other tween-aged children, he did his own thing.
At the check-out stand, the lady offered me a scratch card with my receipt. It was one of those all expenses paid trips to Orlando/DisneyWorld/Universal Studios, yeah like I could really win that. I dropped the ticket down in my purse with all the other shapeless life forms and proceeded to leave when the clerk stopped me. "Ma'm? Don't you want to find out if you won?" "Won what?" I asked. "The trip! There are so few cards left, I just know one of these days someone is going to win it and I'm going to get to see their face!"
Sensing her enthusiasm, I dug the card back out of the pit of despair and scratched feverishly at the charcoal gray patches on the front. It was amazing. The first block revealed Orlando, the next block revealed Mickey Mouse and the third was the insignia from Universal Studios. I had won! Zachery was chewing on some of that abhorrent sour candy they sell to desperate mothers at the check-out stands to shut up their spoiled children and almost choked. "Mom! We're going to Florida? Cool beans!" he exclaimed when he cleared his throat.
The young clerk was obviously more excited about the whole thing than I as she swiped the ticket out of my hand and started jumping up and down. "She won! My customer won! Look everybody, it's the winning ticket!" She was screaming.
The manager made it over to us and settled the girl down some. He tried to apologize for her behavior, but I wouldn't hear of it. If I weren't so skeptical about every silver lining having a cloud, I might have been skipping about too.
The manager verified the validity of the card and asked me to come back to his office to get information from me as to where the plane tickets were to be sent. Hayden was still watching that silly girl from the register as she nervously scanned the next customer's packages. It seemed like all the other eyes in the store were on me and my brood, trailing behind the store manager like we'd stolen something.
He took down my name, address and telephone number, but still I wasn't in the least bit excited. He assured me that the package would arrive by Federal Express the next day, but I didn't even tell my family about it until I opened my front door and the cute little Fed Ex guy stood there grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Ms. Harper?" he asked. "Brenda Harper?" "Yes." I said. "I have a package here from Kroger Corporate Office." He replied.
I almost fell backwards. It was really happening. I had really won something and I had been so apathetic, almost annoyed in the store. What kind of idiot had the manager thought I was. I ripped into the package and there they were, four plane from Arkansas to Florida, round trip. Four reservations for hotel accommodations at the finest hotel in Orlando, with packages to DisneyWorld, Universal Studios, Epcot Center, all places that I knew the kids would just love.
Nothing good really ever happens to me, except of course my children. Everything else just looks good and then turns to shit later on down the line when I least expect it. About the time I thought this was going to be my pot of gold, my publisher called and reminded me that I was hazardously close to a deadline on my next novel. "Oops!" I told him. "I'll get right on that."
Well, that meant no trip for me. The tickets were only good for another 30 days, and there was no way in hell I was going to write, edit and ready for publication a novel of which the first sentence hadn't even been written. So, I'd do the next best thing, I'd send the people I loved most in the world.
Mom's not much for traveling, let me tell ya, but when I told her where all she'd get to go, at no cost to her, she was more than a little excited. My sister, who had recently become divorced and was still wallowing in self-pity, was already packing to go when we got off the phone and the kids, well, you can only imagine what kind of excitement we're talking about. The kind where they don't sleep, they won't eat and they keep watching the Disney channel in hopes of seeing some of the attractions that they can tell all their friends they touched. Well, not so much Hayden, but Zachery to be sure. He likes to brag anyhow.
The day finally arrived. Mother was packed, Kelly was packed, the kids were dressed in identical outfits for their arrival in Florida and I was a little depressed because I had to drive them to the airport and come all the way back and get to work again. But I was excited for them on the other hand. I gave mom plenty of film and both my cameras and told her and Kelly to take lots of pictures, gave them all hugs and watched as they walked down that narrow tunnel into the airplane. I couldn't help thinking how claustrophobic mom is and wondered if she was too excited to remember herself.
I sat in the terminal for the longest time, staring at the plane as it took off down the runway, watched it as it hefted its grand weight into the air and sailed off, taking with it the four humans I loved most in this world. It just took me forever to drag myself away from there. I finally picked up my purse and walked outside, paid the attendant at the gate for parking and got back on the freeway for home.
Driving from Little Rock to Hot Springs is normally rather uneventful, but today I was miserable. My stomach was in knots, knowing I wouldn't see my babies for two weeks, or at least that's what I thought it was. I didn't have the radio on, but was smoking a cigarette with the window cracked, listening to the sound of other cars on the freeway, turning on the wipers momentarily to brush aside the thin mist that had started. "I didn't hear anything about rain." I thought to myself.
I reached down and turned the radio on and one of those horrible tanning bed commercials was on, so I changed the channel. The next channel was some bad haired, mouth breathing, rejects from clown school alternative band, screeching out their next big hit, so I changed the channel. I listened to country, classical, heavy metal, everything in the known world on my way home, but nothing would settle my stomach. I know I smoked half a pack of cigarettes in that 60 mile trip.
When I arrived home, to a quiet, peaceful house, no children running when they're told not to, no balls flying through the air - quickly followed by "don't throw balls in the house", no phones ringing and little girls asking "Is Zachery there?" All was right with the world, so why did I feel so apprehensive?
The rain had stopped somewhere outside of Benton, there weren't any clouds in the sky, I flipped on the TV and the Weather Channel wasn't reporting anything abnormal. So I sat down, smoked another cigarette and thought about the contents of this new book. Somehow I wasn't feeling very inspired. My children were gone, my mother and sister were gone and my step-father wasn't home from work yet. I had the perfect opportunity to work, but no motivation.
So I went for a walk. The neighborhood was exceptionally quiet for a Friday afternoon. Normally by this time there were children getting off the bus, last minute grocery shopping for dinner, and then your average Joe just out screwing around. No, I'd say it was a wonderful day. It was warm, but not uncomfortable. My thin, grey sweatsuit was just enough to let me sweat, but not make me drown in it, and I worked up to a jog.
As I rounded the corner coming back to the house, I saw Richard's van in the driveway. Richard was a good friend of mine from college. We might have dated, except I wasn't as interested in quantum physics as he was. Sure, I read, I took tests and I made very good scores on my exams, but I didn't go to bed with the stuff at night. I just wanted to earn my scholarship, get my degree and get the hell out of there. Who wants to stay in school all their adult life? Certainly not me. Seeing Richard in my driveway, however, was kind of a shock. I hadn't seen him in weeks. He had been in Europe working on some top secret project that he wouldn't give me a hint about so I was pissed at him.
I was panting when I got to the top step, wiping sweat from my forehead. "Hey pal. What'cha doing here?" I asked him, between gasps.
He had this really serious look on his face and said, "Told you those cigarettes were going to kill you." as he took a long puff off of his.
I just chuckled and walked in the house. "Come on in and cool off you fruit. What brings you to my house, I ask again."
"Well, kiddo, it is time I let you in on my little project." He plopped down in mom's favorite chair, sipping the Pepsi I brought him, crossing his leg in a manly, professional, "I know what I'm talking about" kind of way. "You remember that movie 'Back to the Future'?" I nodded in reply, still breathing a little heavy and stretching the backs of my legs. "Ok, well, we've refined that process. There is no Delorian and no dog and no silly professor, unless you count me of course, but there is a chamber."
I was sitting cross-legged in the floor, looking at him like he had three heads. "Hear me out on this." He said. "It's important to my future. To OUR future." His emphasis on that "our" part made me a little nervous, but the whole thing was kind of comical. After all, Einstein theorized about it, but it had never been possible, with the mere exception of singularities occurring in black holes. Richard really expected me to buy into this rubbish, but it wasn't really like Richard to come up with some long, drawn out yarn if it wasn't so, so I listened.
"We've done it. We've opened the porthole to another dimension, thus creating a time/space continuum that we can walk, run or crawl through, to an era of our choosing." His eyebrows were arched as he explained his creation in great detail, leaving no room for curiosity. "We have tested only a few theories though. Altering history was one of those theories and we have accomplished that."
"Really?" I burst in. "And what did you change Richard?" I asked as I tilted my head to the side in obvious irritation. "Did you fix it where women really couldn't vote?"
Richard chuckled. "No. Something small we changed. We threw something in that would change the future, the future we are living in, and it worked."
"I asked what you did, Richard." I said as I stood up.
"Don't get upset hon, we didn't do anything dramatic." He said as he sat a little straighter in his chair. "We sent Moira back with some designs for clothing in the mid-70's. Those clothes changed the trends of today's fashion. I know that sounds a little gay, but it was something we knew people would accept and something that could be altered. I brought back issues of fashion magazines from the original time line ten years later before the line was altered, then I ordered new ones from the publisher for the same dates, and by God they were different."
I sat very still, a totally vacant expression on my face, neither happiness or sadness, but it was not Richard who had my attention, it was the TV that I had left on when I went out to jog.
There was a picture on the screen, big as you like, of a plane crash at the airport in Memphis. There were helicopters, ambulances, fire trucks, people scattered about that looked like ants against the wreckage. Richard was still talking, but his voice had been muted out somewhere in my head as I listened to the reporter and eased closer to the TV to hear better. The word MEMPHIS appeared at the bottom of the screen and my heart sank into my stomach as I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
The cold, calculating, heartless voice of the television announcer echoed all over the living room. "Southwest Airlines flight 657 bound for Florida had just taken off from the Memphis Airport when a single engine private craft collided with the cockpit, killing both pilots and sending the plane into the Mississippi river. As yet, no survivors have been found."
"It wasn't them." I said out loud trying to convince myself. "It wasn't them."
Richard turned and looked at the screen and then back at me. "What are you talking about girl. It wasn't who?" He asked.
I was between emotions. I could not cry for fear of hearing what the announcer's next words would be. I could not run out of the house because my step-father would be home at any minute and needed to hear this too. I could not lash out at Richard because he had done nothing wrong and even though I repeated the words "It wasn't them" over and over in my head, my heart knew it was them, and it was breaking apart.
I dug around in my purse for the flight information and found the envelope containing a copy. They boarded flight 309 from Little Rock to Memphis and then, I sat down in the floor to read the rest, flight 657 to Orlando. My whole life flashed before my eyes. I could see memories of looking up at my mother as a child while she brushed my hair and impatiently told me to sit still, of holding my baby sister for the first time at seven years old, of holding my Zachery for the first time in the hospital, nursing him, changing his diapers, and then the baby, my little Hayden. Poor little Hayden had never known what it was like to have a father because I refused to marry just anyone and have him call them "Daddy". It was my own selfishness perhaps, but he had enough family and more love than any child could ask for.
I just sat there in the floor holding the copy of the flight information. I couldn't cry, I couldn't believe what I was seeing or hearing. I wanted to wake up from this horrible nightmare, but I was awake, very awake. Richard was sitting next to me, waiting for me to become cognizant of his presence again. He nudged me, lord only knows how long, until I finally shoved him and told him to quit.
"What's wrong?" He asked. "Why are you upset?"
I knew if I started to explain to anyone that there would be no stopping the torrent of tears and wailing that would follow. So I just shook my head and asked him if he could come with me to Memphis, explaining that I didn't feel like I would be able to drive.
It was like a dream. I went into a trance-like state and the next thing I knew I was standing on the street outside my mother's mobile home. The LCD on my time watch read January 9, 1990. Had it really worked?
Mom's little piece of shit Prelude was parked in the driveway and dad's pick-up was gone. I was unsteady, just like I had been warned I would be, and for a moment, I forgot what I was supposed to be doing. I just stood there, motionless, listening to the sound of vehicles flying down the freeway, listening to kids playing in the trailer park.
A kid shouted from behind me, "Hey! What are you doing here?"
I turned to look and it was my sister. She was 10 years younger, 13-years-old to be precise, and she was walking toward me with a peculiar look on her face. Her hair was messy, dishwater blonde and pulled back in one of my "borrowed" clips.
"What happened to you, man?" She said as she drew nearer to me. "What happened to your hair?" She reached out and gave me a hug, and then drew back like she'd felt something nasty. "What's wrong with you, Sissy?"
"Sissy". She hadn't called me that in years.
"Honey, you'd never understand in a million years." I told her. "Is Mom home?"
"Sure. She's in the house. Where's your car?" She asked, walking away from me toward the house.
"Oh, I left it……, uh, at home." I stammered, fearing the consequences of telling my little sister what was really going on.
Kelly walked in the house, looking back at me, "Well, come on slow poke." She said as she held the storm door open.
I walked into the house like it was the first time. It felt so eerie, being back in this place. I slipped my backpack off and slung it across my arm, looking around the trailer, remembering so much I needed to do, but relishing the moment.
"Mom!!" Kelly shouted. "Sissy's here."
I heard my mother from the other room, her voice filling the air like the most beautiful and horrible sound I'd ever heard, all at once. "Hi honey. What are you doing here?"
I turned around and Mom was coming out of her bedroom. She had been on yet another of her diets and since grandpa had been sick, she was so worn out. She was holding something in her hand and hadn't really looked at me closely enough to realize that I was somehow ten years older.
"Mom, I….." I just stood there. I was mute, suddenly, and my eyes started filling with tears. There she was. Only ten minutes before she had been dead in my time, and she stood right in front of me. The same mother who had given me my stiff spine and the reason I kept going after she, my sister and my children died.
Richard had been talking to me for weeks, asking me if I could handle a trip back. He knew I was tough, but he also knew how much my family had meant to me and how desperately tragic their deaths had all been. I had assured him I could contain myself, and would be able to do what I needed to do in 48 hours and be back.
Dr. Smedley had spoken to me, counseling me (like any good shrink) that my emotions had to be kept in check during this mission, or I might risk the whole procedure. I assured him I was a machine, at this point, nothing could hurt me. But seeing her there, so real, was almost more than I could contain.
I was frightened. "I've got to go to the bathroom." I said, and walked off before she could see me.
I looked in the mirror in the bathroom, wiped away the tears and tried to look together. My stomach tightened, I clenched my fists and walked back out into the hallway, gulping back the threatening tide.
"Mother, I have to talk to you." I said, firmly as I walked through the dining area and into the living room.
She looked up from her sewing and as she looked at my face for the first time, she was startled. "Before you say anything, let me tell you what's going on."
My mother was never one to hold her tongue, particularly when there was an issue concerning her children.
Dr. Smedley's warning played back in my head, "Anything you say and do on this trip can change the future, Brenda. You must be very careful of the words you use. You can never speak to your past self, but you can speak to other members of your family. You have volunteered for this mission, so we are giving you this much so you can change the things in your life that hurt you. Your life is in danger, you must go into this thing knowing at least that much, but you have been apprised of that."
"Mother, the truth is…" I started to talk but she cut me off.
"You've been crying. What's wrong?" She asked.
"Mom, please let me get this out." I said, trying to avert her attention, although her attention was something I dearly wanted. I just wanted to fall to my knees in the floor in front of her, lay my head in her lap and cry. Cry for the fact that I might never see her again after all this was over. Cry for how badly I'd hurt when I watched the news that dreadful day. I just wanted to cry, but I didn't.
"I'm not who you think I am." I started. Kelly had opened a Coke and sat down on the sofa beside me. Her cheeks were pink from walking around outside in the cool air.
"Who are you then?" Kelly asked, gulping down a mouth full.
I glanced in her direction a moment, and then back at my mother. "I'm your daughter, but I'm not your daughter that is at this moment living in a trailer on top of that mountain with that unwashed redneck for a husband. I live in another time."
I could see that she was getting frustrated and confused, so I dug around in my back pack and pulled out my watch. "Look at this." I said handing her the shiny silver wrist watch. "Do you see the date? It says 01-09-00. You know what that means? It's the time I'm from. Ten years from today." I was sent back here as a test run for a time machine that my friend Richard has invented - I mean, will invent."
She took the watch out of my hand, looked at it and shook her head. I handed her my drivers' license. "Do you see the date on it?" I asked. She took it from me and looked at it, and looked up at me, puzzled.
"I can tell you everything that's going to happen in the next ten years. I was given the opportunity to have hindsight. That was my reward for being their guinea pig for this mission. I can change what will happen to each of us in a positive way, or at least I hope, so I have to make you believe me."
"Ok, smart ass." She said, "Who's President of the United States in the years 2000?"
It sounded like something out of a movie I had seen in the 80's. "Bill Clinton, mother. He served two terms."
She laughed out loud. "Bill Clinton?" She repeated it over and over, laughing. "He's the governor, dear."
"Honestly mother, if Ronald Reagan can do it, what's wrong with Bill Clinton?" I replied, a little irritated.
I had succeeded in one thing, making her laugh, a sound I missed very much.
For hours my mother and I went through the contents of my back pack. I showed her newspaper clippings from the next day, from the tenth of January 1990. The next morning before dawn, when the newspaper came, we compared the clippings. I had a book of them, clipped from the newspaper before I left, proof that I was who I said I was.
By the time the sun had come up, I had convinced my mother.
It wasn't easy to tell her all the hardships the next ten years held for all of us, and all of the ugly things we'd have to endure. My grandfather, mom's father, had cancer, and if everything went along the correct time line, he would die in October of 1990. My mother and her husband of 12 years separated that year. The wildebeest I was married to finally wore on my nerves and I left him in July of 1990. It appeared I had selected the most appropriate year to change our lives.
Mother had to promise to keep the reason behind the delicate order in which she did things a secret. I had written a journal of events to come, something compiled from my Daytimer, e-mail and appointment books. These were things that my future held, not hers. If things were altered at specific times, which was my plan, then the things in the journal could never happen - and it would read much like a story, utter fiction.
We started with simple things. I only had 48 hours in this time, and 12 of them were already gone. Already our lives were changed, and the world I was going to return to would be strange, strange to me alone, but strange nevertheless.
I wondered about that conscious awareness thing. Smedley had warned me that when I returned to my own time, things would be so absolutely different because of whatever I did in the past that I could be in a state of shock for some time. However, if things happened the way he theorized, I might, during my trance-like state, be the person the reprogrammed events produce - having no memory of where I'd been or what I'd done.
It's very strange to know what your future is going to bring. I felt a twinge of pity for true clairvoyants. I had notes telling me when my husband and I were going to have a heated argument, the one where he broke my arm and I left him for good. That fight had to happen, I wouldn't have stayed gone otherwise. So I had to tell mother to sit back and let it happen. Hard as that was for me, it was even harder for her.
I remember how that felt. When we argued about something so stupid as me talking on the phone with my friend Margaret who was a lesbian. He hated her, forbade me to talk to her, but I did it anyway. When he jerked the phone out of my hand, and the cord snapped back and the receiver hit him in the head it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back - and my arm.
I took our son Zachery and left him, never spending another night in that hell hole of a prison I once called our home. I met Mark right after that. It was one event I absolutely had to put a stop to. Mark and I were not meant to meet then, and it was two years of my life that would have been better served elsewhere. I told my mother the story, and the day that I would have met Mark, and what I needed to be doing that day so she would keep me from going where I was supposed to go. Mess with fate? Sure, that's precisely what we were doing, but I had to do something.
Just stopping me from meeting Mark wasn't enough. I had to get myself a life, instead of working my way through college, supporting a small child and fighting with one boyfriend - and husband after another. I knew my former self, my 20-year-old self, was going to argue with everything my mother suggested. I knew it would be difficult at best, but knowing my mother for who she is, she truly knew best, and I knowing myself - I knew how to tell her to convince me. It was a great plan.
Then I had to tell her about her illness, her stroke, her near-death experience, her life with her fourth husband, his children, his family. We were at her house for another 12 hours, talking, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and I was programming all these things into her psyche, so that the words in the journal would have life and meaning when she read them again.
I kept myself in check during this time, no more weeping or grief. I convinced myself that maybe I would not remember this, that maybe when I got back to my time, I would have stopped all of these things from happening by breaking the chain before the next link was added.
Kelly went to school and Tim, mom's husband, went to work. When they came home, we were still there, talking and laughing. Tim didn't even notice the age difference. Mom called me and said she was sick and not to bring Zachery out for a couple of days because she didn't want him to catch whatever bug it was. I was concerned, but too busy with Zachery and the psycho I was married to at the time.
When I looked at my time watch, it was January 10, 1990 - 8:30 p.m. and I had just one more person's life to change. This person had to be fixed by me, not my mother. I could alter some things, but Smedley warned me not to go near Richard or any of his friends. It could be a crux, a breach in the time/space continuum, and the time machine would never be invented - and I would simply cease to exist in my time, being stuck forever in this century, or worse, to just fade out and be lost in an alternate dimension.
The people I wanted to see had absolutely nothing to do with Richard. They were people I would meet when I was 24-25 years old, people who changed me forever. I felt that if I could get to them when they were younger, to influence their parents, that they would not become the adults they were when I knew them.
Mom's car wasn't much, and I knew if I got stopped it would be extremely difficult to explain to a police officer why my driver's license said it was issued in October 1999, but it was all I had.
I made myself a list, a diagram of people whose lives could possibly mingle with Richard's somewhere down the line, and those who would never meet him. Most of them were children in 1990. Some of them were teen-agers, but Margaret was fixable, and I had spoken to her mother in depth about her on the phone from the house before I left. I told her about Margaret's fixation with a girl in the future. I told her about a nightmare I'd had, Lenora was very into psychic events you see, where Margaret had become involved with a girl named Sabrina. The only thing about this girl though, Margaret would never meet her if my mother did what she was supposed to do. Margaret met Sabrina because of me, and it almost killed her.
Driving down the freeway I wondered to myself how many of these people would still be alive in ten years. What kind of question was that? Realism, I told myself. Yesterday I was talking on my cell phone to a friend across town. Today, the company that has my service doesn't even exist yet. Weird.
It was like reverse culture shock or something, seeing the way the buildings were, the cars were, everything was out of style now. A ten-year-old anything is passe at best, but I was ten years older than anything here, so everything was passe. My mind was in complete and utter disarray. I knew where I was and what I was supposed to be doing, but everything else was so overwhelming.
I cracked the window just a bit and lit a cigarette. I was conscious of the fact that the addition to the freeway hadn't been accomplished yet, so I had to remember to turn left instead of right up here, or I'd be headed to Memphis. I was talking to myself, flicking my cigarette, and just barely paying attention to the road. It was exciting, after all, I was getting a second chance to do things right. Not everyone gets that, you know.
How many times I had said to myself, "If I could go back in time, knowing what I know now, MAN how many things I'd change!" Okay, so what really was I going to accomplish by going where I was going.
These people wouldn't recognize me yet. The people I was on my way to see had not met me yet, and hopefully would never. They were probably good kids in 1990, but in the year 2000, they were sullen, decaying versions of their former selves, wallowing in self pity and the failures they'd been in life. Could I help? Remains to be seen.
I took the exit that said 65th Street, knowing it would take me right into Southwest Little Rock, where the "gang" all lived. It was impossible for me to imagine what life was like for them, until I saw it.
I was absolutely right about Tim. He was just as cute as a button, just turned 14, and was a mess. He was going to school, was rather bright in his classes, and was focused. He was a big hit with the girls, as I might have imagined. Those sparkling sky-blue jewels he had for eyes, tawny blonde "Kevin Bacon" type hair, which he wore spiked up all over, enough to make any teen-aged girl swoon (like it had me at 25).
Tim wasn't the issue at hand. No, it was his mother, Bobbi that had to be dealt with. Bobbi was a beautiful woman at one time, who had sold herself short. I wondered what led her down the path she was on when I met her, an overweight, depressed, hypochondriac whose sole purpose on earth was to survive as well as possible without actually having to perform a function in society. Her sons watched her, not so much idolizing her, but mimicking her. Her addictions were the key. I had to get to her and convince her to lay off the shit before her oldest son got a taste of it.
I knew her brother, Donny. He and I had been quite close in the late 80's and I was surely hoping that he would recognize me and just think that I had aged some. I had put on ten years, and about fifty pounds, but for the most part my face was the same, except for a few wrinkles that I could blame smoking and tanning beds for. I knew right where Donny would be, kicking back at his house, Butler Road if I recall, and if not, I knew another place to find him. I had to find him to get to her.
That was stop number one.
Then there was Schalena. The numbers kept going up in my head. I knew that Jennifer's mother would be hard to crack, being the principal of an elementary school and all, and her daughter was the perfect symbol of happiness. What she didn't know was that inside her daughter's heart was a dark, dreary place that nobody could touch. She was scarred from birth with what scientists and psychiatrists have deemed chemical and psychological. She was destined to be an ass, no matter how it was cracked up, but if the odds were in my favor, an ass would all she'd be - instead of a lesbian and a crystal methamphetimine junkie.
Jennifer was so young. She, like Tim, was in school. Lovely long blonde hair, pretty brown eyes, a gentle face and nice, trim figure. She was carefree, her parents having plenty of money to buy her whatever she wanted, and then some. She was coddled and pampered, being 1/4 of a perfect family, consisting of her, her brother Jason, her mother and her father. Who could ask for more? Well, who could have known that her mother, a talented singer and professional school teacher, would have a massive stroke at 40 years old and be struck dumb for months. It took years of therapy to get her back to where she could speak again, much less sing. Even then, her abilities were practically limited to those of a child.
Janet would never believe that she was going to have a stroke. She would never believe that her child would be a needle junkie and turn from God and steal from her and, the list goes on. How could I, a complete stranger, convince her?
I had to try though. It was worth the effort to see at least one family stay happy.
Jennifer wasn't the only lesbian I was going to try to rehabilitate. Margaret was another. She was so close to the edge of becoming straight, if I only had more time to spend with her. Time was of the essence, and I had already wasted plenty of it at the school talking to Janet, and at Donny's house trying to reach Bobbi. I hadn't had time to visit with Schalena's mother though because she was too busy trying to occupy her biker-boy husband, "Spider" to listen to me about her children.
Mark was a whole other story. He was my second husband, that if things stayed the same would come into my life in July of 1990. I had to make the choice whether to meet him or not, and right now, the option was not.
Mark was a good person, down deep under the loud music, the drugs, the booze and the chest-length blonde hair. His fascinating brown eyes, gentle voice and energy were what attracted me to him. My own husband was a large behemouth of a man. Mark was more than just a distraction from him, I left Ray when I met Mark. I was 20-years-old, very confused, very hurt, felt betrayed by everyone and made some decisions I would live to regret.
I got pregnant this month, I thought to myself. I got pregnant with the little girl that I would miscarry in a little under five months. Ray had said "oh not again" when I told him we were expecting another child. Zachery wasn't yet two and it was one of the most painful and hurtful things I'd ever heard. What kind of bastard is it that tells his wife he is disappointed she is pregnant? What kind of blackguard tells his wife he is happy her baby died? The kind I was married to. Is it any wonder that when this comely rapscallion took interest in me, although my hair was really short (quite unattractive) and I was a little chunky, that I leapt at the chance to be with him?
But it wasn't the time. Mark and I were destined to meet some day. But not today. If I got a chance to go back again, I'd go WAY back, when I met him the first time after a car wreck on Geyer Springs. I wanted to see him now though, just to see. Where was he, though?
My searching brought me down Geyer Springs, where I spent most of my teen-aged years. I was very careful not to bump into myself at Wal-Mart or something though. My mother-in-law spent most of her husband's paycheck at Wal-Mart, so I had to be really careful in Southwest Little Rock, especially in my mom's bright red Honda.
I stopped in a convenience store and the cashier looked at me like she'd just seen a ghost. I must have just come in here or something. She must think I'm my mother. The thought was funny. What must people think of me?
Just then a voice from behind me caught me off guard. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at home?" The voice was unmistakable. I turned around slowly, like I didn't recognize him, and as I turned I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Oh, God, I'm sorry lady. You look just like my wife!" He exclaimed as he drew away from me.
Just as quickly, I threw on my most dramatic southern accent, "Well, wouldn't I just be the lucky one?" and marched out of the store, carrying my soda and pack of cigarettes, headed for the next adventure. As usual I was the vision of cool, until I remembered I was fixing to get into my mother's car, which Ray would surely recognize. Shit. I was in a fine pickle now.
Ray came out of the store, still staring at me, holding his Dr. Pepper under his arm, nervously trying to open a pack of Marlboros and walking toward his truck. A guy in a Suburban pulled in to get gas and almost ran him down, I just stood there at the paper box, acting like I was reading a newspaper. I didn't think he noticed mom's car, he was too busy staring at me. Oh the story he'd tell me when he got home, I thought to myself.
It occurred to me that I wasn't allowed to occupy the same space as my counterpart in this time, but I could make a phone call. Why hadn't I thought of this sooner? I knew things about myself that nobody else knew! I could stop things that nobody else could!! Just with a phone call? I could barely contain myself.
I watched Ray pull off down Baseline, still staring back in my direction trying to navigate, hold a cigarette and take a drink of his soda. It was fairly laughable, considering he wasn't originally going home directly. No he had to make a stop at his mother's to see what she was having for dinner before coming home to his wife and child. It was repulsive the kind of relationship those two had.
I dialed the phone number, nervously tapping the phone booth waiting. The phone rang four times and I was about to give up when I heard the voice on the other end, "Hello?" What do I say? I've heard of talking to yourself, but this is ridiculous. "Hello?" The voice asked impatiently.
"Hi, Brenda. Well, I called to tell you something important, but I can't make the words come out." I said to the girl on the other end. It was me. I sounded so young.
"What is it?" The voice on the other end asked.
"Brenda, in a lifetime of trying I could never persuade you to believe the story I'm about to tell you." I began. I was nervous at first, wanting to say all the right things and keep my past self on the phone, but I was so afraid of the outcome.
"Look, if this is a prank call, or a sales pitch, I don't have time for it." She said, exasperated. I could hear a small child wailing in the background. It was Zachery. He had recently gotten his tonsils out and was finding out what it was like to hear at 100% again. I was so young and so naive that I didn't know the ear infections were going to cause him to go deaf.
"Listen, I don't have a lot of time, and this can only be done on the phone, but if you'll listen to me for a little while, I promise you won't regret it." I said quickly.
"Oh, I knew it, a damned telemarketer!" She shouted. "How do you fucking people get my phone number?"
Next thing I knew the phone was dead. I didn't stand there like an idiot in a B movie talking to dial tone, but quickly dropped in another 10 cents and called back. It took a minute and then the answering machine picked up. I remembered leaving that message, with Zack talking in the background. "Hi! You have reached 565-2140, and then a little voice 'ma ma', I'm sorry we can't take your call right now but if you'll leave a message, then the interruption of that little voice again, 'ma ma c'mere', we'll get back with you as soon as possible. BEEP!"
"Brenda, it's me again. Listen, what I have to tell you is monumentally important. I mean, if you don't pick up the phone at this instant, I'm going to call Ray and tell him you are sleeping with Margaret or something!" I used the only threat I knew would get her on the phone - I mean, me on the phone.
"Who the fuck is this?" She shouted when she picked up the phone.
"I'm you, in 10 years." I blurted out.
"Me? Oh who the hell is this?" she asked, sounding upset suddenly.
The conversation started there, and as I finally gotten her undivided attention, I told her about her marriage to Ray ending in July when she met Mark. She seemed less anxious about that than any of the other news I had for her. We talked about Mark and that marriage, and the drugs and drinking, the parties and friends and nightmares and the fights. Mother had left our step-father in 1990, vying instead for an old boyfriend in Hot Springs, who she was still married to when she died.
She could barely contain herself, having access to such knowledge. She started asking questions, and making comments, as I had hoped she would. I told her about the tubal ligation she would have the next year, and how no matter what else happened, she should absolutely not do that. I told her about mother's stroke and how they'd need to examine her carotid arteries closely for the next few years, just to prevent it from happening.
The descriptions came easier, the discussion more friendly than a warning. It was like two old friends chatting over coffee or something. She was listening, and I was talking.
Then there was the Jerry discussion. It was the hardest. I knew where Jerry would be right now. In 1990 he was living in Beebe with his parents. I told her where to find it and what to say when she got there, and she promised she'd go if for nothing more than a casual glance. I wondered what kind of effect that would have. It must be grand though, much better than any kind of life I could have imagined before talking to myself.
All these finite details came to mind, about LaDonna and Mark, all the lesbians at the triplex, David and Becky, the AOL thing in 1994. These were all things I could avoid now. All the pains of the last 10 years would now be new ones, new memories I'd either have or not have.
"Write everything down." I told her. "It will be my only record of your next ten years. I don't know if I'll remember it or not."
She agreed to write it all down, talked to me some more and we got off the phone. I felt like I had done something really great, and I had time to spare. So I went and found Hayden.
I met him in 1994 when I worked for the med center. He would be living in Little Rock now, going to college, preparing for medical school. If God was good, I would meet him now instead of in four or five years when he already had his God complex and was far out of reach for a twice divorced, single mother.
I had debated long and hard as to whether, if given the chance, I'd stay with Ray if I could go back ten years. The answer was in the resoundingly negative. I loved my son, and I wanted him to be raised with a father, but not that one. It wasn't that Ray was such a bad father, but he was a dreadful husband. He and I fought every chance we got, speaking to each other with such uncivilized abhorrence that often we were reduced to little more than screams. We were too young to be married in the first place, and after careful deliberation, I knew it.
I had to change my future in a positive way, and meeting Hayden was it. I would enroll in college, divorce Ray, take care of business and hopefully my future would be somewhat more productive than the shabby mess I left in my own time. The clock was ticking though, and I had very little time to do what I had left . The counter read a mere 46 minutes. God almighty! Where had the time gone?
I jumped back into mom's car, flying down the freeway at breakneck speed, knowing full well that I had barely enough time to make it back to her house before I vanished in a flicker of light, leaving her car to guide itself. I was so focused on getting back I failed to notice the State Trooper sitting in the median. Any other time I probably would have noticed and slowed down before I got to him, or had a radar detector in the car, anything but this - any time but now.
Time! Time was not something I had to spare, and as I watched him proceed into traffic, turning his lights on and flying up on my back bumper, I looked down to see the clock had lost another 20 minutes. If I stopped, I'd never have enough time to do see mother again. I wanted to tell her I loved her, to make sure she knew that no matter how the future turned out, that I loved her singularly more than any other person in my life. But, then here's this bastard rushing up on me, hell bent on giving me a speeding ticket - and more if I stopped. My license would surely confuse the shit out of him, issued in 1999.
What to do, what to do? I kept looking back, watching him growing ever closer to my bumper, slipping in between traffic, honking my horn, flashing my headlights, screaming out the window for people to get off the "ludes" and drive! This was life or death to me. I could go without saying good-bye, but I surely didn't want to. He was calling something in on his radio, I could see him in the rear-view, checking out mom's license plate. Shit, shit shit.
I kept going, hoping I could just make it to Sherwood without being surrounded. I sped up another ten miles per hour, and stayed in the far left lane, knowing I'd have to time this next move precisely, or I'd be caught for sure.
Just after you cross the Broadway bridge coming down I-30 east the freeway is 4 lanes. These lanes split and one goes west the other goes east. If I could stay all the way in the left lane, the one heading west, and at the last second cross over into the east-bound traffic he might not be able to merge that fast and would have to call it in. That would give me at least 10 more minutes, I hoped. More than enough time to get to mom's, get that car hid behind the trailer, and get home.
We were coming up on the intersection doing 95 miles per hour. Mom's front end needed work so it was vibrating me nearly out of the seat, but I kept pushing it. There it was! The break I was looking for, a semi had just crossed into the second lane to the left, meaning if I sped up, I could barely make it in front of him and the trooper would have to get off at JFK and make the circle to catch me. He could, I knew that, but not if he didn't know if I was going to Memphis or Jacksonville.
I sped up just a bit more, easing up beside and passing the trucker, when the front end of the car started shaking uncontrollably, oh shit, the fucking tire is about to blow! Cheap-assed retreads that Thomas had bought. Yeah, he could have brand new ones for his truck, but Mom's car had to have those raggedy things the guy on Baseline glued together and sold.
I was already in front of the trucker when it blew, sending rubber shrapnel everywhere and sending me into the ditch. I was cursing for all I was worth, trying to get out the door, which was wedged against the embankment. The trooper had finally gotten himself turned around and was coming back to where I was, probably mad as hell about it, too.
I crawled over the seat and opened the passenger door only to look up just in time to see Barney Fife standing right in front of me holding his gun. If the situation hadn't been so grim I might have laughed.
"Get out of the car, miss." He said, in his best cop voice. "Keep your hands where I can see them."
I did the best to get out and keep my hands up too, thinking to myself that this had to be the worst day of my life.
"Put your hands on the car, miss!" He commanded, and I turned around and followed orders.
"What's in the bag?" He asked, tugging at my backpack.
I spun around quickly, protecting its contents, "Nothing! Just books and papers, confidential stuff." Oh that was stupid, I thought to myself. Why didn't I just tell him I had a bag of dope in there? He'd be sure to want to inspect the thing now.
I glanced down at my watch, there were three minutes left on the counter. I was fixing to go back, and poor old Barney was going to be left here on the side of the road, holding his ass and wondering what the hell had just happened.
"Excuse me, sir?" I started to speak as politely as possible. "Could you possibly do something for me?"
The cop looked at me like I was crazy, "Maam, you just almost killed half a dozen people driving like a maniac. You really think I owe you any favors?"
"Look mister, I'm only going to say this once, so pay attention. I'll be going in about two minutes and fourteen seconds - and counting, and I need for you to do what I was on my way to do when a certain insensitive prick turned on his blue lights and started chasing me!" I was quite angry, and upset, disappointed because I had not gotten to see her.
"Miss, I'll have to insist…." I stepped away from the car and gave him my most convincing hurt look.
"Please listen for a second, ok? It's serious." I pleaded. He nodded his head and I talked to him while appearing to tinker with my watch band - I was setting my return time.
"My mother owns this car, ok? I am not from around here (to say the very least) and I have to be going now. Please tell my mother I love her more than anyone, more than the stars in the sky, more than my child, more than my future - and don't ever forget. Will you do that, officer?" I said.
"You're not going anywhere, miss, until you take a trip downtown with me." He said, putting his gun back in its holster and getting out his handcuffs.
Oh shit! If he handcuffs me I won't be able to push the timer at the precise second, I thought. I'll be trapped. I had to make more time, just 35 more seconds and I'm home free.
"Look, I'm serious here, you have to listen for just a second." I said, faking some tears.
"Tell it to the judge, miss, I don't have time for your bullshit." He retorted, grabbing my right arm hard and spinning me around.
I had to do something, think quick, so I kicked him in the shin, hard, and climbed up on the back of the car, spinning around just in time to see him pull his gun again. I looked down at my watch and the time read 4 seconds, 3 - he cocked the gun, 2 - he shouted for me to get off the car or he'd have to shoot me, 1 - I felt woozy, dreamy, drugged suddenly, and I vaguely recall hearing the sound of a gun firing.
