So Totally (18 page)

He broke the silence. “I wish I’d never drawn that picture at the Falls. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d have known you were planning on leaving me while you still sat next to me.”

“What do you want me to say, Nate? We have to get used to the idea of goodbye. It’s not like that will get easier via denial.”

“What happened to Carpe dieming?”

“Carpe diem is dumb.”

“It must be nice to be able to turn off your feelings so easily.”

I looked down at our hands, the ones we were still holding on to for dear life. “This isn’t easy. Nothing is easy. My life is the Big Uneasy.” Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. “I’m not ready to be on my own, but I don’t have a choice. Because I am on my own. I need my family—but they don’t even know who I am. But because I need to be near them so much, I have most likely ruined all chances that I’ll ever be born.” The gym, sweltering a few minutes ago from all the bodies packed in, now felt like a meat locker. “I totally don’t want to die on my twenty-fifth birthday just because I can’t be born. But if I do go home, I’ll have to leave you. And I don’t want to leave you, but I have to. I don’t want to love you, but I do. And I can’t stop it and I’m so tired of trying to be brave. I’m not brave. Not at all.”

“Did you breathe even once during that entire speech?” He watched my face for the smile he knew I couldn’t deny him. “I think you’re brave.” He squeezed my hands. “Mostly I think that carpe diem isn’t dumb. I want to live for today, not tomorrow. Tomorrow is what’s dumb. I’m not really interested in a future that doesn’t include you.”

“You’re ripping my heart into pieces.”

“Good thing I excel at puzzles. Let’s get out of here,” he offered.

I nodded. I guess I could just wait and suffer later, right? No reason to spend whatever time we had left trying to sever the bonds—it’s not like it made it hurt less.

On our way out, I caught sight of my reflection in the glass door. I had makeup all over my face. “Pit stop.”

I veered into the ladies’ room for a quick splash of water.

Yeah, I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming either.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…

Who is Time’s bitch most of all?

Why, that would be me.

Even though I’d experienced it previously, the sensation of my reflection moving to an alternate pattern was, well, disconcerting.

Only she (the “me” on the other side) looked more surprised than I did. Her eyes widened again with fear. She was the mirror image of me the night I began my journey.

I placed my hand on the glass, and my reflection, wary but not yet as world-weary as I, touched her side of the glass. I watched her consciousness fade, saw her fall.

I just felt numb.

Very subtly, the corners of the room began rounding. The walls shifted into gossamer ghost walls around me. It was happening.

I struggled, calling out for Nate. I couldn’t leave him I couldn’t leave Heather, not now when she needed me the most.

Fade to black.

“Carrington! Wake up.”

Bile. I tasted bile.

“Are you okay?”

The pounding in my head suggested otherwise. I squinted my eyes when I tried to open them. “Bright light.” I squeezed them shut again.

“How much did you drink? Did someone sneak you a roofie?”

The floor beneath me was chilled and slightly damp. God, why did I always have to wake up in a bathroom? “What year is it?”

“Are you for real?”

Gingerly, I allowed one eye to open a crack. It must still be the ‘80s, but why would Cyndi Lauper be in the girls’ bathroom? I squeezed my eyes shut, then blinked them several times. Okay, she wasn’t Cyndi Lauper. She was the girl who sat behind me in history. But I had history in both time zones, so that didn’t help as much as it could have.

“Grady asked me to find you,” she said.

At the sound of Grady’s name, my heart stopped in midbeat.

Grady, my date. Not Nate, my boyfriend.

Was Nate still waiting in the foyer in 1986? How could time be so cruel to not let us say goodbye? No closure, just a void.

I let…Cyndi (I couldn’t remember her real name) help me up. Then I asked her to tell Grady to go without me because I wasn’t feeling like myself.

I splashed more water on my face, hoping for a repeat with my reflection. Nothing felt right; I was undone. I kept picturing Nate and Heather trying to move forward, and it killed me more as each second passed. Fragile Heather, how would she find the strength to finish out the school year with such a delicate psyche? Or would she go to the farm and try to forget everything?

And Nate. Why had I pushed him away those last couple of days? I pleaded with the mirror for a second chance. Nothing.

I stared down the bathroom door. My nemesis. Sooner or later, it would open, and I’d have to let go of virtual reality and settle for a life less extraordinary.

Facing Heather, my mother, would prove to be interesting. Part of me longed to run home and check on her, take care of her. Part of me longed to run home and cry in my mommy’s arms. A smaller part of me realized that I would have to find a way to balance the first two. My relationship with my mother had just gotten very complicated.

At least I got to keep her. What really kept me rooted in the bathroom was knowing that when I walked out that door, I had to give up on Nate. I’d known it wouldn’t be permanent from the very start, but nothing prepared me for the black hole I’d been sucked into.

W
HEN I got home that night, I was worried about how my mom would react to me. After all, she would probably now have memories of me from the ‘80s.

“Mom?”

She stirred on the couch. “Hey, baby. How was the dansh?” she slurred.

“Weird.”

She smiled. “I remember those days.”

But did she remember me?

“Mom?”

“Tired, baby. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?” And she rolled over.

Okay. So clearly she was either too drunk to process or my trip to 1986 didn’t register with her. I went to the kitchen to guzzle some water and saw two bottles of wine on the counter. Two? Were they both from tonight?

I slammed them into the recycle bin, not caring that they broke. I really wished I could talk to Heather about it. And that ripped me open. I had nobody now, and for a while I had my mom. And Nate.

Was my whole trip just a dream? Was any of it real? It was too lucid to be a dream, wasn’t it? A dream can’t break your heart.

I needed a shower after all that time on the bathroom floor. As I emptied my pockets, I found the sketch Nate had given me.

It was real. A dream didn’t break my heart.

Love did.

I spent the balance of my allowance at iTunes downloading every ‘80s love song I could find. I made the saddest playlist in history, and then I reveled in my emo world like a pig in the muck.

I stayed up all night in some kind of angst-induced trance. Afraid to sleep, afraid to ruin the sketch with my tears, afraid to face my mother. I tried to make sense of my life. What caused me to time surf?

Of all the theories, it seemed like an alternate timeline—universe maybe—was the one that made sense. Obviously, I was born, so I hadn’t screwed that up. But in this line of time, my mom had no recollection of me hanging out with her when she was my age.

I knew too much and understood too little.

My heart ached, and how could it not? It was splintered—cracked like the damned portal that got me into this mess. I’d risked everything and lost.

Falling in love was a lot like falling off a cliff, and both ended with a satisfying splat when it was over. I still
felt
Nate. His presence remained near me, and I swear I felt his heart telegraphing to me,
“Don’t give up on us.”

But that would be silly, wouldn’t it? If anything, Nate would encourage me to move on. Don’t look back. Carpe diem. But I wasn’t prepared for the realization that he was somewhere in this world, maybe this town, but really a universe away. The Nate that was my mom’s age and wouldn’t be
my
Nate. I’d be a stranger to him (a stranger wearing a “Jailbait” button). I’d promised not to meddle in his grown-up life, and truthfully I hoped I’d never run into his adult self. That kind of weirdness might tip me from “manageable crazy” to full-on “jacket with the arms in the back” crazy.

When “Careless Whisper” rolled around that morning, I decided I’d rather face the music downstairs than face hearing that song again. Heather—I mean Mom—brewed coffee and looked hungover. I felt the same. Crying every single tear out of your body dehydrates something awful.

She poured us both giant, steaming mugs of caffeinated love, so I sat at the table. She took her spot across from me, and we accepted our first sip like an offering of communion. Completely in tandem, even. We’d qualify for synchronized coffee drinking at the Olympic Games for sure.

As was our custom, neither of us spoke until we’d each consumed approximately one-half a cup. The tradition soothed my ruffled psyche. I’d missed her. And yes, I’m aware that I’d spent every day with her since I left, and that I actually hadn’t gone anywhere—but I felt as if it had been a month since I’d seen her, and that trumps all.

“How was the dance?” The sweet silence was broken.

“It was totally tubular,” I answered.

She sprayed coffee all over the table. “I haven’t heard that in a while. I’m glad you had fun. I didn’t hear you come in last night.”

I didn’t correct her.

“You’re not feeling well, I can tell by your eyes.”

“I really don’t feel well.” Our eyes met across the table, hers filled with concern. “I have a feeling that I’m going to not feel well for a long time.”

“A boy, then?”

I nodded.

“They do that. Luckily, I went grocery shopping yesterday and we have plenty of ice cream. Do you want to talk about him?”

“Not just yet.”

“Okay. If high school is still the same, I bet you guys get back together and break up at least two more times, anyway.” Her eyes clouded over and I knew she was thinking of Sissy and Jake.

Me too.

The entire day crawled slowly. Maybe I had time-lag hangover. I’d certainly crossed more time zones than a jet traveler. I spent most of the afternoon alone in my room watching ‘80s movies and being pathetic. Perhaps I should have offered to watch them with my mother, but contrary to popular myth, misery doesn’t always love company.

The hours passed, Nate on my mind and heart, etched so deeply I doubted I’d ever really move on. We never danced together, I realized while watching Molly Ringwald get ready for prom. How unbelievably sad. I fantasized a perfect prom. Nate in a tux, me in an off-the-shoulder taffeta dream dress—a dress that looked nothing like Molly’s. Really, what was she thinking? That dress wouldn’t have been pretty in any color, not just pink—and we’d slow dance to “Never Tear Us Apart” by INXS. (Unless he figured out how to find me in 2011, and then it would be “You and Me” by Lifehouse.) I used the memories I’d gathered to flesh out the details. The dancing lights on the gymnasium floor, the scent of his skin, the strength of his arms holding me close.

He’d kiss me softly on the dance floor. Not a disgusting PDA kiss, just a soft, sweet one. Everyone would smile at our cuteness, but we wouldn’t notice them, because we only have eyes for each other. Then I’d snuggle in closer, lay my head on his heart, and all would be right with the world.