Remember Me (52 page)

My eyes became glued to a spot roughly four feet away from the

“junk pile.” A long black crack…I couldn’t think of anything else to call it…had suddenly appeared in the middle of the air, about three feet off the ground. The sound of the train got even louder, and I could feel the electrical vibrations running under my feet.

The black crack widened and expanded until it was nearly ten feet in diameter. Loose debris started rolling across the ground, picking up speed as it got closer and closer to the anomaly.

It looked like a large vacuum cleaner opening. The dirt and small scraps of wood along with dried leaves swirled in the S 401 S

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air, and then violently disappeared into the darkness, sucked into the collection bag I couldn’t see. The train roared past and the black hole collapsed inwardly on itself. The remaining litter momentarily hung in the air, then fell to the ground. My mouth was agape, and I was trembling.

The lady standing next to me released my wrist. She

bowed her head in a prayer like fashion and then said, “It’s done, Andrew.”

“Yah it’s gone,” I said, feeling the need to contribute to the moment and her use of my name. She looked weary and her

complexion was very pale. She’d pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head. I looked into her eyes and saw the intensity in her stare.

“Andrew, we need to go up to the house and talk now. I do believe you are going to be more accepting about what I have to say now.”

“Who are you?”

“Do I really need to answer that question? In all my years of knowing you I’ve always considered you open-minded and intelligent.”

“Knowing me…years…We just…” I stopped mid-sentence as my brain caught up with my sensor input. I understood in an instant, every science fiction movie playing instantaneously in my head, “You really are Amy.”

“Bingo! Only I go by Olivia now, or at least I have for the past twenty-five years.” She turned and headed towards the house. She stopped by her car and braced both hands on the hood. She lowered her head, and I could tell she was crying.

I stood there like an idiot and let her cry. I was lost in my own little world of uncertainty, and I couldn’t find the means within myself to offer her any kind of comfort. She wiped at the tears with the back of her hand. She took a couple of deep breathes, and then opened the passenger door of the SUV.

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Reaching inside she grabbed an old, beat-up backpack, slinging one strap across her right shoulder.

“Lead the way,” she softly asked of me.

I took her through the open garage door and into the mud room where the washer and dryer sat. We walked straight

through and into the brightly lit kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked, not really knowing what else to say at the moment.

“A glass of water would be great. Thank you.”

I grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and moved towards

the refrigerator to fill it. It hit me like a rock… “Olivia Jane Harris,” I said. “Amy and I have commented several times how you two look alike. We think you are doing wonder…” I stopped mid-sentence as I once again had my brain jolted back to reality. “You really are Amy…aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“And that was a black hole through time?”

“Yes, it was.”

I finished filling her glass with ice cubes and water. I handed it across the table to her. My knees were starting to shake, and I had trouble looking her straight in the eye.

“By the way Andrew, have a happy birthday tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” I raised my eyes and truly studied her face. I was seeing Amy as she might look twenty years from now. She was always going to be beautiful, and I felt extremely proud that we had found each other and she had chosen to spend the rest of her life with me. “Blessed” was the word that truly describes my feelings.

“I can’t stay, we have much to discuss and talk about, but I believe you have a supper with your parents happening in a little over two hours from now. I want to leave all of this with you,” and she handed me the backpack. “Inside you will find a book—actually two books; the one written by you and the S 403 S

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other one is my own personal diary.”

“Written by me…what?”

“Andrew, I was not the first one to go through the wormhole you just saw, but I am the last. You were going to mow back there before I came and stopped you.”

It dawned on me, and I turned white as the color drained from my face. “My God, if you hadn’t been here I’d of gone through it…”

“You did, fifty years ago, or did today if you prefer.”

“You too?”

“No. I’ve only been through it once, twenty-five years ago.

It opens to nineteen eighty-five, the same day each time.”

“I don’t understand. Why did you wait until now to contact me?”

“I suggest you read the letter tucked inside of the book first.

It was written by you—to you. I think it will explain why now, and why today. I’m going to leave now, because I don’t think you want me to deal with Amy until after you have a chance to understand everything first. Read the letter, then the book.

Take your time. I’ve waited twenty-five years. A few days or weeks literally mean nothing to me now. It’s a lot to absorb.

Call me when you finish it. I’ll stick around the area until you do. I have personal plans tomorrow; but after that, we can meet whenever you like. Just call the number on the card attached to the outside of the envelope containing your letter.”

With her last comment, she rose from the table and walked herself out the kitchen door. I followed behind her, doe-eyed and stunned at everything she had just told me. “Amy…” I called out to her as she opened her car door, “…it was bad the first time…wasn’t it?”

“You’ve always been a quick study Andrew,” and with that she climbed in the SUV. She starting it up and drove down the lane in a cloud of dust.

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A birthday party after all.

May 22nd, 2010.

Amy pulled in
the drive ten minutes after the older Amy/

Olivia left. I saw her coming up the drive and panicked at the thought of her questioning the backpack. I grabbed it from its place on the table and hustled downstairs into the basement.

There was an old couch perched in the corner of our family room. Behind it was a collection of blankets and pillows for anyone who came downstairs to use when they watched television. Like all basements in the Midwest, it could get downright chilly.

I tossed it behind the couch and reached over the back to cover it with blankets. “Safe for now,” I repeated several times under my breath. I think I was doing my best to convince the doubtful me. He wasn’t biting, and I wasn’t having much luck hooking him. I was full of anxiety. Without ever having read them, I understood the gravity of the contents of a certain backpack. I hoped it was safely hidden under the University of Iowa blanket. I left it alone on Saturday, against all my strong desires to delve into it. My pre-birthday bash would be starting in a couple of hours when my parents and children would come for a barbeque. Tomorrow was going to be equally

packed full of people. I knew I wouldn’t have time to get to it until Sunday night at the earliest. Even then it was more real-istic to think it probably would be Monday. I suddenly realized that I wasn’t sure I wanted to read it at all. I was afraid of the S 405 S

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contents, pure and simple!

Later, as the night wore on, it became more difficult to keep my focus off the backpack. Once, when Amy’s kids headed downstairs to search for a game to play, I nearly knocked my granddaughter, Megan, over as I catapulted myself down the stairs to protect the hidden treasure. When I returned upstairs, I had to face the questioning eyes of Amy and my mother, a double-impact of dueling swords, slicing me neatly into thirds. My answer to their stare was strictly non-verbal, a contrite shrug of my shoulders. Thank God I was the designated birthday boy. They let it slide without additional comments or icy stares. It also helped that Emily broke-up the moment when she handed Megan to me. I could divert all of my attention to her.

As the night wrapped up and everyone left, my thoughts

were increasingly occupied by the unknown and the impossible. My face should have been lit up and happy, but I couldn’t stop my worries from etching a few new lines into my forehead. Amy took it as a sign of a let-down, thinking I was feeling my age…so to speak. Nothing could have been further from the truth! My birthday tomorrow was going to be one for the ages, and I was really looking forward to it. As Emily prepared to leave, she discussed the possibility of everyone coming out to Seattle for a visit with her and Quinn. I promised we would.

I closed the door behind her as she walked down the porch steps towards the car my parents had lent them to use while they were here.

Amy did her best to grab my attention, hustling me upstairs as soon as the house became quiet. We made love, and she drifted off to sleep afterwards with her head resting on my chest. It was always one of the most peaceful and fulfilling moments I ever experienced. As Amy fell asleep, I would lie awake and cherish the gift I held in my arms. Amy was beautiful S 406 S

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in so many ways. She brought vibrant color to the canvas of my life. I woke around six a.m., my head instantly swarming with thoughts of the backpack. Amy was a light sleeper, and I doubted that I could exit our bed without her waking up.

With everything we had to do today to get ready for the party, she’d be popping out of bed soon. I sighed and wrapped myself around her, breathing in her scent. Wormholes and backpacks would have to wait.

My fiftieth birthday party came and went. It lasted until nearly midnight on Sunday. Emily was the last to leave. She and Quinn decided to stay at a motel rather than with us, even when Amy’s kids and I begged them to stay. The gifts I received were both funny and enlightening. Turning fifty gives everyone an opportunity to poke some fun. Some gifts, however, come straight from the heart and leave lasting impressions. Emily and Samantha had gotten together to buy me an old manual typewriter in pristine condition. To me it was the prized gift of the night, a beacon to that untold story that was inside of me. It was also a statement of their belief in me. I just needed to believe in myself like they did. I’d spent a lifetime dabbling at writing, nothing momentous, but the typewriter was their way of telling me it was time to get it done.

Everyone cheered when I put in a piece of paper and typed the words, “Once upon a time.” There are very few moments in our lives when we can see just how much we are loved.

After the events of the previous afternoon with the older Amy/Olivia, the birthday party had an extra added meaning for me. The Andrew that Olivia spoke about had written a book. Maybe some things are destined to happen. I hoped so.

It made the gift of the typewriter mean that much more to me.

I hadn’t much time to think about or even to start reading the contents in the backpack, though it was always right there at the edge of my thoughts.

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I was humbled by the outpouring of love and affection

from my guests. I thanked each one personally as they left, and some I reminded that they would also be turning fifty soon.

“Paybacks are hell,” I said more than once. It was a great birthday. Amy and her kids gave me a laptop computer; it was the modern answer to the manual typewriter my own kids had

given me. I was amazed at just how integrated our merged families had become, and how much they shared and communicated with each other. Life was definitely special. It made the contents of the backpack feel even more important somehow.

It also caused me great apprehension.

I almost always went to bed when Amy did. Both of us

tended to be night owls, the only exceptions were when either of us felt ill. I resolved myself to the fact that Monday would be my best opportunity to unlock untold mysteries. It was a full day at work, but if I managed it just right, I might be able to get away early in the afternoon.

I left work at two; fortune had been on my side. I had

everything done that needed completed, and there were no fires that needed to be put out. Jokingly, I told everyone I had presents that I needed to return. I commented on how sad it was that so many people had made similar errors in their gift giving. I had gotten multiple “over–the-hill,” age 50 merchan-dise. I couldn’t understand why—I was only thirty-nine. On the drive home I had a hard time keeping my foot off the ac-celerator. I had a little over an hour and a half before Amy and her kids arrived home from work and school.

I was shaking as I opened the door to the basement. I hung on tightly to the handrail as I worked my way cautiously down the steps. I was scared to death, and my imagination had been running wild all day long. I loved the thought of time travel, and though I always believed it possible, I never really conceived it happening. It made for great discussion and even better movies S 408 S

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and novels. Now it was sitting in my basement waiting for me.

It was in a beat-up backpack covered by a Hawkeye blanket.

I was on the verge of hyperventilation by the time I wobbled to the couch. I stretched over the back of the couch and uncovered the backpack, lifting it over and onto the seat cushion with great difficulty. It seemed as if the strength in my arms had taken a holiday.

I sat there staring at the backpack for nearly ten minutes, unable to open it. It was so uncharacteristic of me. I was the one who relished the mysteries and puzzles of life, not the one to be so full of anxiety and fear of the unknown. I knew what it was that scared me…me. Inside the pack was a letter from me to me. I remembered what Olivia had said in response to my question—it had been bad the first time. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know just how bad it had been. I was happy with my life right now. Why did I even need to know what was written, or what had happened. Olivia had said it was done, so why then did I need to read it? I knew the answer…because I had to…needed to. I was the next part of the story, and it was my turn to bat.