The Clay Lion (20 page)

My transfer day arrived and as I prepared to
return to the present timeline, I found myself at Branson’s bedside for the
first time in days.  He slept frequently but opened his eyes as his
bedroom door opened.  Without a word and with great effort, he slid his
frail body to the side so that I would have a place to sit beside him.  I
took his hand and turned it so that his palm was facing up.  From my
pocket, I produced the clay lion.

“Where’d you find this?” he asked, wheezing after
each syllable.

 “I’ve had it for a while,” I responded.

“I remember when.   You made this for
me,” he said, stopping to catch his breath mid-sentence.

“Me too,” I said.  Neither of us spoke for a
while.  Finally I continued, “It’s time to be brave now.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

“I love you.  I’m sorry. 
For everything.”

“I love you too, Sis,” he replied.

I left the lion in his hand and placed a kiss on
his cheek as I rose from the bed.  I gazed at my baby brother for what I
imagined would be the last time. 

Sequestered in my room, I was anxious for the
transfer to take me from my past.  But as the bright light signaled that
the time was upon me, I painfully acknowledged that I was leaving the frying
pan to enter the fryer.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
F
IVE

When the average person uses his or her trip, it
is usually quite a simple process.  The person chooses the date to return
to within his or her own timeline, the duration of the stay, and the date to be
extracted back to the present.  In the present, virtually no time is lost
as the send-off and extraction occur within hours of each other. 
Therefore, you can travel without missing any of your own life.  After the
trip is complete, the traveler resumes his or her life along the present
timeline, which, if all rules have been followed, is exactly the same as it was
before.

It was no surprise that a considerable amount of
the required pre-trip instruction emphasized why a traveler should never make
changes to his or her timeline.  One of the many problems that arose from
making significant changes was that the life experiences between the extraction
date in the past and the return date in the present became unknown.  For
example, when the rules were followed and no changes were made during the trip,
the life the traveler returned to would be virtually unchanged. 
Therefore, it would not matter whether a span of days, months, or even years
had passed between the date of the extraction and the present day because all
of the traveler’s original memories for that period of time would be near
replicas of what actually occurred.  Life for the traveler would resume
seamlessly.

The length of time between the date of my
extraction at the end of my second trip and the date to which I returned in the
present was thirteen months.  Because the changes that I made to my
timeline were drastic by anyone’s standards, my memories of those thirteen
months no longer applied to the timeline into which I was reintroduced. 
My mental state was completely different than it was after my first trip. 
As was the mental state of those around me.
 
Additionally, there was an extra person’s life to consider…
Charlie’s.

Upon my return to the present, I found my parents
in a far worse condition than I had left them on either occasion.  In
fact, I despaired to find that my father was no longer living in the house with
us as he separated from my mother five months prior to my return. 
Apparently, the stress of Branson’s death partnered with my difficult behavior
had been sufficient to drive a wedge deep enough between them to dissolve their
twenty-three year marriage.

For my part, I discovered that, like the first
time Branson died, I had severed ties with everyone in my life.  Along
with the severe depression that I suffered from after Branson died in the
original timeline, apparently anger played a more dominant role for me in the
aftermath of the newly augmented reality.  More than despondency, I
treated everyone in my life with hostility, and so my friends had long since
given up on attempting
to pull
me from my
depression.  Most had been away at college for the year since Branson’s
passing and none had initiated any contact with me during that time.  Not
a single one.  Not even Charlie.

I confided in my mother about my trips.  I
reasoned that, perhaps if she knew that I had tried to save Branson it might
improve her spirits.  However, instead of making things better, telling
her only served to depress her even more.  She became angry with me for
meddling with our lives and told me repeatedly that she had known in her heart
that something was wrong and clearly, it was my fault. 

When I inquired about Charlie, she revealed to me
that he had visited Branson in the hospital and attended Branson’s
funeral.  He also tried on several occasions throughout the summer to
rekindle his friendship with me.  She confirmed that he was met with
resentment and antagonism, so despite his best efforts, we remained estranged.

Devastated by the loss of not only my brother,
but also my parents, I quickly decided there was only one remedy to the
solution.  I would have to travel one last time to right the wrongs I had
caused.  I confronted my mother about it one morning, having found her
alone in her bathroom crying in the corner of the floor.  She had been
going into work sporadically and I doubted she would be kept on staff for much
longer.  I sat
beside
her, my back leaning
against the wall, and handed her a roll of toilet paper with which to blow her
nose.

“I have to try again,” I told her.

“No,” she replied without hesitation, knowing
exactly what I meant.

“Mom, you have to let me fix this,” I pleaded.

“Brooke!” she said raising her voice, “You have
done enough already!”

“You said you believed in me once Mom. 
Please, believe in me again!  I can do this.  I will figure it
out.  I will make it all right.  I can use Dad’s trip.”

There was dead silence.  My mother attempted
to wipe the makeup from her red and puffy eyes, but only succeeded in smearing
it across her face into a haggard expression.

“I said no,” she repeated.

“Then I’ll ask him myself!” I yelled at her, as I
rose to my feet, leaving her in tears once again.

After storming out of the house, I drove the six
miles across town to where my father was staying at what was once a boarding
house for unwed mothers.  The building was now divided into four distinct
apartments.  My father resided in the smallest.  In addition to a
fresh coat of paint and new shingles, the entire house was in need of an
overhaul.  It reminded me of my life.

In the ten months since Branson’s death, my
father appeared to have aged ten years.  His skin hung limply on his face
and his eyes where sunken within their sockets.  He greeted me with a hug
that did little to encourage me.  After briefly discussing my previous
trips and explaining my plan to travel one more time, my father reacted in the
same manner as my mother, immediately discouraging me from giving it any more
thought.  He flat out refused to even consider letting me use his
trip.  It appeared that I was out of options.

Outside of my father’s apartment, I sat in the
car and concentrated on my breathing.  Unwilling to accept my current life
as my fate, I considered the only other person I knew that might have allowed
me to use their trip.  Assuming he would have been home from college on
summer break, I pulled the car away from the boarding house and headed west
through town towards Charlie’s house.

As I drove the familiar roads on the way to the
Johnson estate, I recalled the last thing Charlie had said to me.  He told
me he would wait.  I only hoped he would still be waiting for me
now.  I pulled into the circular drive and parked in front of the
door.  Suddenly, the courage drained from my soul and I found myself
unable to get out of the car.  I restarted the engine and engaged the
transmission into first gear when the front door of the house opened and Mrs.
Johnson appeared.  Recognition crossed her face, and she smiled at me with
a mixture of sadness and concern.  Waving me into the house, she
disappeared inside, leaving the front door wide open.  I turned off the
engine once again and made my way into the house.  I found myself standing
awkwardly in the foyer by myself.  After several moments that stretched on
for an eternity, Charlie appeared at the top of the staircase.

My heart stopped beating and it was all I could
do keep
myself
standing upright.  In the fifteen
months since I had seen him last, Charlie Johnson had become a man.  He
was a few inches taller but more than that, he was bulkier.  His chest had
filled out and his shoulders were broad.  His hair was longer and his face
was covered in a layer of stubble.  He was dressed sharply, sporting a
Harvard University t-shirt, and he exhorted an aura of power and
confidence.  I was shocked that so much of his appearance had
changed.  I searched desperately for something familiar.  I met his
gaze and looked into his eyes.  They were the same.  And they bored
into me with such anguish that I felt instantly that it was a mistake to have
come.

“What do you want Brooke?” he asked, not angrily
but with a tone of annoyance.

“I need your help,” I whispered.

“I can’t help you,” he remarked.

“You don’t even know what I need,” I said. 
“Please, hear me out.”

He marched down the stairs and stepped past me
into the parlor.  He took a seat in one of the arm chairs and I followed
suit.  Neither one of us spoke for quite some time.

“You broke my heart,” Charlie began.

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I broke mine
too.”

“You knew all along, didn’t you? 
About Branson?”

“Yes.”

“And you dragged me into it knowing you were
emotionally unable to handle the situation?”

“I thought it was going to work out.”

“I spent a long time being angry with you after I
figured out about the time travel.  Then I felt sorry for you.  It’s
taken me months to get to the point where I finally feel nothing.  And now
you show up here after over a year and you want me to do what?  Pretend it
all never happened?”

“No.”

“There’s someone else Brooke.  I met her at
school.  I’m happy.  I don’t want this.”

“I need your trip,” I said quietly.

“My what?” he responded, raising his voice. 
“My trip!
  You have the nerve to come here, to my
house, to ask to use
my
trip?  To what end Brooke?  You have
to stop this!  You are never going to get him back!”

“I want to try one more time.  I can’t leave
it this way.  I’ve ruined more than just my life.  I’ve destroyed my
parents.  I’ve hurt you.  I’ve failed Branson.  Please Charlie…”

“No Brooke.  No more,” he paused considering
me across the room.  “I loved you.”

“I loved you,” I replied.  “Please.”

“No.”

Charlie sat silently for several minutes and I
could see he was considering his words carefully.  Finally he continued
,
his voiced laced with compassion, “I know you think you are
doing the right thing, but you aren’t supposed to do this.  We aren’t
supposed to be the authors of our own lives.  We are not in charge. 
Life is just life.  You don’t get to fix it.  But I know you
Brooke.  I know you won’t give up.  So I will ask you this – if you
manage to find a way to go back again, don’t find me.  Don’t meet
me.  Pretend you don’t know who I am.  I can’t do this again. 
You almost destroyed me, and my life will never be the same again because of
you.  If I had a chance to undo what you did…” he trailed off. 
“Promise me you will leave me out of it.”

“I promise,” I said, unable to look him
directly.  “I’ll see myself out.”

I rose from the chair and made a beeline for the
door.  As I was turning the knob, I felt Charlie’s presence behind
me.  I briefly considered continuing through the door without turning
around, but I did not have the courage.  Slowly, I turned to face
him.  He was only inches away.  He reached out to touch my hair,
placing a lock behind my ear with great tenderness. 

“Goodbye Brooke,” he said.

“Goodbye,” I said, reaching up to touch his hand
that was lingering on my hair.  I closed my eyes, allowing myself to
imagine what might have been.  And then I walked away, out of Charlie’s
life forever.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
S
IX

Convinced that there had to be a way to make
another trip, I pulled myself together and headed to the public library. 
On the way, I passed by Cooper’s Hardware Store and found that it was partially
demolished.  The roof was caved in on one side and there was a sign in the
front window that read “condemned.”  I immediately thought of the box of
letters tucked away in the eves.  I had taken them during my first trip
but had never returned to the attic during my second voyage, assuring they would
have still been in the attic when the roof collapsed.  Given the scope of
the damage, I was sure they had been destroyed.  I parked in front of the
building and got out to peer through the window, hoping to gain some insight
into what had occurred.  Mrs. Frederickson from the florist next door
popped her head out of her shop.