She just keeps on walking, so I fall into step next to her and just keep talking. “You totally pulled it together, didn’t you? It was the SATs, right? And the Senior Social Committee, and I bet you totally nailed all your first semester grades. Amazing college, amazing new friends, amazing new life…So why do you look so serious? What’s up?”
Future Me has her beautifully glossed lips pursed in a straight line, and her face is complete no-nonsense. She has the same determined look I’ve seen on every kick-butt action hero Scarlett Johansson has ever played, and for a split second I wonder if I really am a trained assassin on a case. Or maybe I’m in a movie
playing
a trained assassin on a case.
Of course, then there would be cameras and directors and other actors around.
“Oh, Autumn, thank goodness.”
I’m so busy staring at myself I don’t even notice my mom until I hear her voice. She’s right in front of Future Me and me. She wears white pants and a button-down red shirt with a laminated tag pinned to it that says
Aventura Hospital Volunteer.
Hospital!
Yes, that’s why this place looks familiar. It’s a hospital!
“Awww!” I cry as I realize Mom’s not alone but has a big, gorgeous, brown-black-and-white furry Bernese mountain dog on a leash. The dog wears a red therapy-pet vest and is so well behaved he stops and lies down when Mom stops. I automatically bend down to pet him, but my ghostly hand goes right through him. If this were a movie, he’d pick up on my presence, but the dog has no clue I’m even there.
When I stand back up, Mom’s hugging Future Me.
I can’t help it. I glance behind Future Me’s back to check out Mom’s left hand.
No wedding ring, no engagement ring. And here it is, what would have been her wedding day in the other future.
“Score!” I shout. Then I call out in case the spirit of my dad can hear, “Okay, I still don’t know how this works, but I’m good to go. I totally rock, Mom doesn’t have the loser, she volunteers at the hospital, I come visit her…I’m ready to go.”
Apparently, asking to leave the future doesn’t do anything because I’m still here. I watch Mom pull out of the hug, but she keeps her hands on my upper arms and rubs up and down. Her eyes are teary and sympathetic, and I’m suddenly glad I didn’t zip away. A warning tingle buzzes my nerves.
“Is he okay?” Future Me asks, and the tingle starts to hum. I look back and forth from Future Me to Mom, looking for answers.
“Is
who
okay?” I ask them. “Not Erick, right? Tell me it’s not Erick.”
Mom smiles sympathetically. “I’ll take you to see him.”
“Take us to see
who
?” I ask again, but I know all I can do is follow them as they walk down the hall. Actually, I walk ahead of them, backpedaling so I can try to read their faces. Future Me looks grim and Mom sympathetic, but neither of us is crying. If it was Erick in the hospital, wouldn’t we be crying?
Is it Eddy?
“I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up from the airport,” Mom says. “I hate that you flew all the way down from school and had to take an Uber, but I couldn’t get anyone else to cover the therapy dog shift, and…”
The good: Mom just confirmed I go to college somewhere a plane ride away from Florida and her gig with the therapy dogs is a regular thing, which I know she must love. The bad: She’s babbling. She only babbles when she’s really upset and doesn’t know what to say. I’m starting to get really nervous.
Then Mom smiles at something behind me, and I turn to see we’ve made it to a waiting room. It’s filled with rows of industrial chairs broken up only by low tables covered in ancient magazines and a counter holding old-smelling coffee and broken-up cookies.
“Hey, guys,” Future Me says, and smiles for the first time.
Now I see them: Reenzie, Taylor, and Amalita. They’re on three of the chairs, Reenzie in the middle, their heads all bent together as they talk in
Future Me has her beautifully glossed lips pursed in a straight line, and her face is complete no-nonsense. She has the same determined look I’ve seen on every kick-butt action hero Scarlett Johansson has ever played, and for a split second I wonder if I really am a trained assassin on a case. Or maybe I’m in a movie
playing
a trained assassin on a case.
Of course, then there would be cameras and directors and other actors around.
“Oh, Autumn, thank goodness.”
I’m so busy staring at myself I don’t even notice my mom until I hear her voice. She’s right in front of Future Me and me. She wears white pants and a button-down red shirt with a laminated tag pinned to it that says
Aventura Hospital Volunteer.
Hospital!
Yes, that’s why this place looks familiar. It’s a hospital!
“Awww!” I cry as I realize Mom’s not alone but has a big, gorgeous, brown-black-and-white furry Bernese mountain dog on a leash. The dog wears a red therapy-pet vest and is so well behaved he stops and lies down when Mom stops. I automatically bend down to pet him, but my ghostly hand goes right through him. If this were a movie, he’d pick up on my presence, but the dog has no clue I’m even there.
When I stand back up, Mom’s hugging Future Me.
I can’t help it. I glance behind Future Me’s back to check out Mom’s left hand.
No wedding ring, no engagement ring. And here it is, what would have been her wedding day in the other future.
“Score!” I shout. Then I call out in case the spirit of my dad can hear, “Okay, I still don’t know how this works, but I’m good to go. I totally rock, Mom doesn’t have the loser, she volunteers at the hospital, I come visit her…I’m ready to go.”
Apparently, asking to leave the future doesn’t do anything because I’m still here. I watch Mom pull out of the hug, but she keeps her hands on my upper arms and rubs up and down. Her eyes are teary and sympathetic, and I’m suddenly glad I didn’t zip away. A warning tingle buzzes my nerves.
“Is he okay?” Future Me asks, and the tingle starts to hum. I look back and forth from Future Me to Mom, looking for answers.
“Is
who
okay?” I ask them. “Not Erick, right? Tell me it’s not Erick.”
Mom smiles sympathetically. “I’ll take you to see him.”
“Take us to see
who
?” I ask again, but I know all I can do is follow them as they walk down the hall. Actually, I walk ahead of them, backpedaling so I can try to read their faces. Future Me looks grim and Mom sympathetic, but neither of us is crying. If it was Erick in the hospital, wouldn’t we be crying?
Is it Eddy?
“I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up from the airport,” Mom says. “I hate that you flew all the way down from school and had to take an Uber, but I couldn’t get anyone else to cover the therapy dog shift, and…”
The good: Mom just confirmed I go to college somewhere a plane ride away from Florida and her gig with the therapy dogs is a regular thing, which I know she must love. The bad: She’s babbling. She only babbles when she’s really upset and doesn’t know what to say. I’m starting to get really nervous.
Then Mom smiles at something behind me, and I turn to see we’ve made it to a waiting room. It’s filled with rows of industrial chairs broken up only by low tables covered in ancient magazines and a counter holding old-smelling coffee and broken-up cookies.
“Hey, guys,” Future Me says, and smiles for the first time.
Now I see them: Reenzie, Taylor, and Amalita. They’re on three of the chairs, Reenzie in the middle, their heads all bent together as they talk in
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