CHAPTER FORTY Mike
Jen honked twice, the last peace-breaker was long and obnoxious, revealing she was pissed that I was keeping her waiting.
Prom voting was that day and she’d called me late last night telling me what to wear and how to act at school.
She had decided that she was going to be the first to win both the homecoming queen title as well as wear the prom queen’s crown.
And with that revelation, she decided I’d be the first double-crown-winning boy by her side.
“I’m not going to school today, Mom,” I said after she knocked on my door after honk number one.
“You’re telling or asking?” she asked through the closed door.
Forgetting she was the boss and I was the child, I changed my tune. “Not feeling well.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said. I heard Jen’s car pull away, followed by Mom’s steps on the stairs.
Mom had specific protocols when either Dad or I weren’t well.
Her cure could be lengthy and full of special potions after she determined the illness.
I’d better keep my faux diagnosis simple for my own good.
“It’s unlocked,” I said, after Mom knocked. I liked the fact that both of my parents had made my bedroom my personal space as soon as I proved I could act responsibly. Neither of them ever barged in without knocking.
I was still in bed, having barely slept the night before. I tossed and turned, wrote letters to Cooper, tore letters up, rewrote them, paced, laid down, almost called him, and almost went over to his place. I did pretty much everything but speak to him.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Mom asked, grabbing my wrist to check my pulse while simultaneously holding her palm to my forehead. “Throat? Tummy?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Well, physically.”
Her eyes narrowed and she came closer to my face, carefully studying me. “You stuffed all that anger down yesterday didn’t you?” she asked. “I can see it behind your eyes.”
“No, you can’t,” I said. “And I didn’t do any stuffing either,” I quipped.
Mom swiped at my nose then pulled my top sheet down to my waist before running her hands across my warm chest. “Blotchy,” she announced. “I knew it.”
“Mom,” I whined, looking at my bare chest and not seeing what she saw.
“You cannot go to bed when you’re angry or stressed, Michael.
I’ve told you that a million times.” She had.
I remembered. “Your body responds to outside negativity and then it manifests into an overall malaise,” she began, tugging on my earlobes for some strange reason.
“Stress is a slow killer. Sneaks up on you.”
“I’m seventeen, Mom,” I argued.
“Open up.” She forced my mouth open and peeked inside. “Is your tongue dry?”
I swatted her hand from my chin. “It will be if you keep prying my mouth open,” I said. “I’m tired, is all, and I didn’t sleep well last night. Besides, there’s nothing happening at school with less than a week to go. I won’t miss anything important.”
“After all that negativity, of course, you didn’t sleep well,” she accused. “You are too young for all these worries, son.” If she only knew. Even at twenty-seven I’d felt the battle deep inside my bones. I wondered if my body knew I was in my late twenties now. My brain sure as hell did.
“I just need to lay around today,” I said. “Plus, I have work tomorrow.”
“Of course, honey, but you’re drinking one of my elixirs.”
I’d forgotten Mom used that word for the major battles. When the illness or the negative event required average ammunition, she used her potions, but elixirs meant busting out the big guns.
“No marigolds,” I stated.
She looked at me oddly, her lips drawn into a frown. “Now why would I use marigold?” she asked. “We aren’t summoning the dead, for gosh sakes.”
I was tempted to ask additional questions about summoning the dead, but my three days back in my childhood home circa 2013 had taught me a valuable lesson. Less talk. More listen.
“Lay still and be peaceful. I’ll be right back,” she ordered.
Once Mom was downstairs I went to the window, opened the shutters, and looked across the street.
Coop and his mother were heading to Charla’s car.
Cooper didn’t look toward my bedroom window when he slid inside the car.
I watched as they backed out and drove toward school, wondering what he was thinking when I hadn’t gone with Jennifer.
Maybe he hadn’t noticed, but I knew her honking would’ve alerted him.
I heard Mom coming up the stairs so I dove back into bed.
“Here you go,” she said, handing me a plate with what looked like a piece of black licorice, a wedge of lemon, and a mug of warm cloudy liquid. I brought the mug to my nose and sniffed before making a face. It smelled horrible.
“Garlic and warm soda water,” she announced. “Drink up.”
“Gross, Mom,” I stated, my upper lip curling in disgust. “What is this concoction?”
“I just told you. Now squeeze the lemon into your mouth and then drink all of that in one swig. Once you drink every drop, then chew on the licorice.”
A decade ago in my other life I would have fought her over it, but now I had insight that my mother had certain unearthly gifts.
Plus, why not go along with her? I knew healing others pleased her and if the stinky elixir worked that was an added bonus.
Even if there was nothing but confusion and worry causing my made-up troubles, garlic, lemon and licorice wouldn’t kill me.
I did as she said and drank the liquid then ate the licorice to kill the taste of the raw garlic. “Where do you get these cures or whatever you call them?” I asked.
“My books. Sometimes my Facebook groups,” she stated, taking the mug from me then checking my forehead again. “Some I make up after researching ancient indigenous medicine men or Chinese herbalist cures. You know, all the experts.”
“How about a real doctor’s advice?” I teased.
“When needed I suppose, but why poison ourselves when there are natural ways to fight illnesses and pain,” she advised. “Western medicine is amazing too but I prefer my alternative approaches.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll rest a bit.” A horrible taste built in my mouth as I continued chewing on the black licorice. I spat the dissolving piece onto my hand. “Yuk. What kind of candy is this?” I asked, still trying to push tiny pieces of the nasty licorice out of my mouth.
“I never said it was candy,” she said, grinning. “Now put that back in your mouth and swallow.”
I looked at my hand and then back at her, suspicious that she was trying to poison me.
“It’s all natural. I wouldn’t give you something that you couldn’t handle,” she insisted.
Really? Like a potion that transported me through parallel universes? “This stuff tastes horrible,” I said.
She shifted my hand to my mouth. “Eat it,” she ordered. “I’m going to the library again today.” She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Here, you can have this back.”
I turned the Apple iPhone around, squinting at the backside to make out the model. The phone was a 3GS from 2009 or earlier. It was a relic for sure. “Thanks.”
“We’ll have some organic soup when I get back. Loads of root veggies,” she said, moving to the door. “Relax and think positive thoughts while I’m gone.”
“I will. Thanks again for the phone.”
Mom smiled and hurried down the stairs. She was on a mission. Sick child alert. Call out the big guns.
“You are really something,” I mumbled, laughing to myself.
After turning the phone on, I noticed dozens of texts; some were several days old, even before my arrival from the other world. Today’s messages were all from Jennifer.
OMG! You’re not coming today?!?! This is only THE most important day of high school, Michael!
That one arrived three minutes after Mom told her I wasn’t feeling well. Jennifer didn’t mention anything about me being sick or offering to help.
I can totally work the votes for me because I’m here. I can’t do the same 4 u 2! Gawd! I’m so pissed, Michael!!!!
Four exclamation marks. She was pissed.
When I get crowned without you . . . OMG! I can’t EVEN imagine, and if Hastings or Mark Nelson is standing by me, I WILL NEVER FORGIVE U! EVER!
So, there had been evidence of a future Jennifer in this younger version.
I scrolled through a dozen more rants from my girlfriend and then went to Cooper’s.
Not much from the last couple of days. He’d sent one Sunday that said I seemed odd that morning.
He’d sent another after we’d spoken about how I’d hurt his feelings in front of Hastings, but that he still loved me and forgave me.
Nothing before the kiss or after the curbside disagreement.
Silence from the only person that mattered.
The text history could come in handy as I tried to piece some current information together. I scrolled back a few weeks.
Coop: He asked me to prom.
Me: That’s great, buddy.
Coop: I don’t know tho. Should I say yes?
Me: Do you like him that way?
I noticed a time gap after the last text I’d sent. About three minutes passed before he responded to the question. Why was Coop hesitating?
Coop: Maybe. He’s nice enough. Cute too I guess.
Me: We could have a double date.
Coop: Yeah, maybe.
Me: I say you tell him yes. It’ll be fun.
Coop: I suppose. Maybe.
After that day’s messages, Cooper’s texts were shorter in length and he shifted the conversation to us not spending as much time together lately.
“He missed me,” he’d said. It was clear that Cooper hadn’t wanted to go to the dance with Hastings even back then.
Perhaps I was reading into things, but from the gist of his texts he was either seeking my permission or wanted me to talk him out of it.
I distinctly remembered that time during our senior year.
I hadn’t liked Hastings back then. I’d listened to Coop as he’d told me about how Hastings wasn’t gay but still wanted down-low head and I’d found him to be a creepy fucker.
But in this version of history, Hastings was gay and seemed like a typical teenaged boy who was genuinely pursuing Coop.
“You’re interfering, Mike,” I whispered.
Reality dawned on me in an instant. Even in this universe I couldn’t expect Cooper to be on the same agenda as me.
I shouldn’t have rushed to announce that I was in love with him either.
The timing was too soon and had not been set up properly.
I shouldn’t have kissed him before understanding what was happening in this version of our lives.
I was twenty-seven, he was only seventeen.
Even though we were both seventeen in this universe, it felt odd.
As much as I wanted Cooper, wouldn’t I be influencing his choices based on my past with him?
What if we weren’t meant to be together?
Unfortunately, he hadn’t lived an additional decade, or even another few months to make a choice about us.
But I’d known how he actually felt about me because of the letter he’d left on my desk the day he died.
No confessions have been written in this universe yet because I jumped ahead.
Perhaps there never will be. My arrival felt completely unfair.
Suddenly I was unsure of the correct course to take.
Future Mom had said I should prevent Cooper’s drowning in this parallel universe, thus changing the trajectory of our future and giving me a chance to tell him how I felt.
Declaring my love right away should alter things, shouldn’t it?
I was learning that the reality of this world was almost the same, proving that unfolding events that appeared parallel were not necessarily identical.
I had a major decision to make. I understood that my approach had to be different.
How was I supposed to rectify what I’ve done?
How could I win Coop’s love and not use knowledge for advantage?
And truthfully, did I have an advantage or were we on equal footing because I was emotionally immature where he was concerned?
This wouldn’t be easy. But was anything worth having ever easy?