Leap Year

One year is never enough.

Four seasons. One trip around the sun. The cycle continues and it's never enough. Time eludes us, slips away unseen because there is no such thing as time, except there is, at least in how we experience things, and isn't that the same damn thing if it hurts us as much as it does?

Time goes on.

Time heals all wounds.

Time is what destroyed me, ripped away the only love I've ever experienced and took Wren from me. Time doesn't heal, it murders and steals and cheats and lies to us each and every day when we're not paying attention.

The silent killer.

The thief in the night.

Time robbed me–did it right in front of my face–and it still surprised me even though I knew it was coming, similar to how a cancer patient knows that each moment could be their last. Acceptance is supposed to be liberating, not condemnation.

I guess since I do have some time I should start at the beginning.

But should I start at mine or Wren's? I suppose both end in the same unbelievable fashion. Wren's power–or curse depending on your view–getting the best of us.

I personally think it's a curse.

Wren is from the future.

There, I said it. Don't worry, I thought Wren was crazy, too. I almost walked away right then and there all those years ago. I wish I had. I wish I hadn't fallen in love with him.

Wren came into my life one summer literally out of the blue. I was seventeen years old, living in Caldwell, Idaho and working for my dad at the time at his ice cream shop. The Ice Cream Caboose was known for the fact that it was in a converted train boxcar. We got a decent amount of foot traffic from visitors vacationing throughout the summer and he appreciated the help.

I thought Wren was a tourist at first; nineteen; handsome as the devil; and just out of his element a little, probably used to bigger city life than what took place in a kitschy ice cream parlor.

Turns out he's a time traveler.

It did explain a lot. Wren didn't seem to know any current events, trends, or even common conversational things, like what to say in certain situations or how to act.

I thought it was cute, like he didn't conform and I was drawn in. Wren had a certain charming mystery to him. Turns out it was actually a dark secret.

I understand why he didn't tell me at first. Who wants to lean into their flaws on the first date? Some rare people do; most don't, though; but there comes a point in time when someone has a right to know. It becomes cowardice instead of wanting to start off with a good impression. Their fear is of not wanting to be hurt even though they already know how it ends; a terminal case with one outcome. They'll be gone and I'll still be here. 

Alone. 

Hurting. 

I had a right to know before I fell in love.

Because I still love him sixty years later.

I tried dating off and on with mixed results. There was a point in time whenI I thought I'd found the real love of my life. I got married. I had kids. I had a family. I had everything and more but still I couldn't understand why I didn't feel complete. Why I felt disgusted with myself for not being happy, for not being grateful that I had such a wonderful life filled with such incredible people.

I was living a lie.

My family didn't understand. They didn't understand because I could never tell them the truth. I wasn't exactly looking to be committed because I'm not insane. I really did love a young man named Wren who was cursed by time itself, randomly jumping through time and space at the end of each year.

Time travel roulette.

Wren explained that in his timeline his parents were brilliant scientists that delved into quantum mechanics and time theory. There was an accident at their home. Wren's parents were working on a project they shouldn't have been. The machine malfunctioned and leaked, similar to radiation from a reactor, but instead of being irradiated, Wren was infected with time-entanglement. His parents ran test after test and came to a conclusion they already feared: there was no cure and the result would be yearly time displacement for the rest of Wren's life.

“How old were you when it happened?” I remember being sarcastic when I asked him. It was the end of summer. We had been lying on a picnic blanket, staring up at a cloudless blue sky over Idaho in the fields behind The Ice Cream Caboose. All of a sudden I was being told all this and I knew he was ditching me. This was our breakup moment. Fun while it lasted.

“I was nine.”

Wren didn't continue or offer any other explanation. His voice was soft, almost too low to hear, and he'd closed his eyes.

“How…?” I didn't know which question to go with first. How did you survive? Do your clothes go with you? Is it always Earth? Or how about the one I didn't have the heart to ask: How do you expect me to believe you?

Wren took a deep breath and opened his eyes to look up at the sky. He couldn't look at me and I couldn't look at him. I knew if I did I'd start crying. This was goodbye.

“The first time it happened, Sara, you don't know how afraid I was. I knew it was going to happen, you know? It hurts. A lot. But the thing that hurt the most after the first time I jumped was that I knew I would never see my family or friends again. It's statistically impossible.”

I didn't want to look at him. I remember doing my best to keep staring at the sky and continue blinking as often as it took to keep my tears at bay. The thing about it though was I heard the pain in his voice. When I looked over I saw tears were running down his face. Wren didn't seem like someone trying to break up with me; he looked fearful that he couldn't keep me.

I put my hand over his wrist and gave him a squeeze. I don't know what prompted me, but I said, “Improbable.”

Wren blinked away a few tears, confused.

“Improbable,” I repeated. “Statistically improbable, not impossible.”

Wren laughed and wiped his eyes and cheeks with the back of his hand. “You're right.”

We smiled but a silence settled over us. I could see Wren was making up his mind on what to say and how to word it. 

Wren cleared his throat. “The first few years were hard. I don't know the exact day of when I'll jump; it's hard to track the calendar when it depends on the time period you're dropped into or if the planet you're on will even have breathable air. I don't entirely know how it all works. So far I've been lucky… all things considered.” Wren tried to smile.

I could tell where this conversation was inevitably leading regardless of explanation. I couldn't keep my tears back any longer. “You're leaving me.”

“Sara…” Wren tried to wipe away my tears but I pulled away from his hand.

“No. That's how this conversation ends, doesn't it? ‘I'm sorry, I wish it could be different, but I have to go?’” I'd found a way to blame the terminally ill for their sickness. “How much longer do you even have?”

“Probably just this weekend. Maybe more, maybe less.” Wren at least looked ashamed, not that it did much to calm my emotions. “I want to spend every moment with you if possible. If you'll have me.”

I remember how hot my body felt, not from the summer's sun but from the anger and upset that had grown in the pit of my stomach. Betrayal. Loss. Anger. Sadness. Every one of my emotions was fighting for supremacy, each one attempting to claim king-of-the-hill from my overarching emotion: Love. Isn't that what makes everything hurt just a little more? Your love for the person or thing that is hurting you?

“You should have told me. You had no right to take that choice away from me.” I broke down. I sobbed. I couldn't help myself. “I love you, Wren, and it's too late now. You should have told me.”

I spent the night in his arms under the bright starry Idaho sky. We talked about everything and more and it still wasn't enough, because just before the sunrise, Wren let me know that it was happening, it was time.

I tried to hold onto Wren for as long as I could but I could see he was fading away, no longer a solid being but vaporous and ethereal and dissipating by the second. We were able to have one last kiss. After a second, I stumbled forward, Wren's body no longer physically solid. I felt a cold chill and jumped back.

Wren smiled sadly. “It's cold for me, too.” Wren thought for a second about his last words. “Improbable as it may be, I hope time does bring us back together. I wouldn't have met you any other way. I love you, Sara.”

The area around Wren grew glacial cold and my ears popped. Suddenly, Wren was no longer there; in the place where he was standing the ground was frozen over. I didn't realize my tears had also frozen until the newly risen sun began melting them and my cold cheeks began to burn. I'd been thinking of what Wren said at the end, about him loving me, about time, about hope. 

I've been thinking about it ever since.

Time.

Hope.

How the former can erode the latter. Eat away at it until there's nothing left.

The first summer after Wren disappeared I hoped he would resurface, his leaving being nothing more than an elaborate prank and I could tell him off for hurting me. The following summer I hoped he would resurface because I was afraid for him, scared that he'd been a runaway from home and hadn't wanted to tell me. The third summer, I had to accept one version of the truth: I was either entirely crazy and Wren didn't exist because people simply don't fade away from reality, or Wren suffered from time-entanglement and I had been dating a time traveler.

I condemned myself to believing.

I visited the Ice Cream Caboose each summer after I'd graduated college for the first few years. I always told my dad it was to check in on him, see how the shop was doing. I could never admit that I still held out hope. Hope that I wasn't crazy, hope that the love I still felt in my heart was real.

The years went on.

Time did its thing, had its way with me. I moved on but I couldn't let go. I kept going to visit my dad during the summers all throughout my twenties for the same week long period. I kept going after my dad sold the creamery since he was getting up in age and I had just turned thirty. I kept going after I got married; after my dad passed away; after the birth of my kids; after the creamery closed and was demolished; after my kids both graduated; and now, after my husband's passing.

I know that Wren won't be here. That hope faded years ago. Improbable may as well be impossible if it's the same outcome. I'm not entirely sure why I still come here. I think it's out of a different kind of hope. I think it brings me a special sort of peace, hoping that he's still alive out there somewhere and every now and then I feel on some level that he is. Wren's secret is my secret. But it's really no secret at all, is it? That love transcends time and space, and when it does, it does so only for a moment, because even the best of us aren't meant to exist forever. If he were to come back, I'd still only get one year with him.

Life is temporary.

Love is eternal.

But you can't have one without the other, can you?

My favorite part about coming back to Idaho is laying out a blanket much like the one Wren and I had back when I was seventeen and the world wasn't so complicated. I like looking at the clear blue sky. It's like a blank canvas. Endless potential. 

I try not to day dream–too much. Over the years my mind has wondered what Wren looks like, what he's been through, and if he still loves me or has experienced a circle of love and loss that I'll never understand. It's confusing and uplifting; hurtful and incredible at the same time.

I imagine things that he'd say, his voice unchanged, still that of a teenager in my mind. 

Long time no see, Sara. 

Been a while, hasn't it?

“You haven't changed…”

My heart froze as I snapped from my daydream. Standing before me was Wren, tears streaming down his face. He looked even more handsome than the day I'd met him despite our old age; a man shaped by hardships and matured over the years. 

 I thought I was hallucinating, but I must have known my imagination could never be so detailed. Still, I couldn't help myself, the word slipped off my tongue involuntarily. “Impossible.”

  Wren noticed my bewilderment and reached his hand out for mine. I took his hand and let myself be pulled up to my feet.

Wren smiled and looked nineteen again. “Improbable, not impossible.” Wren pulled me in and gave me a kiss that took my breath away.

I was seventeen again.