Backwards

  “Can you pinpoint a moment in your life where you lost something that would have changed the outcome of your future?” 

  This therapist was stupid. Who hasn’t had one of those moments, or many of them throughout their lives. 

  “People make choices everyday that affect their outcomes. I suppose I am no different than anyone else,” I respond. 

  I am beginning to wish I had never agreed to come here. But Will made me. It was an ultimatum to our relationship. Get help, or he’s gone. Sometimes I think him leaving would be better, but that isn’t true. Just another lie I tell myself to cope. 

  Dr. Becker stared at me intently. She isn’t going to relent on this. Every session, she brings up these crossroads throughout my life, and the decisions I’ve made. How is the past supposed to help me? I need to learn how to make it through a day in the present without crying and wanting to crawl in a ball and forget to exist. 

  “Well, I mean, I’ve made all kinds of choices. Career choices, marriage, a kid, moving to new cities. I can think of many decisions.”

  “That’s not exactly what I’m getting at, Lucy.”

  I hate when she calls me Lucy. I prefer Lucille. Just one of this woman’s microaggressions towards me. We’ve never clicked, but she was the only therapist available on such short notice. 

 “What are you trying to get at then?”

 “I want to know if there is something that was taken from you, unwillingly, that would have affected the outcome of your life.”

  I still don’t quite understand. But I’ll entertain her, at least for the next twenty two minutes. “I mean, sure, I lost out on a scholarship once. Does that count?” 

 “Absolutely it does.” She said, scribbling in her notepad as if she had made a major breakthrough in something. “Tell me more about the scholarship, and how your life would be different now, had you received it.”

 “Oh geez, that was so many years ago. I was in eighth grade. I was a finalist for a full ride scholarship to a state university. There were only five of us chosen to be a finalist. Only four earned the scholarship. Guess who the odd one out ended up being.” I placed a fist over my head and pointed down to myself, as if the answer wasn’t clear already. 

 “Go on, how would your life have been different?”

 “I would have gone to University of course. All expenses paid. Instead I started working directly out of school. Went right into adulting and bills. Can we talk about something else? I don’t know how dwelling on the past is going to help me.” I responded. 

 “Of course.”

 Now I get to listen to her drone on about coping mechanisms for the next nineteen minutes.

 Which is exactly what happened.

 I glanced at my watch, 2:58. “Oh, would you look at the time? I’ve gotta run. Kid to pick up from school and all that.” 

 “Lucy. I want to give you something.” Dr. Becker said, as she began digging around in the side table drawer next to her leather wingback chair.

 It’s gonna be some kind of pamphlet about mental health, I just know it.

 Her hand was holding something small and shiny out to me.

 “What is it?” I leaned forward, she has me interested for once. 

 “It’s a crystal. It’s called Moldavite. I remember your favorite color is green, and thought you might like it. It even has a holder.” She somehow made a thin chain appear with a small globe-like locket of metal mesh. Snapping the small green crystal into the mesh sphere, she held the necklace out to me. 

 “I… don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful.” All of the sudden I felt guilty for all of the horrible thoughts I’ve had about this woman. She was infuriating, but this was a very nice gesture.

  “A thank you is fine.” 

  “Thank you.” Glancing at my watch again, “I really do need to go pick up my son.”

  “I know. Do me a favor this evening, as one of your coping tasks. When you’re going to sleep, wear the necklace. Hold it and think about that scholarship and how your life would have been different.” Dr. Becker said with a small firm smile on her face. “See you next week.”

  “Uh. Ok.” I replied, leaving the room and walking to the elevators.

  What a weird thing to ask. How is that helping me cope? 

#

 “Nothing like clean sheet night.” Will said with a sigh as he was crawling into bed. 

 “Uhhhg I knoooow.” I groaned in response. The bed was feeling especially comfortable tonight. It’s been a long day. Soccer practice after school for Braxton. Dinner, clean up, homework. I am so ready for sleep. 

 That stupid necklace. Do I really need to do this? I can always just say I did it. She’ll never know the difference.

  But one thing about me, I’m a horrible liar. She will know. 

  Reaching over to the nightstand, I fumble around until I find the small mesh ball. 

  Slipping the chain around my neck, I realized Will was already snoring. I chuckle to myself. That man works too hard. He’s always been a good husband. A wave of guilt washed over me. I put him through so much, and he has stood by me the whole time. The therapist was an ultimatum because I said something stupid one night in the heat of the moment. I didn’t really mean it. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt myself. But he said I scared him. Understandable. So I do what needs to be done, and go to Dr. Becker like a good wife, talk about how to cope, and take my medicine. 

  Coping. What a joke. These things never make me feel better.  

  But I do them anyway. Grasping the cold mesh ball, I thought of how good the clean sheets feel on my bare legs. I thought of how good dinner was with my family. My son did so well in soccer this afternoon. He’s in eighth grade. Same age I was when I lost that scholarship. 

  The scholarship.

How would my life be different? I’d be educated. I have only about 48 credit hours from an online college. I tried to earn a degree in my early twenties. It was too hard to keep up with. I would probably have a good career. I wanted to be an English teacher. But instead, I work at a retail store. 

  I bet college would have been fun.  

  I was imagining dorm room life with friends filled with late night study sessions when I drifted to sleep. 

Or what I thought was sleep.

#

  I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. I was in a familiar gray hallway. The walls are concrete block, but painted. Posters lined the walls sporadically. 

  I’m in a school.

  Looking down at myself, the shirt I am wearing is oddly familiar. Tan, long sleeved, with dark brown stripes down the sleeves, and a small “UB” logo on the chest. Wide leg khaki colored carpenter pants, and black platform boots were on my bottom half.

 Oh. My. God. 

 I forgot about this outfit! It was my favorite when I was in middle school. I begged mom to order the Unionbay shirt from the Delia’s catalog. The MUDD carpenter pants came from JC Penney during a back to school sale, and the Dr. Martens were almost three months of allowance, and extra jobs from my grandma. I put my hands to my head, and felt crunchy bangs curled with a round brush, and butterfly clips holding my hair back in sections from my face. 

 I looked around for the closest classroom, ran to a big boxy computer screen inside, and shook the mouse until the thing lit up. The screen said March 15, 1997. It’s a saturday.

 There ain’t no damn way. I remember this day.

 I had made a joke about the Ides of March, after I didn’t get the scholarship. When the winners were chosen, we all lined up in a row. I looked at the kid next to me and said “Et tu Brute?” No one laughed. 

  “Lucille? Lucille Ballard?”

  I whipped my head around. They want me, and they called me by my maiden name? I found where the voice was coming from. It’s Mrs. Prater. 

 But she died. My junior year of high school. They had her funeral in the gym.

 She’s there. Right in front of me. Short close cut grayish blond hair. Thick framed glasses. Kind eyes. “Uhhh, hi Mrs. Prater.”

  “Well come on dear. Come down to the library. I know it must be strange being here on the weekend. The school is peaceful when it’s empty, don’t you think?” Our footsteps echoed against the walls of the hallway.

  “Yeah. I was just in the computer lab.”

  “Playing minesweeper? You kids love that minesweeper. Or Solitaire. What's the other one? Paint?” She was trying to ease the tension for me, which I appreciated. “That’s a lovely necklace you have, Lucille. Very lovely.” We entered the library, and she ushered me to a chair in front of a long table. Four people who looked somewhat familiar, but not really, sat along the length of the table sipping coffees and shuffling papers. 

  My hand felt the necklace. The small metal mesh ball almost vibrated with energy. 

  1997. This is the most vivid dream I’ve ever had. But this can’t be a dream. It’s too real. 

  I thanked Mrs. Prater, and gave her thin hand a squeeze. 

  I always liked you.

  I sat in the small hard school chair, but held myself still and confident. This is no different than holding store meetings at work. 

  I got this.

 I did, indeed, have that. I crushed that interview. They asked about extracurricular activities and my goals for the future. It was difficult at first not using life experiences as examples, because I hadn’t actually lived those experiences yet, as far as that committee knew. I could feel that it was going well, so I allowed myself to relax and squeeze a few jokes in. I even got some chuckles and outright laughter. 

  They liked me.

  I spoke about my love for reading, and we discussed a few of my favorite books. I spoke of my dream to be a teacher and to teach my love of literature, and the meanings behind my favorite books. My desire to help develop future generations to understand and respect the classics.

  The necklace. It gave me courage. Energy pulsated out of the small sphere. 

  Then, I was sucked backwards into reality. 

#

Gasping for air, I sat directly upright. My phone was blaring an annoying alarm. I reached over to shut the loud thing off, and missed the table. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the dim light of the room. I leaned farther over and grabbed my phone, silencing the alarm. 

 That’s weird. My wallpaper is different. The picture of Braxton is gone. 

 Stupid phone must have updated last night. I’ll fix it later.

 A notification showed on the screen. A text message. “Professor Ballard, sorry for such late notice. I won’t be in class today, I’m not feeling well. Looking forward to the next lecture- Britt.”

  Gotta be a wrong number. 

 “Will.” I waited a few moments for a response. 

 “Will did your phone update last night? Mine is acting weird.”

 I reached over to the opposite side of the bed. He wasn’t there. He’s always been an early bird. Probably showering or making us coffee. 

 I clicked the bedside lamp on, and felt a cold wave of shock surge over me as I took in my surroundings. This is not my room. It is, but it isn’t. Stuff I enjoy is displayed on the walls and small bookshelves. But this is different. Jumping out of bed, confusion turned to panic as I ran from room to room in an unfamiliar small home. No signs of my family anywhere. A cat followed me everywhere, meowing and wrapping itself around my feet almost tripping me. I don’t even have a cat! We don’t have time for pets with Braxton’s soccer schedule and academics. The panic was building inside of my chest, swelling like a balloon about to pop. 

 Dr. Becker. She’ll know what to do. I must be having some kind of weird side effect.

 Grabbing my phone, I searched for her office number in the Google icon. Relief washed over my body like a warm bucket of water once I found her listing.

 The phone rang. A smooth voice said “Dr. Becker’s office-“

  I interrupted “I need to speak to her. Now.” 

 “She’s not available at the moment, I can take a message.”

 “Cathy, it’s Lucille. Lucille Edwards. It’s extremely urgent.”

 “Edwards? Ummm. Hold on a moment.” Cathy replied, her voice laced with concern. 

 After a few moments of muffled conversation, Cathy came back on the line and said “Please hold for transfer.”

 “Hello, Dr. Becker speaking.”

 “Doctor I don’t know what’s going on! That stone you gave me caused me to have a weird dream. Everything is strange now, and I can’t find Will or Braxton anywhere.” Tears were breaking through my voice now. 

 “Lucy, I’m on my way. You’re in no shape to drive here right now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’ll have Cathy cancel my morning appointments. We’ll get through this together.”

 “Okay.” I barely squeaked out. 

 Hanging the phone up, I sat down on the unfamiliar couch and waited. 

 The knock on the door startled me out of my daze. 

 “Come in.” I forced out. 

 “Lucy? It’s Dr. Becker. I know you’re having an episode today. I’ve brought you a refill of your medicine.” She came through the door, looking the same as always. 

 “I don’t need the damn medicine. I need my husband and son.” My voice was shaking out of frustration. 

 “We’ve been over this many times. You are not married and you have no children.” Her face was tight lipped and stern. 

 “I’ll go find Will. He’ll make this all right.” I said, looking around for anything that resembles a car key. 

 “You can’t do that, Lucy. You’ll end up in jail. Will Edwards got a permanent restraining order against you fourteen years ago.” 

 “What?! Why would he do that?”

 “You showed up on his doorstep demanding he have sex with you to make a baby. He thought you were a stalker, so he had to protect himself.”

 Fourteen years ago. Yeah, that would have been when Braxton was conceived. 

 “My son.” I collapsed on the couch, grief crushing my chest and making it difficult to breathe. 

 “We go through this every few months, and I have to explain it all again. Braxton doesn’t exist. You’re not married to Will. You’re just having a break with reality. Take your medicine and you’ll make it through. You always do.” She was holding the bottle in her outstretched hand. 

  Lucille Ballard was imprinted across the label. Tears were flowing freely down my face and sobs wrecked my body. Looking for relief from this anguish, I grabbed the bottle and popped one in my mouth swallowing it dry. 

 “There there. It’ll all be okay in a few minutes. We’ll get through this. You’ve made some huge improvements! This is just a small step backwards, but we’ll make leaps and bounds forward in our next sessions! There are great things in store for you. I can feel it.” Dr. Becker didn’t have to look so damn happy right now. I’m dying inside. My soul is broken.

 What have I done?

 Dr. Becker’s droning on again about coping mechanisms and medicine dosages. I am feeling different. Lighter. My eyelids are heavy though. But the rest of my body feels like it’s floating. 

 “I see the medicine is kicking in now. I’ll let myself out. I’ll check on you this afternoon Don’t worry, I’ll call the University and let them know you’ll be out today. Get some rest.”

 Watching as Dr. Becker was backing towards the door, I nodded a bit in reply. That’s all I have the energy to do. My head is cemented to the pillow on the couch. 

 Dr. Becker’s hand made its way to the doorknob. 

 “But before I go, Lucy. I want to tell you something.”

 I couldn’t move. Everything was fading darker. 

 “I have Braxton.”

 Her face…changed. Her features becoming sharper and darker. Like a thousand shadows live in the crevices of her skin. Her eyes are dark bottomless pits of despair. 

 “Since you changed your past and never brought him into this world, his soul has nowhere to go. I now own him.”

 Her hand was dangling a metal chain with a mesh sphere that pulsated glowing green. 

 “No one will believe you. They never do. You’re just another crazy patient. Sweet dreams, my dear Lucy.” The door clicked shut behind her. 

 The panicked screaming of my inner voice was deafening as I drifted into darkness.