Karen D. Badger - Yesterday Once More

by Karen D. Badger

  Jordan loaded the last dish, and Kale rinsed out the sink. “It was obviously a dream, Jordan. When you came out of your room after I woke you up, things were normal, right? I’m sure reading the diaries put those thoughts in your head.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. But it seemed so real. I could actually smell the muffins and coffee, and I was in my chair.”

  “Do you think you’ll be all right alone tonight? I’d like to get back to work on the machine.”

  Jordan smiled. “Sweetie, you don’t need my permission to go off on your own. Please, don’t feel you need to entertain me. We’ve had this discussion before, remember? Sheesh. Sometimes we act more like an old married couple than roommates. Go work on your invention. I’ve got some reading to catch up on, okay? Now scoot.”

  Chapter 6

  Kale walked around the time machine several times, hoping that through close examination, he would find the flaws in the system. After several moments, he returned to his desk in the corner and shuffled through the blueprints he’d used to build the machine.

  “Okay. If I’ve designed this right, the spinning rings should cause gravity to be pushed away from the center, and voilà! A black hole. So why was the boot still there?” Kale stared at the machine. “There must still be some gravity in the center of the sphere. How do I prove that? I wonder if it would help to use a tracer.”

  Kale placed a bucket densely packed with paper in the center of the sphere and lit the paper on fire. When he was satisfied with the quantity of smoke it emitted, he walked over to the control panel and powered up the sphere. As the sphere began to rotate and then pick up speed, the smoke moved toward the outer edges of the sphere. Kale waited several minutes until he was satisfied that conditions within the system had become stable. He carefully inspected the interior of the orb. There was a small trace of smoke in the center.

  Kale powered the sphere down and released a long sigh. “Now I know what’s wrong. Either the rings aren’t spinning fast enough, or I need some counteractive force.”

  He sat back in his chair and sighed. “Oh hell, I need some time to think about this.” He looked at his watch. He had been in the barn for three hours. “Damn. Time sure flies when you’re having fun. I think I’ll call it a night.”

  Kale returned to the house to find Jordan still reading in the living room. He threw himself down on the couch, the air of defeat hanging over him.

  Jordan closed her book. “No luck, huh?”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  “Clear as glass. Want to talk about it?”

  Kale rose to his feet and began to pace. “I figured out that I still have some gravity in the center of the sphere. That’s why the boot was still there. I need zero gravity in the center for this to work.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “That’s what I need to figure out. I need to create a counteracting force of some sort.”

  Jordan tilted her head to one side. “What about a second set of rings? You know, a smaller set in the middle that spin in the opposite direction?”

  Kale looked at Jordan for several long moments. A parade of emotions marched across his face. “I need to think about this. Look, I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

  “Okay, sleep tight.”

  Jordan threw her soiled clothing into the laundry basket then slipped a nightshirt over her head. She settled in the bed, lying on her back, close to the edge. Within moments, she felt herself drifting off to sleep.

  She snapped awake when the door to her room flew open. A young woman with unruly red hair stormed in and slammed the door behind her. Jordan watched the girl pace the room, gesticulating wildly as she walked.

  “How dare she? How dare she call me such names? I’m so angry I could spit nails!”

  Jordan lifted a hand to get the girl’s attention. “What are you doing in here?”

  “She called me a lezbo. I’ll show her who’s a lezbo. How dare she?” The girl continued to rant and pace, then she suddenly threw herself onto the bed next to Jordan. The girl stared up at the ceiling. “Why on earth would she think I’m a lesbian? Because I don’t have a boyfriend? Because I don’t wear dresses and makeup? So what if I don’t like boys. So what if I feel more comfortable with girls. So what if I dress like a tomboy. That doesn’t mean I’m a lesbian, does it?”

  Jordan looked at the girl. “Are you attracted to women?” she asked.

  The girl continued to stare at the ceiling. Suddenly, she sat up. “Am I attracted to women? Am I?” Her hand flew to her mouth to cover the gasp that escaped. “Holy smokes! I am. I am attracted to women. She was right.” The girl threw her legs over the side of the bed and sat with her back to Jordan. She dropped her face into her hands and sighed deeply. “What am I going to do?”

  Jordan propped herself up on her elbow and faced the girl. “It’s not a death sentence, you know. All it really means is that you love women. Love is love, regardless of how it’s packaged,” she said soothingly.

  The girl stood up and began to pace again. “How will I tell my parents? What will they say? God, my life is over.” The girl looked around with a panicked expression on her face and then headed toward the bedroom door. “I need some fresh air.” A moment later, she was gone.

  Jordan fell back and stared at the ceiling, confused. What the hell is going on here? This can’t be real. My mind must be playing tricks on me, or it must be another dream. Yeah, that’s it, another dream.

  She paused for a moment and thought about the girl. She thought about how it felt to have her in such close proximity. She certainly is attractive. I could feel her touching me, and she smelled really good, like patchouli.

  She realized where her thoughts were headed. Jordan, get a grip. She’s a child for Christ’s sake—and she’s dead. She lived in the past. Yes, she’s gorgeous. Yes, that wild red hair is very sexy. Yes, if she were here today, and closer to your own age, you might be interested in pursuing her, but Jesus, woman, she lived one hundred years ago. Go to sleep, Jordan. She’s a ghost. Get her out of your mind.

  Jordan closed her eyes and soon, with some effort, she drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  It was Saturday, and Jordan was feeling refreshed, the best she’d felt in the few weeks since her surgery. She was sore from her work on the house the previous day, but it was a good kind of sore. Soon, she was showered, dressed, and in the kitchen, making breakfast.

  When it was ready, she knocked on Kale’s door. There was no reply. She knocked again. Nothing. She gently pushed the door open. Kale hadn’t slept in his bed.

  “Kale?” she called. There was no answer. Jordan returned to the kitchen just as Kale came through the back door. “Where the hell have you been?” she asked, a little gruffer than she intended.

  Kale’s face was wild with excitement. “In the barn. Jordan, you gave me a lot to think about last night. I couldn’t sleep, so I worked on your theory all night.”

  “You stayed up all night? Are you crazy? When do you plan to sleep?”

  “Right after I eat this wonderful breakfast.” Kale smiled warmly as he carried the food to the table. He retrieved the coffee carafe and poured a cup for Jordan.

  “Thanks,” she said. “You worked on the machine all night? Any progress?”

  Kale sat down. “Lots. Hmm, this is good,” he said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “Before I went to the barn, I did some research on your idea about the internal rotating sphere. According to my calculations, the second set of rings would also rotate the black hole, which should generate the energy we need for time travel. You’re a genius, Jord!” Kale grinned. “I worked all night to retrofit the machine with a second set of rings. We now have our black hole containment device. All that’s left to do is testing.”

  Kale yawned. Jordan reached for his empty dish and placed it on top of her own. “Now that we’ve established that I’m a genius, my next scientific theory is that you need some sleep. You look exha
usted.”

  “Let me help with the dishes.”

  Jordan slapped his hand as he reached for a dish.

  “I don’t think so. Go to bed. I’ll take care of these.”

  “Are you sure? I hate leaving you alone while I sleep the day away.”

  “I’m a big girl. Go to bed.”

  Kale kissed Jordan on the cheek and retired to his bedroom. Jordan loaded the dishes into the sonic cleanser before settling in the living room to resume reading the diaries.

  The first diary covered Maggie’s sixteenth year. Most of the entries described life on the farm or made comments about school. There wasn’t much that Jordan found exciting, but having made the commitment to read all the diaries, she pushed on. When she finished, she set the first diary aside and opened the second. The first entry was dated June 12, 2006. Maggie was eighteen years old.

  I am a lesbian. There, I’ve said it. As I reread this, it looks odd in print, but it feels good to admit it. I am a lesbian. Realizing this fact came as a shock to me. I knew I was different, but I didn’t understand how different until Amy Gokey pointed it out to me today at school. She called me a lezbo. I was shocked to hear that word used to describe me.

  Jordan gasped. Maggie was describing Jordan’s dream. She read on.

  I was furious with her. My first thought was, how dare she? I couldn’t wait for the school day to end. I couldn’t wait to get home. I marched right to my bedroom and paced the floor, trying to understand why Amy would say such a thing. Finally, I threw myself on the bed and had a real good talk with the ceiling.

  Jordan’s heart began to beat rapidly. She closed the diary for a moment to calm her nerves. When she picked it up again, she read,

  I explored the various reasons Amy might have come to that conclusion. It’s true that I don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t wear dresses or makeup. Hell, I don’t even like boys that much, and not at all in a sexual way. I feel much more comfortable with the girls. Amy said I dress like a boy. I’ve always been a tomboy. I see nothing wrong with that. All of these things don’t necessarily mean I am a lesbian— at least I didn’t think they did.

  But as I was lying there on my bed, I thought hard about it. Was I attracted to women? A wave of heat rushed over me as I really thought about that question. I have never felt anything like it in my life. Then realization dawned... it could only mean one thing. I am attracted to women. I am a lesbian. Amy is right. Now what do I do? What will my parents think? What will they say? How do I tell them? At that moment, I felt like my life was over.

  Unexpected tears filled Jordan’s eyes as she continued reading.

  As I stared at the ceiling, I felt overwhelmed, confined by my secret. I needed to get out, to escape. I needed fresh air, so I went for a walk. When I returned, I felt immensely better. I realized that being a lesbian is not a death sentence. All it really means is that I love women. What’s wrong with that? Love is love. Does it really matter how it’s packaged? I feel liberated. I feel good about who I am. I am Maggie Michelle Downs. I am eighteen years old. I am a lesbian, and I am okay with that.

  Jordan’s vision blurred as she replaced her bookmark and closed the diary. A mixture of fear and tenderness filled her heart as she thought about Maggie. The dream was real! Was Maggie trying to talk to her? A warm feeling filled Jordan’s stomach. Did she find the diaries by accident, or did Maggie want her to find them?

  * * *

  On Monday morning, Jordan rode to the lab with Kale. She waited with apprehension for her appointment with Peter, balancing herself on the edge of the examination table, her legs hanging limply over the side.

  Peter came in and hugged his patient. “Hey there, Jordan. It’s good to see you. Do you have any questions before we begin your exam?”

  Jordan leaned forward. “Tell me about the new implant. How do you propose to reestablish the synapse connections in order to restore feeling as well as mobility?”

  “Our immediate goal is to restore mobility, but, long-term, we believe the implant will stimulate nerve growth and permanently repair the synapses.”

  Jordan nodded. “Okay. How?”

  Peter picked up a stylus and drew a diagram. Jordan leaned forward to afford herself a better view. “The device has six electrodes. Three are implanted above the injury, three are implanted below. The alternating current between the upper and lower sets of electrodes will encourage the nerves to grow toward each other. At some point, they will grow close enough to close the gap over the injury site and reestablish spinal function.”

  “Are you sure the new implant will restore all sensory response? Will I actually be able to feel things like heat and cold, pain and pleasure?”

  Peter nodded. “The new implant will significantly change your life. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Jordan’s head snapped up. “Yes,” she responded immediately. “Yes, I am very sure. When will the implant be ready?”

  “In about three weeks, maybe four. We’ll need to prepare your nerve endings above and below the L1 vertebra to accept the new electrodes, and you’ll need about two weeks to recover before we place the new implant. We’ll need to schedule that in the next week or so. Any more questions?”

  When Jordan didn’t respond, Peter continued. “How are you feeling?”

  Jordan perked up considerably. “I feel great. Don’t get me wrong—it’s been really frustrating being stuck in this chair again, but physically I’m coping quite well. I’ve even been able to help my contractors work on my house.”

  “You aren’t overdoing it, are you? You had strict instructions not to do any heavy lifting.”

  “No, I’ve been taking it easy. I’m anxious to come back to work. Kale tells me you need to release me before the institute will allow me to return.”

  “Let’s take a look at you and see if you’re ready. We can do the tests for the electrode placement surgery at the same time.”

  Over the next quarter hour, Peter performed a battery of tests to gauge Jordan’s strength and responsiveness to external stimuli. As expected, she had superior strength and responsiveness in her upper body but none below her waist.

  Peter turned off the reflex probe and turned to Jordan. “I’m not surprised by the results so far. I really didn’t expect any response from your lower body. Everything else looks good. All we have to do now is some blood work and a thoracic holograph. You can go to the lab today. We should have the results tomorrow.”

  “Can I go back to work?” Jordan asked anxiously.

  “On one condition. You work only an eight-hour day. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  Chapter 7

  When Kale and Jordan got home from work that afternoon, a transmission was waiting for them from the Shelburne Hall of Records. Jordan anxiously opened it and scanned its contents.

  “It says here that the farm was owned by Gary and Sharon Downs from 1985 until 2019. Then a woman named Janneal Safford owned it from 2019 until 2031. It was purchased next by Leland and Marion McKenzie who owned it until 2048, when the deed was transferred to Carl and Rachel McKenzie... probably their son. Carl and Rachel sold the farm to my parents in 2071. I was born two years later. When my parents died, the deed passed to me.”

  “Let’s see,” Jordan continued. “Maggie was sixteen in 2004, so that means she was born in 1988, and she was my age in 2020. She was born eighty-five years before me. Hell, if she were still alive today, she’d be one-hundred seventeen years old.”

  “You know, Jordan, if she were born today, she might well live to be that old, but back in 1988, life expectancy couldn’t have been more than eighty or eighty-five years for the average female.”

  Jordan sat back and contemplated Kale’s remarks. “I wonder when she died?” Jordan clicked on the link marked Deaths. “Here it is. Margaret M. Downs, born April 16, 1988. Died, March 29, 2019. Cause of death: severe C-spine fracture and traumatic aortic dislocation sustained in a horse riding accident. Kale, she died so young!
”

  Kale reread the cause of death. “Severe C-spine fracture and traumatic aortic dislocation. She must have had a pretty bad impact injury to cause that much damage. If her aorta was torn, she would have bled to death in a matter of minutes.”

  Jordan narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s odd that she died from a horse riding accident on this very farm? I survived my accident, but only just barely.”

  “What do you mean? Accidents happen on farms all the time. I don’t think it’s that unusual.”

  “I don’t know. I can understand how my accident happened, but an injury like Maggie’s must have been caused by a catastrophic impact. I wonder how it happened. She couldn’t have sustained that injury just by falling out of the saddle. Was she thrown from her horse? Something doesn’t feel right. Don’t ask me why, but it just doesn’t.”

  “Maybe we can learn more from her obituary,” Kale suggested.

  Jordan clicked on the link to the Burlington Free Press obituary page and searched the records for Maggie’s name. A three-dimensional holograph of a woman emerged from the computer. Jordan was stunned. The woman had creamy white skin, green eyes, and long, wild, curly red hair. Her face was heart-shaped with a finely chiseled nose and well-defined lips.

  “She’s beautiful,” Jordan whispered.

  “She was beautiful, you mean,” Kale said. He read aloud. “March 29, 2019, Shelburne, Vermont. Margaret M. Downs, ‘Maggie’ to those who knew her, was killed in a horseback riding accident yesterday, just two weeks shy of her thirty-first birthday. Her body was found by a stable hand at the bottom of a cliff by the shores of Lake Champlain on the western fringes of her property. Although it appears she was thrown from her horse, the cause of the accident is still unknown. She was declared dead at the scene and taken to the Fletcher Allen Medical Center.”