When the World was Flat (and we were in love)

by Ingrid Jonach

  I went to work again, spending the morning doing inventory. It took me an hour and a half to count the gemstones. I counted them one by one, as if counting the seconds until my lunch break. Today I was going to the bakery, whether Deb liked it or not.

  At midday I slipped out while she was with a customer and half-walked, half-ran to the café. I pushed through the door, coming close to knocking over a mother with her kid.

  I apologized breathlessly, my eyes scanning the room as I walked between the tables, knocking into two chairs and bumping into a waiter. But I knew before I reached the back of the café that Tom was a no-show.

  I sat there for fifteen minutes and then walked slowly back to the store, looking for his SUV in the row of parked cars. I was sick to my stomach wondering how he was going with his doppelganger grandmother.

  I phoned Rose Hill again when I got home, but it rang out again. I considered calling Jo and asking her for a lift to the Open Valley, but given my run-in with Mr Green I thought it would be a dangerous decision.

  I was going to have to wait until I went back to school the next day, if Tom was still here. My stomach somersaulted at the thought that he may have slid.

  25

  Tom was nowhere to be seen at school on Thursday. I wandered through the corridors and around the quad like a lost dog looking for its owner. I eyed his locker with a hollow in the pit of my stomach as I thought of Mr Green and the Windsor-Smith Matriarch.

  “So did you and Tom do it on Sunday?” Sylv wanted to know.

  “Sylv!”

  Sylv rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I meant did you and Tom make love on Sunday?”

  I was saved by a group of senior girls who walked past whispering insults like “slut” and “ho.” I thought they were talking about Sylv, but then the group changed course and one jostled Jo, making her drop her bag. She scooped it up and shuffled towards me with her head down. I eyed her warily.

  I hated myself for hating Evacuee Jo. She looked like my Jo. She acted like my Jo. She was my Jo, except for the tattoo. The black mark that had given me Tom had also taken my best friend.

  “Watch it,” Sylv snapped at the girls, but the taunts continued all morning.

  When Jo got a good mark off our biology teacher, there was a snide comment. “Who do you have to sleep with around here to get a good mark?” The answer came back, “Ask Jo.”

  It was when she was pushed from behind in the bathroom while walking into a cubicle and cracked her shin on the toilet that my heart of ice began to thaw.

  “You should see the school nurse,” I suggested, as she rolled up her pant leg at lunch and applied a cold drink to the lump.

  She shrugged. “Another day. Another bruise,” she said fatalistically.

  Before I could respond, Sylv arrived wielding a magazine like some kind of medieval weapon. “What the fuck is this?” she asked, throwing it in front of Jo. It hit her bowl of pumpkin soup, splashing orange droplets onto her gray sweater.

  Jo looked at the magazine like a grenade had landed on her lunch tray.

  I tilted my head and saw an image of a rock chick holding a guitar and making the devil sign. The image slid from view as Sylv snatched it up and shook the magazine until its spine broke, repeating the question louder and louder until we had the attention of the entire cafeteria.

  Jo flinched like a puppy being kicked as Sylv flung the magazine at her for a second time. She grabbed it with both hands, holding it against her stained sweater like a shield.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked Sylv.

  “Page twelve!” Sylv shouted. “Show her page twelve!”

  Jo shook her head, her short black hair whipping around her cheeks. Fantastic. World War III was about to begin in Green Grove.

  “Show me page twelve,” I snapped, grabbing the magazine and flipping the pages frantically. My mouth fell open, as I saw the double page spread advertising a label called Dead Kitty. It was Jo, reclining on a red velvet chaise, dressed in a short black dress and black and white striped tights.

  I looked from the glossy magazine to Jo, gob smacked. “Is this you? In a magazine? Modeling?”

  Sylv made a “hrmph” sound.

  Jo looked like she needed to go to the bathroom. She jiggled in her seat, her face screwed up as she begged us to hush. “I made friends with the girl at Grunge Ghetto and Dead Kitty is her new line. She needed models,” she explained. Jo had been shopping at Grunge Ghetto? That explained why she had been looking like Morticia Addams.

  “Let me get this straight,” Sylv said, half-addressing Jo and half-addressing her audience of about fifty students. “When you get approached for a photo shoot you end up in a double spread, but when I get approached it’s for a titty magazine?”

  Jo blushed and stared into her bowl, like she wanted to dive into the orange mush.

  Blake and Ethan start up a chant of “Fight! Fight! Fight!” from across the cafeteria.

  Jo lifted her head and drew in a deep breath. “You should be thanking me,” she said with either complete bravery or utter stupidity. “I warned you about that dirtball and I was right.”

  I grimaced at the implied “and you were wrong.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Sylv spat, “but I think I’ll pass on taking advice from the competition.” She gave the table a shove before turning and striding towards the double doors. My strawberry milk toppled onto its side, gushing across the table towards Jo, who ironically burst into tears.

  Jo pushed back her chair, its legs shuddering on the vinyl, and ran to the bathroom, the sound of the spilt milk dripping off the table mimicking the sound of her shoes slapping on the floor.

  That afternoon, Jo ditched track to walk home with Yours Truly.

  I knew not to talk about the double spread. If Evacuee Jo wanted to be a model in this dimension that was between her and Sylv. As we walked, I unwrapped my scarf, letting the cold air circulate around my neck.

  “I like your necklace.”

  My hand went to the key. “Thanks. It was a present from Tom.” My eyes suddenly misted and I busied myself with my scarf again, looping it around my neck until it was a bitch to breathe.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “About what?” I asked with a sniff.

  Jo shrugged and we continued on without speaking until the end of the street.

  We paused at the pedestrian crossing, the toes of our sneakers hanging over the edge of the curb.

  Jo held out her cell. “Call Rose Hill.”

  “I have,” I said, a whine in my voice. “Like a thousand times.”

  “Then make it a thousand and one.”

  I took her cell. I knew the number by heart. The tone of each key had become my theme song over the past twenty-four hours or so.

  “Good afternoon, Rose Hill. This is Lorraine.”

  It took me a second to speak.

  “Lillie. Hi,” she answered warmly. Was it warmly? It sounded like it was warmly. “Let me see if Tom can take the call.”

  I tried to read between the lines as I listened to the hold music. Did she mean let me see if Tom wants to take the call? Or if his grandmother will let him take the call?

  Lorraine came back on the line. “Sorry, Lillie.”

  I hung up, my thumb pushing on the button until the skin around my nail turned white.

  Jo frowned. “Bastard.”

  I shrugged, like I could care less. As if.

  “You want to come in?” I asked when we reached my front gate.

  Jo looked embarrassed. “I have a date.”

  My eyes widened. “A date?”

  “With Jackson.” She winced, as if I was going to dissolve into tears again. Ironic, considering she had been mood-swing central since she had became Evacuee Jo. “Are you mad at me, Lillie? Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.” As if she needed the rule of repetition.

  “No!”

  “Are you sure?” She raised her eyes to the heavens. “Phew. I was worried. I
mean I know you have… had Tom.” Her eyes widened as she realized what a kick in the guts her correction from present to past tense had been.

  “Jackson is a friend. Period,” I said quickly. At least in this dimension, I thought.

  Jo did a tap dance on the sidewalk. Yes. You heard me. Jo. A tap dance. If I had not already known about evacuees I would have guessed then and there that she was not my Jo. “He said he’s liked me since Elementary. Can you believe it?”

  I was still having a hard time believing the tap dance, but I nodded as I suddenly recalled his drawing of Wal-Mart and Jo. And how he had remembered that Jo and I had gone to the Rainbow Retreat. God. How stupid had I been to think he liked me? Very.

  And maybe Jo had liked him all along too, I thought, as I recalled her words, “Maybe you could spare a few for the rest of us”.

  That night I lay awake in bed, holding the key around my neck like a good-luck charm and watching for the headlights of the Benz. Whenever a car went past, I propped myself up on my elbows, waiting for the driver to flash a message to me. A love letter in Morse code.

  By the early hours of the morning I had fallen into a rare dreamless sleep. It seemed Tom had also abandoned me in my dreams.

  26

  I phoned Rose Hill again on my lunch break from Tree of Life.

  “He literally drove out of the gates two minutes ago,” Lorraine told me.

  Uh-huh. And you can call me Lillie Windsor-Smith.

  I walked down to the bakery. It was blowing a gale, the icy wind making a noose of my hair.

  I ordered a pineapple juice at the counter before taking a seat at my usual table in the back corner. I was onto my second juice when the door opened and in walked Tom.

  His eyes found me in an instant, like he knew I would be there waiting. Of course he did. I was always waiting for him. In every dimension, I thought miserably.

  “I think we should go for a drive,” he said. This time, there was no hesitation.

  The luxurious interior of his SUV seemed to shrink as we headed towards the Open Valley, the silence between us filling its nooks and crannies until it was like a third person in the vehicle.

  Tom seemed nervous, tapping his finger on the steering wheel and chewing his bottom lip, like a schoolboy waiting for the principal.

  He stopped to check for traffic at the corner, careful to look past me instead of at me. I leaned forward, trying to catch his eye with a small smile on my lips, but I may as well have been the breeze from the air vents.

  “Um…” I started, and then stopped. I had a billion and one questions to ask about his grandmother – what had she said? What was she going to do? What was he going to do? When? Where? Why? How? – but I was worried about the answers, given his uneasiness and the manner in which he changed gears rapidly, like I might grab his hand if he came too close.

  “Um…” I paused again and then followed up with a burst of inappropriate laughter that belied my nerves. I looked out the window at the grasses that waved in the wind, like a rolling ocean beneath the snow-filled clouds.

  As we drove through the railroad crossing, the tires hit the tracks with a thud-thud that sounded like gunshots. It seemed to rouse Tom from his reverie and he spoke suddenly, the words rushing out of his mouth like he was ripping off a Band-Aid.

  “My grandmother is an evacuee,” he said. “A merged evacuee.”

  I waited for him to go on, but he had returned to chewing his bottom lip.

  “You found your family,” I said hesitantly. My mind was racing through the scenarios. Maybe his grandmother knew what had happened to his parents, I thought, deciding on a positive outlook. Maybe Tom had been wrong and they were here as well. A family reunion.

  “The two of us have crossed paths before,” Tom said, like he was reading my mind. “In my seventh dimension.”

  The Seventh Dimension. I scratched my jeans with my fingernail, like a nervous twitch.

  “She let us…” Tom paused, casting his eyes to me for a moment. “I mean she let Lillie and I live at Rose Hill.”

  My fingernails dug into the denim. Dig. Dig. Dig. Lillie. And. I.

  “I had no double in my seventh dimension,” Tom explained. “My father had been killed in a motorbike accident as a teen, which meant I was never born. My grandmother pulled a few strings and created an identity for me so I could have a life.”

  “And so you could get married,” I said, as I imagined Lillie walking through the formal gardens in a flowing white dress. No. Not imagined, remembered. I could see Tom waiting next to a gazebo, dressed in a black tuxedo. His smile was broad and his eyes sparkled like cut diamonds as I walked towards him with Sylv at my side. There was no Jo.

  “She wants me to go with her to England,” Tom suddenly said, bringing me back to the present.

  A family reunion in London. My heart ached at the thought of losing him for a day, let alone a week, but did he mean… “Forever?”

  Tom glanced at me. “Lillie, she wants me to merge with her grandson. The Tom from this dimension.”

  I hissed, the sound like the seal being broken on a soda can.

  “My grandmother is part of the Circle,” he explained.

  “Like Mr Green?”

  Tom nodded. “How do you think she knew I was here? He let her know as soon he saw me in the café. He was out looking for me the night she arrived. The night I was with you.” He squeezed the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white before he released his grip, giving up. “My grandmother has me booked on a flight to London on Monday.”

  “Is that what you want?” I asked, realizing this was not one of those dimensions where Tom had his grandmother wrapped around his little finger.

  “Of course not.” He turned to me, his eyes flashing like lightning. “I am not a murderer.”

  I looked at him, wide-eyed, knowing this was another fork in the road, but neither direction led to a destination we wanted.

  His nostrils flared as he stared straight ahead at the road. “I have to slide.”

  He may as well have driven the car into a brick wall, splattering my heart against my ribcage. “Stop.”

  “What?”

  “Stop the car!” I fumbled with the door handle, gasping for breath. It was like the oxygen had been sucked out of my lungs. I took off my seat belt and opened the door, letting in a rush of wind and sparking a warning signal from the dashboard.

  “No, Lillie. Wait!” Tom slammed on the brakes and the dusty road that rushed like a raging torrent beside me became a steady stream.

  I jumped out and ran along the narrow strip between the trees and the road. My feet swished through the uncut grass, which slithered around my ankles like snakes hissing the word “slide”.

  “Lillie!” Tom shouted.

  “Go away!” I choked against the wind, my throat thick with emotion. I could taste the tears coursing down my face. He was breaking my heart again, because he was breaking his promise again. I groped through my memories, looking for a promise that I knew had been both made and broken.

  “Listen to me.” Tom grabbed my shoulder. The contact was like a knife in my back. I fell to my knees and he crouched beside me whispering my name in time with my ragged breathing.

  “I want you to come with me, Lillie.”

  I looked at him sideways, as if waiting for a blow to the head.

  “I want you to slide too,” he begged. His voice was strained and I realized was scared. Scaredy Tom-Cat.

  “I can do that?” I asked, my hair flying around my head like Medusa. “I can slide?”

  “Did you really think I would leave you, Lillie? I would rather merge than slide into another dimension without you.” I watched his chest rise and fall under his sweater as he took a deep breath. “I have to tell you something,” he said and then shook his head. “No. Let me show you.” He stood up and offered me his hand.

  I let him help me to my feet, leaning on him like a crutch as we walked back to his SUV.

  The Benz was par
ked lopsided, half off the road with both front doors open, shuddering with each gust of wind. It looked like a prop from post-apocalyptic film and its warning signal grew louder we approached, sounding through the valley like a homing beacon. Beep. Beep. Beep. This. Is. It. I knew we were about to reach another twist in the book and, like last time, I wanted to skip ahead to the last page.

  “Look,” Tom instructed, guiding me towards the SUV and pointing at the side mirror.

  I leaned in to look at the pale-faced girl in its reflection.

  Meanwhile, Tom reached in through the door and pulled the mirror from the visor. He lifted this second mirror behind my head and carefully drew back my hair from my face as if it were a curtain made of antique lace.

  I closed my eyes as his fingertips brushed my ear, blushing to think he would see their pointiness. But then I realized he would have seen them countless times in other dimensions. I wondered if Lillie from the Seventh Dimension wore her hair in a ponytail, not needing a shield like me.

  I opened my eyes. “No,” I whispered when I saw my reflection again.

  “Yes,” Tom said.

  “No!” I straightened up, my back as rigid as a washboard.

  “Lillie,” Tom said, catching my arm before I could run. “I told you I had saved you in eight dimensions, but had been too late in four.” His eyes begged for forgiveness, his pale blue irises like shimmering lakes. I wanted to submerge myself in them, sink to their sandy bottoms and drown. “This was the fourth dimension, Lillie.”

  I wanted the wind to whisk away his words, but it had died down, leaving us in the eye of its storm.

  “She killed me?” I asked, but it was more a statement than a question. I had seen the black tattoo myself, the mix of numbers and letters behind my ear, which marked me as an evacuee. I lifted the veil of hair that had hidden the truth and touched my tattoo. My fingers ran over the smooth skin, feeling the heat that made my cheeks burn like I was blushing. I looked in the mirror again and saw that my cheeks remained ashen, despite my rising temperature.

  My mind went back to that night six months ago when Evacuee Lillie had leaned over my bed. I had thought it a dream and then a memory from another dimension, but it had been neither. “She killed me,” I said again, thinking of my nosebleed and my muddled memories over the past six months. And then there was my constant blushing that I had put down to having a crush. My voice became accusatory. “You said she was gone. You said I was safe.”