by EJ Valson
“That’s yummy!” she exclaims.
“Now do you want some?” I ask her again. She nods enthusiastically. Mom for the win!
Joe comes out from the bedroom.
“What are you eating?” he asks Olivia.
“Yogurt and ‘nola,” she says proudly, through a mouthful. I smile.
“Oh, really...” he says with sarcasm, raising his eyebrows. “You going to be a little hippie?” he jokes with her.
Smartass, I think, shaking my head.
“She needs to eat a better breakfast,” I say. “Yogurt and granola has more protein and will keep her full longer,” I defend.
He looks at me as if I just spoke a foreign language, then drops the subject.
“OK, gotta go,” he says, grabbing a small lunch box and his coffee mug from the counter.
I begin to panic at the thought of being left behind with Olivia and not knowing where I’m supposed to take her for day care.
“Wait, you aren’t taking her with you?” I say following him out.
He turns around with a puzzled look on his face.
“What do you mean?” he asks. “I never take her. And I have to be at the site in 15 minutes,” he replies, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.
My panic increases. Where do I take her and then where do I go after that?
“Right,” I say, trying to calm myself, realizing I need to cover my emotions. But I quickly develop a plan.
“Sorry, I just wanted to get in early,” I explain, hoping he buys my excuse.
“Well, if you leave now, you should,” he says matter-of-factly. He breaks his stare, then kisses Olivia on the head and me routinely on the cheek.
“See you later,” he says as he walks out the door.
I look at Olivia, sitting there so preciously, focusing on her breakfast and kid show, unaware of her mother’s unraveling mind. Thank God!
Then I put my plan into action.
“Olivia, let’s play a game. I want to see what you remember about our family,” I say with a soft tone as I kneel down in front of her. She looks at me intently. She loves games.
“What is your last name?” I ask.
“Harris,” she says proudly.
“What is Mommy’s full name?” I continue.
She thinks. “Jennifer Harris.”
“Good job,” I praise her. ”What is daddy’s full name?” I continue.
“Joe Harris....Joseph Harris,” she corrects herself.
“What school do you go to?” I ask.
“Happy Days Daycare,” she replies with a big grin. Phew! I know where that is.
“What does Daddy do for work?”
She giggles. “He goes up the houses!” She answers, loud and proud.
Hmmm, I think. “Up the houses... what do you mean, Silly Goose?” I tickle her sides.
“He fixes the roofs!” she exclaims.
AHA! To my surprise Joe is a roofer in this year, just as he is in the future. Odd how he made the same career choice earlier, even weirder that I supported it -- considering the danger.
“Good job!” I exclaim. “Now where does Mommy work?” I inquire.
“Ummm...Sound and Clear,” she says. I am taken aback, but relieved. This is still my place of employment in the future. This I can do!
“OK, Sweetie, great job! Let’s brush your teeth and get going.”
Without hesitation or argument she finishes the morning tasks of brushing her teeth, putting on her shoes and waiting at the door. I laugh to myself when I think of how I have to gripe at her to move faster to get ready to leave the house in the future.
I pass the framed structure of my future house once again on my way to Olivia’s preschool. I feel a pang of sadness. I will have to get used to that if I pass by here every day. I snap back into the reality of the situation as I approach her preschool building. In my future life I drive by here every day on my way to work. I have forgotten that in 2005 it was not yet remodeled, so the school is smaller and appears worn.
We walk in the entrance and I let Olivia lead me through the double doors into her classroom. Artwork and letters of the alphabet plaster the walls. Primary colors and shapes and numbers adorn the children’s work tables. This is different than what she actually had in our other earlier life. After Joe and I separated she went to a private home daycare, and she stayed there until kindergarten. When Stella turned one, Michael and I put her in a wonderful daycare/preschool -- where she thrived. I often wished that Olivia had been given the same opportunity. I guess she has, in this other dimension.
“Good morning!” says a friendly, middle-aged woman.
“Hi, Miss Benton!” Olivia shrills as she wraps her arms around the plump woman’s side.
“And good morning, Jenni,” she says to me.
“Hello,” I smile. I feel weird leaving Olivia here. I don’t know this place or this person. I have to reassure myself that even if I wasn’t familiar with this place or its employees, Olivia feels comfortable here. It is her routine.
I bend down to Olivia’s level.
“OK, Baby, you have a wonderful day and I will pick you up around five.”
“Oh, is Joe not getting her today?” Miss Benton asks.
Oops, I think. “Oh, that’s right. He will. I forgot,” I reply. “Oh, that reminds me,” I continue. “Has he been picking her up on time?” I manipulatively inquire, making calculations in my mind.
“Oh, yes. 4:30 every day -- like clockwork,” she says with a smile.
“Great,” I respond.
CHAPTER 8
I have a slight bounce in my step as I head back to the car. I feel more confident, like I’m riding a bike again after eight years. At first you are shaky and unsure, but then you start pedaling and the tires begin moving and you are going somewhere. But this sensation is short lived.
I pull into my work’s parking lot with optimism, knowing that I can handle my day-to-day work. Sure Sound and Clear would be a little behind from our future progress, but I have already been a part of the effort to get it where it is in the future, so this should come easily. When I enter the lobby, the smell of coffee and old carpet still lingers. Earl, an engineer, is in the kitchen making tea.
“Good morning,” I say. He nods hello and I continue walking.
I feel like I’m home. Even if this is not the same year, it is a familiar space, and I have to refrain from hugging everyone I see. I turn the corner into my office and stop suddenly when I notice my work friend Stacy is sitting at my desk.
“Oh, good morning,” I say.
“Hi,” she awkwardly replies.
Why is she at my desk, I wonder.
I take a quick glance around the office and realize that nothing is where it should be. These are not my things. What the hell, Life?!
“Do you need something?” she politely asks.
Before I can answer, my boss Steve walks into the office. I brace for him to greet me in the same manner as Stacy did.
“Oh, good, there you are,” he says to me. “I got a call from a school in Colorado. They want someone to come out and do a demo.” I feel a sense of relief. OK, he knows me and it sounds like I’m doing similar work to what I have done before. “When you get settled, I’ll meet with you and tell you the dates so you can book my tickets.”
Now I’m confused again. I don’t book travel at my work, or manage any logistics for that matter. I do sales and product demonstrations. Operations handles all of the event and travel coordination. However, this tidbit of information helps me. At least I know what area of the building to go to. But I’m saddened, as I loved the Marketing department. We were all a younger group, including my boss. We were often referred to as the “daycare” by other departments at the small company that specializes in developing hearing aids and other products for the deaf and hard of hearing.
I slowly walk back to the last office down the hall. Pictures of Olivia grace a shelf above my computer. I pout as I put my belongings aside and f
ire up my computer. This sucks. I’m at least successful in guessing my computer password. It was the one I used for everything else at that time....Olivia’s birth date.
I chuckle at the screen. It is a much older version of the system I currently use. Going to have to get used to this again, I think. I open the email program to check my messages. There are only a few, not the normal twenty or thirty emails I would typically get after a weekend, filled with customer inquiries or late night campaign ideas from my colleagues. Instead it is only staff emails from the Operations Manager about turning in quarterly budgets to...me. Shit! Am I her assistant? Ugg, she is the last person I want to work for! I check my email signature. It appears that I am her assistant. How the hell did I manage to get sucked into that? Another corner of this life yet to explore.
Fifteen minutes later Steve walks into my office with a cup of coffee and sits down at the guest chair.
“How was your weekend?” he asks.
“Great. Yours?” I respond cheerfully. He looks a little off put by my cheerfulness.
“Relaxing,” he replies. I don’t believe him. He is a pro at selling himself and anything else.
At that time Steve was in a bad marriage and hated being at home. He and his wife were polar opposites, to say the least. I know all of this because in my future life we were close friends, and I considered him to be like a brother.
After a brief chat about his travel plans, I return to my computer screen to acquaint myself with my responsibilities. Luckily, I was and still am a very organized person, so I am able to look through saved “to do” lists and emails to catch myself up on what the past me has been working on.
Nothing too challenging -- budgets for trade shows, travel planning, meeting agendas and minutes. Nothing I can’t handle or haven’t done some part of before. The morning passes quickly. I’m left alone most of the time to work on mundane tasks. My boss Ruth only interrupts me once to make sure I have spoken to Steve about his trip to Colorado.
Since it is quiet, I take the opportunity to do some research. I haven’t had this opportunity all day and it has been one of my goals. I figure I can run an internet search on Michael and see if I can find him somewhere online. Unfortunately, his name is not uncommon in Sweden.
The search field finds “Michael Nielsen” and produces several results, all pointing to professionals or athletes that are not him. Facebook isn’t public yet. Myspace finds nothing. I’m now even more discouraged. I feel lost and a little crazy.
At lunchtime I hear laughter coming from down the hallway. I peek out my doorway to see what the commotion is about only to see my... well, I guess...THE Marketing department heading out together for lunch. I miss them. My melancholy deepens, watching them go out the door. I want to go too.
Instead I settle for going to lunch by myself. I check in with Ruth first to make sure it’s okay to leave the phones. She looks at me surprised that I ask. I tell her I will be back in an hour. Then I get in my car and head towards town. I’m not hungry, but I need a break to think and rebuild my strength to get through the rest of the day.
I look at the houses on the long stretch of road that takes me into town. They all look the same. I smile when I see the house that in a few years will be busted for selling drugs, making big headlines in this small town of 50,000. I wonder if they are selling right now and if I should tip off the cops. Nah.
The road begins to widen, becoming two lanes. I pass the road that leads to my mom’s old house. I almost hit the brakes at full speed when it dawns on me that my mom would still be living there....wouldn’t she? I slowly pull over and wait for the chance to flip a U-turn.
My adrenaline is pumping. I have the sudden urge to race to her house, but it is in a residential zone. I want to see my mom, badly. Though it’s only a short distance away, it feels like it’s taking forever to get to the new subdivision where she had a house built. She was a writer for a large technology company and had worked hard to get a position that paid her well and allowed her to work from the house she had built. Her home was a trophy of her success and I was so proud of her when she was able to buy it on her own.
I ease the car up the driveway, not sure who will be inside the house that was hers before she and her husband bought a new one after they married. Everything else seems different, why wouldn’t this be? I get out of the car quietly, fearful of alerting someone who may not be her of my arrival. The house never had personal touches on the outside, like garden gnomes or trinkets. They weren’t allowed by the homeowners’ association, so from the outside it looks the same.
I stand in front of the front door and listen. It’s quiet out here. It’s a newer subdivision that erupted quickly from acres of dirt, and most of the houses are still for sale. Occasionally you can hear the sound of construction in the background, but the bigger streets are a mile away, and the river is on the other side.
I don’t hear her dog barking, or the clicking of her claws hitting the wood floor to inspect the front door. It is dead quiet. I ring the bell and wait. Still no bark, still no patter of paws on the floor. I ring again, nothing. My heart feels heavier than it has in almost a day. Another disappointment. I know I could call her, but it wouldn’t be the same. I want to see her. I want to hug her. I need my mom.
I turn around to head back to my car, tears in my eyes. Suddenly I hear a honk from behind me and the garage door opens. I wave enthusiastically and almost run to my mom’s car when I see her gray sedan pull in, with the dog in the back wagging her tail and my mom in her golf visor and sunglasses. I have seen this sight a million times before -- Mom coming home from golf -- but I had never appreciated it as much as I do right now.
“Mom!” I yell.
She seems oblivious to my excitement when she pulls in and parks the car in the garage. She is always happy to see me, regardless of the occasion.
“Hi, Baby!” she says as she gets out and opens the back car door. Her German Shepherd Molly jumps out of the back seat and runs over to greet me with wet dog kisses on my hand.
I quickly walk to my mom and embrace her tightly. She hugs me back and I begin to cry. Not just tears in my eyes, but heavy shoulder-shaking sobs. She squeezes me back hard. I find comfort in her soft thin frame and the scent of her trademark cologne and sunscreen.
“Oh, Baby, what’s wrong?” she asks, concerned. I can’t get the words out. I don’t know what to say.
She leads me into the cool air-conditioned house and gets me to sit down on the couch. I’m still inconsolable. She sits down with me and lets me cry it out. She has always been good about letting me feel my emotions before having to explain them. I take full advantage of that this time.
When I can finally pull myself away from her comforting arms and face her, I take a minute to breathe. She rubs my back gently and patiently waits.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I manage to eek out between sobs. “I just feel lost and I really miss you and I just needed to see a familiar face who wouldn’t judge me for acting crazy.” She brings me in for another hug and holds me at her side as best she can.
I am so happy to see that some things haven’t changed -- that we are still bonded in that way. I could be crazy and irrational and she never judges me or becomes overly worried. She just lets me get it out. After a few minutes I sit up and stop crying. “I feel better,” I report.
“You can always come to me, Honey, you know that,” she says in a soothing voice.
I knew that -- and that is why I am here. When I pull myself together she makes me a sandwich and I borrow some makeup to fix my puffy, mascara-streaked face.
While I eat she asks a few questions -- how am I sleeping, am I exercising, am I still going to counseling.
“Me? You mean ‘we’, right?” I interject.
“Oh, I didn’t know Joe was going too, Honey. That’s great,” she says and pats my hand.
Suddenly I am not hungry anymore. Why would I be in counseling by myself? I had battled slight depression when Olivia was a
bout a year old, but it was nothing major. I wasn’t suicidal or not getting out of bed. I was just anxious and tense and unhappy -- nothing that a low dose of antidepressants couldn’t cure. And after I left Joe I didn’t seem to need them anymore. In the future, whenever I had those kinds of feelings I treated them with exercise, vitamins and sleep. The combination seemed to ward it off.
“Mom, do you remember why I started counseling?” I ask, carefully quizzing her.
“Well, you weren’t feeling yourself,” she recalls. “After you and Joe split up and you lived on your own for a while, you started having those panic attacks.”
I’m shocked. I had never had a panic attack in my life. Well, not my other life, at least.
