Writing in Public: Story 2, Scene 3
[image error] Writer’s note: In this scene, I show the cyclical writing (editing as you write) in red. I wrote the scene, looked at, realized I need some more details, so I added them.
3
His name is Tam. I make him wait on the doorstep while I go inside and change clothes. I trust him enough that I will let him into the house, but not enough to let him in while I’m dressing. I doff the soaked uniform and hang it up over the bathtub to drip out. I put on a sundress with a confetti print that has a nice bit of flounce at the hem. I add sandals. Not much I can do with my hair so run a comb through it and band it back in a ponytail.
Before I go downstairs, I open the top drawer on my battered dresser. My fingers linger on the yellowed envelope inside. My name is written on it in faded handwriting. I’ve memorized what it says:
Michelle,
The worlds will break. You’re the only one who can fix them.
Elias
Underneath is some kind of simple drawing. It’s right on the fold, and the paper has cracked, so I can’t make it out. I’ve always thought it was an eye that seems to be looking forward and backward.
My fingers tremble as I slip the envelope inside a legal notepad and tuck the notepad under my arm.
Tam radiates annoyance when I let him into the living room. His eyes take in the room. He’s shocked, and I’m embarrassed. Everything’s shabby, outdated—it was in the house when I inherited it. Blank walls, though that’s not my fault. When I try to put any up, it’s like house rejects it. The paintings are on the floor the next morning. I must have very bad taste in art if the house doesn’t even like it.
I have to flee to the kitchen to hide what must be on my face. I hate the disdain everyone gives me, and that I can’t leave to find better.
To cover why I left, I fix iced tea. It looks too sparse, so I add a plate of store brand chocolate chip cookies, giving them a quick zap in the microwave so the chocolate will melt. So when I return to the living room, I end up nibbling on gooey cookies that taste like cardboard.
He fidgets as he sits on the old sofa. He doesn’t know what to say any more than I do.
“How are you related to me?” I ask.
I’ve seen a few old photos of Elias. Tam looks like him around the jaw and cheekbones. Definitely not the hair. Elias had this weird hair bump, and Tam’s is like he ran a hand through it to comb it this morning.
Tam’s eyes flick up to me. Then he snatches up a cookie, inspects it, then breaks off a piece to eat. “From one of Elias’ other children. We’re cousins. No one at all told you what this house is?”
I shake my head. When I sip my tea, my hands are shaking. Why does this frighten me so?
“Elias would have been a brilliant physicist today.” Tam shrugged. “Then? He was beyond even the greatest of the scientists around him.”
“A scientist? I thought he was a land owner, a merchant.”
“He was those, too. But he was greedy. He wanted to make himself rich, not advance the science for knowledge. He figured how to connect the time lines so he could look into future.”
I stare, my mouth open, my brain spinning. I want to think he’s crazy, but I saw the people. I talked to them.
“What I saw…” I finally manage, “that’s the other time line.”
Tam nods. “From when this town was founded. He thought he could look into the future and see what was going to happen. That’s how the town became a big port.” He lowers his head and stares at the cookie in his hand. “And how it died.”
Filed under: Writing in Public Tagged: science fiction, time travel
