Episode 9

Okay, that’s enough from Anya for a while. She thinks she knows everything and maybe she does have more sense since I came along, but even if things are going to turn out different this time around, I still know better what to look out for. So, I think it’s high time you heard my side of things.

I was an irresponsible brat for a long time. I messed up a lot but then I met someone who made me realize I could do something worthwhile, that I was worth something just being myself. I learned that I could make someone happy and he made me happy too.

So maybe our relationship did have a scandalous beginning. And there were problems because of Roger’s ex-wife. But what relationship doesn’t have issues? As far as I’m concerned, this situation now is fate. Of course I miss him as I knew him. I miss my friends and my life in the future. But this is an opportunity for a kind of happiness beyond what we could ever have had in the future I left behind.

I’m rambling. Anya is better at keeping these things straight than I am but it’s hard reliving things this way. I’m getting used to the idea that there are certain things I won’t be able to get back. He’ll never remember the real first time I met him or the fact that he was the one who started calling me Stacy. I’ll tell him these things someday. Eventually I’ll tell him the truth and he’ll understand it all. Perhaps he’ll even perfect what he started six years from now.

Anya won’t know until she finds someone she feels about this way. I wonder who it will be for her now that I’m here. At times I wonder if it’s selfish of me, going after Roger like this. It wasn’t until after I met Roger that I understood how this, how love, really feels. Am I taking it away from her? No. Like Brian always says, Anya and I aren’t the same person anymore. She’ll find someone else. I hope for Brian’s sake it’s Brian but I doubt it.

She thinks not only that I’m making a mistake but that I’m making the same mistake I made before. But it wasn’t a mistake. Okay, yeah, I wound up stuck here in the past. Maybe volunteering to be a guinea pig for a time traveling experiment shows poor judgment on my part. But Roger isn’t the mistake. And actually, doing it this way will probably turn out better for all of us.

I remember Roger telling me about when things first started going wrong between him and his wife. That’s why I got sent back to this time. I wasn’t supposed to interfere, but I also wasn’t supposed to get stuck here. Since I am stuck here, I’m going to do what I can. Roger always said he wished he’d met me earlier. So we’d have more time together. So his marriage with DeeDee would have ended before it became so unbearable. So it would have ended before his kids were old enough to turn against him.

From the moment I saw him again, I knew that I had to try.

I wish I’d been able to think of a better way to spend time with him than taking that damn theoretical physics class. Again. Even though this is my second time sitting through the class, I don’t understand it any better than last time. I get caught up in the way his voice changes when he’s excited about a point he’s trying to make, when he is desperate for us students to become as enthralled as he is.

I bought a tape-recorder this time around. Maybe it would help me follow what we’re discussing if I can make a word-for-word transcript of what he says. If I read it on the page, I can’t get lost in his voice right? Wrong. It takes forever to transcribe the recordings because I type a few words and then forget what I’m doing. The one time I did manage to finish typing a lecture, when I read it, I heard the memory of his voice and understood less, if that’s even possible.

So the other day, I hung back at the end of class to ask Roger if he had any suggestions for me. I thought it would be like last time, when he told me if I was having trouble I should go see him in his office and he’d give me some study guides, practice test questions, show me the kinds of things he was looking for in essays, etc.

It wasn’t anything like last time.

I had fond memories of that office and was a little taken aback when the student before me in line walked past and Roger called me in. It was neat, organized, photos in silver frames on shelves with textbooks. The calendar wasn’t covered with post-it notes but legible ink. There was a large framed photo of Roger and his wife on their wedding day right under the desk lamp and next to his computer. I’d seen her before, well, her picture before, but not this one. None where they were both smiling and apparently happy.

“Please, take a seat,” he said motioning towards a chair against the wall. I sat down and bounced a little to see if the uncomfortable spring was still where I remembered or if this was that chair’s predecessor.

“What can I do for you?” he said to redirect my attention.

“I was just wondering if you had any suggestions to help me with my essays for the next exam.” I handed him my test.

He glanced at it briefly then stood up, handing it back to me and gently ushering me back out to the hallway.

“You did fine on the multiple choice so I think you just need help putting it into your own words. Read over my comments and find someone in the class to study with next time. Record your answers to practice questions and that should help.”

“Will you be doing a study session or…”

“No. Sorry to hurry you but I was supposed to meet my wife fifteen minutes ago.”

“Twenty,” she corrected from just outside the hall.

“DeeDee,” he said with a smile. They leaned into one another for a cute little kiss. I thought I might be sick. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Well, you did warn me you were handing back exams today.” She chuckled. He always told me how annoying he’d found her chuckle but as I watched him, he laughed quietly to himself and continued smiling.

Roger and I were together for a few years before this time experiment went haywire so I knew pretty much all of his expressions at that point. I knew that when he was fake-smiling, he got these creases near the sides of his mouth. I called them his dishonest dimples. Even with a microscope, I wouldn’t have been able to find them on his face at that moment. I had to get out of there.

“Thanks for the help… Professor,” I said over my shoulder. It sounded so formal and so wrong, I ended up spitting it out. I wouldn’t let myself look at them again as I tried to retreat casually. But they were following me back down the hall away from his office, so their conversation chased after me.

“My mother has the kids tonight,” she said suggestively. Gag.

“Happy anniversary to us.”

“Five years already. Wow.”

I headed upstairs just to get away from them. At the top I sat down and covered my ears in case their voices were still carrying up the stairwell. I closed my eyes to keep away the image of them together and happy.

Anya was working that afternoon but I had the day off so I went back home to wait for her. I couldn’t say anything to her about my day without getting those disgusted looks from her but all I had to do at that point was mention the Tyler Affair to come and she’d blush and leave me alone.

It’s weird, living with yourself. You’d think that, since you already know pretty much everything about each other, you’d wind up being best friends. Not the case, at all. Anya and I were like me and the roommate I’d had freshman year. We occupied the same space, knew each others’ shameful secrets, and had an unspoken pact to keep our mouths shut about everything.

Truth be told, I was lonely. None of my friends had met me or if they had, it was really Anya they were friends with. I could have tried to meet them, but they were all ten years younger than when I knew them so trying might get me arrested. Brian, the only person aside from Anya who knew the truth about me, was still at the point where he would jump off a building if Anya asked him to.

So, instead of staying in my Attic of Solitude and Self-Loathing, I decided to head out. Anya would whisper-yell at me when I snuck in through the window after dark. I went to one of the only places that made me feel like I had a handle on things: the WonderMart at the end of Elm Street.

I went around back to the loading bay area and spotted Johnny Lyndon smoking on his break.

“Hey Johnny,” I said walking up to him.

“Hey Gorgeous. Got any tips for me?”

“Quit while you’re ahead,” I said with a wink. Then I pulled the butt from his mouth and stamped it out on the pavement.

“Sweetie, you’re killin’ me.”

“Not as fast as those things will.”

He pulled another cigarette from his pocket and lit up. “If you’re not nice to me, I won’t let you in.”

I had a twenty waiting and handed it over. “Use on the patch, okay. Not another pack.”

“Would you go out with me if I quit?”

“You’ll have to try it and see,” I said with a wink and headed for the door. “You’ll definitely be more attractive when you stop smelling like an ashtray.”

I went down the hall and around a corner to an old storage room. I always felt there should have been a secret knock or something but you really just had to walk right in. Johnny was pretty much it for security. But then, it wasn’t my place to tell Tony how he should be running things. I made it my business to try and stay off his radar. That’s why I headed for the blackjack table in the corner. Another two twenties and I was playing. I always bet low and tried to play smart. I gave a little to show respect. Plus, I had time to kill.

Peter Hodgeson sat next to me and handed over a couple of fifties, joining the game.

We exchanged a few pleasantries but focused on the game. I wasn’t exactly trying to win a lot but he was. It was sad to see his pile of chips start out so much bigger than mine and drop to next to nothing so quickly. With one chip left, he started rooting around in his wallet for more cash but came up with only a five. It was enough to get him another chip.

He busted. I played it safe and only lost one chip. I still had about nine but all I needed was five. I pushed three of mine over to him.

“I can’t… Thank you but, I’m out.” He pushed back from the table and started walking away. I cashed out and followed. Over his shoulder he saw me coming and stopped by an overstuffed shelving unit.

“Stacy, right? How’s that all working out for you?” He looked at the floor as he asked, probably ashamed that what I’d paid him was already gone (it cost me a lot to have all that taken care of).

“It’s working great. Listen,” I held out a wad of small bills. “Take this.”

“I couldn’t possibly…”

“I’m not asking or offering, I’m telling. Take it. Avoid blackjack. The baseball game’s starting in a few minutes. Follow my lead.”

I lead him to a sofa in front of a big screen television with a scratch running down the screen (a busted floor model). The Orioles and Mets were getting ready to play game five of the World Series, tied at two games apiece.

I put twenty dollars down on the Orioles and motioned for Peter to do the same. He bet everything I had given him. Then we settled in to watch the game unfold. I remembered how my father watched the World Series every year, regardless of who was in it. Whenever he got a little drunk he’d go over his favorite series of all time. One of which was this 2016 series, he had rooted for the Orioles who dropped behind every game and yet still managed to come back. This one would be a great one.

Peter started twitching his leg as the Mets went ahead by more and more runs. He took me aside during the seventh inning stretch and berated me a little. Not only did I ignore him, I gave him another five dollars and suggested he see what they’d do about the odds if he added more to his bet for the Orioles. When he refused, I said, “Fine. I’ll do it.”

The Orioles came back sending the game into extra innings where they won by a single run. Most of the guys were shocked and I kept making the excuse that I love a long shot. I quietly left and waited in the parking lot for Peter. He was still in shock as he emerged about fifteen minutes later.

I crossed over to him and gave him half of what I’d won with that extra five dollars. “I’ll see you around, Pete,” I said before heading home. He was speechless as he watched me walk away.