30 | You've Been Here Before

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"Walt saw me at the boardwalk.  He shouldn't be able to see me, but he looked right at me."  I closed the bedroom door behind me and saw that I was speaking to an empty room.  "Liz?"

"Just a second."  Her muffled voice was coming from behind the open door of the armoire.  She emerged with her arms full of fabric, which she dropped on my bed.  "Okay. Take off your clothes and I'll go over the plan."

"There's a plan!  Thank God.  Are you...writing the plan on me?"

"No, I'm helping you get dressed," she said, gesturing to the pile of clothing.  "You have to go soon.  You can leave your bra and underwear on if you want.  Let's hope no one gets that far with you on this trip."

"What the heck?"  I muttered as I pulled my blue dress off, but I let it go because she was helping me, even though I was stupid and reckless enough put my entire life and family at risk so I could make out with her uncle a few times.

"Chemise," Liz said, handing me an airy white dress that I slipped over my head.  "You're going to meet my friend Paul there."  She stood behind me, tying up a corset over the thin fabric of the dress.  "He'll help you find Rose. She could be 'recovering', like the article said, in a couple different places; there's the Elmwood and another hotel on the north end of town called the Somerset.  There's also a small local hospital on Third Street, but I doubt she'd be there because she's rich.  If she's been identified as Clara Bartlett, she's probably in one of the hotels. Both of them have doctors on staff.  Unless Rose ran off, in which case you might be out of luck if she doesn't get back to 1953 on her own."

Once I had layers of petticoats on and thigh-high stockings tied onto my legs, Liz held up a white, high-collared, long-sleeved blouse with big puffed sleeves, followed by an ankle-length dark brown skirt.

"How am I going to find this Paul?" I asked as I pushed my arms through the sleeves.

"He'll be waiting for you by the river, south of the Elmwood Hotel.  There's nothing there in the late 1800s.  Once you get there, start walking south along the water and you'll run into him.  He looks like he's in maybe his mid-twenties, but he's got that ambiguous look that could make him anywhere from twenty to forty.  It's partly why he's so good at what he does.  He'll be wearing glasses, when he sees you he'll take them off, rub his eyes and put them back on.  Then you'll address him as Mr. Warren."

"Wait, am I going through the river? Wearing all this?"  I suddenly felt too hot and it was hard to breathe.  "I can't swim in this!"  I could already feel the heavy, wet layers of clothing dragging me down.  I dug my fingers into the top edge of the corset through the shirt and tried prying it away from my chest so I could take a deep breath. "You don't need to be in the water, right?  So can I do whatever you do?"

"I've had a lot more practice than you.  Maybe you don't need to be in the water, but is now the time to mess around trying something else?  Put your hair up in a high bun, not too tight though."

Liz opened the bottom drawer of the armoire and pulled out a pair of tall black lace-up boots with long pointed toes and heels that flared at the bottom.

"I'm gonna look like the Wicked Witch of the West.  How will I get down to the river without anyone seeing me in these clothes?"

"You're going tonight.  No one will see you.  There's a small park with access to the water a couple blocks away.  I'll walk with you.  You have to wash off your mascara.  Any make-up on and they'll think you're a prostitute."

Once I had my hair up and the last remaining smudges of mascara removed, Liz pinned something to my head and opened the armoire all the way to reveal a mirror hanging on the inside of the door.  I hesitantly stepped closer.  There was a straw hat trimmed with a black ribbon and feathers perched on top of my head, the mutton sleeves and corset accentuated my waistline, from which the heavy skirt spilled down.   I looked like a ghost, or an extra from a period piece movie. 

"Oh wow.  I look all Anne of Green Gables."

"I hated that book."  Liz was sitting on the floor, loosening the laces on the boots.

"I guess you're not a kindred spirit then."

"I guess not."

I pushed open the other door of the armoire to reveal a whole costume closet.  It was stuffed with bright sixties shifts, long floaty hippie skirts, blouses in funky mustard yellow and orange florals, and dark, scratchy pencil skirts.  There was a basket at the bottom overflowing with complicated undergarments- a tangle of thick stockings, straps and clips and lace- and another basket full of shoes. 

"Whoa!  What if someone finds all this?"

"Then I'll say I'm involved in community theater," she said, handing me a boot, "and they'll shut up, because nobody wants to hear more about that crap."

I winced as I forced the boot onto my sore foot and began tightening the laces.

"Thank you.  For helping me.  I know I should have listened to you in the first place, but thank you for doing this anyway."  

"You're welcome.  Anyway, I've gotten used to not having a roommate, so the sooner you set things right, the better."

"What do you need to do?  To set things right for yourself?"

She sighed. "I don't even know anymore. It seems like the more I try, the further away I get."  She tugged at the laces of the other boot to loosen them.  "My little sister disappeared and it was my fault, so I've been trying to find her."

"What happened?"

"I'd just gotten home from college for Thanksgiving break and my mom was just being...I had to get away.  Michelle and I went out to the train trestle at Mill Creek.  We were listening to music on my Walkman and smoking weed and I guess I decided it was the right time to tell her I could time travel.  It was stupid, I was stoned. And then she told me she could see 'visions of the past'.  Everybody always thought she had a vivid imagination.  But she told me she really saw ghosts, or shadows of people from a long time ago.  And it was things, too, like buildings that were gone or different somehow.  Basically she could time travel, too, in her own way. 

So, we decided 1969 sounded fun.  We thought maybe after a practice run, we could make it to Woodstock or something another time.  I took her with me from November 1993 to November 1969.  We ended up hitchhiking with these guys headed to a Stones concert at Olympia Stadium. They had extra tickets they were going to try to sell. They were eight dollars. I gave them a twenty, and it bought tickets for both of us to see a legendary band in their prime and ten gallons of gas." She closed her eyes and a hint of a smile flickered on her face. "We were rich, high and had this unbelievable...magic. We were feeling good.

I lost Michelle in the crowd and got kicked back to 1993 without her, right there in the middle of the night in Detroit. The stadium was gone and I was standing on this empty corner. I tried going back to 1969 to find her, but when I went back the concert was over. I keep going back: 1970, '71, I can't find any trace of her. I can't go back to my life and just leave her. When I'm not trying to find Michelle, I work at the inn and pretend to be my mom's imaginary friend. I'm afraid the more time goes by, the less likely I am to find her.  I have 1972, '73, and then I run out of time."

"I wasn't born until 1998."  I didn't think before I said it and I regretted it immediately.   "And I've never been to 1969.  Can I help?"

She sat back on her heels and looked up at me.  "Maybe?  Thank you, for the offer.  But you're running out of time, too.  You have to help yourself first."

On my own I never would have found the little park.  Between two riverfront houses, a long path to the water was framed by two willow trees and marked by a streetlight, illuminating the strands of delicate, feathery leaves.  We ducked through the curtain formed by the sweeping branches and walked the path to the water.  Beyond the breakwall at the end of the path, there were three steps down to a narrow strip of sandy beach.

"Once you find Rose," Liz said in a low voice,  "let Paul bring her back while you stay behind.  He can bring her back to a minute or so after she went underwater, so it will be like she never disappeared.  And, if all goes well, after they're back you can go straight home."

"She can go back to right after she left?  And nobody will ever know she was gone?   I didn't know that was possible.  Every time I left, time passed back at home, so I thought..."

I could have stayed with Pete.  We could have gone on our own road trip to California.  I could have stayed for weeks or months and returned home before school even started. I shook my head to erase the daydream and make space for reality.  He was a jerk, he lied to me, he only paid attention to me because I was clueless.

"You were here when she disappeared, so you can't bring her back to last night, but Paul can."

"Why can't he find Rose and bring her back on his own then?" I stared ahead at the glossy, inky black water, seemingly bottomless and chilling, while I clenched and unclenched my fists. "Why do I even have to go?"

"You're the one who'll confirm that it's actually her, and she might recognize you and be more likely to go along with you.  And it will look better, less suspicious, if you're there so she won't be seen alone with a man."

"But I'll be seen alone with a man.  Until we find her."

"Well, she's supposedly a millionaire's daughter and nobody cares who you are.  Ready?"

"No!  How do I know I'm going to wind up on August 31st, 1886, and not any of the other thousands of dates before or after?  I have nothing to picture in my head, and even if I did, I could still end up who knows when."

"There's a giant hotel in the distance," she gestured to the northwest, "and you know what it looks like. But if you think of Rose, you'll get there.  Clear your mind of everything else.  She drew you here in the first place, she can do it again."  Liz squeezed my elbow gently.  "Now, go."

I stepped down to the beach, stopping when the pointed toes of my boots touched the water.  I squeezed my eyes shut tight and the black and white photographs from Mrs. Barry's scrapbook projected in my mind; the Elmwood Hotel, the tiered steamboats, Clara Bartlett.  Then Rosemary Durand, but in color.  Rosy cheeks, chestnut hair.  I took a few steps forward.  The water swirled around my legs, clung to my skirt and dragged me down into a whirlpool before I could take a breath.

I still felt like I was spinning when I opened my eyes to the sunlight and fixed them on a tree to stop the vertigo.  I stumbled out of the waist deep water and fell onto the bank of long grass and weeds, clutching my suddenly pounding head.  My hair was still dry. Somehow I'd traveled back without even going underwater.

Where I had left a breakwall with a man-made beach, there was a rugged, natural shoreline.  It was marshy, with scattered pieces of splintered logs floating among long reeds poking out of the water.  I stood and tried to wring some water out of the heavy fabric of my skirt.  The light olive green towers of the Elmwood Hotel were visible above the scrubby trees to the North, so I headed in the other direction, staying close to the river as I wobbled on the soft ground.

I felt sick, dizzy and incredibly slow-moving.  When I finally saw a man in a coat and hat approach, I wasn't sure if I was still moving at all.  He peered down his nose at my wet skirt, then locked his eyes knowingly on mine as he removed his wire glasses, pressed a palm to his eye with a grimace and replaced the glasses.

The gesture ignited a feeling of dread and instead of addressing him as I was told, I stood frozen in place and silent.  He stared back at me, expressionless.  He seemed familiar, but with his medium build, light brown hair, hazel eyes and nondescript face, he could have been familiar from anywhere, anytime.  He cocked his head, waiting for me to acknowledge him, and then adjusted his collar revealing a small, circular bruise on his neck.  I looked away, but on second glance it hit me that it wasn't a hickey, but a heel mark.  My heel mark.

I turned and tried to run, but the wet skirt, the tight corset, the heeled boots, and the dizzying exhaustion all held me back.  His arms closed around me.  I screamed into his hand and tried to stomp his feet, using my last reserves of energy before I blacked out.


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