Remember Me (16 page)

was shaky at best and downright unreliable at worst. On many of the possible bets I could make, it sometimes took an incident to happen for me to recall the outcome. Other times, I S 115 S

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remembered well in advance what was going to take place.

It took a long time for me to get used to being called Pete, or Peter. My mother took to it in a heartbeat. I think she was grateful for the separation between her two sons. She played a key role in keeping me up-to-date on the happenings between Tami and Andrew. The news of their pregnancy still had a profound impact on my mother—even though she had known

through me that there was going to be another birth. I think she had the same inklings and worries that I harbored. We both shared a constant concern for possible “timeline disruptions.”

I never stopped by my folk’s place without calling ahead.

Mom also called me quite often to discuss any little thought she had a concern about. I’d even convinced them to bet on the last World Series, telling them the money could be used to spoil their grandkids. They did, and made a couple thousand dollars after expenses. As for me, I cleared fifty-three thousand. CJ was never asked about the big time bettor he had hidden in the wings. Instead, they usually followed suit when he bet big, and the “Family” won a larger take than they would have otherwise. I knew as long as they prospered, so would I.

I also never asked CJ how he placed my bets or with whom.

Tami and Andrew bought the house on Clayton Street, and

they would move into it after the first of the year. For the moment I only had happy memories for them and for me. I fondly remembered that time in my life. The world didn’t need two Andrew Johnsons; with no other choice, I was slowly beginning to view myself as Peter Warren. It was like watching a movie of my past life unfold in front of me, but I was always the semi-innocent bystander. I wondered if the Andrew of this time felt like someone was watching him. I never shopped at the Hy-Vee on University Avenue again. I drove to the other side of town to buy my food at a small, family-owned grocery store. I knew that eventually I would need to move away from S 116 S

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all of the potential conflicts waiting for me here. I needed to start initiating the new life I had been contemplating.

Peter Warren was an inventor and he was about to step

into the limelight by way of electronics. I was planning on my emergence being profitable and timely. I also hoped to avoid worldwide devastation by staying small and cunning. There would be no “judgment day” in my version of “Terminator.”

There was no doubt that I could make myself very wealthy without necessarily changing the course of history. In order to accept the amount of wealth that would surely come my way, I planned on using much of it to do good things for the less fortunate. This is how I would benefit this timeline and fulfill my duty of “helping humanity.”

November fifth had been an interesting day for me…the

first time around. I was out on my route, when I came across an accident. I stopped to help a woman and her baby. The road had been slick with freezing rain, and their car had slid into the ditch. I was holding the baby while the woman gathered her diaper bag and personal belongings from the car. I was going to drive them into town to the nearest gas station. If I had only parked my car twenty feet further ahead, it would not have been sideswiped by an elderly gentleman driving a Buick Regal. He was coming from the opposite direction and lost control of his car. His car careened off the driver’s side of my car, and then came to a stop before it could slide into the ditch. If he had come along ten minutes later my car wouldn’t have been there. My old Ford was on its last legs anyway. The money from the insurance settlement went towards the purchase of a two-year old Toyota Corolla.

My mother just happened to call me on the night of the

accident. We talked about many things and just before we hung up she said, “Oh…I almost forgot. Andrew nearly got into an accident today.”

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As soon as she mentioned Andrew and an accident it

“clicked” for me. I asked her, “I suppose he told you about the woman and the baby he helped, and how an old guy clipped his car?”

There was a long silence on the phone. My pulse began to accelerate waiting for my mother to answer me. When she did, she said what I didn’t want to hear, “There wasn’t any mother and baby, at least not in the story Andrew told me. He was driving north on V42 and a Buick Regal lost control and spun out right in front of him. The road was icy, and he couldn’t stop. He said the whole thing felt like it was happening in slow motion. If it had been five seconds later, he would have hit the other car head on. Instead, it missed him by inches and ended up in the ditch on his side of the road. He managed to get his car stopped, and then he went back to help the man in the Buick.”

It was my turn for silence. There had been no mother and no baby. Something I had done had altered their lives so that they had not traveled on the icy road today. The implications just kept coming. Andrew probably wouldn’t be getting the Toyota Corolla either. What else would change because of the

“ripple effect?” Somewhere a life may be lost because of my unknown intervention. It was too late to undo.

“Andrew?” my mother had said into the phone instead of

Peter. She said it like a question.

“Yeah Mom.”

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m not really sure that I can,” I said in all honesty. I re-counted to her the story of the accident as I had lived it.

“What do you think happened to the car with the mother

and the baby?” she asked me.

“That’s the million dollar question; isn’t it,” I said. It came out a little more sarcastically than I intended. “Sorry Mom!

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I wish I knew what it all means. I don’t. I can even begin to fathom what else may have been changed just because…”

“It’s not your fault that you ended up here. Just remember that. You also don’t know what good may have come out of the change in events either.”

“True,” I responded. Leave it to my mother to try and find the silver-lining. “Only time will reveal the different outcomes that will surely take place. Not that anyone other than me will know the differences,” I conveyed to my mother. We ended our conversation and I hung up the phone. I plopped down on my couch. I suddenly felt queasy.

Inside I knew it wasn’t going to be all sunshine and happiness. Time was a fickle thing, and I don’t believe it liked being messed around with. I dreaded the moment when I found out what I had really impacted and how it had all changed.

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It’s a “Challenger.”

January 28th, 1986

We’ve all said,
“Time has gotten the best of me,” or “I ran out of time,” even, “There’s just not enough time;” but never has anyone honestly been able to say, “Time gave me a second chance.” I believe I’m the only one who currently has attained that right, and yet time still managed to come up from behind and bite me.

Christmas Eve had been quiet. It could have been much

worse. I was still in the small apartment, even though I had plenty of money to move anytime I wished. I just hadn’t figured out the when or where yet. In my past it had been a tradition to spend Christmas Eve with my parents. This year it wasn’t any different as Tami and Andrew celebrated with my parents while I sat alone. They ate my mom’s chili and all of the wonderful Christmas cookies and candy that she spent hours happily baking. I couldn’t remember what had taken place on my previous Christmas morning in nineteen eighty-five, so there would be no visit to my parents—to avoid
complications
.

“Complications” had become my Mother’s and my new “Kick”

word to describe the “What might happen if.”

Linda Jane Johnson still attempted to keep me jovial and festive during the Christmas season. She loved Christmas time, and with a grandchild to spoil she was in her element. She gave me some of the most obnoxious decorations to use in accessorizing my apartment. They say that clothes make the man.

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It’s not true when the man doesn’t bathe or shave. No amount of high-class designer tags can hide the underlying problem.

The same could also be said about the appearance of my

apartment. It was still a hole-in-the-wall. The festive attempt at Christmas cheer only made it look sadder. It had more to do with my own state of mind, and I knew it. I couldn’t stop smirking every time I walked in the door and saw the table full of Santa figurines there to greet me.

Mothers always seem to know. At eleven-thirty that night my doorbell rang. Standing outside were my parents, holding a container of left-over chili and presents. My mother hugged me tight and whispered in my ear, “I love you Andrew, Merry Christmas.”

“I love you too, Mom. I don’t suppose you brought oyster crackers to go with the chili,” I added as I swiped the container out of her hand. It was the one thing I overdid when it came to my chili. It just wasn’t the same without an excessive amount of oyster crackers hovering on top.

“Merry Christmas, Son!” my dad called to me. He made

his way to the couch and sat down. He yawned as he sat down.

I knew it wouldn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

“Merry Christmas,” I responded as I headed to the cupboard to get a bowl. I wasn’t really hungry; but nothing was going to stop me from eating a bowl of Mom’s chili. It might have been one of those little things, but it was a tradition that made my Christmas. I put a paper towel over the bowl as I set it in the microwave to protect the inside from errant splatters.

I heard the metallic sound of the tin can lid being forced off the treat container by my father. Once he had it opened, he grabbed two of the Christmas treats, devouring the first one in one mega-bite.

“For Heaven’s sake Neil, those are for Andrew,” my mother chastised him.

“It’s okay Mom,” I interrupted: “if I know you, you have S 121 S

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more where they came from!”

My mom smiled and it washed over me. Family is what

it’s all about, and even though I was a misplaced orphan, mine had come to the rescue when I needed it most. We had a great time exchanging gifts, Dad gave me a fishing pole and tackle box. From Mom, it was a couple of sweaters. My parents had always been gracious in their gift giving. It was a heritage that I was proud to be from and to continue with my own children.

I gave my mother a pair of diamond earrings, and I gave to my father the biggest, meanest Toro snow thrower I could find, or rather a picture of it. I told him it would be delivered a couple of days after Christmas.

Both of my parents were genuinely touched by my gifts. My father’s eyes had glazed over. I’m sure he was thinking about all the jealous stares from his neighbors. My mom headed to my small bathroom to give herself the “once over.” I could tell she was pleased with the earrings by how long it took her to come back into the living room. I didn’t care if they would have a hard time explaining their expensive gifts to others. I really just wanted to do something extravagant for them. I would never be able to repay their kindness, and I wanted them to know how much their help meant to me.

“Thank you so much Andrew,” she said before wrapping

her arms around my neck from behind, and kissing my cheek.”

“You’re very welcome Mom.”

“Andrew, I do have one other gift for you! And if you don’t like it, you can always take it back. I have the receipt.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a long, narrow box. She reached out and handed it to me.

I took it from her. I knew instantly that it must be some sort of jewelry. My first thought was that it was a watch to replace the one I was still wearing, which had originally come from my father. It felt too light though. I wrestled with the top S 122 S

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to get it open. Inside was a simple gold necklace. I looked at my mother quizzically.

“It’s for your wedding ring. You can wear it around your neck. Peter Warren isn’t married.” My mother added very

contritely, “I also realize that it isn’t the same wedding ring that Tami gave you.”

I instantly became choked-up and my eyes started to fill with tears. I’m sure my mom had seen me playing with my

ring, struggling with the ongoing debate raging within me. I couldn’t bring myself to take off the ring. To me, the shear act of removing it meant forsaking another connection to Amy. I just couldn’t make myself do it. My mother must have sensed my trepidation. She had tried to give me a compromise. She also knew that my ring did not belong to Tami. She might have assumed that my other one had been upgraded. I always made a point to skip by any comments about Tami and me in my future. I’m sure she knew the significance behind the ring, and my lack of being forthcoming. She was gracious enough not to ask me to tell her. Some things are truly better left unsaid.

Graciously I said, “Thank you Mom, I’ll keep it.”

My dad curtailed the emotion of the moment by asking,

“Who’s up for a hot rum-nog?”

“Me,” I said. It was my father’s favorite Christmas drink, eggnog with a shot of rum and nutmeg. We liked ours warm, so we heated them in the microwave. Dad and I finished the first one in a hurry, and then took our time enjoying the next one. Our conversation drifted back over the memories of the past until my mother motioned for me to look at my father, who was soundly asleep on the couch.

“Time for us to go!” she said.

“Thanks again for everything Mom!” I nudged my father,

and he sputtered to life. They put on their coats and headed out the door.

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My mother spun around to face me, “Andrew and Tami invited us to dinner tomorrow night. Maybe in a couple of days the three of us could go out for a Christmas dinner?” Mom inquired.

“I’ll have to check my calendar and get back to you,” I responded, trying my best to sound humorous.