Time After Time (18 page)

“Not even to see me?” she asks, and I stop laughing.

“No…well. Yes. Not exactly.”

Anna drops her hands and leans away from me. “What does that mean, ‘not exactly’? Did they tell you that you couldn’t come back here anymore?”

I look down at the dirt. “Actually, they did. But that was five months ago.”

She waits for me to explain, but I have no idea what to say next. This conversation was inevitable, and there have been plenty of times I walked through it in my head, but having it today was the farthest thing from my mind.

“My parents don’t…exactly…know about you.” I suck in a deep breath and wait while she stares at me for a painfully long time.

“They don’t know about me?” I can’t tell if she wants to cry or punch me. I shake my head no and Anna’s eyes narrow in disbelief. “What about your sister?”

“Brooke knows,” I whisper.

“Brooke?” Anna’s voice cracks as she says her name, and there’s a questioning tone at the end, like she can’t believe that there’s only one person in my world who knows she exists.

“Listen, please. My parents wouldn’t understand. And I can’t tell my friends…I mean, what am I supposed to tell them?”

“Tell them that I live in Illinois. Just like my friends think you’re a normal guy from San Francisco.” She scoots away from me, looking both confused and disgusted at the same time. “You don’t have to tell them I live in nineteen ninety-five.” She says that last part so quietly that I have to strain to hear her. But then she finds her voice again. “Look, I know you have a thing for secrets, but I thought we were done with that.”

“We are. I don’t have any secrets from you.”

“No, just that I
am
one.” She lets out a sarcastic-sounding breath.

She looks down at the dining hall windows, and this time, I’m sure she’s wondering why she ever entertained the idea of letting complicated me into her rather uncomplicated life.

“Look,” I say, “last June, when I was stuck in San Francisco and couldn’t get back here, I thought I’d never see you again. I didn’t know what to say to my parents or my friends.”

Anna gives me a hard look and shakes her head. “Everyone in
my
life knows about you, even though they don’t know your big secret.” She says the last part sarcastically, wiggling her fingers in front of her face for emphasis. “Nobody here gets it. None of them understand why I’m in a relationship with a guy who lives two thousand miles away—and they don’t even know the half of it.” She huffs. “But they know about
you
.

“I could never keep you to myself.” She says the last part quietly, but loud enough for me to hear.

I rub my forehead with my fingertips as I try to find the right words. “I didn’t want to hurt you. And, I swear, I was going to tell them eventually, but it was just…easier not to.”

Her head snaps up and there’s that look again. “Easier?” she asks. Now I’m pretty sure she’s about to punch me.

“Not more
convenient
.
Easier
.” I bring my hand to my chest. “On
me
. Look, you seem to enjoy torturing yourself with photo albums and things that remind you of the two of us, but I don’t. That only makes it worse. It’s
easier
for me to pretend you’re not real when we’re not together.”

A tear slides down her cheek and she quickly brushes it away.

I reach for her hands, and I’m a little surprised when she lets me take them. “Do you have any idea how much I hate being there without you? When I’m supposed to be doing homework, I go for drives instead. I take the top down on the Jeep and turn up the music and cruise around the city I’ve always loved, and all I want to do is show it to you. I want to bring you to my favorite café in North Beach, where they serve lattes in bowls instead of mugs. I want to show you this wave organ that’s built into a bunch of rocks and has an insane view of Alcatraz. I want to bring you to my school and introduce you to Sam and the rest of my friends, so you’ll know them the same way I know Emma and Danielle and Justin. But I can’t
ever
do that.” She squeezes my hand. “We’ve already tried and it was a disaster. I guess I figured, the less I had to be reminded that you couldn’t be there, the easier it would be.”

Anna releases my hands so she can wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Look,” I say. “All I want is a normal relationship with you, and when I’m here, it feels like I have it. But when I’m there…I just miss you. All the time.”

She grabs one of my hands in both of hers and squeezes it tight.

“I’ll tell them about you, okay? I’ll show my mom and dad your photo album, and I’ll tell them everything. And I’ll explain that I’m done with do-overs—that they’re the only reason I’ve lost control—but that I need to keep coming back here to see you. Okay? I promise.”

The bell rings but neither one of us move. Eventually the dining hall below starts filling with people, and I spot everyone taking their usual places and their usual tables and starting in on their usual conversations.

“Great,” Anna mutters, watching the scene below.

“What?”

“Ten bucks says Alex has already told everyone about seeing you here.” She stands up and brushes the dirt off her jeans. “This should make for a delightful lunch.”

“Do you want me to stick around?” I ask.

Anna offers her hand to help me up and I take it. Then she looks at me and lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.” We start walking down the hill and she threads her arm through mine. “But I’ll tell you, next time you’re in town you better bring me a giant bouquet of flowers or something. If you show up empty-handed my parents might come up with something more painful than being knocked back to San Francisco.”

“That bad?”

“Yup.”

“I didn’t get to see you in the dress.”

She lifts two fingers into the air. “Twice now.”

I wince. “Were you actually wearing it this time?”

She raises her eyebrows and nods slowly.

“God, I
am
an asshole.”

“Yeah.” She gives me a sad smile and bumps my hip with hers. “But not on purpose.”

Exactly fifty-five minutes after I left, I open my eyes in the men’s room stall. I push through the door just as the migraine hits. My eyes are burning as I stumble over to the sink, feeling my way with the help of the walls.

I find the spigot, turn it on, and stick my mouth under the stream. I drink as fast and as much as I can before cupping my hands and splashing cold water on my face. The fluorescent lights make it impossible to open my eyes, and my head is pounding, but at least it all feels familiar.

I push my hands into the countertop and keep my head down, breathing and concentrating, willing the pain to disappear. Twenty minutes later, the pounding subsides to a dull ache in my temples.

And it feels like everything is back to normal. Well,
my
normal, at least.

The sound of my phone chirping wakes me from a deep sleep, and I roll over, pulling the comforter over my head to block out the sunlight. I’m starting to slip back into sleep again when there’s another chirp. I feel around on the nightstand for my phone and open my eyes to back-to-back texts from Brooke:

Good morning!


Hey, what r u doing tonight?


My eyes are still adjusting when another message appears.

Party at our apartment. Come!


I stare at the screen as I consider it. Aside from a somewhat loose plan to meet up with the guys and loiter around Lafayette Park later, I really don’t have anything else to do this weekend. But social conflicts aren’t the real reason I think I should stay away. I only have one more week before I can go see Anna again and I’m not about to do anything to jeopardize it. Another message:

I want my roommates to meet you!


A groan escapes my mouth as I fall back into the pillow. I lift the phone above my head and text her back.

I think I’d better stay put.


I toss the phone onto the comforter and close my eyes. It hasn’t even been five minutes when my phone chirps again. I’m expecting to see another overly enthusiastic message from Brooke, but this one’s from Sam.

Sup?


I type back:

Sleeping.


Then I clarify:

Was.


Sleep might be impossible at this point, but I let my hand fall to my side and the phone lands on the bed again. I’m lost in a restful daze when another text arrives, followed by another. I sigh and reach for the phone.

Wake up.


We’re climbing.


Outside.


On real rocks.


Pick me up in 20.


The sun’s peeking in between the curtains. I haven’t been climbing outdoors since last summer. Pretty soon the rain will start falling and Sam and I won’t have any other option but the climbing gym. And it sounds so…normal. I could use a day of normal.

I throw off the covers and force myself into the shower, and ten minutes later, I’m feeling like this was the right call. I pour coffee into a travel mug, load my stuff into the Jeep, and pull into Sam’s driveway right on time.

I have no idea where we’re going, but he has our destination all figured out, and before I can even back out of the driveway, he’s programming it into the GPS. The route starts with a short drive to the Golden Gate Bridge and ends at the base of a mountain three hours away.

“We’re climbing Donner?” I ask as I pull up to a stop sign and consider the map.

Sam gives me an exaggerated shrug and gestures out the front window. “Have you seen this day?” He gives me a hard stare like he can’t believe I’d suggest anything else.

I crane my neck to get a better view. It’s one of those near-winter days: deep blue sky, bright sun, crisp wind. I hit the gas pedal with my foot and roll down the window, and as we cruise down the hill toward the bay, the car floods with cold air.

At the next stop sign, I turn left onto a residential street and pull over to the side. Sam looks at me sideways as I climb out, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what I’m doing, and when he does, he hops out and starts helping me unbuckle the Jeep’s soft top. We pull it back and secure it in place. And then we’re off again.

“Now it’s a road trip.” Sam crosses his arms behind his head and reclines the passenger seat. As he searches on my iPhone for music, we make small talk about the tutoring job I’m starting on Monday. He tells me about the kids, and how he’ll point out the troublemakers, as well as the ones who seem to really care about being there.

I was great in the interview. The head of the organization offered me the job on the spot. Now I’ve pushed my start date back twice, like I’m avoiding it, and the more Sam says, the more I start to realize that I don’t want to hear about it. There’s something offputting about the whole thing.

The Jeep creeps forward until we finally arrive at the entrance to the Golden Gate Bridge. Out of nowhere, I remember the organization I stumbled upon when I was first researching community service projects. The one in the Tenderloin, down the street from the apartment that burned down but didn’t take the lives of two kids.

I’ve don’t even give it another thought, and I hear the words just slip out. “I’m going to pass on the job, Sam.”

“What? You can’t pass on it. You already took it.”

I keep my eyes on the traffic in front of me. “I know. I’m going to un-take it.”

I can feel him looking at me. “You need to do something for your transcripts,” he says, and I assure him that I plan to. As we drive onto the bridge, I tell him everything I learned from the online video that day, and with every word, I’m more and more excited about getting home tonight and filling out the application.

“Whatever you want.” Sam falls back into the headrest and stares through the open roof. “Check it out,” he says as we pass under the dark orange gates that span the bridge. “Ah, best part…”

Without looking away, he tosses my phone into the console. “It’s not too early for Jack White, is it?”

“It’s never too early for Jack White.” I hear the first song on the playlist I made a few months ago. It’s a solid mix of the White Stripes, the Raconteurs, the Dead Weather, and White’s solo stuff. The four electric guitar notes kick off “Sixteen Saltines.”

Saltines.
I smile as I picture Anna nibbling on the corner of one and I turn up the music as loud as it will go.

Over the next three hours we make our way to Donner, listening to a lot of music, talking very little, and stopping only once along the way for lunch at In-N-Out. We down our shakes and stuff french fries into our mouths, but leave our burgers wrapped so we can eat them at the summit.

After we arrive at the parking area off the freeway, we grab our gear and walk thirty minutes to the base of the first route. Neither one of us has been here before and Sam’s giddy, rattling off everything he learned during his Internet research last night. Clean granite. Lots of routes. Incredible views from the summits.

At the base of the first rock, I ready myself. I tie my shoes, clip my chalk bag to the loop on my pants, and stuff my sweatshirt into my backpack. I open one of the granola bars I grabbed out of the pantry this morning before I left and eat it in three bites. At the bottom of my pack, I feel for the six-pack of lukewarm Gatorades and I open one and drink it without stopping.

I look around. Sam and I are the only people out here. I point my head at the sky and let out a loud yell, and Sam jumps and scolds me for scaring the crap out of him. He returns to tightening the Velcro on his shoes. The air is clean and this place is amazing and I can’t wait to see the view from the top. I had no idea how much I needed this.

“You want me to lead?” I ask as I start clipping the cams onto my harness.

Sam looks up at the rock. “Actually, this is a popular one to free solo. What do you think? You up for it?”

I consider it. It’s not that vertical, and the holds look relatively easy to spot, even from here. “Sure,” I say as I drop the gear back into my pack.

“You have the burgers?” Sam coils the rope and throws it over his shoulder, then clips his chalk bag to his belt loop.

“Yep.” I pat the smaller backpack I brought along and feed my arms through the straps. I’m not hungry at all. Just euphoric and full of energy.

Sam checks his watch. “We made good time. It’s only twelve thirty.”

The climb is easy at first, and I have no trouble finding hand- and footholds. I pull myself up, slide to the left, and pull up again. The granite is cold and dry beneath my fingertips. I’m moving quickly through the route.

About a quarter of the way up, I see a good spot to take a break, and I wedge my hand into a large crack and find an equally large space for my toe. I let my arms slacken a bit.

I look for Sam. He’s ahead of me, and he seems to be maneuvering the rock well. I see his fingers grip the edge and watch him pull himself onto a ledge to rest. He’s only about ten feet higher, and I can see the sweat glistening on his forehead and dripping down his cheeks. He wedges himself into a position where he can free one hand, and he lifts the edge of his T-shirt and wipes his face dry.

It’s time to move, so I chalk up my hands again and reach up for a hold. It’s barely enough to grip on to, and within a few seconds, my knuckles are turning white and my forearms are burning. I see a better grip only inches away and swing my body around so I can grab on to it, rising to a ledge that’s wide enough to stand on. I stop and catch my breath.

The summit is farther away than I expected it to be, and it’ll be slow going from here. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s been months since I climbed outside, and even though this was supposed to be an easy route, I’m starting to think the free solo climb was a bad idea. When I chalk my hands, my arms are shaking with fatigue.

I start back up the rock, and a little while later I see Sam reach the summit. I stop and consider my last few moves while he stands there, doubled over and beaming down at me.

“Dude, my mom climbs faster than you do.”

I tighten my fingers around the hold with one hand, freeing the other one to flip him off. Sam lets out a loud laugh, and returns to sweating and panting. I’m waiting to feel the euphoria I usually experience at this point of the climb, but each move feels harder than it should be. I’m going to be insanely sore tomorrow.

I’m almost there. In just one or two more strategic, well-thought moves, I’ll be at the top. I take one more deep breath and lock my eyes on my next hold. I make my move, then the next, and suddenly I’m gripping the shelf.

I breathe. My fingertips dig into the granite.

“Jesus, it’s about time.” Sam takes a swig of Gatorade and checks the time on his phone. “It’s already one o’clock. Get up here, would you? I’m starving.”

As I pull myself up, I feel the edge break in my hands. Dust and bits of rock tumble down into my eyes, and I grope blindly, reaching up for anything to hold on to. My right hand falls away and I grab the rock harder with my left, but it just slips off.

Sam reacts immediately, dropping his Gatorade and falling to his stomach. His hand juts out over the edge, but by then I’m nowhere near it.

My cheek skids against the surface and my hip hits something sharp. My shoulder slams against a boulder and that slows my momentum, but only temporarily. My already-raw fingers burn and sting as they claw at the granite.

I hear Sam yell from the summit.

I’m waiting for my body to shut down so I don’t have to endure the pain of the crash. Suddenly, I feel my hip connect with something hard and I stop fast. I’m lying in a crumpled heap on the ledge I’d been standing on earlier, and it’s wide enough to keep me secure, but I scramble to find something to hold on to anyway.

“Stay there,” Sam says, and I laugh. He disappears from the edge and I keep laughing, but I’m not sure why. Maybe because it keeps me from thinking about how fast my heart is racing and that my legs feel rubbery.

A couple of minutes later he returns to the shelf, flattens his chest against the rock, and slaps a coil of blue rope by his side. He feeds it over the edge and I watch it fall, dancing and squirming its way toward me. When I look up, I see Sam. His face is drawn, his eyes are full of panic, and his hands are shaking violently as he guides the rope down.

I tie the rope to my harness. Sam yells, “Hold on,” and then he’s gone for a full minute. I picture him tying the rope to the anchors at the top and feel the slack disappear. He returns and looks over the edge. “Okay. You’re on belay. I’ve got you!” He gives me a thumbs-up and drops to the ground again. He’s trying to sound stoic, but I can hear the worry in his voice.

I start climbing again, taking my moves a lot more slowly, thinking through each one more than I usually do. I try not to think about falling again. I don’t look up, but I can feel Sam working to keep the rope taut.

I’m only a few feet from the top when Sam drops to the ground again, and when I’m close enough, he lowers his hand. This time, I grab it and let him pull me to the surface.

Neither one of us says a word as we collapse back on the sun-warmed rock and stare straight up at the sky. I don’t even remove the rope from my waist. I just lie there. Eventually, I bring my hand to my face. My cheek is throbbing and my arms are covered in deep scratches. My right hip hurts when I try to sit up, there’s a small gash on my shoulder, and my fingers are caked with blood.

“You okay?” Sam asks and I nod. I don’t look at him, but his voice still sounds a little shaky. “Give me your pack.” He holds out his hand and I slide it off, but the strap grazes the cut on my arm. I cringe. He rifles through my stuff, and when I look up a minute later he’s dumping Gatorade onto an In-N-Out napkin. “All the water’s at the bottom,” he says as he hands it to me. “This will have to do.”