Page 34 of Maybe Some Other Time

She couldn’t help but think about Sandy as she sat with Gretchen on the couch and watched Audrey Hepburn and an actor named George Peppard navigate their mundane, everyday lives that were filled with vacuous parties and Mickey Rooney playing a Japanese caricature.

(Thelma burst out laughing at his first appearance, and Gretchen assumed it was because of how ridiculous it was.) How do I tell her I was a big Mickey and Judy fan when I was a kid?

Gretchen had to pause the film—a wonder, to be sure—while Thelma waxed poetically about Judy’s illustrious career and her deep love for movies like The Wizard of Oz.

But, of course, there was also Meet Me in St. Louis, which never failed to make Thelma cry.

And A Star is Born was a classic even when Thelma disappeared four years after it premiered.

Gretchen flipped a coin to determine which movie they would watch next. It was the Wizard of Oz, and while she searched for it to stream, Thelma got up to use the bathroom.

How are we doing? she asked her reflection after washing her hands.

She removed the bow in her hair and tucked it into her jacket pocket.

After popping open her green purse, she touched up her makeup and gave her curls a little bounce with her hand to ensure she was still presentable to her date…

who had the same uncanny ability to make her heart race as Sandy.

Thelma braced herself against the bathroom sink, eyes peering into the swirl of water as it raced down the drain.

Sandy wasn’t here anymore.

She had never been a viable contender for Thelma’s eternal devotion.

There was nothing wrong with Thelma now exploring romance with another woman.

So…

Why does this feel… wrong?

Thelma’s body called to Gretchen’s when they were in the same room, let alone sharing a couch.

Their arms, hands, and shoulders brushed together as they animatedly discussed the movies and the actors who made them come to life.

Thelma couldn’t help but share how distraught she was to learn how Judy died while carefully concealing that it was a recent realization.

She’s so easy to talk to. She doesn’t ask many questions. I wonder if she could handle the truth…

Lord have mercy, Thelma’s troubles went deeper than that. They were beyond fears of Gretchen’s reactions to learning about time travel—Thelma had to rein in her reaction to possibly falling in love again.

So soon after losing everything she knew.

But could she help it? One thing the group discussed was how imperative it was to put on a stiff upper lip and embrace what had happened to them.

They couldn’t go back. The people they had known and loved were either long dead or no longer as the time traveler remembered.

It was fine to take some time to adjust to a new world and to grieve everything—and everyone—they had known, but the only way to survive as a sudden fish out of water was to hold one’s breath and attempt to find footing in a strange land.

If all I think about is how I can’t breathe, then I’ll suffocate.

Everyone, from Crystal the therapist to the group sessions, confirmed the theory of mindfulness: that when a time traveler was overwhelmed, the best thing to do was to close her eyes and take a few deep breaths until the anxiety passed.

She had made it this far. Heck, Thelma was doing better than some other chrononauts she had read about, such as Ramona Patterson, who had traveled from 1964 and ended her life a few weeks later. She left behind children, too… Most of whom had already passed by the time Ramona emerged in 2012.

Thelma braced herself against the sink. She closed her eyes. She took a few deep breaths.

And she returned to the living room, where the first scene of The Wizard of Oz began to play. Gretchen looked back at her over the couch and invited her with a tweak of the mouth that was neither smile nor sneer.

I’m safe. Thelma took up her spot on the other side of the couch and made herself comfortable again. I’m with pleasant company. More than pleasant, really.

“Thanks again for today,” she said to Gretchen, who turned down the volume slightly to hear Thelma. “It was sweet of you to think of me when you first visited that vintage place. Charity was… kind.”

“I thought she was going to kidnap you and make you her muse,” Gretchen said. “Not that I could blame her. You really rock the look.”

“Guess you could say it comes somewhat naturally to me.”

There was a palpable tenderness between them as they watched Dorothy and Toto get swept up in a Kansas twister and land in Oz.

Thelma appreciated how “clean” the footage looked on the digital television while admiring Judy Garland’s singing and acting.

Such a shame she died as young as she did.

Thelma was glad she didn’t have to see the headlines about the star’s passing in the ‘60s, but she would have liked to have seen her live just once.

“I haven’t watched this movie since I was a kid,” Gretchen said as everyone proceeded down the yellow brick road. “Yet it’s like I just saw it yesterday. Guess it really stays with you.”

“It was an incredible product of its time.” Thelma still remembered how full her heart felt the first time she saw it in the theater with her mother.

Such an indulgence. Such a mind-bending feat for a little girl whose whole world had been centered on Depression-era Los Angeles.

As she rearranged herself on the couch, her hand brushed against Gretchen’s, causing them both to stare at one another while pulling their hands away.

“We’re being silly,” Thelma said. “Are we not on a date?”

“Hey, uh… I try not to be too forward, you know.”

Such an admittance only emboldened Thelma. “I’ll have you know that I’m fairly experienced at these things, despite what Megan might tell you.”

“Does Megan actually know this about you?”

“She might soon enough.”

“Does she know we went out today?”

“Nobody does.” Thelma scooted a little closer to the woman who sat on the middle sofa cushion.

The volume on the TV was still low. “Only because I don’t want them putting up a fuss.

Even when they mean well, they can be a little…

controlling. They think of me as a small child who needs her hand held in the supermarket.

” Only the first time she visited a Ralph’s in 2018.

From pioneering checkout stands to making me do it myself… The nerve.

“For what it’s worth,” Gretchen began, bright, beaming gaze never falling from Thelma’s form. “I don’t think you are.”

“Oh, you don’t?”

“Well, no.” Wasn’t she exceptionally adorable when slightly flustered?

When attempting to flirt? Thelma couldn’t help it.

In that moment, she was reminded of Sandy, who had no issue with being bold when she was convinced a woman liked her.

I’ve learned from you, haven’t I? Because here Thelma was, offering Gretchen her undivided attention—a subtle attempt to keep her talking.

“I think you’re like anyone else. Trying to figure things out with what you’re given. ”

Thelma cuddled up beside her, head resting against Gretchen’s shoulder. At first, the other woman tensed. Yet as the seconds spun in circles around them, Gretchen relaxed, inviting Thelma closer until an arm was wrapped around her.

Heartbeats pounded against Thelma’s chest, attempting to pull her into nauseous anxiety. She refused to answer that call. “Thank you for the lovely day,” she whispered against Gretchen’s chest, which heaved up and down in time to Thelma’s heartbeats. “It’s been perfect.”

Perhaps Gretchen thought the same thing as her, but was also too shy to say it.

“There are other ways to make this more perfect.” Thelma repressed a toothy smile to think it.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. Yet she knew that Gretchen thought the same thing.

She must, from the way her hand gingerly searched for the small of Thelma’s back and hung against the dip in her hip.

Thelma, in turn, looped her arm across Gretchen’s chest and pressed her cheek into the soft fabric of an inviting T-shirt.

When gravity eventually pulled her arm down to Gretchen’s midsection, they both sighed.

Wasn’t one just waiting for the other to make a move?

But Thelma had a type. She liked a woman who knew there was mutual attraction, but Thelma was the one to be seduced. It could be as simple as taking her hand and leading her down a dormitory hallway where other girls lived and wouldn’t think twice about two best friends showing innocent affection.

She just needed something. A little push that allowed her to jump into the feelings that subsisted in her strange, time-traveling body.

Because there was nothing strange or vintage about the way Gretchen kissed her.

Just like that… Was Thelma easy? Maybe. Was she desperate to cling to the present, whatever year it might be? Yes. And did she want to know what it was like to kiss this woman who represented everything Thelma wanted for her life, now it was hers to choose again?

Yes…

For that first blessed minute, as the two of them entwined on the couch and kissed like kids on Lover’s Lane, Thelma forgot everything that tethered her to a brutal reality that made as little sense as science fiction.

She didn’t have to think about what year it was—what generation people thought she was.

She didn’t have children, neither young nor old.

And she certainly wasn’t married. A widow, perhaps, but that was in the past. All that had happened to be right here and right now, and the way Gretchen kissed her—and Thelma kissed her back—harkened to the way humans had been indulging in romance since the dawn of time.

Cavemen… Egyptians… Romans… Medieval peasants…

They kissed. They made merry. They often made love. The clothes on their bodies may change over the centuries, but the result was the same: bodies alit, and hearts opened.

“Mm…” Thelma let out the slightest protest as she fell prostrate on the couch, Gretchen following on top of her.

I don’t want her to stop… Thelma needed that mouth on hers, those legs entwined with hers, and those hands exploring what she felt like both above and beneath her clothes.

The only reason to protest was to fight back against her inner voice that warned her this was too soon.

Didn’t she know what she was? Didn’t she think this was too fast?

Should she really be indulging in the song of Sappho after all that had happened?

After how a poor decision had thrust her decades into the future to reunite with her sickly daughter, bitter son, and the ghost of her husband?

“Fuck, I know…” Even Gretchen’s foul language was hot as she mistook Thelma’s muffled, senseless words as praise for the moment. “God, you’re hot.” She smothered her mouth against Thelma’s, her tongue coaxing the other woman to give in and make love right there.

I want to. I want to so badly…

A hand was up her shirt. Gasps erupted as Gretchen cupped her whole hand around Thelma’s breast and attempted to tease her nipple, all while Dorothy sobbed about wanting to return home to Kansas.

I know how you feel, Dorothy…

There were a dozen ways to end the moment, and all of them were perfectly viable in Thelma’s mind.

She could fret over how Gretchen might find her naked, since two children had their way with stretch marks and some saggy skin.

She might find Thelma unable to perform due to the underlying anxiety she still suffered after traveling sixty years into the future.

God, there’s that. Thelma had no business doing this.

She should not be ripping the clothes off a woman born almost thirty years after a fog swept Thelma away.

She could be my granddaughter. She could easily be Debbie’s daughter… not me…

Thelma pulled her mouth away the moment she had the chance. Gretchen pushed herself up, apologizing.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, holding her arm at length to give distance between her and Thelma, who slowly got up and fixed her shirt. “I lost control a little. I should have checked that it was okay. I should…”

Thelma pushed her palm against Gretchen’s mouth to get her to stop talking. “No, I’m the one who is sorry,” she said as she stared at the floor. She no longer heard the movie. “I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s too soon.”

Defeat washed across Gretchen’s face. “Since… your husband?”

“Since too many things happened at once.” Thelma forced her whole body toward Gretchen. “I’ve been through a lot, Gretch. I shouldn’t be dragging you into my mess.”

“Maybe I wanna be dragged.”

“No.” Thelma got up, searching for her purse and shopping bags. “I should go. I…”

Gretchen came after her, a hand on Thelma’s arm. Thelma tilted her head back and silently dared Gretchen to pretend she knew one thing about what was happening in this moment. You have no idea. It wasn’t her fault. Thelma couldn’t tell her.

“I don’t care about your past, you know,” Gretchen said. “I don’t care about the past at all.”

For a moment, Thelma hesitated, debating whether she should throw herself into Gretchen’s arms and tell her everything. But it was moot. Deep down, Thelma knew it was too soon.

“I really shouldn’t be with anyone right now,” she said. “I shouldn’t have led you on.” She reclaimed her arm. Gretchen lowered her hand.

“You didn’t lead me on. But if it’s not the right time… then whatever, huh?”

“Gretch…”

“For what it’s worth,” Gretchen began, attempting to take this in stride, “you’re the kind of girl worth waiting for, aren’t you?”

Thelma slung her purse strap over her shoulder and grabbed her shopping bags. “You’d have to ask Robbie that.”

“Why would I ask your unc—”

But it was too late for her to finish her thought. Thelma had burst into the night, traveling the ten seconds it took to get to the house next door, where the quiet darkness of being alone drove her to the shower, where she cried for the next hour.

Gretchen had unlocked the grief within her.