Page 10 of The Marigold Trail
I ready my fingers on our back-and-forth paper conversation. I can hand the paper over as is and leave without saying anything to Evan. That’s what I decide to do when Robyn begins leading Diana and I out to the fields.
Evan spots the note in my hand and playfully pulls it from my grasp as he follows behind me. I lift my hand trying to fabricate a natural response. A courtly wave is enough for him to leave content, without a word. Awkward encounter avoided. Thankfully.
I can’t help but feel bothered by what Tyler said to Ben before the race. Ben is keeping some sort of secret.
Internally, I’ve already decided. I need to know more about Bennette, the girl Ben is supposedly dating. But more than that, I need to know what Tyler meant when he said “Bennette could find out what Ben did with Corky.” Ben has always stood on the highest of pedestals in my mind, so allowing my perception of his character to be shattered just by something Tyler said in passing won’t do. I needed real evidence. Ben had dated a lot, but he’d never dated multiple girls at a time. Not while in a relationship. Simply hearing Tyler allude to such a thing makes anger bubble inside of me.
With so many unknowns, this shouldn’t be my main concern right now, but I was finding it hard to separate Ben in the eighties with my partner at the Bureau. Alternate reality or not, shouldn’t they be the same person?
The next morning I wake to the plastic alarm box vibrating on the dresser next to my bed. I made sure to set it the night before so that I have time to tame both sides of my hair before Diana arrives, unlike yesterday.
Today is the day I go along with it all, request a class schedule, navigate eighties high school, and hopefully find some answers, as I see no other option at this point.
I pull out the dresser drawers like a mad woman looking for something decent to wear. My options prove to be disappointing until I pull out the bottom drawer and unwrap a handful of Tootsie Rolls from my mass collection. I’m as giddy as a capricious child popping them into my dry mouth.
I find a jean skirt, boots, and a warm white sweater before heading to the bathroom to brush out my hair knowing full well I’m not going to find a straightener in this era.
“Erica, are you down here?” I call out from the bathroom door after hearing someone walk down the hallway. I brighten at the sight of my mother looking like a fresh-faced teen as she peeps into the bathroom. The brunette shine of her hair is incredible and each set of curls is its own defined slide as if she’s mastered Hollywood waves. She adjusts her teal cheerleading skirt in the mirror next to me and begins brushing her eyelashes with mascara.
“You don’t need a ride today do you?”
“Diana comes every day, right?” I ask.
She pauses the brush movement looking up through her eyelids in confusion and opts for a nod.
“Cool. Yeah, I’ll ride with her.”
“You want some help with your hair?” she offers. I accept and she smiles an evil smile, the way a mother does when a child agrees to their master plan. Hardly surprising, considering her usual mother role seems to be translating quite well to this sister character.
She begins flipping and teasing the front section of my hair where eighties bangs should be. It hurts and part of me wants to tower over her small 5’1” frame and threaten her with my fists.
“Now it’s fixed.” She’s proud and glowing and the spark in her young eyes is something I haven’t seen in many years, so I hold back my hairstyle-based anger. She’s the older sister trying to pull me in with vacuum-like suction to get me to spend more time with her.
I’ve felt it since the first night here.
“I saw you at the parking lot yesterday. Were you there for Ben or Tyler?”
“I guess both.”
“So Ben then,” she says with a knowing wink. She teases my hair some more and hands me a tube of pink lipstick. “Try this. I think it will look cute with your outfit.”
Afterwards, I make my way to the kitchen to shuffle through the newspaper stack on the counter, eager to find the Denver Post I wasn’t able to finish a couple of days ago.
Grandma Marcie walks in and adjusts the crooked powder blue framed goose clock on the wall. She fumbles around the kitchen until she finds a jar of brown sugar and I can’t help but stare. I can’t wrap my mind around thinking of Grandma Marcie as “Mom.” She’s too young to resemble any sort of grandma but I still couldn’t deny my own reality.
Erica’s shift from mother to sister was easier to accept. Our relationship was already closer to a big sister type of relationship, but Grandma Marcie was always going to be Grandma Marcie, no matter how fresh her skin glowed or how dark and vibrant her hair was.
I would just have to be careful not to call her Grandma in this universe. I wouldn’t be able to call her Mom, but Marcie would do.
The room begins to smell of hot porridge. I spot February 2nd’s Denver Post in the stack of papers at the island counter, then make my way back to the table to do some research and drool over the bowl Marcie just placed in front of me. A huge cloud of steam releases in waves, causing me to spend most of my time cooling off the food instead of reading.
I try to get some reading in during the commute with Diana as she floats Depeche Mode’s song lyrics in my ear, scanning through unimportant articles like the song of the week, “Amanda” by Boston, and a full-page article about PepsiCo negotiating with Moscow to open up a hundred new Pizza Hut restaurants in the Soviet Union all while I search for the Sheriden article with the new “W” logo from the other day. It was here somewhere.
“Reading the paper today?” Diana says, interrupting her own song lyrics. “That’s new.” She’s wearing a denim acid-washed skirt today too and she’s lively, more chipper even than the day before. Could it be because her brother crushed her enemy in a dirt bike race not even twenty-four hours ago?
Bartering with the office receptionist is the only way to get a copy of my schedule this morning before class. A lone wolf in the office, the receptionist insists on making a Valentine’s themed bulletin board, having no interest in sparing any of that time to help me with my request to look through the schedule files. So I offer my height in exchange, insisting she search through the filing cabinet as I hang the string of Valentine’s Day hearts across the top of the board.
The red painted eagle on the wall stares back at me through the large set of windows as I walk out of the office with my class list in hand. Most of the students I pass on the way to first period Chemistry look like they’ve lived through some stuff, be it the clothing, cigarettes, or too much sunlight. I’m having a hard time accepting their high school status. The same goes for the students sitting at barstool chairs along a half-moon desk surrounding the teacher’s experiment station in my first period of the day.
I find an empty seat near half-filled beakers that tempt me a few feet away and I can’t help but feel a lurking sense of confinement. This part of my life has been completed; so why is it that I’m forcing myself back into a classroom?
“Cuz it’s filled with perms and mullets this time. Obviously worth a do-over.” I mock my own doubts, knowing this is where the people I know are and there’s nothing outside of this town for me right now, until I figure out how to get back to the future, anyway.
The boy next to me has to nudge me in the side when the teacher calls “Atta Atkinson” during roll call. It takes his nudge for me to realize they have me listed under my mother’s maiden name rather than Suarez—another fringe benefit that comes along with this parallel universe time travel package.
The newspaper fits well enough under the table, stretched out across my legs, so I read through the entire business section to confirm that I really can’t find the “W” article. The date on the front page is the 2nd. That’s the right date, so where’s the page? I must’ve dropped it on the way out or maybe it was taken from the stack?
With no luck, I turn to the main headline of the sports section. The section highlights thirty-two-year-old, Pro-Golfer, Robert Schills’ career and an announcement that he’ll be retiring early from golf at the end of the year, with the article quoting him saying, “I’ve had a good run throughout the years. Now it’s time for me to transition golf back to the hobby it started as, using it for personal and business relationships, rather than competition. I’m looking forward to relaxing on the course from now on.”
How interesting. A man retiring early from a career that pays him extremely well for swinging a tiny ball with a club. I continue reading, curious as to why he’s retiring so early, and hear the faint sound of the teacher instructing the class.
Pop. BANG!
My knees knock the underside of the desk in shock as the rest of the class claps for the chemical explosion. The shock surges when I spot Ben at the end of the table clapping along with the rest of the students as Mr. Davis continues pouring new liquids into beakers and mixing them for a new reaction. This means yesterday’s search for Ben was a complete waste. All I had to do was make it to my first period class and I would’ve found him.
My attention shifts to the chemical show and Ben’s animated reactions to the teacher mixing solutions. He sits in all black, hiding under a white ball cap as his serious expression fades into a smile with each chemical reaction.
I’m sure my face is doing the same. These chemical combinations react like small bombs and turn into rolling sheets of foam. A few bangs and blasts have already brought me a few inches off my seat. But the real entertainment comes from the chemistry teacher who is experiencing the most excitement. He knows he’s captivated even the most indifferent students, Ben included, and he’ll need to wipe the pride off of his face soon before he transforms into a mad scientist.
“Alright, everyone, that's it for today. Assembly’s in ten minutes. Feel free to leave early and get good seats,” Mr. Davis says, cleaning the last two beakers off the table. He waves us out the door.
A few students stake out spots in the hallway and the rest head toward the gym. I follow, shoving my newspaper on top of the lockers, since I still haven’t figured out the lock code and I’m not sure if I ever will. I’ve tried all my passwords, even childhood ones, with no luck.
Ben continues to keep his distance from me, as if he knows I want to walk right up next to him and chat. He’s not wrong. I always caught up to him around the office back in Non-80s-Land, bringing up work-related stuff, his game night losing streak, or requesting he teach me a dance move—he was always coming up with new moves that I would foolishly try to replicate and fail at. My failed dance moves made him laugh though, so I continued asking.
Diana shows up not long after I take a seat by myself in the empty space on the right side of the massive wooden gym bleachers. We listen as a brawl breaks out in the corner locker room between two boys. Diana just shrugs and Erica spots us a few seconds later, bringing half the cheerleading team with her, including the two cheerleaders Diana pointed out yesterday, Bennette and Corky, who plop themselves in the seats right in front of us next to Erica.
“Hi, Diana!” Tyler calls out as he makes his way up the bleacher steps. He’s cleaned up his look today with a white collared button-up underneath a dark leather jacket. Diana sends him a strong middle finger message back as he forges a space between a group of basketball boys, seemingly unfazed by her response.
I watch as Ben seats himself next to Bennette. Naturally, it makes sense he sits next to her. She is his girlfriend after all. As he does so, he looks uncomfortably up at me, as if sitting this close to me is a problem for him. He puts his arm around her and squeezes her closer into his side. It’s not what I’d expect of someone who’s trying to find their way back to the modern world but thanks to Bennette, Ben and I will be within chatting distance. The seating situation might give me another chance to verify whether or not he’s experienced time travel and Diana can act as a buffer in case I try something fatal.
Evan and a group of basketball boys choose the cozy open spot next to me, making me curse myself for not employing a neighbor to occupy that seat. I try my best to hold a smile and subside the bug eyes begging to pop out in frustration beneath my cool, calm potato. The man wearing Bottle-Caps-candy grape, who speaks primarily Philly jargon, continues to wedge his way in closer, which wouldn’t be a problem and all, if he wasn’t trying to date me. What if he brings up the note I didn’t respond to? It’s all impromptu from there.
“You should be out there with us, Ben.” Evan leans into Ben and Bennette’s space below.
At this moment, I realize how their couple name would simply be Bennette. Ben and Bennette. She’s just a Ben with a fancy female -ette added. Does that complicate things for them? Do they both look in the same direction when someone starts saying one of their names? I knew two Taylors who dated. They seemed to make it work. The back of her letterman’s jacket says Chen. Maybe she even goes by that when they’re together. Bennette Chen.
Ben’s display doesn’t look like an act. Bennette’s beautiful. Of course he looks like he enjoys sitting next to her. But why is Ben ignoring me? Could he be acting? Could it be because he knows something I don’t know—like that there is a threat brought on by time travel and he’s worried that if I mention it I’ll run into more trouble? So he’s choosing to avoid me until it’s safe to talk about it? It was a stretch, but anything was possible.
“But Ben, I still don’t get why you won’t just show up to practice. Coach would let you start if you came back today and played the last month,” Evan continues.
“That’s what I told him,” Tyler butts in from across the stair rail. “We need you, man.”
“I’m not playing. You’re doing fine without me,” Ben manages.
“Fine isn’t a State Championship.”
“I already had this conversation with your dad, Tyler. Don’t push it.”
Tyler’s face becomes contemplative. He nods instead of answering back.
Another mullet-haired boy, who looks like he’s at least twenty-five, with hair as light as dough and skin leathery from the sun, starts riling up the entire student body with erratic-style host behavior.
In my world, in Non-80s-Land, Tyler and Ben were acquaintances through basketball and Ben spent a reasonable amount of time with him since Diana dated Tyler back in 2010. Ben quit basketball his senior year, but I never thought anything of it back then. He never said much about it, and I often tried to keep my distance during high school, so Diana wouldn’t accuse me of choosing him over her.
I lean into Diana, taking up whisper mode while covering my mouth with my hand.
“What’s Tyler and Ben’s relationship like?” I ask.
“Tyler’s dad has a shop so he spends most of his time working on his bike at Tyler’s house. The last few months he’s been hanging out there after school even though Tyler’s at practice. I haven’t seen him at home much, especially since he flipped out on you. But you know that. I think he’s avoiding you.”
“So he spends time at Tyler’s house while Tyler’s at practice?” I whisper. “That doesn’t make sense and why is he avoiding me? If he’s avoiding me, he must have a good reason, right?”
“I can’t think of any other reason. You told me not to be surprised if he pretends you don’t exist,” Diana says.
“I said that? When? What happened between us?”
“You’re asking me? A few weeks ago you said you’d pissed him off and got all tight-lipped when I asked questions. You got all surreptitious and said you’d promised him you wouldn’t say anything. Why would you ask me? Are you now willing to tell me what’s going on between you two?”
“I still don’t know,” I say, acting as if I understand why I would have said that.
“Still don’t know? You know what…as long as the secret’s not you two getting together, I don’t care. And I know it’s not that since he hasn’t talked to you in weeks,” she says.
Nothing makes sense. This eighties past and the weeks prior to my arrival collide heavily with the status of my relationships in Non-80s-Land. I grip the bleacher seat tighter. There’s something I’m missing.
Our whispers become inaudible over the ramped-up bustle from the crowd. Evan abandons the seat next to me to join his team, and Tyler literally lassos freshmen out of the stands with a lariat rope from the gym floor, managing to capture one student with difficulty and the crowd soaks it up with laughter.
“Tyler sure looks like he’s missing you,” Diana says to Ben, who’s now one of the only guys left in our section. I look over to see Tyler playing up the dramatics, gazing longingly in Ben’s direction with doe eyes.
“He’s just trying to make a point. He wants me out there,” Ben says. My laugh gets an eye roll from Ben.
Why is my existence such a threat to him right now? The built up emotion of his distance hits me like a nighttime cold. I feel the train of emotion about to derail but this time in the form of anger. Not even a bottle of NyQuil could ease the agitation. I’m already feeling dizzy and drowsy from the confusion as is.
I’ve spent too many years by his side, experiencing the hardest of days on the job with him and yet this person in front of me is giving me nothing. If he’s doing this on purpose it must be for a reason. A reason that he thinks is for my benefit? I calm myself thinking these things in quiet contemplation. That’s what Ben would do. He’s calculative. Surely it’s for my benefit and there’s something I’m missing. Maybe he senses a time travel threat and this is his way of protecting me. The bubbling undercurrent of confusion makes me want to have a confrontation right here and now, but I hesitate and contemplate a little longer.
Erica, Bennette and the other seven matching cheerleaders in white skirts and teal-striped vests stand upright with tightly closed fists on the gym floor in front of us. Like dominoes falling, Erica spears her teal pom-pom into Bennette’s back with her fist and the chain reaction continues until they’ve made a collective pom-pom fence with their arms. A wave of teal and cherry red isosceles triangles fan out from underneath white pleats across the gym floor as they pivot and purl.
“I can see Bennette’s undershorts.” Diana leans into me this time. We’ve become those girls who nearly sit on each other’s laps to have a conversation.
“It looks like her skirt got stuck up in her waistband. Yikes,” I reply, silently thanking Bennette for a distraction.
They forge a three-layer pyramid stack and then disband into three sets stacked on each other’s shoulders as if they’re about to play pool chicken. Bennette lands the stunt with her skirt caught in her underwear lining and Erica runs over like The Flash, to help her. Luckily, only those with eyes glued to Bennette’s mini-skirt are the only ones to notice, and Erica’s able to end the performance with a front-back handspring as she flashes her large doe eyes to the crowd, as perfect as polished malachite, upon landing.
The basketball boys take their seats just before the cheerleaders make their way up the bleachers. “Bennette’s all good now. She’s been fixed.” Tyler turns Ben’s ball cap backward as he says it.
“Thanks, Tyler. She can pull anything off though, even that,” Ben says, defending Bennette as she walks up to join him.
She hears him and by the way she plants her lips on his after, I’d say she’s pleased. He kisses her back with passion, nothing but frankness in his mannerism and it’s at this point when I know. He’s definitely not acting. There’s no time travel threat. I think she really is his girlfriend in the eighties and his actions have nothing to do with protecting me.
I turn to catch Corky’s reaction, knowing she’s the subject of Ben’s secret according to Tyler. Corky sweetly smiles to herself at the pair’s public affection. She either really enjoys being the third wheel, or is one of those people who receives joy from other people’s joy. How can I suspect something’s up with Ben and Corky when Corky and Bennette act so amicable?
Evan finds his seat next to me, bringing Tyler and the basketball boys, who've reached a new level of volume, as if the gym is their jungle and they plan to shake coconuts from trees with their hooting and hollering. It only worsens as students are being recruited from the stands to throw tin pies filled with whipped cream at other students’ faces. Corky makes her way to the gym floor to complete her volunteer service and ends up with a face full of whipped cream. She shows all signs of the extrovert type and even pulls off a few toe touches and a side hurdler for the crowd to show she’s unfazed by the mess.
The gym is a circus, but my focus is narrowly zoned-in on Ben. The way he turns his head toward Bennette to whisper something soft in her ear, the way he interacts with Tyler as if he’s a friend but also in some ways a mentor, and the way he drums his fingers on his knee as if he truly wishes to throw a ball through the hoop yet firm in his decision to not wear a team jersey and take the basketball team to state. I take it all in, focusing on the way he processes the room around him. The more I watch the more I can see it.
This Ben isn’t the Ben I left that night. Is it possible he’s just Ben in an alternate universe, younger, unknowing and living life the way anyone would if they were born in the eighties? The same way my mother doesn’t understand I’m from the future, sandwiched into a past decade because of some unexplainable reason, Ben also doesn’t understand. He’s unaware just like the rest of them.
Eighties Ben is angry at me for some other reason and that reason is most likely because of his secret about his relationship with Corky and Bennette. The two girls who seem so opposite, yet tight as a knotted rope. And then it hits me. I know just what my next move will be. I lean back into Diana and speak with a whisper.
“I have an idea.”