The Past That Leads to the Present

The car was an unrecognizable heap of jagged metal and shattered glass so mangled it was a miracle anyone had survived. Aria’s parents were ruled deceased minutes after the arrival of emergency services. She understood little of what had just happened. Her eyes were wide, pupils encroaching on her hazel irises. She looked down at her hands, splintered with glass and red with blood, unable to control the adrenaline-induced shakes that wracked her body. For a moment, she stared blankly, trying to figure out where she was and what the mangled heap in front of her meant.

“Gone? But I was just— We were talking about—”

“I’m afraid they passed upon impact with the other vehicle. It’s a miracle you escaped with so few injuries,” the paramedic said, astounded. “Aria, was it? Why don’t we take you to the hospital—just so the doctors can observe you overnight to make sure everything’s okay?”

She shook her head. “No. I just want to go home. We’re going to make cookies, and watch movies, and play games, and—”

The paramedic pulled her in close, giving her a firm hug; the reality of the situation was, slowly, beginning to sink in. She sobbed, hot tears warming her cold cheeks. Her heart was in pieces, and her mind was a jumbled mess of terror and adrenaline: the glaring headlights, screeching tires, sound of crumpling metal… the bloodcurdling screams and last-minute “I love you, Aria.”

The family she thought was inseparable, the family that was tougher than diamonds—it was gone. She’d never get to smell her father’s home cooking again or listen to her mother humming along to her favorite songs in the garden. Just five minutes ago, she was telling them about her date, all smiles and full of laughter. Now, she watched as her parents were zipped inside canvas coffins and rolled off to someplace she’d never visit. She’d never get to see their faces again—her father’s scraggly beard he just couldn’t seem to grow, her mother’s perfect white teeth that never seemed to stain despite all the tea she drank— It was all gone—everything.

She didn’t know what to do, how to come to terms with their deaths or, really, how to even begin piecing her life back together. Everything had been taken from her faster than she could blink. One moment, she was daydreaming out the window, recounting her evening with Brendan. The next, she was being held by some stranger whose own tears collided with hers, induced by the tragedy—her tragedy.

“I know I’m only a witness to what happened, but it feels so real. When she left the mall that night, I had no idea this is the hell she would be living in from then on…” Brendan looked on, witness to a past that only Aria knew.

He watched her once color-filled world wash away with the chilly spring rain and crimson stains on her hands. All she could seem to do was stare down at the small hands that would never fit inside her father’s palms or her mother’s gardening gloves again, the cheerful sparkle that once illuminated her eyes nothing more than a remnant of the past now. She was always smiling, ready to engage anyone who’d listen with a story of some event that happened that day, like a squirrel holding an acorn between its hands; she was the epitome of energy, running through the halls to get to class, clumsily walking out of her favorite coffee shop, drink in hand, on the verge of spilling it—she’d even join the children on the playground in the afternoons, happily playing Hide N’ Seek or a couple rounds of Tag. Now, her shoulders hung low as if they’d been weighed down by the rain, her once go-getter attitude just a disheveled heap of ashes from the extinguished flame that had been her life.

“No one said life was fair, but this is excessive,” he thought. “How do you take the lives of her parents, but spare hers?” He walked over to the heap of scrap metal that was once a car. “This must have been immediately after the drunk driver hit them, but I don’t see the other vehicle. Was this a hit and run? How does any of this make sense?”

“Aria?!” an elderly woman shouted. “Oh, Aria… This never should have happened…” She ran over to the ambulance where she sat, now receiving treatment for a couple of small cuts and bruises on her face and hands, white gauze winding its way through the spaces between her fingers. “This is just awful.”

“Are you her grandmother?” the paramedic asked, still somewhat teary eyed.

“Yes. Thank you for taking care of her. I can’t imagine what’s going on in her head right now.” She took a breath. “My daughter and son-in-law…”

The paramedic shook her head. “I’m very sorry, ma’am.”

Aria’s grandmother remained stoic. “Don’t be. We can’t change the rules of fate. What’s most important right now is getting this girl away from here. I’m not sure she’s even aware of what’s happened.”

“They won’t let me go home…” Aria’s voice was monotone, but her words were scathing.

“The doctors will run a few tests tonight and make sure, physically, everything’s in order. But I’m afraid, mentally…” A tinge of doubt crept into her voice.

Brendan walked up to Aria. He knew she couldn’t see him, the events he was seeing were from years in the past, but he wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her he was going to make everything alright.

“How did she go from shopping and dinner to a horrible reality? These things happen, but why does this feel… different? Why doesn’t this make sense to me?”

Before he could investigate the scene, he suddenly found himself standing in the center of what he assumed was Aria’s bedroom, though he had no idea how much time had passed. She’d relegated herself to her bed with the curtains drawn, hoping to block out as much light as possible.

He waited for his eyes to adjust before he took a good look at the room; it was just as chaotic as her mind: an area rug had been half-scrunched by her dresser, her desk chair was covered in clothes—both in the seat and hanging off the back—and wrinkled clothes littered the floor, sharing the space with unfinished school papers. An empty tissue box stood on her nightstand alongside a myriad of small pill boxes that hadn’t been opened; paper pharmacy bags laid at the foot of her bed, torn and wadded into prickly, brown balls. Multi-colored hair scrunchies dotted the center of the floor, forgotten about, color drowned out by the dark room.

As his eyes adjusted further, he could see she’d buried herself beneath piles of clothes, strewn across the headboard and sectional at the foot; she’d turned both the bed and the room itself into a treacherous maze of underwear, pants, tops, and socks of varying lengths. She was hiding from the world beneath the only semblance of a world she had left.

Wandering over to the desk, he noticed a slew of outdated magazines and old books, all opened face-down as if she’d tried to distract herself from reality and gave up. There were a couple beauty magazines, some fashion issues, and the occasional poetry submission. Examining the books, they were mostly medium-length fantasy novels with the occasional boy-meets-girl cliché title; she couldn’t bring herself to finish them, with her heart already fragile enough to shatter.

She gave a small, defeated groan as she rolled over onto her side, facing the wall, still semi-buried beneath the cloth and weighted blanket mountain. A family photo was pinned to the front of a stuffed bear; the bear was likely for comfort, the photo a memento of what once was. She squeezed the plushie, hoping that maybe, somehow, she could bring her family back—some kind of magical, fairytale-esque second chance to undo the tragedies of the past; she refused to accept the fact that her parents weren’t coming back.

“This is why she never came back to school and why I couldn't ever reach her. No wonder the teachers were so secretive about you—they knew the whole time.” Sniffles came from beneath the mountain of blankets and clothes. He realized she was crying. “There’s no one around to comfort her…”

Her phone gave a tiny rattle on a clutter-free section of her desk; the screen lit up, displaying a notification—the only light in the void that her room had become. There were multitudes of missed calls, voicemails, and text messages—even her messaging apps were stacked with direct messages. She was popular and avidly social, but many of the text messages lacked substance, just simple “Missing you!”, or “Is everything okay?” Specifics of the accident were scarce, she understood that, but no one had even bothered to ask what happened or where she was—if she was okay.

A soft knock came at the door. It was her grandmother. “Aria? Brendan is here to see you. He even brought your favorite snacks.”

“Tell him I’m not here,” she mumbled. “I… don’t have the energy for people right now.” She paused, fighting back tears. “Even him.”

Her grandmother sighed. “I’ll tell him you’re not feeling well, but you will have to come out eventually. This is hard for both of us, dear.”

Aria remained silent. She knocked piles of blankets and clothes to the floor as she scurried beneath the bed sheets, refusing to entertain the conversation with her grandmother further. Brendan listened as her grandmother was forced to turn his younger self away.

It felt… strange, being in the same place at two different points in time, yet they weren’t different at all; he was witnessing Aria’s past in a space separate from the current reality of the past—what had been the present, then. Still, her cold shoulder stung; he’d never understood what had come over her back then. But, as he stood there, listening to her weep, unable to comfort her, he realized she had been trying to protect him.

The soft clunk of her grandmother’s recliner wandered its way into the bedroom, joined by the steady hum of a sewing machine. She was hurting just as much, having just lost her daughter, Aria’s mother, but she put on a brave face for her granddaughter—someone had to. She’d taken her in, knowing full-well there would be growing pains ahead; they both would have to overcome the adversity that plagued their hearts and minds.

“How is it that you cared so little for anything else? This is a side to you I’ve never seen.” Brendan turned towards the door, studying the light from the hall trying to seep underneath the frame, then back at Aria. “It was wrong of me to feel guilty, like somehow something I did caused all of this. I let my own self-pity swallow me whole. I should have kept coming back until you answered the door.”

***

Two days passed in what felt like two hours. Aria remained in her bed for much of the time, getting up only to use the bathroom; she didn’t respond to calls for dinner, sneak into the fridge for a midnight snack, or nibble on the package of peanut butter crackers on her nightstand.

On the night of the second day, she grabbed an empty suitcase and began to pack. She would start slow, fill it with clothes and toiletries, dump it all out, and start over. Brendan lost count of how many times she’d break into tears after repeatedly emptying the poor thing. The suitcase was likely just as confused as she was. Were they staying or were they going? How long would they be gone? Was there enough room?

“This isn’t what I wanted for myself or my life. What did I do that was so awful to deserve this?” She kicked the open suitcase across the floor in frustration. “What am I doing? I can’t even decide if I want to curl up and die or try to move forward. Nothing even makes sense anymore,” she sobbed. Tears fell onto her legs before dripping onto the floor. “Look at me. Just sitting here on my knees like a crybaby!” She couldn’t breathe she was so wracked with tears.

A moment later, she threw herself back onto the bed, shoving her face into a stuffed pillow for over a minute before deciding there were better ways to go about giving up. A pile of clothes slid off the edge, onto the floor, as she crawled back under the sheets. For a moment, she just laid there, staring at the new pile; a tan, cardigan sweater sat atop the multi-colored heap—the catalyst for her sudden daydream—one that Brendan was, somehow, able to share in: she remembered wearing the knit to school one chilly morning a couple years ago, wrapping her arms around her body for warmth while juggling her school bag all the same. Something caught her eye, snapping her back to reality: the corner of a plastic library card glinted in the ceiling light. It was riddled with scratches and the barcode had faded some, but it looked like it was still in usable-enough condition.

“How did you get there?” she wondered aloud. “I haven’t seen you in years, yet here you are now, right in front of me.” She glanced at the clock on her nightstand, red LED numbers staring her in the face: 6:15pm. “The library closes at seven— If I go now, I think I can make it in time to find a new book or two… Maybe that’ll help. Although, I’d like to finish you first,” she said, addressing the books on her desk. “I don’t know… Does it matter what I do?”

She picked the cardigan off the floor, pulling it on overtop of her oversized t-shirt. It looked a little funny, the shirt sticking out of the bottom of the sweater, but she didn’t care. Kicking off her pajama pants, she opted for a pair of black sweatpants instead. With a deep breath, she flipped the light switch off, slipped on a pair of tennis shoes, and promised her surprised-to-see-her grandmother she’d be home before it got too dark. Spring had begun its transition into the muggy, oppressive heat of summer, but there was still time to enjoy the cool evenings.

Brendan followed as she slugged her way down the sidewalk, her shadow trailing behind, desperate to keep up. He’d thought it felt strange, being in two different places at the same point in time but, walking in the shadow of Aria’s past felt even more foreign—the past of the girl he loved. He hadn’t forgotten what the voice had whispered in his ears, back in Chiipha: this was supposed to be his most harrowing trial yet—whatever that meant. Still, something nagged at the back of his mind. Was the trial something he would have to face, or was it more like something he would have to understand? Was Aria his trial?

The late-April air was still warm, the final fringes of loving sunlight barely able to clear the tops of the trees that rose to meet the western sky. Streetlamps illuminated the sidewalk, flickering on—they must have been on a timer. The lamps cast an artificial spotlight upon the first weeds of the season as they forced their way through the cracks in the cement; it wouldn’t be long before they were either pulled or drowned in poison.

“I can feel the moisture in the air, the ground beneath my feet— I feel like I’m here, with her, yet I still feel so far away.” Aria’s voice caught him by surprise, but he realized he’d heard the thought before she said it—her thoughts were spilling over into his mind:

“A weed. That’s what I feel like right now. I don’t belong anywhere, and I’m just a burden on everyone else,” she mumbled. She kicked a rock down the sidewalk—an unlikely, but welcome, companion. “I need to just… uproot this life and start over. Someone pull me up like a weed.”

She reached for her phone before realizing she’d left it on her desk in her room. “It’s not like anyone cares or they want to talk, anyways,” she muttered.

The thought of Brendan flooded her mind, causing her to stumble over a curb ramp. She quickly regained her balance, moments away from plunging into the concrete, face first. She organized the thoughts in her head as best she could before setting off again.

The problem wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk. She longed for companionship, for someone who would sit her down and say, “Hey, let’s talk,” but there was no one like that—not anymore. Everyone had shown their true colors when their messages contained comments about who would take up club duties or who would bring lunch snacks. Some tried to fake their compassion, asking where she was instead of how she was. In-school counseling sounded like a nightmare, and school was the last place she wanted to be—somewhere she would have her personal space invaded without consent, a place where the other students could point and laugh.

Was she being too pessimistic about it all? Maybe going back to school was the right choice, but what would everyone say? Would she open up about the accident? Then what? Proceed to break down into uncontrollable sobs in the middle of the hall because she couldn’t handle the attention and her own emotions?

Her mind wandered back onto the topic of Brendan; her relationship with him wasn’t just surface-level. She had honest feelings for him, but she refused to involve him in any part of her messed-up life. Dragging him down with her wouldn’t be fair, and she refused to involve anyone she loved in something so harrowing and tragic. The trenches of her mind were deep and dark, filled with regrets, anxieties, and demons she thought she’d banished only for them to return as they fed off her negative emotions—the entire reason she’d been so holed up in her room.

She repeatedly blamed herself for the car accident, thinking that, maybe, if she hadn’t just rambled on, she could have warned her father in time—time for him to swerve and avoid the other vehicle. She lived—they didn’t; she didn’t know what else to blame. Fate? The universe? A god she wasn’t sure she believed in? Sensing her resignation, her grandmother would come by her room every so often to let her know that, when she was ready to talk, she’d be there, but that was the problem: she didn’t want to talk, not about the accident, her parents, school, life—any of it. She couldn’t even bring herself to love the boy she’d quite literally fallen head over heels for. The one memory she cherished so fondly, that night at the Homecoming dance where she’d lost her balance and stumbled into his arms—

She gave a resigned giggle. “I vowed never to wear heels to a dance again after that… Mom always said I’d break my neck in those things.”

Brendan blamed himself, not for forgetting, but for failing to drag her out of the sea her tears had created. He loved her more than anything—the obsessive shopping, the way she always forgot a sock before coming to school, even the way her eyes reflected the world around her: the evening streetlights, setting sun—sometimes even his own reflection.

As her thoughts continued to mesh with his, he remembered catching her as she stumbled back into his arms before falling over the refreshments table. He stared into her hazel-silver eyes, awestruck. He’d heard of love at first sight, brushing it off as something that only happens in fairy tales, but as he held her that night at the dance, he lost his breath. She was beautiful, but it wasn’t her pink lip gloss or lightly blushed cheeks that mesmerized him—there was so much life in her eyes as they twinkled like stars beneath the light projectors. He wasn’t sure who’d stopped breathing first: him or her.

“If I could grab my younger self by the collar and drag him back to that house, I would,” he said, scolding himself. It seemed Aria couldn’t hear him. “I claimed to love her, but I didn’t even bother to come back after her grandmother said she wasn’t coming out. I’m so—” he held his tongue. “I can’t change the past. There’s a reason I’m seeing this—a reason why her thoughts are melding with mine.” He walked past her and seated himself on the front of the library steps, waiting as she dragged her feet along the still-warm sidewalk. “What would it take to reach out and hold her right now?” he wondered.

Without warning, a series of loud slaps emanated from her cheeks. He could tell by the way she frowned that she’d regretted slapping herself. Her jaw was still sore, weeks after she’d been thrust into the back of the headrest of her mother’s seat.

“This is nothing compared to what Mom and Dad must have felt, even if it was quick… I have no room to complain about anything right now…” She winced as she climbed the stone steps to the library entrance, again paying Brendan no mind. “I’d like to see if there are any new arrivals in the fiction and fantasy section, but maybe I should stop by the bathroom mirror first…”

Brendan followed her into the library, planning to roam the sea of books and fantastical stories while he waited for her to exit the bathroom—except he found himself in the bathroom with her. Embarrassed, he turned to leave but something held him in place. Apparently, he was meant to be there, watching as she examined herself in the mirror.

Her thoughts echoed through his mind again: “Do I look as awful as I feel?”

An audible gasp escaped her lips: her brunette hair was matted, dull, and full of knots—unable to decide what it wanted to do, the bruises under her eyes were a deep purple, making it look like she hadn’t slept in weeks, and her skin was just as porcelain as the bathroom tile. She backed away from the mirror, barely recognizing herself at first, before reexamining her reflection.

“You came here for a reason, Aria. Get a grip, fix your hair a little, and try not to look homeless.” She splashed her face with cold water, adding a little to her hair to tame the matted mess. “That’s what being curled up in bed for nearly a week will do to you, I guess. I’ll… uh… fix myself up a little more when I get back…”

A puff of air came from the bathroom door, startling her before she could react. If she’d known someone was going to walk in, she would have hidden in one of the stalls. A girl, about her age, walked in as they inadvertently locked eyes with each other. She started to cry; social interaction was the last thing she needed right now, and the last thing she wanted was for someone else to see just how disheveled she looked, something she hadn’t even realized herself until moments ago.

The girl looked around nervously. “Hey now, don’t cry,” she soothed. “Let’s, uhh, try this instead maybe…” She draped a brown leather jacket around Aria’s shoulders. It smelled like genuine leather and not some cheap knockoff.

“Huh? Why…?” she sniffled.

“You look cold, first of all. Plus, this jacket has a special story to it. I had a pretty similar encounter myself once. I also used the bathroom to hide, but a girl about our age now did the same thing for me. She took that same jacket and draped it across my shoulders. She said, ‘A little goes a long way. If you ever find someone in need, I hope that you pass this jacket along to them.’ It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me,” she explained, keeping it short.

“That’s so strangely sweet,” Aria said, still caught between a half-sob and composure.

“It made me feel a lot better, but I never got her name. I was kind of in-the-moment and all, as I’m sure you probably understand.” She offered up a small smile. “But I should at least introduce myself before I forget. My name’s Lyra, and it’s a pleasure to meet you!”

Astonishment barreled through Brendan like a cold wind. “They actually knew each other! This whole devils and Aria thing just gets more and more confusing the more I learn, I swear.”

He considered the possibility it was all just coincidence, and that there wasn’t some ulterior motive behind their meeting, but Lyra was the Princess of Chiipha, and Aria was the heir to a powerful mage family… The whole thing felt staged, despite the genuine nature of the conversation they were having. “That just leaves me with more questions than answers, though.”

Aria had never mentioned how she knew Lyra, much less how they’d even met, nor had she ever described the relationship they had in any detail. It was more than likely she’d just forgotten. After all, if she could forget him, she could probably forget anyone, but the forgetfulness seemed forced—unnatural. He suddenly understood why Lyra’s death was so impactful for her, though; she’d just met the one person who’d given her so little that meant so much in her greatest time of need.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lyra. My name’s, uhh, Aria.” She held the jacket around her shoulders with her fingers. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this. It’s just— I—”

Lyra shook her head. “Don’t feel like you have to say anything if it’s painful, ok? You don’t have to tell me anything. Really, it just makes me happy I could help someone else!” She gave Aria another smile. “I know this is sudden, but how about we exchange phone numbers? I just have this feeling that meeting you was supposed to happen or something. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m talking about,” she laughed.

“No, because, like— I feel the same. I can’t really explain it, but I’d be happy to exchange phone numbers or something, actually.” She wiped her tear-stained cheeks with the backs of her hands. “And thank you for the jacket, too. Just you being here makes me feel a lot better, though.”

She gave Lyra a hug as thanks before promising to text her later. For the first time in weeks, she felt like someone actually cared about her, even if it was in the women’s restroom of the public library. Either way, she felt like she’d finally made a real friend, someone who would prove that they cared instead of asking about who would take over club duties or share class notes. She took another minute to let her emotions settle before wading into the sea of books.

“I almost wish I could explore all three floors of this place,” Brendan thought to himself as he followed Aria around. He stopped when she stopped, taking a moment to glance at the titled spines along the way. “There’re even desks for studying, couches in the back for a comfortable place to read, and even semi-private rooms for even more peace. This place is incredible. I’ve gotta up my library game someday soon!”

[CONTINUED IN THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER]