“He told me this might happened,” she whispered, pulling her hands inside the sleeves of her hoodie and wrapping her arms around her waist.
“He told you we’d fight? Big whoop. Anyone could tell you that. It’s what we do best,” I spat out.
Jo began to pace. “No. He told me when we shift to the past it’s because we’re meant to learn something.”
“Learn something about what?”
“Ourselves. Each other.”
I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated that once again Bentham seemed to be making sense. “Fine. It’s 1999. Did anything important happen to you in 1999?”
“I think it’s Christmas 1999 or nearly Christmas. The kids in the hallway at school seemed pretty jazzed. Maybe it’s the day before break,” she said, motioning to the Christmas lights that sporadically covered the houses on Jenna’s street. The fact that I hadn’t noticed them was pretty embarrassing. Maybe Jo wasn’t the only one feeling a bit distracted.
“Considering I don’t remember anything about Christmas 1999, I can’t say anything important happened in my life,” I replied, throwing my hands up. Nope. Probably a typical Christmas. My uncle would order Chinese food and we would watch football. He’d take me to the store a few days before and let me pick out all my presents. No Santa. No magic. Nothing.
A crash of thunder made both of us jump. This was typical weather for Christmas in Virginia Beach. Rain. Forty degrees. Miserable. I pulled my jacket over my head in a vain attempt to protect myself from the torrential downpour that was falling on us.
I’m dreaming of a wet Christmas.
Was this why we shifted? To stand around in a rainstorm comparing crappy Christmases?
“I don’t think anyone’s home,” Jo commented. She looked pretty miserable standing in the rain, her hoodie no match for the rain or cooler air. I never saw her wearing a proper jacket. Did she have one?
I looked back at Jenna’s house, fearing Jo wouldn’t like me staring at her so much. It made sense Jenna and her family would be gone on Christmas. They were always traveling. No holiday was celebrated in a normal fashion. That was part of Jenna’s appeal. Her family always tried to include me in the magic they effortlessly created. Last year for her sixteenth birthday, Jenna’s mom transformed the house into a fifties sock-hop. Every inch of the house was covered in posters of 50’s icons like Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley. She even rented poodle skirts for all the girls. No doubt her family was on vacation somewhere. It was nearing six. If they were home, the lights would be on, and no doubt caroling would be heard.
I jogged to Jenna’s front door, hoping the giant flowerpot that let me sneak into their house so many times while they were out was still there. If Jenna’s father knew how easily the stash of keys allowed me to ravage his daughter, I doubt he would feel invincible enough to hide an extra set of car and house keys under something as simple as a flowerpot. I asked him about his hiding place once, and he told me it was because it was so simple-minded that no one would think to look there.
“Come on. We can wait out the storm in here,” I yelled to Jo, jingling the keys in the air. Jo shook her head. Great. What was the problem now? I jogged back over to her, both of us getting more and more drenched by the second.
“Are those car keys?” she asked.
I nodded. The water was starting to drip off my nose into my mouth.
“If their car’s still here, I think we should wait in there. You know, in case we have to make a run for it or something,” she replied. Her black hoodie was now folding itself against her body.
“Always thinking defense, Jo. Follow me,” I said, running over to where Jenna’s father parked the mini-van. I knew he would have the car in 1999. It was his prized possession other than his two children. It was the first car he bought after he got married. He told me he always knew he wanted a family, and this was a symbol of this need—the need to belong to a family.
A need I could understand.
Once in the car, the silence covered us. The streets were quiet and empty. All we could hear was the rain. I wanted to bring up to Jo how on LOST rain seemed to signal some really craptastic event, but didn’t think she wanted to discuss television. Even time traveling television.
I hated the silence of the car. Most likely many families were getting ready to participate in some holiday activity. Even though it wasn’t really Christmas, it felt a little pathetic sitting in a car with a sullen Jo in a rainstorm while the rest of the world was basking in yuletide cheer.
I looked over at Jo who sat crouched over, shivering. I reached my hand out to turn on the heat.