TIme After Time

“Whatever you want to say.”

She thinks about it for a moment and writes ANNA ¦ BENNETT across the surface. “That’s not very inspired, is it?” She stops and looks out over the water like she’s trying to decide how to finish what she started. She brings the pen back to the lock and writes ’95/’12. She stares at it.

“I like it,” I say. “Now it’s both cheesy and mysterious.”

“Aww. Just like us.”

“Nah, nothing like us,” I say. “We’re not at all mysterious.”

I hand her the key and she slips it inside. The latch opens with a tiny click, and she threads the lock through the chain-link fence and snaps it closed. She runs her fingertip across the surface and lets out a little laugh. “Wouldn’t it be funny if we’re the ones that start the whole lock thing?”

“Maybe we do.”

“I like that,” she says.

I don’t have the heart to tell her that in 2010, all the locks will be removed. Or that, in 2011, they’ll start reappearing, and by 2012, there will be very few spaces left on the railing again. They can cut our lock off. We’ll just come back here together—in 1998 and 2008 and 2018—and replace it every time it gets removed. I stare at the key in Anna’s hand, wondering if it’s realistic to think that we will still be together years from now, living this way.

I never even wished for her, but right now, all I want is for this person who gets me so completely to be part of my present and my future. As long as I don’t think about the logistics, it seems possible.

Anna kisses me. Then we both kiss the key and she tosses it into the river.

17

Anna and I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around. We don’t have a destination in mind, so we turn when we feel like turning and stop when we feel like stopping and poke our heads into shops that look interesting. We pop into record stores so we can buy CD imports that would cost a fortune back in the States. We pick out postcards.

We stop at a bakery for a baguette, and then, without even discussing it, we head through a set of wrought iron gates and into a park. It’s alive with activity, and as we meander down the path, people jog past us and in-line skaters roll by. Anna surprises me when she pulls me off the walkway and behind a dense cluster of trees to kiss me.

We spot a soccer game and sit on the grass to watch. The whole thing is nonstop action, but we both find it difficult to take our eyes off this one guy in a bright green shirt. He’s the shortest one out there, and he’s so quick, but it’s more than that—he’s just fun to watch. His face is completely serious until he takes a shot, but then he throws his hands up in the air in victory and lets out a yell, even when he misses.

A half hour later, we’re still glued to the game, and it’s now tied, two-two. Green-shirt Guy kicks the ball and takes off running toward the goal. Then he’s open, waving his arms in the air, and the ball comes sailing back in his direction. But just as he’s about to kick it, another player comes running at him from the opposite direction. The two of them collide hard, and Green-shirt Guy falls to the ground, clutching his leg. Everyone gathers around him, so it’s impossible to see what’s going on.

A few minutes later, he emerges from the crowd with his arms draped over two of his teammates’ shoulders. His face is full of agony as he hops on one leg to the closest bench. He sits down and buries his face into his hands while they remove his shoe.

“I wonder if it’s broken,” Anna says.

All I can think to say is, “They hit hard.”

“Bennett,” she says quietly.

I look over at her. “Yeah?”

Her eyes are still glued to the guy in the green shirt and she’s wearing the strangest expression. “What if you gave him a second chance?”

I shake my head. Hard.

She looks at me. “You could test yourself. See if the side effects kick in or not. And if they do, I can help you.”

It’s a ridiculous idea. I don’t even know what time it is or how long we’ve been here, but I do know that we’ve been completely out in the open, in full view of everyone. We’d need a safe point we could return to without being seen, and we don’t have one. But then I remember how Anna pulled me behind the bushes to kiss me.

“There was a clock in the bakery,” she says. “It was 2:10. We got to the park and walked around and it was, what do you think, 2:30 when we sat down here?” She’s talking fast, thinking too much, and getting way too excited about this. But before I can say anything, she stands up, heads back to the path, and returns less than a minute later. “It’s 3:05 right now.”

I look back over at the guy in the green shirt. His face is pinched and his leg is stretched out in front of him, and I still can’t tell if it’s broken or not, but he’s definitely in a lot of pain. I think through the times Anna just rattled off to me and before I know it, I’m grabbing her hand and steering her back to that spot behind the bushes.

“This is crazy,” I say.

When we arrive, she pivots to face me. When were we here last? 2:20? 2:23? I can’t be sure, and I have to be sure, or the Anna and Bennett back on that part of the timeline will disappear into thin air in the middle of the street, or at the entrance to the park, or from the front of the bakery line.

I think through every step we made, and then I grab her hands and shut my eyes. When I open them, we’re standing a few feet from where we started, back on the path, and in plain sight. We both speed back behind the bushes and hide there for a minute or two, until I’m certain that no one saw us.

We rush back to the soccer game in progress and sit in the same spot, watching the same game. The guy in the bright green shirt is perfectly fine, speeding toward the ball, making solid kicks, and throwing his arms up in delight with every attempt. Anna’s sitting closer to me this time, her legs folded in front of her and one leg resting on mine. She tightens her grip on my hand and we come up with a plan.

The score reaches two-two, and they’re all lined up, about to make that last play. Before the ball gets thrown out, Anna looks at me, stands up, and races down the edge of the field near the goal. The play goes the same way. He kicks it and takes off running, but this time, just as he’s about to throw his arms up, Anna yells, “Stop!” at the top of her lungs.

Most of the guys ignore her, but Green-shirt Guy turns around, just for a second, and looks at her. By the time he returns his attention to the game, it’s too late. The other guy has the ball and he’s taking it to the goal at the opposite end. He kicks it hard, scores, and the game is over. Green-shirt Guy throws his hands up in Anna’s direction, and yells at her in French.

She takes off toward me, running and laughing, grabbing my hand as she speeds by. We spot a bench out of sight and collapse on it. My hands are shaking and my heart is pounding so hard I feel like it’s about to burst out of my chest.

“I have no idea why I let you talk me into these things,” I say, breathing fast. “You and Brooke.” I shake my head. “You have far too much in common.” I look over at her and she’s sitting there, catching her breath, beaming and obviously quite proud of herself. “You look adorable when stopping tragedies, by the way.”

She brings her hands to my face and kisses me, even though there are people everywhere.

I’ve spent all these years trying not to alter the slightest event, and now, in the seven months since I met Anna, I’ve purposely changed things four times. And none of them seems to have thrown the universe off-kilter or anything.

“How do you feel?” she asks as she pulls away.

“Good.” I look at her and smile. “Really good.”

* * *

By the time the sun starts to set, our legs are rubbery from climbing so many stairs and hills, and now we’re standing in a secluded corner of a dead-end street, holding hands, smiling at each other and stalling.