Time slows. Everything is perfectly clear. I know what this band allows me to do, but I need to figure out how I can use it to…
Slow-motion crunching sound behind me, musky sour air invades my lungs, hot breath bounces off my neck and—
Darkness now. I’m in a new place of nothing.
Nothing is here. A deep nothingness. I hear nothing. I see nothing. I feel nothing. The only thing here is nothing.
I try to remember. There was a crash in my head like lightning. I heard it and saw it and felt it. Then I heard ringing. And now nothing.
My thoughts.
My thoughts are somethings. My thoughts tell me that I am alive. I’m not part of the nothing. I am Evalene Claudette Deschamps. I am sixteen years old, and I am alive. I’m here, wherever here may be. I am something.
My thoughts tell me that this nothingness is not real. My thoughts tell me my life is not real. My thoughts tell me to seek help. My thoughts tell me to trust no one. My thoughts confuse me.
Then I hear a sound. The dial tone of a phone before you make a call. It gets louder and softer and louder again. That sound is something. I hold on to it.
Then I see a face, a body. Her again.
Young Atti carries our kitchen wall phone awkwardly, like she doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Why is this phone so big? Why’s there a wire attached to it, and why is the wire so curly?” She laughs, fiddling with the beige spiral cord. “And what d’ya do with this thing?” She tries to balance the handset on her head like a hat, which fails and only makes her laugh more. I don’t have time to worry about the simplemindedness of my granddaughter-to-be.
I open my mouth to speak. I wanna ask her what’s happening, but I can’t make a sound. I push hard, but it doesn’t work.
She stops laughing. She hangs up the phone, and the dial tone vanishes.
“The phone is a joke,” she says. “I brought it cuz you keep callin’ me. I thought it would be funny.” Despite her desire to joke, her face is grave now. Not even a smile.
“I came to be with you,” she says. “Like I promised.”
I open my mouth again to speak. More nothing.
“I’d protect you if I could.” Her voice cracks and reaches a new octave.
I blink hard. Good. I can feel my eyes, my lashes, the muscles in my face. All of these are somethings. Although my voice isn’t working, my mouth opening and closing is something. I look into this future granddaughter of mine and know that she’s every bit as two-headed as I am. Jubilation is in her. I feel it, and it’s more powerful than mine.
We lock eyes.
How did I get here? What is going on? I ask.
This is the night that you’ll try to forget. I’m so sorry. She says this to me, and she starts to cry, her eyes still locked on mine. But for reasons I can’t explain, my fear takes a rest when she tells me this. I feel like I’ve been awaitin’ doom for quite a while now. It’s almost a relief to know it’s finally here.
How close is it? I just want it done, I say.
She takes my face in her hands and touches her forehead to mine.
I will stay with you as long as I can, she says.
Can you tell me what to expect? Just so I can prepare myself?
“There’s only one thing I can say to you right now. It’s not enough, but I hope it gives you some comfort,” she says in her regular voice.
Atti releases my face and walks backward, never taking her eyes off mine. Her steps make no sound cuz we’re still in the nothingness. When she’s a short distance away, she turns her back to me. The darkness around us transforms into the night sky.
And we’re among the stars. Real stars.
I see Orion, the Seven Sisters and rare sights like Corona Borealis, Scorpius, and Hercules. They’re all too close together to be accurate, but I don’t mind. I see star clusters and nebulae. I see a supernova!
I look at Atti, her back still facing me.
How are you doing this? It isn’t me, I say.
She doesn’t answer. Instead she spirals around in a queer way and says, “While I’m far away from you…” She’s waiting for me to say something. The tears steadily stream down her face.
“I know it’s hard for you,” she cries out.
I try to sing My baby, but it comes out in a squeak.
“ ‘Because it’s hard for me, my baby,
And the darkest hour is just before dawn,’ ” she sings for me.
She continues singing the song, and eventually other voices join hers, but I can’t see who they belong to. I can feel myself smiling, and I want Atti to smile too. You gotta be happy if you gonna sing the Shirelles! I try to sing once more, and I cough. I figure out the problem: somethin’s stuck in my throat. That must be why I can’t speak. I cough and cough, tryna force it out of me. Atti’s now doing a dance routine, but she still looks so sad. Poor thing. I cough some more and hold a finger out to her, cuz I can feel that I’ve almost dislodged it, and soon we can sing and dance together.
“No,” she cries. “Just ignore it.” And she goes right back to singing.
I can’t. It’s still in there, but loose now. Loose and wiggly.
“NO! Don’t leave! Stay here with me,” she wails.
I’m not leaving! I just want to get this thing out of my mouth, I tell her.
She runs toward me, reaching her arms out to grab me. As though I were about
