Future Imperfect

After clearing his throat and snorting back snot, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Jimi says, “You kill me?”

What I feel is anger. Not like any anger I’ve felt before. It comes racing up from my gut like it’s on fire, like I’ve just gargled down battery acid. My skin is buzzing, becoming unfocused on me. I want to gnash my teeth like an animal.

Vauxhall can see it in me. She can read it the way you can read the dangerous movements of a dog or a snake. She says, “When, Ade? When does this happen?”

“A few weeks from now. Maybe sooner.”

“Where?” Jimi asks, hands up.

“Reservoir. Cherry Creek, I’m guessing.”

Wiping his forehead, Jimi says, “And my dad was there, huh?”

“He was.”

“And I’m guessing he didn’t try and stop you?”

“He didn’t.”

Jimi looks at Vauxhall. He says, “Not going to happen.”

“What I see always happens, Jimi. Always,” I say.

Jimi does a farmer blow into the grass at his feet and then puts an arm around Vauxhall’s shoulder, says, “If that were true, Ade, then I doubt I’d have had visions of me banging your girl here for the rest of the year.”

Vauxhall looks appalled, her mouth drops open, and she pushes Jimi away.

I close my eyes tight, the rage is so intense.

My body vibrates like a flame.

It’s so unnatural, like I’ve had plastic surgery or something.

Jimi guffaws hard again. Eyes tear up again. He says, to me, “You, Ade, live in the shadows. You’re so removed from the real world that you wouldn’t even know what it is to really-”

And he stops short because I tackle him. The two of us go crashing into the fountain, the cold, dead-leaf- choked water spilling over the side in sloshing waves. I’m on top of him, pushing my fists into his face, into his stomach. I’m hitting his shoulders, hitting his forehead, his eyes. And I’m kicking. With every molecule of my body I’m trying to beat him into the concrete of the fountain.

I’m not doing this for long. Jimi gets his legs under me and kicks me back, out of the water, out of the fountain, and I fall back hard on the sidewalk, my breath rushing out in one big dying-fish gasp.

Vauxhall’s not at my side immediately. She’s standing there in shock.

Jimi pulls himself up, rancid water and decaying leaves falling off him like he’s some swamp monster stepping out of the bayou. He steps over to me. Breathing hard, his chest rising and falling so heavily, he looks at me and then wipes his nose with the back of his hand. He says, sounding so tired, “You’re exactly what I expected, Ade.”

Then he turns and leaves.

Vauxhall, before she follows him, she comes over to me and leans down and puts her hand on my forehead and asks, “Is this what happens when you quit?”

She doesn’t let me answer. She says, “You need to try. You need to change the future. I know you’ve tried it before and it went bad, but you can’t do this. Not to Jimi. Not to yourself. Change the future, Ade. For me.”

“Everything I’m doing is for you, Vauxhall.”

She is crying when she kisses me. It is very tender like a flower petal.

And Vauxhall’s only there a moment; her beautiful face is the moon just for a blink, so soft and so perfect. And then she’s gone too.

By the time I get up off the sidewalk, my clothes are already starting to dry. On Colfax, there are only a few cars going by and most of them are cop cars or taxicabs. The winos have come out. The hookers as well. By the time I get up off the sidewalk, the sun is only a few hours away from breaking in.

Limping back to my car, my cell rings. The number’s unlisted.

I answer.

The voice on the other end is familiar, sickeningly so. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

It’s the obscene phone caller. The gravel-voiced old man.

“Yeah,” I say. “Who are you?”

“Not one person. There are many of us.”

I’m at my car. Pause before getting in. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t change what you saw, Ade. You know that by now. Surely you know that much. Don’t even try it.”

“My mom set you up to this?”

Gravel voice laughs. “That’s rich, Ade. Average life of a scryer, right?”

And he hangs up.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ONE

Dear Professor Susan Graham-

Thank you again for your replies to my letters. I realize they might come off as a bit nutty. I really appreciate your taking the time to help me.

To throw something new in the mix: How about alternate realities?

Parallel universes?

See, I’m asking because there was a show on television last night, one of the educational cable channels, about how some physicists think that our world is all Swiss-cheesed through and through with alternate realities. The show mentioned something about infinite numbers of parallel universes where anything, and everything, I guess, happens. You agree with that? Also the show said there was no way to prove this idea. Like, ever.

I’m going back to the whole changing-the-future thing and I’m thinking, Hey, this parallel universe idea sounds like it could work just fine. I mean, if you try and change the future here, who’s to say it doesn’t change in another, closely related universe? Or maybe the original vision wasn’t of this universe in the first place? Or maybe I have no clue what I’m talking about.

What do you think?

Again, thanks so much for your time on this. I know that my physics teacher is already super excited about the idea and I’m sure I’ll get an A. Just sure of it. And, who knows, but maybe someday I’ll actually meet someone who can see the future and I’ll have some advice? Kidding, of course.

Thank you,

Ade Patience

TWO

I’m standing in a parking garage.

My jeans are still a bit wet but nothing major. Nothing embarrassing.

I find a leaf, orange, in my hair.

When I left the house after a five-hour nap I told my mom I’d be out even later than usual. I told her that something important came up and it will probably change a lot about the way I do things, about the way I’m living