Drying Time

My mother, Lita McClaren-Rose, died during childbirth. She was a professional artist, art teacher on the side. She was an amazing painter. Every stroke of paint from her brush told a tale. Everyone was devastated by her passing. Dad’s family grieved heavily while my maternal family just fell apart.

From a young age, I had been told that I look exactly like her from everyone. Her earthy green eyes, generous curves, even her ginger hair color, it seemed that I received it all from my mom. Dad’s genetic gift to me was his thin lips. I was considered a treasure- her last piece of art to everyone. Grandma and Grandpa McClaren saw me as some sort of clone of her. They always gave me painting supplies for gifts, which I’ve never had the talent for. I always preferred reading, and playing games. Growing up, seeing my McClaren family traumatized me. I always wished they could see me as more than another version of my mother. I wished they saw me as who I am, Holly McClaren-Rose.

My father, Loghan, was one of the most upset by my mother’s unexpected demise. Lita’s death pushed him into an autonomous loop of crying himself to sleep, but I was his guiding light. His wife’s last gift to him was a precious baby. Dad pulled himself out of bed to show me the world she envisioned for us. At first, missing a second income was tough for Loghan. He put himself through Culinary school while working full-time as a prep cook, using what little spare time left to raise me. Once he was out of school, he worked his way up to Head Chef at a higher class restaurant, Chartreuse. He always claimed, “If your mom was around, we wouldn’t need to worry so much about money.” As a teenager, I used to feel really guilty whenever he said that. It took some therapy sessions to get through my head that her body just failed her after I was born, that I was not at fault. I’m sure if she was around, we would be happier and healthier, but just my father and I were okay. He and I were a good dynamic. As time passes, I have long finished my college life, I feel urged to share an experience from my dorm years that flipped my life upside down…

I was up late finishing a research paper in my dorm room. I had lo-fi hip hop pounding into my ears through some Bluetooth earbuds to help me concentrate on my paper. The paper was due at ten in the morning. My phone vibrated the desk enough for me to peek at its screen. It was a text from a friend, Kiara. Just finished my research paper. It took me twelve hours! I can’t believe I started that thing at 3:30 pm. How far along are you?

“Is it seriously three in the morning? Time for a coffee break.” After saving my paper, I grabbed my phone to text Kiara back. Maybe halfway? I stood up from the desk for more coffee. My dorm room was big enough for a smaller minifridge, which was great because I really relied on coffee at the time. My dad gave me a minifridge, a coffee maker, and a Brita water pitcher, so I could make my own coffee, without having to leave the room. My small coffee maker was waiting patiently for me to use it. I opened my minifridge to find my water pitcher empty. I groaned as I left my room, water pitcher in hand. I had six and a half more hours to finish my paper and not enough coffee to sustain.

I giggled, “I haven’t stayed up this late in a while… Wait, what day is it?” I reached for my phone in my pocket. March 22, 2046. “Wow, I can’t believe I actually forgot my birthday.” I scoffed. I was staying up all night on my 23rd birthday. I bet Evie will make up for that after this paper is done.

I reached the bathroom and started filling up my Brita. Five minutes later, I got back to my dorm room and began making my coffee. I placed my white lily orchid coffee mug nearby while I waited. I flopped onto my bed to rest during my spare moments. With my dorm window closed, gusts of wind appeared, spiraling my room into chaos. I jumped up and off of my bed as I braced myself against my dresser. The wind intensified. I fought against it to open my eyes. I squinted just enough for my vision to blur as if the world was warping around me. I felt nauseous as my world went black.

I blinked to find myself in a pitch-black room. I heard slightly muffled singing in the distance. I reached around for some sort of light. I flipped the light switch and found a messy room. I looked around the pigsty, clothes and old gaming systems were all over the floor. I walked towards the bedroom door and cracked it. It seemed that whoever the feminine voice belonged to couldn’t hear me because she didn’t stop singing whatever she was listening to. I looked through the crack and saw the girl singing while doing the dishes. Well, she’d be singing like that if she knew she was the only one home, so I gotta be careful. Slowly, I opened the door and walked out of the bedroom. Before leaving the room, I turned off the light and shut the door as quietly as I could. Leaving the bedroom, her singing was even louder. I prayed with all my might that she wouldn’t notice me off the bat. I slowly approached her from behind. This is not a good idea at all, but I need to know where I am and why I’m in her apartment. She didn’t even hear my footsteps, her music was so loud in her eardrums. I realized I knew the song she was singing. Didn’t dad sing this all the time when I was growing up? Her silver-blonde hair was tied up in a bun on top of her head. I watched her sing and clean dishes for a solid minute before I noticed something familiar. The girl put a white lily orchid mug in the dishwasher. My mind raced as I reached my breaking point. Dad gave mom’s mug like that to me, but he said she made it when she was in university. How did this girl get hers? Maybe the design is more common than I thought. No, I remember that small chip on my mug, in the same exact spot. It can’t be my mug, that’s impossible, because that means I traveled through time, and that this girl, who won’t shut up, is my dead mom.

I stood behind the island counter, contemplating whether or not to talk to her. I had somehow gone back in time to see my mother alive and well. She sounded so happy, little did she know that she’d pass away without holding me. A glint caught my eye. Her engagement ring from my father sat on the counter next to her. She probably didn’t want it on during the dishes. She looks around my age. Before I could check the rest of the apartment, she turned around and we made eye contact. Out of instinct, I spoke “Hi.” She slowly removed the wired headphones out of her ears “Who are you?” “I’m you from the future.”

“Liar. Your jaw is more square and your lips are thinner..” the younger version of my mom said. “Have you heard of cosmetic surgery? I’m sure it’s around at this time.” I trailed off. “If you were really me, then you’d know Loghan wouldn’t let me do that.” she crossed her arms after drying her hands. “Seriously? Why was he so prickly with you and not me? He said I could do whatever I want, just nothing illegal.” My nerves let me speak so casually with her. “Well, I can’t answer that if you don’t tell me who the hell you are and why you’re in my apartment,” she raised her voice slightly “I will call my fiance here.” “Da-.” I covered my mouth. Her eyes widened “‘Dad’?” I cursed under my breath “I guess you could hear it,” I sighed “Logan Rose is my father. My name is Holly Rose.” My mother, Lita, covered her mouth. “It seems you’ve finally put the pieces together, mom.”

“A little girl… Loghan’ll be happy..” “I need you to answer something for me: what year am I in? I was stolen from my dorm at a quarter to four in the morning.” I rubbed the tiredness off my face. She smiled “It’s 2023. This is a very weird situation you and I are in. Earlier today I took a pregnancy test and it came back positive. I haven’t told Loghan, yet.” She sighed. "Maybe that's why this happened. I know, back in my time, it was the start of my birthday, so maybe whatever thing that brought me here, wanted me to see something." I shrugged. Lita and I sat there talking about various topics, trying to skirt around things that could change the future. “Dad never told me you dyed your hair.” “Huh? Oh, I’ve never really liked the ginger color. I was constantly judged for it during my school years, so it's been a silver-blonde for a while. Do I not have it in your time?" She looked at me with a puzzled look. "I don't really see you and dad much, so you might." I tried to play it off. She continued "You brought up a dorm. What are you going to school for?” She changed the subject. “A master’s in Computer Science.” She ooed “How did we react to that?” It stung a bit when she said that “Well, Grandma and Grandpa McClaren weren’t happy at all. They wanted me to go to art school which I have no desire or talent for. They wanted me to live like you, pretty much. During puberty, I got sick of it, told them off, and haven’t spoken since.” I looked away as tears started to flow out of my eyes. “Oh, my baby.” She said as she hugged me. Oh, great. Now she's consoling me. This will be the only time I'll hug her, see her smile, or hear her laugh. My thoughts raced. Forcing me to cry harder than ever. “Something happened in between now and your time, something eventful. I don't know what it was, but I just want to spend some time with you. Whatever it was, you don't have to tell me." She and I sat there for what felt like forever until I had stomach pains. “Ouch. That may be the coffee getting to me- Whoa, this is not coffee.” The pains came even stronger. I cursed under my breath “I think it's my queue to leave.” I chuckled nervously. I looked up at her and she smiled. “It’s okay, sweetie. From what I've heard, you're already an amazing woman, and I’m so excited for you to arrive.” Bittersweet words came out of her mouth. Before I could say goodbye, the familiar gust of wind and blurred eyes came back to me and took me away from her.

I was back in my dorm room, with my music blaring in my ears. I had to force myself to finish that paper. Luckily I turned it in ten minutes before it was due. I called my dad as soon as he got up for work. “Hol? Did you finish your paper on time?” “Yeah, no worries. I had a dream about meeting mom.” He chucked “Yeah? Was she painting?” I had to laugh back “No, she was singing and doing the dishes.” “Not surprised.” I heard a sniffle over the phone. “I miss her so much, sometimes. I just wish she was able to watch you grow into the beautiful woman you are. I'm sure she'd be proud of me for raising you the way she wanted, but by myself. I’m so proud of you, Holly, and I know she would be, too,” he said. “Don’t worry, dad. I already know that she is.” I smiled and thought about my lovely mother.