Two Sides To a Page

“Snap out of it!”

She knew he meant well but that particular brand of tough love had never quite worked on Maya. She didn’t really see the point of bringing someone already on their knees, flat on their back. The past year had been tough, to say the least, but the last 3 weeks have been unbearable. They had made Maya question every single minute decision she’d made up until that moment where she was sitting on the ground of her near-empty apartment, with only boxes of useless things for company, and staring at a questionable stain on the wall strangely resembling a pregnant cat. Could it get worse, she almost allowed herself to think, but she didn’t want to tempt fate. They didn’t seem to be on the best of terms as it was.

Maya had a habit of isolating herself, that’s why her father was surprised to get a call from her, asking if he could take her in for a few weeks at most. He didn’t usually ask many questions – or any – and simply came to help her move, not knowing she had already sold most of her things and what belongings she had left could fit in the trunk of his small sedan. He realized when he saw her that she had asked him to come get her because she had also sold her car.

They drove in silence to his house a mere two hours away while both avoiding mentioning the fact that she had not made the trip home in the last 7 years. Seeing her childhood home did not bring forth feelings of nostalgia or make her reminisce on the good times. She had abstained from coming home for a reason.

Unloading the car took a laughably short time and before she knew it, Maya was once again staring at four walls. Her childhood bedroom had since been converted to a storage room but it would have to do for now. With unhurried movement, Maya started taking some things out of their boxes so she could get ready for an early night in. As she rummaged through the box titled “things I need everyday”, she cut herself on a very sharp object. She pulled her hand out of the box while yelling out in pain and saw that she had a jagged cut from the tip of her pinky to her palm. Deep breath in, don’t tempt fate. She grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding and peered into the box, wondering what could have possibly cut her. She didn’t remember putting anything remotely pointy in that box, and Maya had a great recollection.

After taking almost every single item out of the box and putting them neatly on the ground, she still did not find the culprit. The peculiar thing was, she didn’t even find a drop of blood on anything that was in that box or on the box itself. At the very bottom, she found a small black notebook, one of those old timey rawhide ones that she imagined people would write in with quills at candlelight.

How strange. This did not belong to her. Why then, was it at the bottom of one of her boxes? She’s never seen this notebook before. She would remember it as it had intricate carvings curling upwards as if a very precise flame had burned it. The shapes looked like smoke, but not quite. It was as if someone who’s never seen smoke, but had it described to them, fashioned it. She had been taught a valuable lesson in her formative years to not take what is not yours but curiosity kept her from putting it away. Perhaps it belonged to her father and he dropped it in there during the move? She opened it carefully and if she saw anything personal, she would immediately close it and return it to her father. The very first page was bare. So was the next one and the next... It was simply an empty journal. She would ask her father in the morning if it were his. A dull throbbing ache on her hand reminded her that she was still bleeding and should probably take care of it. The notebook was quickly put out of her mind.

The next morning, Maya woke to an empty house. Nothing unusual, she was used to being alone and she didn’t expect her father to cater to her needs merely because she was in his house for the time being. He must have checked on her while she had been asleep as the notebook was sitting on her nightstand. She ran her fingers over the cover and was a bit stunned. The smoke shape she remembered from the night before had morphed into something more substantial, faintly resembling some kind of script. Although all her instincts screamed at her not to proceed further, she felt compelled to open the notebook and writing was found on the first page. Did her father leave her a note? She couldn’t quite comprehend what she was reading. In dark emerald ink, a simple journal entry was left:

“I cannot wait to get out of here.”

The entry itself was not what gave Maya pause. It was the date at the top of the page. This entry was dated as if it had been written 16 years prior. Maya shut the notebook forcefully. Before she could even formulate the thought that this must be a joke, she saw that the engraved smoke on the cover was now undoubtedly spelling out: “Property of Maya Stawler".

With her heart beating out of her chest, Maya came to the conclusion that this notebook belonged to her. She opened the first page and saw another entry accompanied the first one:

“The moment I get the chance, I am leaving and they will never see me again. I just need to figure out how.”

Maya did not remember ever writing in a journal. She did however remember those very thoughts permanently taking residence in her head when she was 16. Back then, Maya was an angst-ridden teenager who did not know how good she had it. Or rather, she didn’t know just how bad it would get.

Frantically, Maya looked for a pen in her nightstand. She uncapped the first one she saw and paused before she wrote in the journal. What to write if I could communicate with my 16 year old self. Oh, the thought had crossed her mind often enough in the last decade. If only she knew then what she knew now… She felt a bit crazed writing in this strange notebook as if she were speaking to her younger self but she had to see if it was real or if she was just delirious from blood loss.

After quick deliberation, she settled on a simple “Hi”. Without fanfare or anything particularly spectacular, words appeared under hers:

“What are you?”

“I’m Maya Stawler and I think I’m future you.”

“Ha. Sure, if you’re from the future, tell me something about it then.”

Maya wasn’t sure she would have wanted to know how things turned out for her so she mentioned something relatively innocent:

“You’re going to get a dog the moment you move out and you’ll call her Mushroom cause of the way her head looks on her body.”

“Sounds like something I would do but that doesn’t prove anything.”

Maya was acutely aware of the power she currently held in her hands. If she played this right, she could change her history. She could truly become who she wanted to be when she was 16. But this time, with wise guidance and no endless grief.

Carefully, Maya wrote down the words that she hoped would forever alter her reality:

“This upcoming November 4th, you will feel compelled to skip school and go to the movies with your friends. That day, please go to school. Trust me.”

“I think you’re gonna have to give me a little more than trust me.”

Maya was conflicted. Would her younger self have listened if she was told what would happen? She was so hard headed back then. She wouldn’t listen to anyone.

“Okay, I’ll do one thing for you and you’ll do one thing for me.”

“That doesn’t seem like a fair exchange. Seems to me that both things will benefit you.”

Maya was starting to understand how her parents must have felt dealing with her. She was insufferable.

“What do you want?”

“I want to be able to pay for my own stuff without having to rely on mom and dad. I’m sick of hearing no!”

Of course, a surefire way to get younger Maya to listen was to put money where her mouth was. She booted her ancient computer and looked up small winning lottery numbers, those that would go undetected by the population but large enough to get younger Maya to pay attention. After a bit of research, she found just the one.

“ 3-4-6-7-1 on next Monday’s Lotto 5-34.”

Maya got her answer instantaneously:

“ 20 000$!!!! OH MY GOD. NO WAY. My mom gave in so I would stop bugging her. She’s so annoying! But that win… DUDE. She freaked! I’m not sure I believe you’re me but I sure as hell ain’t complaining even if you’re some weird devil thing!”

The realization that the past and present were not happening in tandem seemed like a distant thought behind the gut wrenching pain at having her mother mentioned.

“Okay, now my turn.”