SKIPPING TIME

Chapter 5.5

Jess tried to swallow the lump in his throat as his feet veered sideways, automatically avoiding an old woman shuffling towards him. Her mouth hung open and one side of her face twitched sporadically. Drool ran down her chin in thick strings and her hospital gown had come unbuttoned, exposing most of one breast. Jess recoiled, pressing himself tightly against the brick wall. His stomach twisted with a mix of revulsion and guilt. He knew it wasn't the lady's fault she'd gone psycho. But that didn't mean he wanted to look at her.

An orderly approached the woman and gently turned her back towards the other direction. Jess froze as the man's voice floated to him. "Come on Lila. Let's get you back to your room, sweetheart. Jess will be here soon and you want to get cleaned up for your little boy."

Jess bolted upright, breathing hard, shaking. Then Cacee's arms were around him, assuring him it was just a nightmare. He couldn't explain to her that it wasn't—that this was both his past and his inevitable future. He'd guess his "episode" today was similar to how things had started with his mother. Just one little glitch in her mind. One tiny misfire nobody could explain.

He laid his forehead on Cacee's shoulder and buried his face in the softness of her hair. The scent of honeysuckles and strawberries surrounded him. It was the fragrance he'd come to associate with happiness. But even holding Cacee couldn't keep his thoughts at bay. The memory of zoning-out joined the horror of his dream and he jerked away from her.

Cacee touched his arm. "Are you okay, Jess?"

He mumbled, "Yeah. Nightmare."

Cacee nodded and said sympathetically. "Nightmares are horrible. I've been having one where I'm lost in this horrible red fog. It's kind of weird, because there's a big apple tree in full bloom, just like in the painting you..." She petered out.

Jess tensed, hoping she wouldn't say anymore. He didn't want to talk about that painting. He didn't want to talk about any of it. Cacee showed the intuition he'd always loved about her when she picked her story back up. "Anyway, my dad is there somewhere and I'm looking for him. He's screaming for me and I know if I don't find him he'll die, but I never can."

Jess saw goose bumps break out on Cacee's arms.

She continued, "I'm always a mess when I wake up. Crying, shaking, missing my imaginary father. I usually end up crawling in bed with my mom, like I'm still a little kid."

He lifted his eyes, grateful to her for trying to distract him. He hoped she didn't ask about his dream now. He wasn't up for lying. In an attempt to keep her talking about herself, he asked, "How do you dream about someone you've never met? I mean, you don't know what your father looks like or anything. You said your mom won't even tell you his name."

Cacee's face brightened. "I never showed you my picture?"

He shook his head.

Cacee pulled out her backpack, opened it, and dug around in the side pocket. She took out an old picture, creased and well-worn. The girl in the photo looked to be in her late teens, the man in his early twenties. They were arm-in-arm, laughing into each-other's eyes. They stood in front of a bright green awning stamped with the words, "St. Mark's Comics." An army of skyscrapers patrolled the horizon behind them. He flipped it over. "Jillian NY, 1997."

"Who's this?"

"That's my mom at nineteen, and I'm almost positive that's my dad."

He studied the picture more closely. Fair skin, hair to her waist, tiny and delicate. Her mom was a redhead and it was impossible to make out her eye-color. But besides those two things, she and Cacee were damn near twins. "Your mom's very pretty."