Loop 4
I pull my earbuds out of my ears just in time to hear Evelyn, yell from the dozen rows behind me, "Ughhh!" She's up in an instant, and seconds later she flops into the seat next to me.
"That's never happened before," she utters.
I grab the armrests, steadying myself. I'm still dizzy. "The nosedive? Cause I'm pretty certain that's definitely happened before," I breathe out, shocked my mouth still works.
"Sorry folks," the pilot voice interrupts. "We've lost Internet connection. It will hopefully be back up soon. And please remain in your seats, we're approaching a patch of turbulence."
I've been in four of those nosedives so far, and I can still officially say that I am not prepared for it. In fact, I am entirely unprepared for it. And I'm pretty convinced that no matter how many of these awful loops I experience, nothing will ever prepare me the moment a plane tilts forward, and plummets straight to the earth. Terrifying doesn't even begin to describe the utter fear that hatches inside of me. It's the worst moment of my entire life. And I'm being forced to constantly relive it.
I can understand why Evelyn's in therapy. I might have to broker a deal with her to share Dr. Sheryl. We could swap loops, or something. Then I cringe at the thought, as if I'm relegating myself to a future stuck inside these awful cycles.
"No," Evelyn pants, as if she can't catch her breath. She seems more out of sorts this time. "I'm not talking about the nosedive. I mean, I am, but... oh, I almost forgot," Evelyn mutters through gritted teeth. "The pacifier."
"Forget about it. It's no big deal," I reply. "Just let the baby cry."
Evelyn's eyes widen and her mouth opens in shock. "You clearly don't know what you're saying, Rion. You haven't heard that screaming. I'm telling you, it's not just a baby crying. It's borderline demonic. Like walking straight into a full-body migraine. It's where the path to madness begins."
And with that, she's gone.
I exhale, eyeing my bag as it rests at my feet. My mind flashes back on Janelle Fiori's brown bag, and at once I'm reaching over and unzipping it. I search frantically through it, trying to understand what Evelyn found. There's the box of medication, but it doesn't give a clue as to what the medication is for unless you're a pharmacist or a doctor and you know the name of rare cancer drugs, which I'm almost certain Evelyn wouldn't. My wallet is pretty basic, too. Nothing much of interest there.
Then I see the pocket on the side of my bag, and slowly open it, revealing the email I printed from the hospital, detailing my preparation for tomorrow's appointment.
Tomorrow. The word glares out from the letter, as if it's taunting me.
Evelyn saw this piece of paper. I know she's seen it. I can see the sadness in her eyes when she looks at me sometimes. I thought it was because I was also stuck in this awful loop, and maybe there's truth to that, too. But now I know it's more than that.
She knows.
The baby wails for a spilt second and there's then silence, and I shove the letter back in my bag, zipping it closed. A few seconds later, Evelyn falls back into the seat beside me, just as Heather approaches, asking if we want a bag of pretzels. We both shake our heads, and she passes.
For a fleeting moment, I wonder if this is all some crazy delusion, like somewhere my body is lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and I'm stuck in a coma or something. And this crazy scenario is what my oxygen-deprived brain came up with to entertain me in the interim.
I'm plagued with passing thoughts like these. That this isn't really happening. That the world doesn't work like this. Time is linear, and it can't just fold back on itself like an origami swan.
But these thoughts aren't constructive, and they're big enough to shipwreck me if I let them.
So I don't let them.
"Where were we?" Evelyn says. "Oh right, so I have to tell you something," she starts, but then she pauses. "Nevermind, don't worry about it. I'll figure it out. You have enough on your plate."
"As if you don't?"
She shrugs but her eyes flick to my bag. It's only for a second, but I see it.
I was right. She's seen the letter.
"Evelyn..." I say, drawing out her name.
"Huh," she forces out, but she won't look at me. She can't hide anything in those big eyes of hers. She'd be a terrible poker player. Every card she'd hold would somehow be broadcasted on her face.
"I know," I say.
She freezes. Her eyes are wide. "You know?"
"I know what you did."
"What I did?" she says, her face contorting as if the words left a bad aftertaste in her mouth. Something rotten. "What? I thought you knew... wait, what do you know?"
Turbulence begins to shake the cabin as the seatbelt light dings on over our heads.
There's no point in hiding it now. I know, and I know that she knows. So I grab my backpack, lifting it onto my lap. I motion to the pocket on the side.
Her face pales and I can see the truth written as clear as day across her face.
"You went through my stuff," I say. I give her a disappointed look.
"Oh, that," she says, which is not the reaction I expect. Somehow her reactions are always the opposite of what I think they'll be.
But then, Evelyn's body slumps against the back of the seat and her face reddens, hiding her freckles. She stares out the window next to me, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Finally she says, "Look, the truth is, I never even thought you'd wake. And if you did, when the loop restarted, I assumed you'd be sound asleep again."
"But I'm not."
Her eyes steady on the colors, lighting up the sky. "No, you're not."
Evelyn's lips tighten into a straight line, fighting back emotion, and her eyes drift towards me. "What do you want me to say?" Her voice is small, broken. "That it was horribly invasive and morally decrepit? Like I don't already know that?"
She's shaking and her eyes well with tears that never fall, slowly filling up like a rising river that hasn't yet overflowed its banks. "I know what you're thinking," she continues. "And I used to be honest, too. Like, really honest. Right and wrong were obvious, with no grey area." Now a single tear does escape. It's round and heavy and falls straight down from her eye to the ground, leaving a wet trail. "But when you've been stuck here as long as I have, I'm telling you, it changes you. A few hundred loops can mess up your entire moral compass. There are no consequences to anything I do, nothing seems to matter in the slightest."
I return my backpack to its spot under my feet and exhale a long breath, my mouth rounding like I'm blowing through a straw – ridding my body of every negative emotion until nothing's left. All the fear I bottled up, all the anxiety over what the future will bring, all the concern about other people knowing my diagnosis. My illness. My worry about it becoming my identity, and the only thing people think of when they see me.
Everything in my life had been changing for the worse, and I just wanted it to stop.
"I get you're pissed," Evelyn adds, her emotions building, folding on top of each other, one after the other. "And when you've been in four hundred of these loops, then you can come talk to me about respecting privacy. But as callous as it may sound, Rion, you were nothing more than an unconscious person who was probably not ever going to be conscious. Not to me, at least."
"Can I say something?" I ask, my voice soft.
Evelyn blinks, her lower lip trembling. She shakes her head no, then yes. "I don't know," she finally says. "I guess."
It's quiet for a second and then I turn to her. "You're right."
Surprise flashes across her face. She clearly wasn't expecting that. She blinks back shock as I hear Sibyl Erly shriek somewhere behind me, her drink soaking her shirt.
"I don't have any right to be mad at you for looking through my stuff," I admit, toying with one of my wireless earbuds. "It wasn't about you, really. Or what you did. It's about me. I guess I just didn't want you to know about..." I motion to the note. "That letter. I didn't want you seeing me like I'm sick, or something."
She nods. And then shakes her head. "I don't. I mean, I don't see you like you're sick."
I look into her eyes, and know she's telling the truth.
"Oh and if we're totally coming clean here, then you should probably know that I ate your Toblerone a few times." I eye her and she shrugs. "Okay, fine, more than a few times."
"How many times more?"
She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling now. "Two dozen, maybe? It's not like I counted or anything. It's just... really good."
Behind me, I hear the snap of the luggage compartment opening.
I reach forward, grab the chocolate bar and hand it to her. "It's all yours, anytime you want it."
Evelyn smirks, as her fingers circle the bar. "Is this an olive branch of sorts? A peace of chocolate. See what I did there? Piece of chocolate? Peace of chocolate?"
"You're very punny."
She laughs, her face lighting up again. "I really am sorry," she then says.
I swallow. I'm not sure what exactly she's apologizing for in this moment. Invading my privacy, or stealing my chocolate – although stealing is a harsh word for it since it's never really gone – or was she saying that she's sorry that I'm sick? I decide that it's probably everything. She's sorry for all of it.
And that's okay. I'm sorry for all of it, too.
"So what now?" she asks.
"Not much. We just have to figure out how to save this plane full of people," I say. "Including ourselves, of course."
"Oh, just that?" Evelyn snickers as she wipes the tear trail off her cheek. "I was hoping you'd say, let's just watch a movie. Preferable something new that I haven't seen a load of times. I'm completely over the concept of repeats."
I grin, and she grins back and for a moment suspended in time, we're just two people sitting on an airplane, grinning at each other.
But then her smile falters, and the reality of the situation comes crashing back.