Not This Time

Nina: January 30, 2012

     "You're back!" Matt declared as the Triple T doors slid open to let us out into my bathroom. I clutched the clothes we'd gotten close to myself as I brushed past him, still trying to figure out what had just happened. Emma had been oddly quiet the entire ride home. "Wow, you two look..." Matt glanced at me and did a double take. I was already past him when he took a step backward and asked, "Are you okay?"
     I stopped and turned to him. I was lost in thought though, still thinking about that man in Nashville. His face was familiar, but I couldn't identify where I knew him from. I wasn't even looking at Matt. All I could see was that man.
     "You're white as a sheet..." Matt observed, putting a hand on my shoulder. His concerned expression shifted a little as he turned it to his girlfriend. "Emma?" He sounded a little annoyed. "Where did you take her?"
     "We went to 2006," Emma bit back, sounding just as perturbed.
     Matt made a confused face. "What's in 2006?" he scoffed. Then his puzzled expression dropped off. "You didn't take her to see her parents, did you?" He was looking over at Emma, but he had to know I was glaring at him. I hated when he talked about me right in front of me.
     Emma raised an eyebrow at his accusation. "No, I wouldn't do that because I know she's over trying to make that work," she explained. I turned my glare on her, too. They both knew I hated when they did that. "We--"
     "We went to a bar," I interrupted, wanting to be a part of the conversation. They both turned to look at me. "We went to a bar in Nashville and I came face to face with someone that I knew but I.. I... didn't know?" I wasn't sure how to explain it. I knew this had something to do with my time travel, I just wasn't sure how. I tilted my head and looked at Matt. "Why is that?" I asked, "How is that, Matt?"
     Matt looked like he had just stubbed his toe and was trying to contain it. He stared at me that way for a minute before stiffly turning to face his girlfriend again. He glared at her and tilted his head as well. "Yeah, how is that, Emma?" he growled, closing the gap between them in a few swift steps, "Did you take her somewhere you weren't supposed to?"
     "Did you do something you weren't supposed to?" Emma hissed. Matt pursed his lips, still looking angry at her. Emma's expression, however, shifted from anger to disbelief when Matt didn't answer her. "You did! Oh my God, you did!" Emma gasped, "Matthew Westen Norvil! I don't-- I-I can't believe you did that!"
     "What?" I chimed in urgently, "What did he do?"
     Emma gazed at Matt as he gave her what looked, to me, like a warning look. She returned an incredulous one, and for a second I thought she might actually tell me what they were talking about. She gaped for a second and shook her head as she turned to me.
     "He lied to me!"
     Matt pulled Emma away and turned his back to me. They continued arguing under their breaths as if I wasn't there. I stewed to myself, still holding onto the clothes I'd left home in and the dress we'd gotten in '64. I stared at the clothes for a minute, willing myself not to cry. I just couldn't understand how I was friends with them.
     I could tell that the guy in the bar had something to do with my depression, but how was I supposed to make that connection if I couldn't identify him. Matt and Emma knew something. Maybe they knew who he was. But if that was the case, what possible reason could they have for not telling me? I could feel my temper rising. I may never be able to find that guy again without their help. I may have a part of me feeling lost for the rest of my life if they didn't tell me what they knew. I couldn't take that.
     I couldn't help it, I let out an aggravated scream and threw the clothes in my hands across my room. Matt and Emma both stopped mumble-arguing and looked over at me in surprise.
     "What is going on?" I cried, "Why are you doing this? I have been depressed and empty ever since I came back from the 80s and you two know something! I know you do!" I pointed at them as I took a step closer. "So explain! Go on, share with the class! What aren't you telling me?"
     Matt just stared for a moment. His face was pretty blank, and his voice was even when he spoke. "I don't know what you're talking about."
     Emma scoffed and we both looked at her. Matt didn't even let her say a word. His gaze was severe and his tone was low, almost sinister.
     "Trust me, Emma, don't. It'll be bad."
     Emma's disdain seemed to melt into fear and she looked away, more toward the floor. Not at me, anyway. Her reaction worried me. What was she afraid of? My eyes shifted between the two of them helplessly.
     "What do you mean it will be bad?" I insisted, "What will be bad? Matt, what are you talking about?"
     Matt looked back at me with a shake of his head, his expression blank once more. I had never seen him like this. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing. It's okay," he said.
     "No, it's not okay! Stop avoiding and tell me!"
     Matt's face didn't falter, but he hesitated. For a moment, I might have mistaken his expression. He looked stricken and uncertain, but like he was trying to hide it. That worried me too. I didn't know what would happen next. I was starting to feel like I didn't really know them at all.
     After a minute, Matt finally said, "I can't help you, Nina."
     I could feel my mouth fall open in shock. How could he speak to Emma the way he had, right in front of me, say the things he did, right in front of me, and then just pretend it never happened? I couldn't fathom what was going on in his brain.
     He looked down at the floor and wouldn't look at me as he went on in that same even, responsible tone, "I, uh, I think we're gonna go. I have some things to take care of and you seem like you could use a break." I raised an eyebrow at him and he nodded absently, finally managing a flash of eye contact when he said, "We'll see you later, okay?"
     He had already grabbed Emma's arm and started escorting her back toward my bathroom when I scoffed, "No, you won't."
     "What?" Emma asked, turning back to look at me when they stopped just inside the bathroom door. Matt didn't turn. I glared daggers into his back, I was so angry. I was too angry to yell, and it was so quiet.
     "If you don't want to talk, that's fine. Don't," I spat, "But don't come back either. You're not welcome here anymore. Either of you." My voice cracked a little when I said it, but I still meant it. The anger had returned to my voice as I went on. "Don't you dare come back until you're ready to tell me the truth!"
     Emma looked back over at Matt, pleadingly. Matt only glanced at her a moment. Then he nodded toward his time machine and mumbled, "Come on, Em."
     I stalked out of my bedroom into my living room. I really wanted to cry, but there was no way I was going to let them see that. I blinked back tears as I marched over to my desk, where I'd left my iPod and headphones. The day outside was just as I'd left it before the whole fiasco in Nashville. New York would always go on, oblivious to my time travel woes.
     I paused and listened for a second. Silence. No Triple T noise. They hadn't left yet. Still raging from Matt's obvious indifference to my feelings, I shouted over my shoulder, "And get out of my bathroom!"
     Vworp Vworp
     I ran back into my room and peered into my bathroom to make sure that stupid time machine was really gone. I could see clear through to the opposite wall of my bathroom.
     Good.
     I crammed my headphones into my ears again and pressed play. I didn't even know what song was next, nor did I care. I was just so angry and hurt and confused. How had I lost one of my best friends just then? And over what? I didn't even get to know. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed the tears to stay in. I refused to cry about it.
     I stepped into my bathroom and started to take off my makeup as Theory of a Deadman sang their song to me. I stopped, after taking off the lipstick, though. I just didn't feel like messing with my eye makeup. I sang along quietly to the chorus as I went back into my bedroom and around my bed to where my clothes had landed when I threw them. I needed to change out of this dress.
     "It's like one step forward and two steps back, no matter what I do you're always mad. And I, I can't change your mind." I shimmied out of the black fabric, careful not to tangle up my headphone cord, and started getting dressed in the original clothes I'd been wearing that morning. "It's like trying to turn around on a one way street. I can't give you what you want and it's killing me. And I, I'm starting to see, maybe we're not meant to be!"
     Fully dressed, I picked up the little purse and pulled my cell phone out of it. Then I walked back into my living room. I sat down at my desk, looking over the mess of papers there. So many half-finished songs and tidbits I'd remembered from dreams. I gathered some and tried to organize a little, but I wasn't sure where I was going to put anything that would be any less cluttered than it already was.
     I tried to work on songs for a little bit, but the music in my headphones kept sidetracking me, so I eventually gave up. Instead, I pulled out my dream journal and started rereading. Nothing sparked any feelings I hadn't already been feeling, but some of it seemed to come together in a weird way. I found myself starting on a story based on the bits and pieces in my journal.
     I spent a couple hours there, writing when I got a text from Brian, the guy from the label, wishing me a happy birthday. I sent a quick thank you response and then set my phone back down to continue writing.
     Somehow the guitars of Three Days Grace broke through my focus and caught my attention. I paused. I hadn't heard that song in a long time and it felt good to remember. I smiled as the chorus played. I sang along quietly as the song went on. That is, until the chorus came again. The sheer power of the song forced me out of my seat as if I were actually performing.
     "Even if I say it'll be alright, still I hear you say you want to end your life! Now and again we try to just stay alive. Maybe we'll turn it all around cause it's not too late, it's never too late!"
     I sang loud, leaning on the window again like the angsty teenager I was when I last heard that song. The bridge was my favorite part. I couldn't not sing it like I was in a music video. It was just so good!
     "The world we knew won't come back! The time we've lost, can't get back. The life we-e-e-e-e had won't be ours agai-ee-ai-ee-ai-ai-ai-ai-ee-ai-ain!"
     I was still singing as the song continued, but the next words actually resonated with me as they came out of my mouth, "This world will never be what I expected, and if I don't belong..."
     The chorus went on again without me this time. I was still back on those words. I was still pondering the reality of them. When I tuned back in, the chorus was half over and the song was coming to a close. But I jumped back in, singing to myself, all the same.
     "Now and again we try to just stay alive! Maybe we'll turn it all around cause it's not too late, it's never too late! Maybe we'll turn it all around, cause it's not too late! It's never too la-a-a-a-a-ate! It's not too late, it's never too late."
     The guitars played out and I pulled my headphones out of my ears as my gaze drifted back to my phone, sitting on my desk.
     It's not too late. It's never too late.
     Nothing in my life had turned out the way I'd ever thought it would. I had no relationship with my parents, I'd just lost two of my best friends, and I had mystery depression that no-doubt had something to do with the 80s and that guy I'd seen in the bar, but my world was far from ending over those things. None of that meant I couldn't still turn it around. I had always dreamed of performing music and some small part of me had settled for a life in the background. I shook my head at myself. No more.
     I picked up my phone and went into my text messages with Brian. Conversations about my songs and what he was thinking if I were to sign with them. I'd read the contract. Penny's lawyer had looked at it for me. I didn't have a reason not to. Glancing at the papers still laying on my desk and the wide open dream journal I'd been using notes from for my little story, I figured there was nothing to lose; I was probably already about as insane as any other musician.
     With a sudden burst of confidence, I typed: I'm in. What do I need?
     Within a minute, Brian texted back: Awesome! Glad to hear it. You gotta come by the office to sign some papers. No rush, tho
     Before I answered, I exited my texts and called Penny first. It only rang twice and Penny picked up with her typical cheery greeting.
     "Hey Penny," I began. She wished me a happy birthday, as if she hadn't done that when we'd had breakfast that morning. "Yeah, yeah, thanks," I continued as I went into my bedroom closet to grab one of my coats. "Could you meet me at the label? Maybe bring your lawyer who was helping?" I asked.
     "You gonna sign with them?"
     "Yeah, I'm going for it. I figured what the hell."
     "That's awesome!" she cheered over the phone. I smirked at her enthusiasm and slipped into some boots.
     "Yeah, thanks," I said as I reached the door and picked up my keys, "I'm heading out now. I'll see you there."
     Penny said, "Ciao!" in her usual sing-song manner and with that, I hung up.
     Then I sent Brian one last text before walking out: I'll be there in a bit.