THE UNIVERSE IS FULL OF paradoxes. It’s the nature of reality. Black holes are both creative and destructive. Mom—protecting me from myself by hurting me—was also a paradox.
I was trying to concentrate on my breath, on keeping my pace, on beating my last time, but my mind kept drifting to that envelope that was sitting on my desk unopened, slightly crumpled after Mom had fished it from the trash, smoothed it out, and handed it to me. I had taken it without fighting, a silent acceptance of the olive branch we had both built together. That battered envelope with its hand lettering was yet another paradox.
There was this physics lesson I learned about when I was a kid: Schrödinger’s cat. In 1935, this physicist, Schrödinger, devised an experiment—a theoretical experiment—all about paradox. You’re supposed to imagine a cat sealed in a metal box with a flask of poison. I used to know all about it, the quantum mechanics of it all, but the bottom line is that as long as the box remains sealed, the cat is both dead and alive.
The envelope was like that box. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the truth of what was really left inside. I wanted to love and hate Maia at the same time, with equal passion. I knew it was fucked up, but it was the only thing that made sense to me.
I must’ve run five miles: past the elementary school and the playground and the grocery store. I didn’t know where I was going until I got there. I slowed to a jog as I approached the trailhead behind the high school. I followed the path, the pull growing stronger and stronger, until I found the exact spot where I’d veered off the trail nearly one year earlier. I looked around just like I had that day. I tried to quiet the world around me so I could listen to that inner voice I had ignored before. It wasn’t telling me to run this time..
Carefully I traced the path I’d taken then, noting all the ways it looked different in the full bloom of summer, as opposed to the chill of fall. My fingers grazed the trunks of the trees as I waded deeper into the woods, their bark my own personalized braille, telling me the story of myself.
The closer I came to the clearing, the slower my pace became. Without warning, my memories began to spark one by one, fired up by some kind of electrical charge that was still bound to these woods after all this time. I could see it and hear it and feel it all around me. I followed along behind Ben and Jake and Tobey until I was standing there in the same spot where I’d been standing then.
The scene played out before me like a panoramic movie, and I could do nothing to stop it. I couldn’t rewind or fast-forward or do anything to change it. But I was watching it all from a different perspective, I realized. Because now I could see all the parts that I couldn’t see then. I could see how hard I was trying to be tough and cool and calm, making myself ignore all the signs. The way the boys kept glancing at one another with these secret exchanges.
I watched as they grabbed me and held my arms—this time I could see the look on my face, how scared I was. And I could also see the way I looked to them as they chased me, because I was following along too. I saw the rock I tripped on and I watched my ankle turn, watched how I fell, then got back up and limped a few more steps. I followed behind as they caught up, screaming after me. And then I watched them beat me, until I folded to the ground—it had felt fast, I remember that, but this time it happened in slow motion.
While Tobey and Jake were kicking me, I was covering my head with my arms. That’s why I missed the part when Ben had already unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. I missed how the other boys were laughing. I missed what they were planning to do to me. And I missed that Coleton had stood there, frozen, for several seconds before he made the phone call to the police.
I don’t think I realized until now how much hate they had inside, how much it wasn’t even about me, not anything I did or didn’t do. If not me, they would’ve found someone else to fill my place. The hologram played forward until it was just Coleton and Chris there on the ground. Coleton was crying, muttering something to himself or to me. I stepped closer now and looked down. My face was so bruised and swollen, I could barely recognize myself.
And I knew for certain something I had suspected but couldn’t be sure of until now: This thing, this terrible thing that had happened, happened to me. Not someone else I used to be, but someone I still was, always was, always will be. Not someone who was the weak, wrong part of me, but someone who was, is, strong and real. All of my running away had finally brought me back here to see that, to remember, and to finally lay it to rest.
The vision vanished and it was summer again and I was alone, standing on this grave. I looked around, and my eyes set on the rock, the one that had tripped me. I lifted it out of the dirt and brought it back to the spot where I’d lain. I crouched down and dug at the earth with my fingers and set the rock inside, packed the dirt up around it like I was planting something new. The smooth, round dome just breached the surface.
• • •
I walked home slowly. And I got this feeling like I was lighter, like maybe I’d been carrying the past of me around on my back all this time and now I was finally walking into the rest of my life. I couldn’t help smiling. In fact, I was laughing softly to myself when I entered my front door.
But I stopped in my tracks when I looked up and saw Maia sitting there on my couch in my living room with my mother.
I opened my mouth, and I didn’t know what would come out. Because, while my mind told me I should still be mad, told me that I was still furious, another part of me was so damned happy to see her.