Jul. 19, 1993
Laura and her family returned from her summer trip to her grandparents’ lakefront cabin late on the eighteenth. The next morning, she rang my doorbell.
She grinned when I opened the door. “I’m back!”
Seeing the simple joy on Laura’s face, directed at me, along with the hard years and cares instantly wiped away, was nearly more than I could bear. I’d dreamed of going back and setting things right for a long time, and now I was really there, in that moment with her.
Before I could help myself, I stepped out onto the porch and gave her a big hug. Laura stiffened in surprise at first, then relaxed and returned my embrace. She smelled like summertime, her long brown hair tickling my cheek. I reluctantly released her after a long moment.
“What was that for?” She regarded me seriously with her deep blue eyes.
As I remembered, she was short, a few inches less than I was at thirteen, and she would never grow much beyond her current height. In another few years, she would become pleasantly curvy. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and her skin had a healthy tanned glow. I felt the powerful force of my younger self’s love for her, and my pulse quickened.
I smiled through my embarrassment at my impetuousness. At least I hadn’t broken down as I had with Mom the other day. Laura would never have let me live that one down.
“I dunno,” I said. “Just missed you is all, I guess.”
“Yeah? You jealous too? It was so awesome, Jay—I got to swim in the lake and fish and ride in Grandpa’s boat and stuff every day!”
“Maybe a little.” I was actually super jealous but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how much.
She must’ve realized that teasing a poor kid like me wasn’t nice. “It was cool, I guess. Would be better if you could come with sometime so I have someone cool to hang out with.”
I smiled at that. “You want to come in? We could hang out in my room for a while.”
“Sure.”
We went up to my room, and I proudly showed off my new Appetite for Destruction cassette, which I’d picked up at the local music store. CDs were just too expensive at around fifteen bucks, but I could pick up a used cassette for four dollars. The few CDs I had were all birthday or Christmas gifts from Mom. The music technology of the day sucked, cassette tapes in particular, but unfortunately MP3 players wouldn’t be invented for several more years. I hit Play on my boom box, and “Sweet Child o’ Mine” started playing.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked after a couple minutes.
Laura didn’t look too impressed but managed a smile, probably not wanting to offend me. “It’s not bad.” As a girl, she was more into pop and Top 40 songs. But she did like the occasional rock song. She dug Aerosmith, Van Halen, and U2, as I recalled.
“Yeah? Now check this out.” I stopped the tape and picked up my guitar, then sat in my chair in front of my music stand. The sheet music was still on the stand since I’d just practiced the past night. Not only had the music store had the cassette, but I’d been excited to find they also had the guitar tabs for “Sweet Child o’ Mine.” I’d practiced the song only once in this timeline, but in my other timeline, I’d been playing this song for years as it was one of my all-time favorites.
Modesty aside, I thought I performed it like a champ. I would never be Slash, but I rocked the acoustic version pretty hard. My youthful voice sounded odd to my ears, especially when singing. It didn’t sound particularly bad, though, and I could actually hit a few of the higher notes more easily.
Laura was just staring at me by the time I finished.
“Well?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“Wow. That was awesome!” Her smile not only made my insecurity disappear but nearly melted my heart. “You must’ve practiced like crazy while I was gone—you’ve really gotten good.”
“You really think so?”
“Hell yeah! Better than the original. You should definitely keep up on the lessons, Jay.”
“Cool.” I really wanted to keep them up, but some weeks, that wasn’t in the budget if Mom’s tips weren’t good, so I’d have to call and cancel my lesson with Mr. Lewis, the high-school music teacher who taught guitar classes on the side. But he was a nice guy and understood our financial hardships, I think, so just took it all in stride.
Long-forgotten details such as these were coming back to me just by living in this earlier timeline, my memory no longer marred by any traumatic brain injuries.
Just then, a familiar musical jingling reached our ears at the same time.
Laura ran to the window and looked out, then flashed me a big grin. “Race you to the ice-cream truck!”
“I don’t have any—”
“I got you covered. Come on!”
I set down my guitar with a pleased smile and went after her. She was buying, so I let her win. I couldn’t have caught her anyway, with her head start, but my delicate teenage pride was at stake, so I had to come up with some excuse.