Ghost Time

of you again, you know? I know it must sound silly or inane, whatever, but how do you live in the present when the best place you’ve ever been is in the past? I’m serious, why would you want to be here, now?
    Mom started knocking on my door, making sure I was up, and I said, I’m awake, but she didn’t hear me, so she banged, Are you up? And I go, I’m awake ! And she goes, That’s more like it, and I heard her walk to the kitchen. Thank god she leaves me alone, pretty much, but I can see it in her eyes, that she remembers how much of this is beyond my control. A rite of passage that’s just not right; there’s nothing right about this passage: she knows it; she understands. And she cuts me and my lip a lot of slack, too. Sometimes. I mean, it was a long time ago, but she was me once. Fifteen, at least.
    But what I see, that look I see in her eyes isn’t disappointment, or anger, or even sadness, it’s resignation. That’s what it is: my mom’s resigned herself. Because, stupid as it may be, she couldn’t help hoping that we’d be different, the two of us, that we’d be the exception to the rules of nature. She always hoped we’d be like those shiny mothers and daughters, living out those glossy lives that slip through your fingers like the pages of the magazine in which they appear. And the trick is, you can touch, but you’re never touched back. And I would say it, too. I mean,there are times I would tell her how sorry I am, but that’s not what Mom wants, that’s not what she’s looking for.
    No, she’s just looking through the telescope of time, seeing us, here and now, as we really are, sad, but true, and at the same time, she’s wondering how it’s possible that only yesterday she was me, wearing a punk shirt, itching for a fight with her mother. And now, in a flash, here she is, on the receiving end of the glare and rolled eyes, just another lonely woman, known to run for her phone, hearing a text message, only to discover it’s the public library, calling to say the Suze Orman book she reserved has been returned, she can pick it up anytime. Cruel.
    After I got dressed, I heard her humming to whatever she was listening to, singing along, and I knew the song. It took me a minute, but I knew it: Angel came down from heaven yesterday, she stayed with me just long enough to rescue me … Hendrix. Mom’s big on Hendrix before work—she calls it soul power—as if that’ll help her get through the day, and I guess it does. But me, I couldn’t seem to move, and listening to her sing, I thought, You have such a pretty voice, Mom. I almost said it, too, called out, until I realized I was standing there, with my mouth open. No: I shook my head no, heading to the living room. I put on my jacket and opened the door to leave, but Mom called me, stepping into the living room, holding a tea towel in her hands, with this look like I’d forgotten to do something.
    What? I said, waving the door once for good measure; meaning, say what you have to say. Good-bye, she said. Bye, I said, realizing that was all she meant. She was just saying good-bye;she just wanted me to say good-bye. I felt so bad, closing the door behind me, heading for the bus stop, then I swallowed it back. Just like that, it was gone again.
    When I got to the stop, the designated spot about two hundred yards down the road, at the turn off, between the country road and the highway, a group of kids were waiting, having formed a line. I walked around them, standing back, and then I balked, seeing the freaky little twins—Cam always calls them the IV Twins or InVitro Babies—they were there, too. Something must have been wrong with their eighty-year-old mother’s car or hip, because the twins never ride the bus. Whatever the problem was, there they were, in their matching red wool winter coats, with their matching red winter caps, pulled down over their freaky little twin eyes, that look like black marbles swimming in saucers of skim-milk-blue skin. Looking at them, I remembered how Cam always said if you can create life in a petri dish, why couldn’t you travel back in time? It’s all just code, he said. Code, Thee: reality, everything— everything has a code.
    The very thought made me sad—our mean nicknames almost brought tears to my eyes—and I could feel my face fall, giving me away, before I pulled it together, shaking it off. But they were all eyes, the twins, gawking at me. I stared back at them, waiting, until