Holding On

She was sitting on a bench in front of the church watching the younger versions of me and my sister play in the snow. Although it was only the middle of November, the entire village was covered by a thick white blanket, with the temperature staying well below freezing. The chilly air smelled of coal and burnt wood, a nostalgic combination that would have assuredly sent me on a trip down the memory lane, had I not been already physically present in the actual past.

The snow crunched under my boots as I made my way to the bench. It was only once I stopped next to it, looming over her, that she broke her intense gaze and looked up at me.

“Hi, mom,” I greeted her softly and sat down.

“Hi, honey,” she said, deep sadness in her voice, and turned her attention back to the joyful scenery unfolding before her.

The younger me and his--my sister were in the process of slapping together a snowman under the watchful supervision of our grandparents. Neither of them paid any mind to the two strangers on the bench, though I was sure they were keenly aware of our every movement.

“Mom--” I began, but she cut me off.

“Look at the two of you--so happy, not a worry in the world,” she said. “You probably don’t remember this, but it was today when your dad finally finished his compulsory military service. I went to meet him in Žilina, so that’s why I wasn’t with you here. We came back in the evening, and both of you were over the moon to see him again. You would cling to him until you literally dropped with exhaustion.”

As so many times before, she had chosen a day and time which guaranteed that she wouldn’t run into her younger version. This didn’t matter as far as the space-time continuum was concerned (since each trip to the past created a splinter universe, you couldn’t cause any paradoxes if you tried); it was more about sparing your doppelgangers the difficult conversations or potential psychological trauma inevitably brought about by such an encounter. Just because there were no consequences to your actions in your own timeline didn’t mean you could do whatever you wanted, and mom understood that better than anyone.

I nodded because I didn’t know what to say, but at the same time, I didn’t want to completely disregard her statement.

For a few moments, we sat in silence. The kids finished building a rough approximation of a snowman about a half meter tall, only for my tiny doppelganger to knock it down with an amused giggle, much to my sister’s chagrin. I briefly locked eyes with my grandpa--his gaze was cautious yet warm, and it reminded me how much I missed him, even though he had passed away nearly fifteen years ago.

“Mom, you need to stop.”

It came out harsher than I had intended, but then again, there was no delicate way of saying it. Not anymore.

She didn’t reply, only pressed her lips together. They were blue--she must have been freezing.

“It’s not healthy,” I continued.

I took off my winter coat and put it around her shoulders.

“We are worried about you.”

“We?” It sounded equal parts somber and accusatory.

“Dad, me...” I hesitated. “Luděk too.”

She flinched at the mention of my younger brother’s name, and when she spoke, every word was punctuated with immeasurable grief. “How would I know? I don’t even remember the last time I spoke with him.”

Luděk wasn’t exactly the best at keeping in touch, especially after he had moved for work halfway across the world. He seldom answered calls, even less frequently returned them, but it wasn’t because he harbored any ill feelings towards anyone in our family. I think he simply didn’t feel the need to stay in constant contact--share the minor accomplishments, the banalities of his everyday life, or whatever else that came with it.

Once again, I was unsure how to react. I’d had a whole passionate speech prepared, but now that I was here, sitting next to her and watching the pain in her features, it was as if I had lost the script.

“But I am happy that you two talk,” she continued.

“I mean, it’s not that--”

“Have you heard from Jarka?” Her voice betrayed a hint of hopefulness. 

I swallowed hard. I hated myself at that moment for having to extinguish it.

Unlike Luděk, my sister’s lack of contact was entirely premeditated. Stuck in a bad marriage, she had been given an ultimatum by her husband--him or the rest of her family--and even though my parents, grandparents, and my brother and I had done everything to make her understand that the mere fact he had forced this impossible choice on her didn’t exactly speak volumes of his character, she had gone through with it.

My silence was an answer enough. Mom shook her head slightly.

“Was I a bad mother?” she said quietly, and I saw tears in her eyes. “I must have been, otherwise things would have turned out better. I must have done something very, very wrong, right?”

“No, mom, no!” I reached out to squeeze her hand. Her fingers were like icicles, but she didn’t seem to mind. “What Jarka did is entirely on her. Not you. Not dad. Not anyone else. And Luděk... well, he is Luděk. But he cares about you--you know he does. He’s just busy and...”

I let my voice trail off as I realized that the more I rambled on, the more diluted my argument became.

“You and dad,” I said after I had managed to collect my thoughts. “You are and always have been great parents. I am proud of both of you. I am proud of the man I have become thanks to you.”

A thin smile flashed across her face, a flicker of light in the infinite darkness.

“It’s really sweet of you to say that,” she said, then paused as if searching for the right words. “I just... don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like it’s my fault, like I have failed all of you. Like I deserve to be ignored, forgotten, abandoned. Ever since you were little, I had this idea in my head, this wish for the five of us to always remain close no matter what. I am of course not talking about living in one big house with a picket fence, no, what I mean is sticking together, being there for one another. Talking to each other. Seeing each other. But the reality couldn’t be further from that.”

I understood where she was coming from. Luděk and I used to be inseparable when we were growing up. Not just brothers, but best friends, allies in mischief, zealous advocates for one another in every situation imaginable. I liked to think that we were still this close now, years later, even though we spoke once, maybe twice a month, and saw each other in person once a year at best; but sometimes, I still couldn’t help but feel envious of my wife’s relationship with her older sister. Despite also living in different countries, the two of them exchanged messages and calls every single day, regardless of how busy they got, or what obstacles got thrown their way.

Different people, different minds, or, That’s just how life is--you could describe it in many distinct ways, yet the harsh truth at the core of it remained the same. You couldn’t steer the world. You couldn’t alter the way others chose to live their lives or make decisions for them.

The only thing you could do was face it, come to terms with it, adapt to it.

“I realize this is hard, mom. Believe me, I also wish for so many things to be different. But this--” I gestured around us to indicate where and when we currently found ourselves and more. “--is not the answer. We can’t change what happened, or set off on another path--that’s gotta be the most annoyingly ironic part of it all.”

I smiled bitterly despite myself, recalling how ecstatic I had felt when I was first presented with the option to time travel, and how that excitement quickly turned sour after it transpired that the past was indeed set in stone.

“But I think that it might have a purpose as well,” I continued. “Proving that instead of losing ourselves in what-might-have-been, or reliving what we consider to be the best days of our lives, we need to focus on the present. Even if it isn’t what we want it to be. Even if it hurts us.”

It was getting dark. My grandma told the kids that it was time to go, and although they refused to comply initially, their resistance was swiftly broken by the promise of hot cocoa and biscuits. I had loved her version of the beverage, which was more of a hot chocolate than anything else, on account of a not-so-secret ingredient that grandma had always added with a conspiratorial wink--I could easily recall that rich, sweet and creamy taste even after all those years.

“I hear what you are saying, honey, I do,” mom said and exhaled. She sounded tired. “I see it myself. But coming here, coming elsewhen... it’s the last thing I feel that I can control. I don’t think I can simply give it up.”

“Yes, you can,” I said, watching the foursome in front of us slowly set off in the direction of my grandparents’ apartment building. It was just across the road behind the school, though by the time they got there, it would already be pitch black outside.

“You are not alone, mom. You will never be alone--I need you to know that. No matter what happens, or where we will end up, Luděk and I will always be in your life one way or the other, okay?”

She blinked the tears from her eyes and smiled. It was a faint smile, burdened by the unforgiving sadness, but at the same time, there was a discernible hint of positivity in it.

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

In spite of the biting cold, I felt warm relief sweep through me. Today’s conversation may not have been enough to fix everything, but it was a start, and I was cautiously optimistic.

I put my arm around her shoulders.

“You know, there is one thing I wanted to tell you and dad when we went back, but I guess doing it here and now is kinda more poetic.”

She looked at me, intrigued.

“Check the inner breast pocket,” I instructed her.

She did as asked and retrieved a small photograph from the inside of my coat. She studied it for less than two seconds before realization set in.

Looking back at me, she breathed out: “Is that...?”

“Yup,” I said. “And it means that you need to get yourself a cookie jar because it will be your job to spoil her, grandma.”

She laughed--a short chuckle filled with genuine elation--and embraced me.

“I am happy for you,” she said, squeezing me tighter than I thought she could. “I am really happy for you, both of you.”

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but when she finally let go, the last remnants of the day were gone. It was a clear night, with the full moon high above our heads and occasional gusts of icy wind.

“What do you say we get out of here?” I suggested, my teeth on the verge of chattering.

She nodded, looking at the photograph one last time before depositing it back in the pocket, and decisively stood up.

“Let’s go home.”

END

Author’s Biography

I am a Czech science fiction and speculative fiction author, currently living and working as a University librarian in Malta. Although I write in both Czech and English, doing so in the latter language somehow feels easier and more natural, as much as my inner patriotic me hates to admit it. My work appeared (or is forthcoming) in a variety of venues, including New Myths, Kzine, Theme of Absence, Bewildering Stories, XB-1 (Czech SFFH magazine), and others.