#that he would have married the lovely girl back home. boring !! BORING MR TOLKIEN

[grasslandgirl]

“rosie cotton... dancing with ribbons in her hair.... if i were ever to marry someone... it would have been her. it would’ve been her.” I DONT SEE IT I CANT HEAR IT ETC!!!!

[trulymadlysydney]

Somewhere In Time: Ten

“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo. "So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

tw: Death, Loss of Parent

Previous Chapters HERE

***Please Do Not Repost Without Permission***

March 10th, 1990, 11:54am

Seventeen year-old Oliver Ward sighs, glancing mindlessly out the window of the old retirement home and fighting a yawn.  

It isn’t that he doesn’t love his Saturday mornings spent with his ninety one year-old companion, because he does.  In fact, most Saturdays he forgets that this is even an extra credit assignment at all.  He knows, of course, how terrific this is going to look on his college applications-- but he doesn’t think of it like that.   Over the past month or so, he’s befriended the older gentleman he’s been assigned by his AP psychology teacher, and the old man has taken a liking to him as well.  Most Saturdays, Oliver loses track of the time because he finds himself lost in some story the old man is sharing with him.  

This Saturday, however, Oliver doesn’t much feel like socializing.

It isn’t anyone’s fault but his own. Not really, at least. The previous night had been spent tossing and turning in bed, with a total of two non-consecutive hours of sleep. He’s exhausted, he’s bummed, and he’s pretty sure he’s lost the girl of his dreams.

“Awful talkative today, aren’t you?”  The older gentleman speaks in his thick accent from his spot on his recliner, drawing Oliver from his thoughts and startling him.

Oliver turns, softening when he sees the man’s understanding smile.  He chuckles sheepishly. “Sorry, Mr. Styles. Got a lot on my mind I guess.”

The gentleman— Mr. Styles— nods knowingly. “Well, I figured as much,” he says. “And I know how that goes. Do you want to talk about it?”

Oliver sighs again, moving closer to Mr. Styles.  “I’m afraid it’ll bore you, sir.  And I’m not sure you’d understand.”

Mr. Styles grins a dimpled grin, with a twinkle in his eye.  “Try me.”

That’s something that Oliver loves about Mr. Styles. He’s never judged Oliver, no matter how silly he thinks he sounds, and honestly he gives better advice than anyone Oliver has ever known.  He seems to have an air of mystery about him-- he always has-- and Oliver is sure that Mr. Styles knows at least two secrets of the universe that he’s keeping to himself.

So he shrugs, taking a seat on the bed beside the old man. “Okay.  So. There’s…. a girl.”

Mr. Styles nods understandingly. “Always is, isn’t there?”

“She’s the grade below me. She’s my best friend, but lately it’s been…. I don’t know, kinda more than that?  I  think?”

“Mutually?”

“Yeah, I mean…” Oliver fiddles with his hands in his lap. “Yeah. We’ve been hanging out and stuff.  Even kissed a few times.”

Mr. Styles wiggles his eyebrows. “Oooh, I see.”

“But lately I feel like…” Olivier sighs. “I don’t know. Like she’s getting bored with me.”

Mr. Styles sits back further in his seat, reminiscent of a therapist in his comfy chair. “What makes you say that?”

“I think she wants me to like… commit.”

“Ah.” The old man chuckles. “I see.”

Oliver eyes the older gentleman, curious as to how Mr. Styles could possibly understand any of this. As far as Oliver knows, Mr. Styles has never been married. A few times, he’s mentioned a girl from his youth, but never anyone after that. All Oliver knew about the girl is that she up and left, leaving poor Mr. Styles alone and heartbroken. And truth be told, Oliver had always found it silly how Mr. Styles had never moved on from that.

Oliver shrugs. “Anyway… I dunno. She’s been playing hard to get recently, like maybe she’s bored with me?  Like, she flirts and stuff, but then when it doesn’t go further I feel like she gets annoyed.  And...I want to commit, but what if I’m getting mixed signals, you know? I mean like, what if that’s not actually what she wants? You feel me? What if I ruin what we have going by trying to label it?  And besides,” he sighs, “I find out soon if I got into Syracuse. And if I did get in, I would start there in the fall. What if she doesn’t want to do the long distance thing?”

Mr. Styles chuckles wittingly, but not in a condescending way.  “Well first of all, son, I think you’re completely overthinking this.”

This brings a smile to Oliver’s face. “I have been known to do that.”

“That being said, you seem to really like this girl.  And from the sound of things, she likes you as well.  Am I wrong?”

“Well, that’s the thing.  We’ve kissed and stuff, but like, what if I’m reading it wrong?”

“How can you possibly read a kiss wrong?”  Mr. Styles grins.

Oliver sighs.  “You’re right.  I know.  Feelings are just… really hard.”

“Who is the lucky lady anyway?”  Mr. Styles settles further into his seat.  “Can’t say I recall you ever mentioning having a girl.”

“Her name is Roni,” Oliver says.   “Well, Veronica. She goes to my school.  I think I may have mentioned that.”

Oliver has launched deeply into the backstory of how he and this girl met, completely unaware of the way that Mr. Styles’ face has gone entirely ghostly white.  The old man is frozen in his chair, unblinking, and hardly listening to a word Oliver has said.

He doesn’t even realize he’s cutting Oliver off when he speaks.  “I’m sorry… what did you say her name was?”

“Roni?”

“Last name?” Mr. Styles presses.

“Uhh… Elliot?”

If Mr. Styles didn’t look ill before, he certainly does now.  Oliver takes notice of this, rising to his feet. “Mr. Styles, are you alright?”

Mr. Styles blinks a few times, his breath heavy as shakes his head.  For whatever reason, he won’t look at Oliver now.  He looks at the wall, out the window, at the floor-- literally anywhere but at his young companion.  Oliver begins to grow worried, and he steps towards Mr. Styles, putting a concerned hand on his back.

“Should I call the nurse?”

It’s when Oliver asks this that Mr. Styles seems to regain some sense of consciousness back.  He blinks up at Oliver, almost like a curious little child, and shakes his head-- as if reminding himself to be present.  “No,” he says quietly.  “No, don’t call the nurse.”

“You’re scaring me,” Oliver admits.  “Where did you just go?”

Mr. Styles swallows thickly, eyes growing misty.  “You said… Veronica Elliot?”

Oliver nods.  “That’s right.”

The way that Mr. Styles scans Oliver’s face makes him grow anxious, and it becomes apparent that Oliver wants to let go and perhaps take a step back.  He’s a good kid though-- one who genuinely cares for Mr. Styles-- so he stays put.  “Sir?”

Mr. Styles lets out a shaky breath, obviously still processing everything that’s going on, before looking back up at Oliver  “I just--”  He trails off, noting for the first time the worry in the young boy’s eyes.  He softens just a bit.  

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Oliver says.  “I can call the nurse, it’s not a big deal!  I just--”

“No,” Mr. Styles says, suddenly seeming more like himself than before.  “No, there will be no need for that, son.”

Oliver hesitantly relaxes, still keeping his eyes trained on Mr. Styles’ face. “What just happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Mr. Styles says, the slightest bit of color slowly returning to his face.  “I just… knew her mum.  That’s all.”

“Oh!”  Oliver seems to take this as an acceptable answer, obviously relaxing again.  “Yeah.  Her mom died like, five years ago actually.  It was super sad.  Car accident.”

“Five years ago,” Mr. Styles repeats, more to himself than to Oliver.  “God.”

“Yeah,” Oliver says, nodding.  “She’s okay! Lives with her grandparents. They’re super cool.”  He smiles suddenly, as if remembering something.  “They like me a lot.”

Mr. Styles smiles absently.  “I’ll bet they do,” he says gently.

“Anyway,” Oliver sighs,  “I don’t know.  Do you think I should go for it?”

Mr. Styles takes his time with his answer, still trying to process everything he’s hearing.  Oliver seems preoccupied with his own thoughts, which is good because he doesn’t notice the dampness of Mr. Style’s eyes.

What Oliver doesn’t know is that Mr. Styles is reliving every memory he has with the same girl Oliver is fretting over.  Mr. Styles is suddenly twenty-five years old again, in 1925, dancing in his living room with the girl from the future, and he’s young and head over heels in love with her.  He’s remembering everything that the young girl had told him about her timeline, about the boy named Oliver who was waiting in the future for her-- who befriended her shortly after her mother passed and asked her to be his girlfriend just before he graduated.  

This all checks out, and it makes Mr. Styles’ heart feel something it hasn’t felt in ages.  He blinks a few times, trying to clear out the moisture in his eyes.  

“Well,” Mr. Styles says, after a long pause.  “I think that… life is too short to let something so good pass you by.   Do you really like her?”

“So much, Mr. Styles.”  Oliver nods eagerly.  “And I think she likes me too, I’m just scared.”

Mr. Styles shakes his head, doing his best to cover up the shakiness in his own voice.  “Don’t be.  You need to make this girl your own.  You never know what tomorrow holds.  You don’t want to lose her, and spend the rest  of your days wishing you still had the chances that you have now.”

Oliver can tell that Mr. Styles is deep in his own head now, and he debates even speaking at all.  Mr. Styles continues on.  “Can’t even begin to tell you how much I wish I could go back and change some things.  Make some better decisions.”

“I know what you mean,” Oliver says, even though he really doesn’t.  How could he?

“And,” Mr.  Styles says, making an effort to sound less philosophical--less introspective-- and more human, “from the sounds of things, she really likes you, too, son.”

Oliver smiles.  “Yeah?”  

“Yeah.”  Mr. Styles swallows a lump in his throat.  “Take my advice, and don’t mess this up with her.  She sounds like a once in a lifetime kind of girl.”

“But what if--”

“No more ‘what if!’”  Mr. Styles sounds more stern than Oliver has ever heard him, and it takes Oliver aback.  “Get her.  Love her.  Love her now. You don’t realize how important she is, Oliver.  These feelings are real.  These feelings make life worth living.  You can’t pass them up because you’re too scared.”

“And if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“She does.”  Mr. Styles softens as soon as he speaks, as if realizing he’s being far too blunt.  “Oliver, she does.  Trust me on this one.”  

Oliver opens his mouth, then closes it.  Mr. Styles somehow seems to read his mind, and he continues speaking.  “Make her your girl.”

“You really think I should?”  Oliver asks quietly.

“I know you should.”

After a brief pause in which the two stand seemingly at a hold, Mr. Styles clears his throat  gently.

“Don’t let her pass you by,” he says, for emphasis.

Oliver smiles, nodding his head in finality.  “Alright,” he says.  “You’re right, Mr. Styles.  I can’t let her pass me by, can I?  I really like her, and--”

“And I know she likes you, too.”

“Yeah.  I’m gonna call her.”  

Oliver moves like he’s going to leave the room, stopping abruptly as if realizing that he’s here because of school.  The two seem to have the thought at the same time-- that Oliver is getting college credit just for spending a few hours a weekend with Mr. Styles, and they laugh awkwardly together.

“Sorry,” Oliver says.  “I didn’t mean to--”

“You know what you can do for me, son?”  There’s a smile on Mr. Styles’  face, but there is a serious edge to his tone of voice.  “Genuinely?”

“Anything,” Oliver says.  “Anything you need.”

“Bring her in.”  Mr. Styles smiles, contrasting Oliver’s confused expression.  “Bring her in, and let me meet her.  Hm?  Would love to meet her.”

“Yeah?”

Mr. Styles nods.  “Yeah,” he says, somewhat absently, but with a smile for Oliver nonetheless.  “Would love to see the young lady that’s done such a number on you.”

Oliver laughs, and even Mr. Styles lets out a personable chuckle-- as if he’s in on some joke that Oliver didn’t know he was keeping.

“I suppose I could bring her in,” Oliver says,  “but again, I don’t want it to be weird--”

“It won’t be,” Mr. Styles says.  The playful gleam still lingers in his eyes.  “What, am I not interesting enough for her?”

Oliver laughs.  “No, no! She’ll love you!”

The words hit the old gentleman’s heart in a way that Oliver doesn’t notice.

She did love him.  She does. She just isn’t aware of that yet.

“I hope you’re right,” Oliver adds. “About all of this, I mean. I hope she does like me and I’m not just… I dunno, reading too far into it?”

“I can assure you that you aren’t, Oliver.”

There is no trace of doubt on Mr. Styles face, and it makes Oliver both nervous and reassured.  He smiles.  “Alright then,” he says.  “I’ll talk to her.”

Mr. Styles relaxes into his chair, nodding his head in finality.  “Alright then,” he echoes.  “Good man.”

Oliver returns once again for his weekly visit the following Saturday, only this time, he’s hand in hand with his new girlfriend of four whole days.  He’d taken Mr. Styles’ advice and asked her to be his after confessing everything he was feeling for her.  She, of course, felt the same way, and though it didn’t come as a surprise to Oliver it did come as a great relief.

Roni hadn’t seemed as thrilled to go share the news with Mr. Styles, however, once Oliver brought it up.

“Why did we have to come so early though?” Sixteen year-old Roni whines, as she and her new boyfriend Oliver make their way into the Senior Citizen’s home.  “Like, couldn’t we have come in the afternoon?  I’m sure Mr. Style wouldn’t even know the difference.”

Oliver chuckles.  “It’s Mr. Styles,” he corrects, “With an S.  And he seemed really excited about this! This is the time he gave me, so this is the time we’re here.”

“Why was he so excited anyway?” Roni asks, picking at a hangnail on her thumb.  “He doesn’t even know me.”

“No,” Oliver says, “but he knows me.  And he helped me out a lot! Gave me a lot of advice about you.  Least I can do is introduce him, you know?”

“I guess,” Roni mumbles to herself as Oliver checks in at the front desk.

Everyone here seems to brighten at Oliver’s presence.  All the little old ladies know him by name, and he’s quite the charmer.  It’s one of the reasons Roni likes him so much, really.  He talks so fondly about his Saturday’s spent here, and Roni can’t think of a single person his age who would enjoy it as much as he does. It’s cute the way he gushes about Mr. Styles, and how he had mentioned him when he’d asked Roni to be his girlfriend-- officially-- four days ago.  

Truly, Roni feels like she owes a lot to this Mr. Styles, and she really can understand why he would want to meet her.  The least she can do is thank him for telling Oliver to man up and commit already.

Oliver clips his badge to the collar of his shirt and gives Roni a little visitor’s sticker on which he’s scribbled her name with a green sharpie.  He’s dotted the “i” with a little heart, and it makes Roni’s cheeks grow hot when she notices.  He smiles, nodding his head towards the receptionist and interlacing his fingers with Roni’s.

Roni follows her boyfriend down the long hallways, into the elevator (where she has a mini makeout session with him because, come on, who could resist him when he’s looking this cute?) and onto the third floor.

He leads her out into the hallway, trying his best to dismiss how flushed and messy he looks (honestly, Roni takes pride in her work) and giving Roni’s hand a subtle squeeze as they walk along.

Roni looks at the doors as they walk, subconsciously counting the numbers in her head  304, 305, 306… each room an entire home to these people.  Each room a final resting place for all of them.

Oliver stops walking in front of door 310, and suddenly Roni grows nervous.  Her stomach seems to do cartwheels as Oliver smiles down at her.  “You’re gonna love him,” he says quietly, as if to reassure her.  “He’s the coolest.”

Before Roni even has time to reply, Oliver is rapping his knuckles against the large wooden door.  Two quick knocks, followed by one that seems out of rhythm with the other two.

After a few seconds, nothing happens. Roni shifts her weight to her other foot and waits, somewhat impatiently, wanting nothing more than to go home and make out with her boyfriend.  Oliver seems to feel her energy, giving her side a few playful yet charged squeezes that make her giggle.

“No!” she squeaks, squirming out of his grasp.  “Don’t do that here!”

The door opens as Roni is mid giggle, and she and Oliver are met with a little old man, hunched over and looking at them with a warm and expectant smile.  He’s dressed nicer than Harry’s ever seen him dress, and on his head rests a little gray cap that’s probably as old as he is.

“Oliver,” the old man says by way of a greeting.  And then he looks at Roni.  

The reaction he has to Roni is strange to say the least.  It doesn’t make Roni uncomfortable by any means, but something in his demeanor shifts, and he seems to grow a hundred times more serious.  His stare is intense; so much so that it makes Roni shift her gaze.  His eyes seem to grow strangely misty, and his jaw begins trembling-- as if he’s about to cry.

He looks at Roni like he’s known her all his life, and it’s strange.  She almost feels bad that she doesn’t recognize him as well.

She clears her throat, trying to lighten up the now tense silence.   ‘Hi!” she says, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and holding out her hand.  “I’m Roni.”

Mr. Styles swallows audibly, his trembling jaw hardly calming as a smile tugs on the corners of his lips.  “Roni,” he says.  He takes her hand in his and gives it a squeeze, never once removing his eyes from hers.  “How wonderful it is to finally meet you.”

Roni looks at Oliver, wondering if he feels the same intense vibes that she’s feeling as well.  She laughs awkwardly, unsure of what else to do. “I’ve--uh-- heard a lot about you, Mr. Styles!”

Mr. Styles grins, an old hidden dimple flashing amongst the wrinkles of his cheeks.  “All bad, I hope,” he says, and now Oliver laughs.

“Of course,” he says.  “I had to let her know what a menace you were!”

Mr. Styles laughs, sounding suddenly young and full of life again.  He moves slowly to the side.  “Come in, please.  Make yourselves comfortable!”

Roni and Oliver share a glance and a quick smile before they enter the room.  It isn’t much, but it’s cozy.  Roni is surprised when she’s met with a delicious vanilla smell emanating from a candle in the corner of the room. (Not that she’d been expecting the place to stink, of course, but she absolutely had expected it to smell like old people, which it did not.)

“Wow,” Oliver says, as if even he is surprised with the state of the room.  “Mr. Styles, you cleaned this place up nice!”

Mr. Styles grins.  “But of course,” he says.  “You have to when you have a pretty girl coming over!”  He looks at Roni.  “Does this boy not clean up for you when you’re spending time together?”

Roni giggles.  “He does.  Although I have to say, the vanilla candle is an excellent touch.  I don’t even think Oliver owns a candle!”

Mr. Styles shakes his head, a playful smile on his cheeks.  “What a shame.  Oliver, you best buy some candles for your lady!”

Oliver and Roni both laugh.  “Vanilla is my favorite,” Roni comments.

“Somehow I had a hunch,” Mr. Styles replies with a playful wink.

With every passing minute that turns into an hour, the three grow more and more comfortable together. It isn’t weird, or forced, and Roni marvels at how easy it is to talk to Mr. Styles.  He asks her questions about her life, oddly fascinated by every word that comes out of her mouth.  The way he watches her with his undivided attention makes her feel important.

He plays music from a little tape recorder that sits in the window of his room.  It takes him a moment to figure it out, and Oliver has to help him a bit, but he finally gets there.  Roni doesn’t recognize any of the music playing (nor does she realize the way Mr. Styles watches her reaction to a few specific songs very closely), but she enjoys the tunes nonetheless.

He shares memories associated with each song; what specific stories each song calls to his mind. And Roni listens, fascinated with every single one of them, realizing that she could genuinely listen to this old man speak about his youth for days.

A stack of books on the nightstand near his bed draws Roni’s attention at some point, and she rises to her feet to go examine them further. Mr. Styles notes her movements and smiles, almost  knowingly, to himself.   She thumbs at the one on the top of the pile, a small menu from some pizza place marking his spot towards the back of the book.  She cocks her head to the side to get a better view of the books title:

Alternate Realities: by Lawrence Leshawn

She blinks a few times, the concept of an alternate reality very new to her.  Without thinking, she picks the book up and scans the back of it.  She glances back at the pile, noting the various ones on time travel, meditation, and astral projection.  Time travel being the only topic of the other three books that she’d ever considered before, this discovery of books feels like a landmine of information.

“Bit nerdy, innit?”  Mr. Styles’ voice pulls Roni from her thoughts, and she turns to him, still holding the book in her hands.  His eyes twinkle.  “Is that what the kids are saying these days?  ‘Nerdy?’”

Roni giggles.  “It is.  But this isn’t nerdy.”

“Ohh,” Mr. Styles says, playfully brushing away her words with his hand.  “Come now.  Yes it is.”

“You’ll never get Roni to agree with that,” Oliver speaks up.  “Haven’t I told  you before?  She’s super into all that!”

Roni feels her cheeks go hot with embarrassment, but Mr. Styles’ only smiles at her.  “No kidding!”

“I mean…” Roni trails off shyly, worried she’s about to make a fool of herself. “Yeah.  Kinda.  It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Mr. Styles replies quickly, a hint of gravity to his words.  “Never say that.”

Roni debates telling Mr. Styles everything; about how she’s trying to find her mother, about how she’s already tried (and been unsuccessful) multiple times, and about how he is the first person (other than Oliver) who hasn’t actually thought she was silly for this at all.

But she’s only just met Mr. Styles, and she doesn’t want to bombard him with her own personal life story just yet-- nor is she certain he would really care.  So she only shrugs, a soft smile spreading across her cheeks.

“Yeah. I just… think it’s neat.  That’s all.”

There’s a look on Mr. Styles’ face that seems to say that he’s interested, but he doesn’t want to push her.  He waits patiently for her to continue, but when she doesn’t, he tries pressing just a tiny bit.  “Any particular reason?”

Even Oliver is watching her now, waiting for her answer even though he’s already known for a while. He offers her an encouraging smile, and Roni hesitates briefly before speaking   “I just want to go back and see my mom again.  She passed like five years ago and I just…”  She trails off, feeling silly despite the understanding looks on both Oliver and Mr. Styles’ faces.

“I understand.” Mr. Styles speaks up after a few moments of silence.  Roni doesn’t notice the all knowing smile on his face, or the way his eyes have grown damp.  She doesn’t catch the way he swallows down the lump in his throat.   Or how he looks at her the same way she looks out the window: pensive and lost in thought.

“Anyway,” Roni sighs, halfway through a laugh.  “I don’t know.  Oliver is the only one who believes me and even then, I’m not sure he really does.”

“I do!” Oliver laughs, shrugging almost defensively.  “I do.  I just don’t know if they’ve like… I dunno, developed some way to time travel yet.  I don’t know if technology has come that far, you know?  What  do you think, Mr. Styles?”

Both Roni and Mr. Styles seem to be deep in their own little worlds, but it’s lost on Oliver as he waits for a response from the older gentleman.  Mr. Styles smiles to himself, chuckling gently.  “I think it’s entirely possible,” he says, voice quiet.   “And I hope miss Roni never gives it up.”

Roni smiles, turning to face the old man.  “You really mean that?” she asks, stepping towards him.  “Like, you really think it’s possible?”

“I can promise you it is,” he says.  “I’m certain of it.”

Roni, realizing she’s still holding the Alternate Realities book, holds it up and gestures  at it with her free hand.  “What about this stuff?  I’ve never really heard of it.”

Mr. Styles grins, obviously glad she’s asked.  He shifts in his seat, speaking slowly.  “Have either of you ever heard of a parallel universe?”

Roni and Oliver both shake their heads, and Mr. Styles raises his eyebrows.  “No?  Well.  It’s a plane of existence, similar to the very one we’re living in right now now, that co-exists with our own.  It is said that there are multiple.”

“Multiple… existences?” Roni questions.

“That’s right,” Mr. Styles continues.  “Not much is known about them.  Especially considering that it isn’t even known if they exist or not.  But if they do, it is said that some are wildly different than your current existence now, while others are exactly the same with only a few minor differences.”

“Gnarly!” Oliver exclaims.  “So like, somewhere out there, I exist but I’m a billionaire?”

Mr. Styles chuckles.  “It’s possible.”

“Wait wait wait,” Roni says, significantly less convinced than her boyfriend.  “So you mean that somewhere out there in the world, there’s another Roni?  Who has no idea I exist?”

“We don’t know.”  Mr. Styles shrugs.  “Maybe.  Or maybe she knows all about you.”

Roni shakes her head, trying to wrap her mind around all this new information.  “That’s nuts.”

“Not really,” Oliver offers. “Kinda makes sense if you think about it.”

“So wait” Roni says, setting the book on the dresser and walking to stand by Mr. Styles.  “I told you why I’m into this.  Why are you into this?”

The old man goes quiet, smiling a tight lipped smile and hesitating as if really giving thought to his answer. “I like to think that in another reality, somewhere in time, I’m with my honey.”

Roni softens.  “Oh, I see.  Did she--”  She’s about to ask if Mr. Styles’ girl passed away as well, but she thinks better of it, unsure as to whether or not that’s an appropriate question.

Mr. Styles chuckles quietly, knowing exactly where Roni was going with her question. “I lost her,” he explains, because it isn’t technically a lie.  “Many, many years ago.”

“Oh.”  Roni frowns.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”  At this point, it’s impossible for him to hide the way his voice cracks.  Roni looks at him, then averts her eyes, as if she feels guilty for hearing it.  Oliver sighs, stepping forward.

“Mr. Styles--”

“You remind me of her,” Mr. Styles says, ignoring Oliver.  The look on his face makes it seem like he’s got more on his mind.  

“Yeah?” Roni steps towards Mr. Styles, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He sighs, reaching up to place his hand on top of hers.  “Yeah,” he says. “More than you’d even believe.”

“Wish I could’ve met her.”

Mr. Styles grins up at her, swallowing thickly and patting her hand.  “Yeah.  She was my honey.”

He takes a deep breath, looking away from Roni and glancing out the window.  There’s a charged silence.  Oliver squirms uncomfortably, but Roni stays right where she is, waiting patiently for Mr. Styles to continue.

“I think she’s doing just fine,” Mr. Styles says.  He smiles up at Roni.  “Wherever she is.”

“Maybe she’s with my mom,” Roni offers.

Mr. Styles closes his mouth, blinks back a few of his tears, and nods his head.  “Perhaps she is.  Wouldn’t that be something.”

“I didn’t mean to like… make you sad or anything, Mr. Styles--”

“You didn’t, darling.” The old man shakes his head.  “Don’t be silly.”

Somehow, Roni doesn’t believe him.

The subject is swiftly changed and the rest of their visit goes by relatively smoothly.  Mr. Styles is back to his cheery self before Roni can even think twice about the interaction they’ve just shared, and soon the three are laughing and chatting away like best friends again.

All too quickly does their visit come to an end.  They say their goodbyes, although it’s obvious that Mr. Styles doesn’t want their time together to be over.  He looks almost emotional to be saying goodbye to Roni, something that neither of the two teenagers seem to understand.

After he gives her a warm embrace, careful not to hold her too long or, heaven forbid, make her feel uncomfortable, Mr. Styles pulls away, holding Roni at arm’s length.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Confused, Roni cocks her head to the side.  “For?”

“You’ve made me feel young again.  I cannot even begin to express how badly I needed this.”

Roni smiles.  “Oh.  You’re welcome then!”  She giggles.  “It was so nice meeting you, Mr. Styles.”

“The pleasure was all mine, honey.”  His hands tremble as he lets go of her.  He turns to Oliver.  “You bring her back to visit sometime soon, alright?”

Oliver chuckles.  “I will.  But don’t go liking her more than you like me, now.  I’ve been here way longer.”

Mr. Styles laughs.  “Sure,”  he says,   “but she is prettier.”

Oliver slings his arm over Roni’s shoulder.    “Well I can’t argue with that, can I?”

When they finally do go their separate ways, Roni and Oliver playfully chase each other out to Oliver’s car-- blissfully unaware of the way that Mr. Styles watches them from his bedroom window with tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks. They don’t know that Mr. Styles doesn’t leave his bedroom for the entire rest of the  day-- to the point that the caretakers at the home begin to worry about him.  

They don’t know that Mr. Styles has just reunited with his honey,  after nearly sixty-five years of looking for her, and that she has obviously no idea herself.

Oliver continues his weekly visits to Mr. Styles room for a few more weeks, noting that he is completely unlike himself, until mid April when Mr. Styles passes away.  

Oliver attends his funeral.  Roni, visiting a cousin out of town, does not.

Both Roni and Oliver eventually forget about the old man completely,  moving on with their lives and living together in blissful ignorance of  just how odd time can be.

It isn’t until ten years later, in April of 2000, that Roni  seems to recall the little old man, realizing with immense sadness how significant he really was.

With a heart shattering sob, she hopes that he’s with his honey, somewhere in time, just like he said.

------

December 31st, 1999, 11:54pm

It is ridiculously bright when Roni tries to open her eyes.  

She opens her eyes too quickly at first, immediately regretting it and squeezing them shut again.  The act of closing them once more, however, pushes a hot tear that’s been waiting for release from the corner of one eye  

And suddenly, it all comes flooding back to her.

Harry, 1925, Violet LaRue, the ocean, her mother…

She is so overwhelmed all at once with emotions that she grows sort of nauseous, and she sits up immediately to try and stop the spinning of the room around her.  

The room --her and Oliver’s shared bedroom-- looks completely untouched, as if she’d never left.  There is hip-hop music booming downstairs, lots of chattering, and a smell in the air that can only be described as drunk people.  The silence in the room, however, contrasts the chaos that’s occurring downstairs, and it makes her head pound.

Roni looks around slowly, noticing the skimpy, revealing party dress she’s wearing that clings to her every curve. It looks untouched as well, albeit a bit disheveled, and she reaches a cautious hand down to smooth it over her lap.

She hears Oliver’s booming laugh downstairs, and the sound feels like a stab to the heart. He must be completely wasted. The clock on the wall reads 11:54pm, and she knows she has to get back down to the party before the clock strikes midnight.

Never in her entire life has Roni felt anything like the feeling she’s currently experiencing.  

Surely she couldn’t have dreamt it all.  It was real-- Harry was real, and seeing her mother was real.  Besides, the fact that she’s even crying right now tells her that she had to have been experiencing something physical.  

Which reminds her…

Roni rises to her feet and makes her way over to the mirror hanging on the back of the door.  She pulls the neckline of her dress down, and feels her own breath catch in her throat when she finds what she’s looking for.

There, in the exact spot on her chest that she’d been anticipating it to be, is a bruise left by Harry.  The last remaining physical reminder of his existence.

With a shaky hand, she gently brushes her thumb over the purpling skin.  It stings, just a bit, but it’s real.  It’s there.  And it’s too much for Roni to handle.

Grateful for the cover of the commotion downstairs, Roni can’t help herself but to let out a pathetic sob as everything comes flooding over her.  How could she have been with Harry not even five minutes ago?  And her mother?  How was her mother just there and now suddenly she’s gone again?  

How can she be expected to go on in a world where neither of them exist, and she’s the only one with knowledge of what she’s just experienced?

She collapses to her knees, eyes closing and another choking sob echoing from her throat.  She reaches up to wipe her damp eyelashes, mindful of the fact that sooner or later she’s going to have to go downstairs and face everybody again— which she can’t do with a face full of runny makeup.

But right now she doesn’t care.  Right now, she’s overwhelmed, and upset, and deeply, deeply missing the love of her life.

It’s been ages since she’s cried this hard, and it feels somewhat therapeutic, although it doesn’t fix the terrible ache in her heart. Her throat hurts and her chest heaves. She reaches up to cover her own mouth to quiet her wails as her heart feels like it’s physically breaking.  

She misses him.  She misses him so much.

On top of that, having her mother so close to her after so long without her--only to have to leave her once more-- is more painful than she had ever anticipated it would be.  

Roni remains like this for another minute or so, until she’s drawn by her thoughts when she hears her own name faintly downstairs.  Someone asks where she is, and Oliver slurs out that she’s been gone for a while.  When someone suggests that he go find her and he jubilantly agrees, Roni panics.

“Shit.”  She reaches up and wipes at her snotty nose; stumbling awkwardly to her feet and making her way to the mirror once again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  

Roni scrambles to fix her hair and wipe away the splotchy mascara stains under her eye.  She prays that Oliver is too drunk to even notice that she’s crying, and she swallows down the intense heartache still in her throat.  When she’s at least somewhat satisfied with her appearance, she hears footsteps coming down the hallway— her cue to leave.  With a deep breath, she opens the bedroom door just in time to eee Oliver approaching.

Oliver, with his sweet, drunken smile, immediately opens his arms. “Ronnaaaaaay!” He says, by way of greeting her.  “There you are!” He doesn’t wait for her to respond, instead he just wraps her up in his arms and gives her a big, suffocating squeeze.  He pulls away to press an obnoxious kiss to her forehead, and it breaks Roni’s heart even more.  

On any other occasion, she would find this unbearably adorable. But now, the scent of the alcohol mixed with his cologne is making her even more nauseous than she already was.

After a few more wet pecks to her forehead, he squishes her cheeks in his hand and kisses his way down her face, pausing only once he reaches her mouth and realizes it’s wet and salty.  He pulls away, not removing his hands from her cheeks, and furrows his eyebrows as he scans her face. “You been crying?”

Roni knows that if she opens her mouth, she’ll lose control again. So she only smiles, turning away and giggling softly as she nods.

Oliver doesn’t seem to find this as humorous as Roni does, and he tilts his head so that he’s once again in her line of vision. “Heyyy, hey,” he coos. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She sniffs, trying her hardest to keep her light smile on her face. “It’s nothing,” she says, throat raspy and voice hardly above a whisper. “I promise.”

“It’s not nothing,” he says, wiping at Roni’s damp face and gently guiding her back into their bedroom.  He’s thoughtful like that-- he doesn’t want Roni to feel it necessary to squash her emotions should anyone walk by.  He knows she wouldn’t want anyone else to see her crying like this. He doesn’t close the door fully, leaving only a crack, before turning to Roni.

She doesn’t say anything, but the way he’s being so ridiculously sweet to her is making her want to cry harder. This isn’t fair; not fair to her and definitely not to him.  She crosses her arms over her torso, feeling ridiculously vulnerable under his gaze.

He gives her a sympathetic smile, and there’s a look in his eyes that comes across almost as if he knows what’s going on.  She lets out a little half laugh/half sob, and she feels closer to him than she expected to in this moment. She speaks.

“Are you gonna say something?”

Oliver cuts her off, speaking only a half second after her. “You tried that time travel junk again, didn’t you?”

His words feel like a slap to the face, but they aren’t exactly wrong.  She stays frozen, mouth agape, and then wilts.  

“Yeah,” she whispers, because what else is there for her to say?

“Ohhh, babe.” Oliver steps towards her, wrapping her in his arms. I told you it wasn’t gonna work.”

Roni knows she should have expected that kind of response from him, but still.  Ouch.  

For a split second, she almost loses it.  She almost tells him everything; about how it did work, about how she’s actually been gone for a little over a week now-- not just a few minutes--, and about how hard it was to find her way back. She wants to mention seeing her mom, and she wants to rub it in his face. “You were wrong! You were wrong about it all! I saw my mom! She hugged me!”

It’s when she considers telling him about Harry, however, that some sense is knocked back into her.

Just the mere, brief thought of Harry makes her want to break down again, and subconsciously the mark on her chest that Harry had left begins to sting.  She chews the inside of her cheek so hard it hurts.

“I’m sorry, honey.”  Oliver’s use of the pet name that Roni had grown so used to hearing from Harry’s mouth makes her nauseated.  She tries to break free from Oliver’s grasp, but he holds her tighter.  “I know how much you wanted it to work.”

“Stop,” she whispers.

He doesn’t hear her.

“I know you’ve tried for years, but haven’t you been through enough heartbreak?”  Oliver sighs.  “I really think it’s time you give it up, Ron.  I don’t know why you won’t just listen to me about this stuff.”

“Stop it.”  Roni finally does break out of Oliver’s embrace, and in his drunken state he blinks dumbly back at her.

“Did I say something?”

“Fuck’s sake,” she says, wiping the tears on her cheeks.  “You’re right, okay?  I’m an idiot.  I’m done trying.  I quit.  Is that what you want to hear? Can we fucking stop?”

Oliver frowns, hesitantly taking a step towards Roni.  “Babe, I didn’t mean--”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Roni says, harsher than intended.  “Okay?  Drop it.  Please.  I’m begging.  I just want to go to bed.”

“But it’s almost midnight.”  Oliver is pouting now, and although it should make Roni soften a bit, it only makes her angry.

Oliver takes a more definitive step in Roni’s direction.  “I don’t want to start the new year fighting with you, babe.  Can we just go back down to our party?  We can talk about this tomorrow.” He shrugs.  “Or not! We don’t have to ever talk about it again if you don’t want to.  I just want to bring in the new year kissing you, surrounded by our friends.  So can we just… please?”

Roni scans his face, feeling more and more on the verge of breakdown with every passing second.  She closes her eyes, wishing she were anywhere but here, and covers her face with her hands.  “God,” she groans, before taking a big breath and opening her eyes again.  “Fine.  Sure.  Let’s go.”

Oliver smiles softly, holding out his hand timidly for her to take.  “Sure you’re not mad?”

It isn’t Oliver’s fault.  Of course it isn’t.  So how can Roni be angry with him?

She sighs, trying to bitterly laugh off a tear that’s threatening to roll down her cheek and ignoring his hand.  “Yeah,” she says quietly.  “I’m sure.”

“Not sure I believe you,” Oliver chuckles, “But okay.”  He steps in, closing the gap between him and Roni and puckering his lips.  He speaks in a babyish voice that, in any other circumstances, would absolutely melt Roni.  “Gimme kiss?”

It makes Roni even more upset than she already is, but who is she to deny Oliver? He is none the wiser as to what’s going on, and she can’t exactly drop this bomb on him right now. Not when he’s drunk.  Not when there’s a party going on downstairs.

Not when they’ve been together for so many years with absolutely no problems before this.

Before Roni even has time to process what’s happening, Oliver is taking her wrist in his hand and pulling her impossibly closer to him.  He kisses her, softly at first, and then a bit more passionate once their lips are fastened together.  

It’s Oliver who is making all the effort then; tongue maneuvering it’s way into Roni’s mouth as seductively as he can manage.  Roni would have no objections to this in any other situation.  In fact, she would welcome this.  The normal Roni would suggest she and Oliver skip out on the midnight countdown altogether, in fact, and elect to stay up here bringing in the new year whilst fucking like rabbits.

But not now.  Of course not now.  In fact, probably not ever again.  How could she ever go back to Oliver now?  After Harry?  After everything she’d felt for Harry?

How could she have done this to Oliver?

She gently pushes Oliver off of her, hoping he doesn’t note the tears in her eyes.  “Please,” she says quietly.  “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”  Oliver giggles,  “Kiss your boyfriend?  You scared our friends will catch on?  Start thinking we might have crushes on each other?  Assume you think I’m hot?”

Roni knows Oliver is playing around, but she genuinely is not in the mood for that right now, and she’s afraid that if he says much else she’ll snap.  She groans, leaning in and pressing the most bland, unemotional kiss to his lips.  “Lets go,” she says.  “Please.  We’re going to miss the countdown.”

She begins making her way out of the room with Oliver close behind her.  “I expect a much better kiss than that when the ball drops!” Oliver says. “Much, much better!”

Roni’s heart is pounding in her ears so loudly she can hardly hear herself think. Her face grows hot while the inside of her body feels cold.  She’s having a panic attack, no doubt about it, and for once she’s glad that everyone is going to be too drunk to acknowledge it.

“Ron?”  Oliver asks as he and Roni begin descending the stairs. “Hey, Ron? Baby… will you stop a minute?”

“I don’t want to miss the ball drop,” Roni says, refusing to turn around and trying her hardest to sound like her breathing is under control.

Oliver stops her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Sweetheart,” he says tenderly. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” Roni insists, more urgently than intended.  She sighs (the shakiness of her breath incredibly obvious to both of them) and softens as best she can.  

“I’m not being weird,” she repeats. “Just tired.”

“You know if something is going on you can tell me, right?” Oliver sounds more sober than he has in hours, and the way he looks at Roni makes her insides shake with guilt.

She opens her mouth to speak, but has to forcibly stop herself when she almost says Harry’s name. She scans his face, so genuinely concerned and yet ridiculously kind, and she swallows down the vomit rising in her throat.  “Yeah,” she says “I know.”

Oliver smiles.  “Okay then.”  He gives her shoulder a squeeze and follows  her lead back into the living room.

Roni feels like she’s in a dream as she moves;  like her body is here physically but her mind is elsewhere.  In the strangest way possible, her brain feels small and disconnected entirely.   She can see everyone cheering when she and Oliver walk in.  She can feel her friend put a red solo cup filled with alcohol into her hand.  She can hear her name being called, but she doesn’t register it.  She doesn’t register anything that’s going on at the moment, actually.

Her attention is briefly caught when she hears people start counting down, signaling that the ball is about to drop.  Their exuberant voices sound far away, however, as if she’s hearing them from the next room over.  Her face feels cold and her hands feel sweaty, and she thinks maybe if everyone would scoot over a bit she’d be able to breathe better.

“18….17…. 16….”

Someone accidentally bumps into Roni, knocking into the cup in her hand and sloshing a bit of its contents onto her dress.  No one reacts; in fact, no one else even notices. Oliver gives her hand a quick squeeze, pulling her close to him and wrapping his arm around her waist.

“...12… 11….”

Roni’s ears burn.  She knows where she is, but she cannot, for the life of her, focus on a single thing.  Her heart is hurting.  This doesn’t feel right.  She shouldn’t be here.

Slowly, the room around her begins spinning.  Roni wobbles a bit on her feet and Oliver catches her, probably chalking her wooziness up to her being as drunk as he is. She almost wishes she was, because maybe that would make everything hurt less.

“...8… 7…6”

Roni’s throat feels like it’s closing in on itself, and her mind seems to be running far behind her actual body.  She tries to blink herself into some clarity, glancing around the room.  She’s looking--hoping-- for someone who she knows damn well isn’t there.  Someone who couldn’t even try to be there.  The only person she cares to see at this point.

“...3...2...1…”

The entire room erupts in cheers, which definitely doesn’t help the throbbing in Roni’s brain, and the song Auld Lang Syne blasts from the tv.  There is nothing but chaos surrounding Roni, and she almost gags at the feeling of the lump in her throat.   She opens her mouth to say something, but is promptly cut off when Oliver pulls her in by her hips, fastening his lips to hers in a kiss that feels a far too enthusiastic for Roni’s taste.

The way he’s holding her by her hips would be enough to make her swoon on any other occasion. But now it makes her feel suffocated, and she doesn’t even close her eyes as she gives Oliver a half-assed kiss back.

No one else in the room seems to be aware of what’s going on.  They’re all too drunk, too busy making out with their respective partners/fuck buddies/love interests for the evening, to seem to care or even notice at all that Roni’s eyes are wide open.  The guilt, the pain, the longing for Harry-- all of it wraps itself around Roni’s heart and squeezes like a python.

Oliver pulls away, a dopey smile on his face.  “Happy New Year, baby!”

He looks so thrilled; so beyond naive to not only the fact that she’s hurt him in what she’s certain will be an unforgivable way, but also the fact that she is more concerned with missing Harry than feeling much else at all right now.

“Roni?”

A voice from off to the side catches her attention, and she turns in slow motion to see her and Oliver’s mutual friend, Zach, squinting at her.  “Ron, you don’t look so good.”

“Wait, yeah,” comes Zach’s girlfriend, Skye.  “Girl, are you okay?”

Roni hears their questions.  She hears them, but she doesn’t process them.  Zach and Skye aren’t the only people who seem to be concerned, as more and more people around them quickly catch on.

“Sweetheart?” comes Oliver’s voice, and Roni turns, almost drunkenly.

“Is she drunk?”

“Did she take something?”

“She looks green!”

“Baby?” It’s Oliver’s voice that breaks through the deafening noise the most, although Roni still can’t even really process what he’s saying. “Roni?  Hun, can you hear me?”

“Everyone step back!”

“Let her breathe!”

“Can someone get her some water?”

“Ron?”

Her breathing is so shallow now that she can actually hear herself gasping for air.  She feels like she’s choking.  She hates this.  She hates these people.  She doesn’t want to be here.

Where she wants to be is with Harry.  Alone with him, in his tiny apartment that isn’t even half the size of the room.  The year 2000 nothing but a vague memory, something she knows is so far in the future that  she’ll never have to worry about it.  She should have stayed.

Goddammit, she should have stayed.

As she looks around the room at these people who she should love-- who she should be thrilled to be surrounded by-- she realizes that she’s never felt more alone.  Not a single one of them would understand what’s going on. How is she supposed to continue on into the new year-- the new millennium-- feeling so isolated in her own feelings?

“I can’t breathe.”

She can feel herself saying the words, yet her own voice sounds so fuzzy and far away.

“She can’t breathe!” someone repeats.  “Everyone back up!”

“Can we get her some water?”

“Ron?”

It’s too much.  It’s all too fucking much.

Roni’s knees wobble a bit before she feels them buckle.  The last thing she sees before hitting the ground is Oliver worriedly scrambling to catch her.  

And then everything is dark.