Young Writers Society

Sitting beside Hablex, Wilson’s gaze had returned to the drawing and she smiled in return. Hablex seemed like a really sweet girl. She liked her.

“Oh, I don’t do a lot of art nowadays. But I went through a phase a long time ago where I was obsessed with painting. I’d met a calligraphist who took me in as a pupil and taught me how to use my arm as an instrument, and my brush as an extension of my arm.” She looked out into the room, making a small sweeping motion with her hand poised to hold an imaginary brush. “And that was when something triggered for me. For the next few years all I wanted to do was write pretty words and paint. I found such joy in creating - and I still do! It was just a long time ago... so lately, I’ve taken to learning pottery and baking.”

He hand returned to her lap and she looked over at Hablex, eyes shining at the recalled memories. “Thanks for reminding me of that...” she said softly. “Sometimes I forget... the joys I’ve had before.”

She looked back to the drawing again. “But uh, you! You’ve definitely got a keen eye for art. I can tell by the form of Amy you drew. You got the main lines of action down nicely. The drawing has lots of movement and I like it!”

She recoiled at Amy's tone. She hadn't meant for it to come across as offensive - that was something that usually happened with Adrian, not her. She bit her lip and took a deep, shaky breath. She wasn't even sure how to begin describing her feeling. Amy hadn't believed her about the superpowers until she had shown hers; why would she believe her about a feeling she didn't even understand?

"I don't know," she said. "Something about you just feels...different..."

She tried mulling over everything that Amy had said and done. There must have been something that set off the feeling, right? So what had it been? She had mentioned canvassing for Bill Clinton, but there was something before-

A memory came to her.

It was from when she was just beginning to comprehend the world around her. It might have been fifth or sixth grade. She couldn't really remember the specifics. But it was the beginning of September, and she had to ask her parents what they remembered from 9/11 as part of an assignment. They had mentioned a friend working in the towers - the first thing they had done was call that friend to make sure he was okay.

And that friend had worked in Windows on the World.

Understanding just beginning to dawn on Wren, she glanced up at Amy and stared at her with wide eyes and an incredulous look on her face. "What was the name of the restaurant you wanted to go to?" she asked. "The one where I live?"

She got to her feet and stepped out of the sled. Her worries began to fade away; instead, they were replaced by an urgency and a curiosity. Other thoughts were beginning to come to her, but she pushed them away as she waited for an answer.

Amy felt her heart racing. She had no idea where this conversation was leading, but had a bad feeling about it nonetheless. At first she didn't know what Wren was talking about, and then she was telling the others about her trip to New York with Scott.

"The Windows on the World. The one in the Twin Towers. Why?"

Hablex wanted to clap her hands together to celebrate that she found another artist. All she would do as a child was spend time in front of easels and scraps of paper, until her family members dragged her outside.

"Pottery can make some beautiful things, as well as baking, of course." She paused, thinking over what else Wilson had said. Hablex instantly blushed at the compliment floating through her mind. "Thank you very much."

She tapped her fingertips. "I don't know if Amy would like it, but maybe I can leave it there until she comes back in."

Wilson nodded in affirmation, smiling again at Hablex warmly. "Oh, I'm sure she'd like it! Most people are quite flattered to be drawn. People ask to be drawn all the time! I'm sure it would be a dream," she said, nodding her head for good measure.

She bounced in her seat a little.

"Do you have any other drawings I could see?"

The pit in her stomach returned.

She wasn't sure how she was supposed to explain the realization that she had just come to, but part of her felt a jolt of excitement. This moment made her feel like she wasn't standing in front of Amy - it made her feel like she was standing in front of her as The Actor instead. Wren always felt so shy, and scared, and small when she was herself. She never could fit in, and never felt confident.

But the reminder that she was The Actor brought the confidence she desperately needed right now.

She looked Amy over again, the last pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

"I don't think we're from the same time," Wren said. "Your clothes look different, you were canvassing for Bill Clinton, and the Twin Towers-"

Now she faltered, and the confidence faltered, too.

She didn't know what to say.

Amy didn't process the first part. I don't think we're from the same time. That would mean time travel was real, and that wasn't possible. Unless they had a DeLorean. No, it wasn't the time for jokes. Not now.

Wren had a serious look on her face and Amy had no idea why.

"I'm canvassing for Bill Clinton because he's running for re-election," Amy said, growing more confused. "And what about the Twin Towers?"

“Oh!” Well that made Hablex feel better.

“I actually don’t have anything else with me, cause all the paintings are back home.” She shrugged, scratching at her hair line. “I could definitely draw something for you later if I find some paper.”

Wilson's eyes lit up, and suddenly she was about to become the most accursed person to any artist on the planet (and she knew it).

"Would you want to draw me?" she asked with a wide smile.

Wren didn't give an answer.

She didn't know how - or even where - to even begin. She sent a hopeless, desperate look in the direction of the cabin, hoping that its occupants would somehow over the conversation and come to her defense when Amy inevitably didn't believe her.

She bit her lip.

"...We don't have them anymore," she said. She didn't know if she was supposed to say more than that. How did time travel even work? Would she make some kind of paradox, or would she alter the future if she told Amy that the Twin Towers were destroyed in a terrorist attack? Wren didn't normally mind the moral responsibility that came from being a superhero and getting involved in things like this, but this was an entirely new level of decision-making.

"What do you mean we don't have them anymore?"

Wren suddenly had a blank look on her face, and Amy decided that rather wait around for a response, she was going to go back inside.

Hablex and Wilson were there, drawing, seemingly obvious to everything. She smiled at them and had just changed back into her pajamas when she noticed a TV.

It was turned to a news channel. Breaking news.

From September 11th, 2001.

An airplane, it was unmistakable, hit the other tower. The news anchor screamed and Amy did too. She didn't want to watch any more, but she couldn't turn away. Once the anchors started saying it was likely an intentional attack, their words became white noise.

She had to call Jennifer. Jennifer lived in New York. But wait, she couldn't call. And besides, the news said it was 2001. It was 1996. If this was some of mockumentary, it was in poor taste. But it seemed so real.

"This is a sick joke, right?" Amy said. "Tell me this is a sick joke." She collapsed onto one of the chairs, her mouth wide open.

You couldn't just.... destroy the Twin Towers.

Hablex blinked at the weird device turning on. She stopped herself from asking a question though since that would surely reveal her not belonging to this world.

Although whatever the screen was saying had to be something bad since Amy looked stricken. She looked away once the girl fell into one of the chairs, going back to drawing Wilson.

Hablex probably would be the least helpful person to talk to her, so she’ll leave Amy in peace.

Wilson's mood grew sober and she grew very quiet as the TV appeared with the 9/11 footage. Amy's scream made her flinch, and she watched as Amy fell into one of the chairs.

"...It really happened," she said quietly."

She walked inside just as the news footage finished playing - footage that should have had no way of appearing. Wren had felt worried before about items of comfort appearing, but the sight of the Twin Towers being destroyed made the little bit of confidence she had left fall away.

"I'm sorry," Wren whispered.

She didn't know what else she was supposed to say. She had been born after the Twin Towers were destroyed; she couldn't even imagine a world with them in it. The majority of her life had been spent trying to understand the grief those alive had felt, and seeing Amy's reaction made her feel the same as she felt in class honoring the victims and watching the 9/11 documentaries.

Amy couldn't stop crying.

There were two more planes. One hit the Pentagon. And the fourth. That one had been headed for the White House, but it had been delayed forty minutes. In that time, the passengers were able to fight off the hijackers and regain control of the cockpit. It hadn't been enough to save their lives, but it had been to stop

Suddenly, the broadcast skipped forward a few weeks. Three thousand dead. The attack had been very intentional.

There were so many names and faces that Amy could barely keep track of them all. But among them was a two year old named Christine and her mother and father. Her parents were taking her on a trip to Disneyland and she was excited to meet Mickey Mouse. There was an eighteen year old his way home college visit. An eighty year old who'd survived the Holocaust and was on her way to San Francisco to start a new life.

Amy turned to the others. They all had solemn looks on their faces. They weren't looks of shock bur rather of grim knowledge. Had she travelled forward in time? Nothing else seemed odd or different. But they all knew, and she didn't.

When they figured out why they were here, would she go back to her own time? Or would she fid the world had changed? She felt a lump in her throat.

"What else happens in the future?" Amy managed. "Wait," she said. "Don't answer that. I don't think I want to know. I don't even want to know what year it is now. It's 1996, where I'm from. So I still have five years to go to the restaurant, if I want." She wasn't even sure why she was mentioning the restaurant right now, when that was the least of her or anyone else's worries.

Obviously, someone had wanted her to see this broadcast. Maybe she could stop it somehow. But she'd seen enough movies to know that wouldn't work. If she knew too much about the future, if she tried to change it, there could be some sort of disruption in the space time continuum.

She started crying again. It was silent in the cabin.

Just then the TV changed. It was a familiar jingle, one she'd heard many times when she was young, with her head on her mother's shoulder.

It's A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood...

Mr. Rogers. It was the episode from her childhood, when he talked about looking for the helpers.

There will be always be someone who is helping.

His calm, reassuring voice helped her dry her tears. "I love Mr. Rogers," she said. "He's actually the reason why I want to be a teacher."