Luc sits beside her, setting the box in her lap. She glances between us. “What in the world are y’all up to?”
I rub my hands together. “Open it.”
“A fake snake isn’t going to spring out, is it?” She gives me the side-eye. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that prank y’all played on me in the lunchroom with the Pringles can.”
“No fake snakes,” Luc swears. “Just open it, Maggie May. You’ll like what’s inside. I promise.”
She eyes us askance for a while longer, but her curiosity eventually gets the better of her. When she opens the box, I chuckle. Sitting on top of a neatly stacked pile of odds and ends are three movie stubs forWALL-E. She gasps and gently, as if handling delicate and ancient artifacts, pulls them from the box.
“How many times did you drag us to see that movie?” I ask.
“Three,” Luc answers before she can.
She bites her lip and giggles, the sound that of her sixteen-year-old self. “And what y’all don’t know is I saw it two more times when I went to visit Eva. I loved that sad little robot.”
“I know,” Luc and I say in unison as she tenderly tucks the tickets back into the cigar box so she can pull out a folded piece of notebook paper.
She places her hand over her heart. I think maybe her eyes are overly bright. Damned if there isn’t a telltale burn behind my eyeballs too.
Going through this time capsule was sure to bring back old feelings. I knew that going in. But I wasn’t prepared for how bittersweet those old feelings would be.
“Is this what I think it is?” Her voice is tremulous.
When Luc nods, a sound that’s something between a sob and a hiccup escapes her. She carefully unfolds the sheet of paper, revealing three sets of handwriting in a mix of pencil lead and multiple colors of ink. The entire sheet is covered with words, edge to edge, top to bottom.
Our senior year, Luc came up with a brilliant plan that the three of us should keep a running tally of our dreams and aspirations. Those dreams could be silly or serious, completely possible or totally unlikely. The only rule was that we had to add a new dream or aspiration to the paper each week.
A tear trickles down Maggie’s cheek. I want to thumb it away, but I keep my hands in my lap. Have to be careful with her. Play my part just right.
“I always wondered what happened to this thing.” She smoothes her finger over the top three entries. They each read the same thing, “Own a bar in the French Quarter.”
For a while, we’re quiet, contemplating the strange trajectory our lives have taken. Who would have thought that, between the three of us, Maggie would be the one to actually realize that dream? Then Luc laughs and points to one of my entries.
“Jump out of an airplane?” He lifts an eyebrow. “You can scratch that one off the list. Done and done and then some.”
I think back on our brutal HALO training. HALO is the acronym the US military gives the high-altitude parachute jumps performed by spec-ops teams who don’t open their chutes until they’re low to the ground. High altitude because it keeps the plane out of the range of surface-to-air missiles. Low opening because most of these jumps are performed at night. And while it’s difficult for an enemy combatant to see a man dressed in all black and falling through the sky at terminal velocity, it’s not hard to make out a big, open parachute and a slow, lazy descent.
The whole process is scary as shit and dangerous as hell.
“A clear case of needing to be careful what I wish for,” I mutter.
“You got that right,” he agrees.
Maggie makes a face. “I’m not going to ask what y’all are talking about. Sounds like I’m better off not knowing.”
Luc nudges her. “Keep going. What else is in there?”
She gingerly refolds the notebook paper and places it next to the movie tickets. When she pulls out a Twinkie, she wrinkles her nose. “What on God’s green earth?”
Luc throws back his head and laughs. “Hell, man. I completely forgot you did that.”
“I didn’t.” I take the Twinkie from Maggie and inspect the wrapper. Still intact. And besides being a bit smashed, the cake inside appears to be in tip-top shape.
“He wanted to test the theory that Twinkies stay fresh forever. According to urban legend, they’re supposed to since they don’t contain any actual food products, just chemicals.” Luc hitches his chin toward my Twinkie. “Go on, then. Finish your experiment.”
I rip open the wrapper, and the smell of sugar and cake perfumes the air. Yard glances up from his tennis ball, one ear standing at attention like a good soldier. The other doesn’t quite have what it takes and flops down at the tip.
“Don’t you dare.” Maggie eyes me in horror.
