Sometimes I wish that I could send myself, the Marisa I am now, back in time a few years to talk to the me I was back then. I would give myself a little reassurance that things would be okay. I would be careful not to tell myself too much about the future, I wouldn’t want to alter the path, just put aside some of the pain.
I’d also like for a future version of myself to stop by and visit me now. I’d make some iced green tea and we’d talk about the crazy things that have been happening in my life recently. She’d listen lovingly even though she knew all the stories and their outcomes. She’d rub my back when the last traces of upset got the best of me and I started to cry. She’d occasionally get a sly smile on her face, enjoying watching me try to put some of the pieces together but know that puzzle wasn’t complete yet.
The future Marisa would assure me that everything has really worked out, even though it didn’t go exactly the way we thought it would. After hours, an entire pitcher of tea, tears and hysterical laughter, she would look up and realize that it was time for her to get back. She wouldn’t tell me what she was returning to, but I’d be able to tell by the look on her face that it was a good thing. We’d hug good-bye and she’d whisper in my ear, “It will be better than you can even imagine” before fading away.
I’d sigh, missing her the way I miss my mom each time I get on the airplane to return to Philly, and then I turn and clean up the dishes.