Chapter 17 - The Butterfly Notebook

  It was an uneventful drive in my Great Uncle Jimmy’s big truck from Wisconsin to back home to Minneapolis, and he dropped me off at my house after doing a traditional Minnesota visit which generally requires an hour of small talk and another hour inching towards the door. After he left, I talked to Mom and she was pleased that I had had a good stay with Grandma Lola. I understood now why it was so important for me to visit her; having the matriarch acknowledge me as a girl drove that connection that the women in my family had with each other. And now I had my own connection with her. I wasn’t an Uncle Jimmy whose job it was to haul cargo as requested, I was one of several granddaughters who would be the backbone of the family some day.

  When I got down to my room, I tossed my gray suitcase on the bed and prepared to work. I had spent the last three hours of the drive brainstorming as we drove, and I was determined to start making my plans. It was the first time since I woke up back in my childhood room that I really started thinking hard about the opportunity that had been given to me. I was more than thirty years in the past, and despite only being an eleven year-old girl, I was armed with knowledge about the next few decades. Well, a general knowledge; after all, it’s not like I could remember specific dates off the top of my head. Wikipedia wasn’t going to be invented for about ten years.

  After unpacking my suitcase, I scoured my room for something to write on. I found a spiral-bound notebook with a pink cartoon butterfly over a black starscape. I don’t remember where it came from, though it was probably left behind by Erin during one of our sleepovers. Considering that it was about to be filled with accurate predictions about the future, the more unassuming it was the better and I doubted that any adult would bother peeking into a girl’s notebook. I pulled up a chair to my little cubby-desk and chewed on my pencil while I considered what to write down first.

  I decided to start off with things that I could do to improve myself. While I was honestly enjoying being a girl, there were a few aspects of it that I didn’t like. For example, I hated that I was generally much weaker than I was in my previous life as Matthew. At first I thought it was due to my youthful body, but I was beginning to notice that I wasn’t getting stronger like the boys my age were. I was not particularly strong as Matthew, but it was constantly frustrating that it wasn’t possible to lift certain things that I had in my previous life as a male. I doubted that I would be able to change anything about my physical strength.

  Some of the first things I planned out was about my general health. It was inevitable that I would be weaker as a female than a male, but I knew that I would need to get some physical exercise. I never worked out as Matthew during my teens, so I was determined that Maya would become fit. I’d have to figure out some way to do so, since I didn’t particularly like sports. I also resolved to eat healthy; if I was going to go through my teenage years as a girl I was not going to be overweight. Since I was rather skinny now, I figured if I made up a good diet now I’d avoid developing unwanted fat.

  After writing out some plans for health, I started thinking about other ways that I could develop myself. I had already begun; I was getting high marks in school, I was reading new books, and I was taking up useful hobbies like my piano playing. As Matthew I had taken up the guitar in my thirties, which had been far too late to make music an important part of my life or to learn sheet music. I figured since I already had years of practice, I’d be considered a prodigy if I took up the guitar now. So I put it on the list.

  Thinking about guitars, and how to convince my parents to buy me one, made me think even more about music. As I pondered this, my radio started playing a Nirvana song. A crazy thought entered my head; it was November of 1992 and Kurt Cobain was alive and well…could I prevent his death!? I couldn’t remember the exact date of his suicide, just that it will happen in 1994. Maybe it was impossible, seeing as how I was just some eleven year-old girl. But there were others farther down the line, deaths that I could prevent.

  Grimly, I started writing down the fates of my family members in the notebook. Dad would die from COVID in 2020. Uncle Wayne and Aunt Patty would be in a fire in 2012. Grandpa Brown died in a car accident in 2011. It was horrifying how many accurate dates I was able to write down off the top of my head, and it was a dark business. I made a section for everyone in my family, trying to remember accidents and illnesses that they had over the years. Mom had a cancer scare in 2007. Tim broke his leg during the summer before his senior year. It was painful, and I teared up several times, but I wrote it down regardless.

  It got even crazier when I thought about the events that I knew would happen. Matthew had had a head for trivia, and his memories raced through my head of dates and events in history. Could I prevent the Afghanistan invasion? Could I prevent the housing crisis of 2008? Could I prevent the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2023? I wrote down all of the tragedies that I could remember, and though I doubted I would be able to affect anything I had to think to myself that maybe there was something I could do. But first I would need money. I had a few ideas for that…which I quickly wrote down. I was becoming quite machiavellian in my little pink butterfly notebook, and by the time Mom called me upstairs for dinner I had written out quite a lot. The history of the world, before it happened.

  When school started again on Monday, I brought my notebook with me to class. Since classes were a breeze for me, sitting in a lecture was a good opportunity to scribble information into my notebook. What looked like a girl writing studiously was the machinations of a time traveler from the future determined to change history. It was ridiculous, the more I thought about it, but it was definitely engaging. Writing it down even triggered me into recalling other events, which I in turn recorded.

  For the first week I was actively writing out everything I could recall about the future, and for the remaining weeks before Christmas break began I began to consolidate and organize the contents. By the time school let out for the break I had filled out most of the notebook with whatever I could remember about the future. I made sure that the notebook remained out of sight, at least until I could get a lockbox or something. This little notebook had information that world leaders would kill to get their hands on! I would occasionally pull it out to edit or add things as I remembered them, but at the moment I was pretty much limited in anything I could do. I was just a kid after all, and the majority of these events were years away.

  Christmas Eve brought the traditional get-together with Mom’s side of the family. It was pretty much Grandpa and Grandma Brown and my uncle Trevor’s family, which included my horrible aunt. Not having seen me in months meant she hadn’t seen how feminine I was becoming, and seeing me with long hair and a Christmas dress meant it was undeniable that I was female and she had nothing to sting me with. I kept out of her way regardless.

  My family spent their first Christmas morning in our new house, and as requested Santa delivered an electric guitar. It was clearly second hand, but a solid instrument with a smooth white casing. It came with a small amp as well as a headset, which meant that I’d be able to practice without bothering the rest of my family. It would be tricky to regain the muscle memory that I had developed as Matthew. I adjusted the strings and took a few tentative plucks and was pleased with the sound. In a way, improving my guitar skills would be a nice tribute to Matthew.

  After our traditional Christmas breakfast I toyed with my new axe as Tim and Janie played with their new gifts, when Dad whipped up to get dressed for the ride up north to Grandma and Grandpa Peterson’s house. We all groaned and complained, which was a yearly ritual since we all hated putting away our Christmas loot to head to their cold farmhouse, but we had no choice. After showering and fixing my hair I threw on the same green dress I wore for Christmas Eve. Taking one last longing look at my new guitar, I loaded into the car and we made the snowy drive up north to Grandpa Peterson’s.

  When we arrived, I was disappointed to see that Uncle Wayne and my cousins hadn’t arrived yet. We lived closer to them now, and I had gotten a chance to spend more time with Margaret, Missy, and Melanie. They were all older than me, and sort of took it upon themselves to look out for me, mostly because I wasn’t their annoying male cousin any more. I could hear Grandpa Peterson barking at someone in the backroom, so while my family split off I went to the snack table to grab some of Grandma Peterson’s stale Christmas treats. Since there wasn’t anyone my age yet, I just found a chair in the corner and munched on cookies, trying to avoid getting crumbs all over my dress.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Jacque, my grandpa’s black labrador, came over and started sniffing around me. He was a large, gentle dog, and I scratched his ears. He sniffed at the cheese on my plate, and gave me that doleful look with his dark eyes, and I snuck him a piece of cheese. As I did, a shadow loomed over me and a hand came down to cuff Jacque hard on his head, and he yelped.

  “Bad dog!” yelled Grandpa Peterson, as he hit Jacque’s ear again, and he whimpered and slunk away. “And you,” he said, glaring down at me, “we don’t give food to dogs in this – well well, if it isn’t little Matt!”

  My heart sank a bit as Grandpa Peterson sneered down at me. “It’s Maya, grandpa.”

  He gave a mean chuckle. “Even more of a little sissy than you were last year, aren’t we, Matt? All dolled up in a little dress.” He pawed at my headband, and I jerked my head away.

  “I’m not a sissy, grandpa,” I said as confidently as I could despite my growing fear. “I’m a girl. And my name is Maya.”

  He gave another snort, and took a sip of his beer. From behind him, I saw Dad come up and firmly turn Grandpa around. “Hey Dad, Merry Christmas,” he said nervously, trying to meekly pivot him away from me.

  Grandpa took another sip of beer and turned to Dad. “Well there’s Davey,” he said a bit derisively. “You arrived late, as usual,” he spat. It wasn’t true; heck, it was Uncle Wayne who was usually late to gatherings. But Grandpa always bullied his four sons, and Dad in particular. But Dad never stood up for himself even in my previous life as Matthew. Of course, Grandpa never leered at me like he had just done.

  Dad attempted a laugh to defuse the tension. “Well, they haven’t plowed the roads yet up here,” he replied nervously.

  I took the opportunity to get out of my chair and slunk out into the living room and away from Grandpa. He was always a jerk, but today it felt really bad. Dangerous, almost. My heart was beating faster, and I sat next to Mom on the couch. I could see Grandpa in the other room as he started ranting about something as Dad pliantly listened. I stayed close to Mom, and saw Grandpa glance in my direction once or twice. I shivered each time.

  About a half hour passed before Uncle Wayne and my cousins arrived, and as soon as I could I raced upstairs with them into one of the bedrooms. We started chattering about girlish things as we usually did, and I was glad to be out of the living room and behind a closed door with them.

  We played cards on the bed in their guest room for over an hour, and I could tell that even my cousins hated coming up to the farmhouse for Christmas, for pretty much the same reason my family did. It was pretty much a wait out the clock situation until we could get home to play with our presents. After one of our games finished, I excused myself to the bathroom before we started the next one. I went downstairs through the back hallway and into the bathroom to do my business. After washing my hands, I pulled open the door.

  Grandpa Peterson was standing there, looking down at me. My stomach jumped into my throat as he blocked my exit.

  “Excuse me, Grandpa,” I said quietly, my anxiety rising.

  He gave a creepy smile which stank of beer, and suddenly reached out to touch my shoulder. He gripped it firmly. “You know Matt, you do make a pretty little thing.”

  His fingernails dug into my shoulder, and I immediately started to tremble. I tried to break free, but he was so much bigger than me. “Let me go, Grandpa!”

  He laughed again, cruelly, but didn’t let go. In fact, he actually pushed me back into the bathroom. I started to panic. “It makes me wonder about your little slit, if you have one,” he jeered. “Maybe we ought to check.”

  I screamed, which was drowned out by the noise of the party. But as he entered the bathroom with me, a shadow appeared in the doorframe and from behind Grandpa a couple of hands gripped him from behind.

  “What did you just say?” growled my Dad, his eyes bulging in rage. A rage I had never seen in him before.

  Grandpa turned, trying to play it off, but Dad gripped him again, and pulled him into the hall and away from me. I was curled against the wall as Dad slammed Grandpa against the adjacent wall. For the first time, I noticed that Dad was larger than Grandpa, and Grandpa seemed to shrink.

  “Now Davey, just calm down,” Grandpa said pathetically. In response, Dad slammed him against the wall again.

  “Listen, you fucker,” seethed Dad through his teeth. “You stay the hell away from my daughter, do you understand?”

  Grandpa barely responded, mostly out of shock at the way Dad gripped him. He managed to break loose, half tripping away from the door, and I rushed to hide behind Dad. He put his arm around me and I hugged him close. He squeezed me back.

  “We’re leaving,” said Dad curtly, and he took my arm and led me out into the living room. Grandpa recoiled back, but didn’t dare say a word as we went out from the hall and out to the party. Dad held me close as we found Mom talking to one of my aunts. She glanced up at him, and when she met his eyes she was taken aback.

  “Get the kids, Donna. We’re leaving.”

  She simply nodded, and went to pick up Janie who was playing with the Christmas tree ornaments. Dad took me into the entry way to grab our coats, and without a word draped it over me. Moments later Mom joined us with Janie and Tim in tow, but they obediently put on their coats as Mom led us to the car. Dad hung back to whisper something to Uncle Wayne, who seemed to be investigating why we were leaving. Grandpa was nowhere to be found.

  The four of us were sitting with our seatbelts fastened as Dad loaded into the driver's seat without a word. Not even Tim asked why we were leaving so quickly, because Dad had a look on his face. A look of anger and adrenaline. It wasn’t until an hour of silence passed that Dad finally spoke.

  “We will not be going back to Grandpa Petersons,” he said quietly.

  Mom touched his shoulder gently. “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked softly.

  “When we get home,” Dad responded bluntly. That was all that was said until we pulled into our driveway.

  Tim and Janie immediately rushed into the house and into their respective rooms where their Christmas presents were waiting, as I slowly followed, my arms around my stomach protectively. Mom and Dad sat in the car, saying things that I couldn’t make out. I didn’t try to listen in, and instead went downstairs into my room, where I picked up my new guitar and idly picked at it as I sat on my bed. It wasn’t long until there was a knock on my door, and Mom entered.

  “Hey sweetie,” she said as she took a seat next to me. “How are you feeling?”

  I looked at the floor past the guitar in my lap. I flicked one of the strings. “I’m fine, I guess.”

  “Did he…touch you anywhere?” Mom asked cautiously.

  I quickly shook my head. “No, but he said some seriously creepy things…and it was scary.”

  Mom quickly threw her arm around me and hugged me close. “I have always hated that man, but when he did what your father saw…I am so sorry you had that happen to you, my sweetheart.”

  It was pretty shocking. Grandpa Peterson had always been an asshole, even in Matthew’s timeline, but I didn’t think he was that bad. I shuttered as I thought about what could have happened; I was lucky that Dad was there when he was. And while I was upset, I didn’t dare cry.

  “I guess this means we don’t have to go up for Christmas anymore,” I joked.

  Mom chucked in spite of herself. “No, I don’t think we will. Thank god we don’t have to.”

  This was a serious deviation from my previous life as Matthew. In that timeline, we grudgingly went up north until I was in high school, though eventually none of the sons and grandkids felt obligated to go for Christmas by then. It looked like in Maya’s timeline we’d get to stay at home and play with our Christmas presents. Mom and I sat on my bed, with me leaning in and her stroking my hair until Dad came to poke his head into the door.

  “Everything okay in here, girls?”

  Mom nodded. “We have quite a resilient daughter here, David.”

  I shrugged off and stood up, pulling the guitar strap over my head as Mom gave my head one last pet before following Dad upstairs. I puttered around my room for some time, and later my family gathered around the TV to watch Christmas specials and finish off the last of the breakfast we didn’t eat in the morning. As the five of us sat together on the couch with only the lights of the Christmas tree, I thought to myself, not for the first time, of how lucky I was to be able to relive my life with my family.