Nothing is ever too late. For most people, this means taking chances in the moment. For those allowed, it means taking a great risk for a greater reward.
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A snapped twig, a crunched leaf, a bending branch. Slow but deliberate footsteps, moving through the forest towards a low, imperative whisper. A clearing, a pond. A step, a fall. A chance.
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Without any intervening time, she was on an immediately familiar street corner. "Aah!" She jumped. Did someone notice her sudden appearance? She looked up and down the streets until she found a preteen and his bicycle. He was hugging his knee.
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She jogged over and knelt down next to him. "Can I see?" The boy moved his hands, and the sense memory of the injury washed over her. "You stay right here, okay? I'm gonna go get things to help."
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She ran up to the house the boy crashed in front of, mumbling under her breath. "Matthews? Mellinger? Miller?" She knocked on the door, and an older woman opened the door. She remembered now: Mrs. Morgan. "Hi, can I borrow some first aid things?"
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She gestured behind her to the boy, and Mrs. Morgan guided her to the bathroom. She stuffed her purse with some bandages, rubbing alcohol, and cotton balls, and gave Mrs. Morgan some money. "This should cover all of it."
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Mrs. Morgan is just as she remembered: a sweetly stubborn school teacher. "Oh, no, don't you worry. Anything to help." She remembered her missing school the next day because she couldn't afford gas. "Please, I insist," she said as she stuffed the $20 into her hand.
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She ran back to the boy and started cleaning and bandaging his wound. He sat there, quiet, dumbfounded. Not only was this absolute stranger helping him, but he felt more comfortable around her than even his parents.
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Once she was done, she helped him to his feet. She knew the answer to the question she was about to ask, but she had to ask. "Is there someone I should call to help you home?" He shook his head, staring at his feet. "Don't know when they'll be home."
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She planted her hand on his head and ruffled his shaggy hair. "Wanna walk with me to the diner, then?" There was something in her voice that sounded so incredibly familiar, yet he couldn't place it. He just nodded silently.
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It wasn't a long walk. It may've been over a decade since she was here, but hometown maps are burned into minds like brands. She helped him lock up his bike, then she grabbed her favorite booth. She sat opposite of where he'd want to.
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When the waitress came around, she spoke up first. "We'll both have a grilled cheese with burnt bacon, fries, and some ranch dip." The waitress turned to the awestruck boy, who just nodded. "Oh, and two soda pops, please." The waitress gave a thumbs up and headed back.
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The boy blinked. "How'd you—" "—know?" She smiled warmly, leaning closer over the table. "I know how this story goes." She sat back up and pushed her hair behind her left ear, which had the same missing notch from the lobe that his did. "And I'm making some edits."
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The boy slumped back into the booth, eyes wide. His mind raced, trying to form questions to ask. "Yes," she replied from across the table. "You can call me Cassie." He just blinked. The waitress brought their drinks and wandered towards other patrons.
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The boy finally managed some words. "How do the folks take it?" She rolled her head back over the back of the booth to stare at the ceiling. "Exceedingly poorly," she sighed. "O-oh." He looked down at his lap. "Why do it, then?" "Because it feels right."
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The waitress slid their food in front of them. "Enjoy!" They started eating, and she could feel the questions coursing through his head. The one he asked surprised her, though. "Why are you here, then? I..." He paused and looked away. "You clearly end up okay."
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She sat down her sandwich and stayed quiet for a moment. "I want..." She looked down at her hands. "I want you to be happier sooner." "What's your plan, then?" She guffawed. "Since when was I ever one for plans?"
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He replied with a half-hearted chuckle. "I *do* have a plan, actually. Remember that house you wiped out in front of?" He nodded. "That's Mrs. Morgan's house." "My History teacher?" "Yeah. You go to her if your parents are ever too much, okay?"
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"...Too much? You mean like..." He looked down and away. She nodded. "She'll take care of you, no matter what. You can trust her." "I can?" She glared at him from across the table. "Really, kid?"
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She paid the bill and stood outside as he unchained his bike. "So what should I do for now?" She shrugged. "Just go about your day as if we never met." "But how will you know if things are better?" "Y'know, I don't kn—" And she was gone.
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A coursing river of new memories. A line crossed for the last time. A protector, a shield, a confidante. A life begun earlier. A life lived happier. A life lived safer.
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She was back in the woods. The water of the pond rippled, but she was bone dry. The old memories faded, only hints from her conversation with herself. She ran home through the forest, knowing the way by heart. Cassandra Morgan wanted to hug her mom.
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