Please, rewind me.

She broke the vase this morning. It was round and white, with pink flowers painted on the side. Her mom's wedding gift, frankly horrible but well loved. It was an accident: she bumped it with an elbow while she was cleaning the cupboard. It fell on the floor with a loud crash, ceramic fragments flying everywhere. She started weeping. I told her to stay calm. I hugged her shoulders while she sniffled, kissed her on the cheek. I told her it wasn't important. Told her her husband will take care of everything, as always. I took a broom and swept the floor, carefully collecting the loose pieces. Then the searched together under the furniture of the room, retrieving other shards from under the sofa and the dining table. I also found a toy under the sofa: a little plastic dinosaur dressed with a doll's tutu. I put it in a pocket without her seeing. I told her to take a shower and relax. I can hear the water running now, the occasional sniffle drizzling between the water droplets. I'm trying not to pay attention to the sound. I have to concentrate on [[the vase.]]

All the shards are up on the cupboard now, in the exact place where the vase was before. So many ceramic pieces, little and jagged. Impossible to glue together. I raise my hands, palms facing downwards. A deep breath, eyes closing. //Focus.// I recall the vase clearly. His fat shape, the little, swirly ceramic handles, the pink roses painted on his round belly. The opening large and curved, like a narcissus' flower. The shards are tingling below my fingers. [[Time rewinds.]]

Not //all// the time, obviously: that would be troublesome. I'm just rewinding the individual life of the vase, so it will return to a time when it wasn't broken. The pieces drip down from the cupboard, returning to their previous hiding places. Then, after a pause, they regroup in front of the coupboard and fly upward, returning to the shelf. I keep my distance, but can't avoid a flying shard scratching my left ear. Pieces find each other. The entire vase clicks together, like a giant puzzle. I reopen my eyes. There are no marks, no gashes dividing the fragments: it's as good as it was fifteen minutes ago. A happy smile before collapsing into a chair. My head is spinning. I need an aspirin and a cold beer. But as I get up, a door opens, and //she// enters the room. She's wrapped in a towel, her long wet air sticking to her chest like heavy chains. [["There, look."->"There, look."]] I say.

I show her the vase, smiling proudly, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. (She's cold as a corpse. She's getting so thin...) She picks up the vase with her trembling, wet hands. She examines it carefully, turning it slowly, passing a damp finger over the perfectly smooth surface. "Your usual magic trick." She turns toward me now, giving me a silent, blank stare. For a moment, I feel she would drop the vase again, out of spite, just to have an excuse to cry. But the moment is already gone, and she's putting it on the shelf again. But as she lowers her arms, she asks: "Can we go to the hospital and see Tara now, please?" And [[I don't know what to say anymore.]] We had this conversation a million times.

I could say //yes dear, let's go to the hospital//. And then what? The first time I went through with it, it ended with her cleansing the hospital floor with her tears. A sobbing mess huddled in front of a door, kicks and bites reserved for whomever tried to get her up. They had to subdue her with a syringe, knocked her out like a rabid beast. I don't want to see her again like that. I don't want the pity of the doctors, the whimpering, the screams. The other times, I simply rewinded her during the trip. A casual hand on a knee, a spark of magic, a confused look afterwards. "Why are we in the car?" "Good morning, princess" I had said, trying to smile "you dozed off for a moment. We're going to that nice Italian restaurant you like, remember?" A silent nod. "Are you hungry?" I did this little recital again and again, feeling like a horrible human being. And I am, probably. But the alternative is telling her Tara is not in the hospital at the moment. [[Tara will never return home.]]

//Can we go to the hospital and see Tara, please?// she said. And now she's watching me, as though she could start crying again at any moment. A wrong word, a mistaken gesture, and she'll break again like the ceramic vase. A deep breath. [["Yes, dear, let's go to the hospital."->Yes, dear, let's go to the hospital.]] I could say, for the millionth time. I don't know if I have the strenght to tell her "[[Tara isn't at the hospital.->Tara isn't in the hospital.]]" today.

My words, like water to a dying flower. A smile blooms on her face, a fuzzy feeling irradiates her entire body. "I'll go dry my hair, then." she says, tiptoing towards the door. Dripping with joy. "Meanwhile, can you go to her room and pick up some toys? She must feel so lonely at the hospital. Let's bring her a friend." No no no not her room. I don't want to. This is bad. Can I stop her now? Bring her brain one minute backward. Just one minute. Am I such a bad person, to let her lose these few seconds? [[I just have to touch her arm->Tara will never return home.]]. It's so difficult to say [["Okay"]], but maybe I should. She seems so happy right now.

"So they're bringing her home?" she asks, smiling. And my heart shrinks, and I grit my teeth as I say: "No." She doesn't seem to hear it. "The doctor saved her." she goes on "The operation went well! Why didn't they call us? I wanted to be at her side when she woke up." I imagine Tara for a moment, a tiny corpse held between the giant, gloved hands of a doctor. He stitches her leg with a needle as big as her, a cotton cloth reuniting the grey limb to the rest of her body. A broken doll. "No." I repeat, shaking my head. No. No more little feet on the stairs, no more laughter, no more toys left everywhere. A hand in my pocket, I search for the little plastic dinosaur I found earlier. "I'll wait for her outside!" Oh, that smile. No, I can't bear it anymore. Why can't she realize it? [[Tara is Dead.]]

''Tara is dead.'' I could [[shout it]]. I've had enough of this recital. Or maybe I can try, for the millionth time, to [[explain it gently.]] Maybe this time things will change. (But they never change.)

"STOP IT! TARA IS DEAD!" It's like breathing again. It's like coughing up a stopper of muck and blood stopping our entire life. "Stop pretending she's returning, //please//. It's been three months." She stares. She lowers her head. Her entire figure seems to collapse, and then she huddles herself to the floor and starts weeping. I roll my eyes. What was I expecting? She's always like this. She doesn't understand. She's not the only one who lost a daughter. "Why?" she sobs. "It was an accid-" I start, but the phrase dies in my throat. She's watching me now, with an expression I hadn't seen in a long time. Pure rage. "WHY DID YOU LET HER DIE?" [["I can't rewind dead people, you k-->"I can't rewind dead people, you k-"]]

"Tara isn't going to return, Martha. She went to another place. We bid her farewell, remember?" We watched together as the little coffin was lowered into the ground. Seven year old kids shouldn't be allowed to die. She stays in silence for a long time, eyes fixed on the ground like an ignorant child during an interrogation. "I know." she whispers, finally. "But, but..." "But why?" Stretching my arms, I reach out for her. She rejects the contact, prefering instead the comfort of the sofa. [["There's no why. Things just happen."->"There's no why. Things just happen."]] [["There's always a reason."->"There's always a reason."]]

We climb the same stairs, but not together: she's ahead of me, giggly as a student preparing for her first prom night. "Don't trip." Her hair swings with each step, spraying my face with tiny water droplets. "What should I wear? I think I want to put on the blue dress, the one you brought me for our anniversary. I don't want to appear sad and shabby, or she will be sad too. Ah, but if we show up too well-kept, she would think we're having fun without her..." (I should [[rewind her->rewnd on the stairs]] now. Just raise an hand, it's not that difficult. Yes, it's a bad thing, and so what? Anything but [[opening that door.]])

Second floor. She goes left, to our bedroom, while I move towards the other side of the corridor. Holding my breath, trying to think about my steps and nothing else. The //voyage//, not the destination. But the journey is painfully short, only a few meters before reaching the white door with Disney stickers stuck on the wood. Tiny faces of cartoon princesses staring at me. Tara's room. My hand on the cold, cold handle. [[Open it.]] (Stop this now. [[rewind her->rewind on the room]].)

She had put the blue dress and dried her dark hair. She's trying to be beautiful, but she's just so thin, so thin, and all the makeup can't really hide the bags under her eyes. "Have you picked up a toy?" she asks, looking at the dinosaur clutched between my fingers. I nod. "Let's go" she says, squeezing my other hand. We go downstairs together. I hold my breath, and I resist until the front door before sending the order through our clasped hands. Then we start walking backwards. We climb the stairs together like clumsy shrimps. I'll stay with her while she rewinds her last actions, undressing herself, blowing hair already dry with a switched off hair dryer. This is what happens when you [[rewind->Tara will never return home.]] a living being. And then we return to the living room, and to the question I don't want to answer.

"It was an accident." "Oh, was it?" Sarcasm. This is new, she never had the strength for it before. Is it a good sign? "Well, being hit by a truck isn't exactly my favourite pastime" I grin "so yeah, I can assure you it was an accident." She stares at me silently for a long time. [["I know what you did, Christopher."->"I saw you, Christopher."]]

"Tara is with God now." I mechanically repeat the priest's words. They seemed to help her that time, when she spoke with the vicar after the funeral. She even went to the mass once or twice the following weeks, but always returned home confused and annoyed. Whatever she was searching for, she didn't find it there. "You don't have to feel sad, because she is in a better, happier place." "No, she must be sad because we aren't with her." she says, angrily. "She can see us from above" I point to the ceiling. "But she can't speak or play with us. [[We have to reach her."->We have to reach her."]]

The room has pink walls and a little bed and a table with a chair, and a bookcase full of children's books and crayons and plushies. There is a Barbie ball on the floor (she never put her toys in order), and the bed is unmade. Everything is as she left it, just a little dustier than before. I approach the desk, where a drawing lies half-finished. A girl with flowing hair, riding a T-rex. She liked princesses, and dinosaurs, and she dreamed of becoming a scientist so she could build the Jurassic Park. I turn around, searching for a place for the dinosaur toy I previously found under the sofa. But every shelf seems wrong: moving anything would be a desecration. [[She's calling me.->she calls you]] I go out.

I rush toward our bedroom, opening the door with a slam. She's sitting on the bed, putting on her bra. "Just in time. Can you help me with it?" she asks, turning her back toward me. I push between her shoulders as fast as I can. //Rewind.// (If only I could find a STOP botton, hidden beneath her sickly skin.) When she turns again, she's not really seeing me. She takes off her bra, slips off off her panties. Then she gets up and starts walking backward, blind eyes toward me as she exits the room. I follow her silently, helping her her. She could slip on the stairs moving this way, her feet are still wet. We return to the living room, and [[the usual question slides past her lips.->Tara will never return home.]]

I touch her. She stops. I squeeze her hand as she starts climbing down the stairs, walking backward. Her stare is blank. I help her with the wet steps, careful not to let her fall. We return to the living room. [[We return to the question.->Tara will never return home.]]

"I saw what you did. You're just a big liar." Her hands are around my neck now. I expected her grasp to be much weaker; her hands look as frail as little birds. I gurgle, gasping for fresh air. Ten long nails, like tiny knives, stab the skin of my neck. I squeeze her arm, not to move it, but to pass a trascendental order through the cells of her body. //Rewind.// Arms fall. She goes back, walking backward, collapsing on the floor again. I take deep, hard breaths as she stands up again, the usual sad glare, the same question on her lips. [[And maybe I'll answer the same way again, because after all I deserve all of this.->Tara is Dead.]]

She gets up. I take a step back. She's walking toward me, hair dangling in front of her eyes, each tiny step filled with resolution. "Liar." she hisses, and I take another step back. But I miscalculate, and behind me there's only the damned cupboard. The vase rattles, threatening another fall. [[I look at her.]]

"What do you think will be less painful? I think the sleeping pills are the gentlest, but they don't always work. Often you vomit them and you end up at the hospital, and then they put you in therapy forever. I looked it up on the internet." she explains "We could insulate the garage and turn the car on. Carbon monoxide is pleasant too. Or would you prefer to fill the bath tub and hold my head under the water?" The wry smile on her lips is saying //you'd LOVE to do it. I know.// [[Sometimes I think I would.]]

I shake my head. "Why can't we do this? It would be so easy." "Because I don't know why, but I still think we can fix everything together." I explain, as I raise an hand towards her cheek. She leans on it, as though knowing what will happen now. "Ah, but you can't fix someone who's already dead, you always say." is the last thing she murmurs before I [[rewind her.->explain it gently.]]

"Or rather, what you //didn't do//." she repeats, sounding unusually lucid "and I can't understand. And that's why..." //That's why she's going mad.// I shiver. is she saying... No, it isn't possibile. Or maybe it is? I had to use a strange procedure that time, lots of little rewinds... I might have fucked up the intervals. Made a miscalculation. I never thought she would remember. I sit on the sofa, next to her. In front of us, the tv screen mirrors our sad image. "Do you remember when she woke us up with her screams, last summer? We were so worried." [["Sorry, I don't."->"Sorry, I don't."]] [["yeah."->Yeah.]]

Please, rewind me. (transition: "dissolve")[A short game by Bric-à-brac.] ([[Rewind?->start]])

"How can you forget it? It happened when we visited my grandmother, last summer. We explored the mountain behind her house that day, and Tara caught a lizard and wanted to keep her as a pet. She even gave it a name. What did she call it, Godzilla?" she smiles "And in the evening, when she put her pijamas, she discovered a tick on her foreleg! Grandmother killed it with oil. It was painful, but it scared Tara so much. [[You must remember it."->"I saw you, Christopher."]]

"She had a bad dream, the tick wanted to drain all her blood. A giant tick, bigger than our house" she stretch out her arms "You hugged her and said everything was ok, because you would trample on the tick. //Because you would always protect her.//" I gulp. "So //why//, Christopher?" A question I don't want to answer. She shifts her position, leaning beside me. [["Do you remember how we met?"->"Do you remember how we met?"]]

"Because..." words like rocks on my sore throat "You were dying too. There was blood everywhere." "I don't remember." "No, of course you don't." A split of second, a realization widening her pupils. "You //rewinded// me." A nod. An apology. "It was very difficult because I couldn't rewind you too much, or your wounds would start closing themselves. You had shards and metal pieces stuck everywhere. It would have been a mess." Skin trying to grow over glass. I did experiments with animals, when I was younger and less squeamish. Results weren't pleasant. I shake my head. "I had to rewind you a lot of little times, just for a few minutes. Just enough to let the blood return into your veins." But I had no clock and no lucid mind, so I must have miscalculated. I left tiny fractions of time between the rewinds, seconds she now remembers. "I remember sitting in the car, feeling very numb. Tara was screaming and you were sitting beside me, doing nothing." [["I couldn't save her. I was too busy trying to save you."->"There was no time."]]

"I had to chose one." Don't look at me that way, like I'm some kind of heartless, horrible monster. Don't think it was an easy choice. She was wailing all the time, the blood flowing from her severed leg. "But why //me//. She was our daughter, Chris..." My throat is sore. Words refuse to exit, but I have to speak. This will end the cycle. [["Because I needed a reason to choose one, and I was only able to think..."->"Because I needed a reason to choose one, and I was only able to think..."]]

[[//"... We can always have another child."//->"... We can always have another child."]]

Of course I remember. "On the road. you were returning from a concert, I was going to work. You had a flat tire. It was very early. I was the only one who stopped." She was so beautiful, even with the sweat and the smudged make-up. I wanted to impress her. After many goofy, unsuccessful tries, I managed to remove her flat tire, only to discover she didn't have a spare one. We had to call a tow truck. We ate together in a service station. I had pancakes; she, two big donuts glazed with chocolate. We talked and talked and then it started raining, and I refused to leave her there without a car. I stayed with her even if my cellphone wouldn't stop ringing. They fired me the day after. "Do you still love me, Chris?" [["Yes."->"Yes."]] [["No."->"No."]] [["I don't know."->"I don't know."]]

"I love you too" she smiles "I think." and the smile is already gone, replaced by a perplexed look. "But I can't love a bad man, and... I'm starting to think you are one. I'm repeating you must have had a reason, but I can't find it. Tell me, please. Tell me [[why you did it."->So why, Christopher?]]

She sighs. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess." she wispers in a very low voice, and for a moment I fear she would start to cry again. "But if you ever loved me... You owe me an answer, Chris. I have to know [[why you did it."->So why, Christopher?]]

"I'm not so sure myself" she admits "these last months have been so confusing. Sometimes I wake up and I don't even remember what I did the day before." "It's because of the medicine." She nods. "But we can't continue like this, Chris. And to go forward, to do it //together//" she clasps my hand "I have to understand what happened. I need to understand [[what I saw."->So why, Christopher?]]