SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

"Dad, help me," I said into the quiet. "Please."

There was no answer. Of course there was no answer. Did I really expect one? I stretched out my hand. My fingerless gloves were worn and smudged with grease. My fingernails were dirty. I had stopped cleaning them a few weeks ago. The dust of the forge had settled deep into my skin. I touched the tip of the switch, applied a little bit of pressure, not quite enough to move the lever. I breathed in and out once more and flipped the switch. Except the echoing sound of the switch itself, there was nothing. The battery should have released electrical current into the large capacitor and from there, a charge should have jumped up and over the top of the cabin to the back where the centrifugal rotor was installed.

So silly, I thought. Did I really think this would work? I sat there for a while. The knot in my stomach slowly grew. The feeling of failure was a thin blanket over the truth—the realization that I had spent the last six weeks trying to avoid the unavoidable. That this was a well-meant gift from my father to occupy my mind and get through the hardest part of the grieving process. It had worked. Up until now. The tears blurred my vision. It was as if the ground below me gave way and I’d dropped into a dark nothing. The pain, as excruciating as it was when I had felt it a few weeks ago, was so powerful now that I keeled over in my seat. I opened my mouth but no sound escaped it. I couldn’t breathe or form words or even thoughts except the one that I would never see my dad again. Ever. That he was gone and I had no way of feeling his hand on my shoulder or him ruffling my hair.

I began to moan. It seemed to help with the pain. My moans became louder. I saw my hands holding the bars of the seat on either side. I didn’t feel the cold of the pipes beneath my fingers. And when I could not hold it in any longer, I screamed. It was as if all my pain, my heartache, and the loss of my father’s love, my father’s big love, was in that scream. My voice was raw and I let it swell to a high-pitched sound while everything poured out of me and into the world. At that moment, it was as if he had called me and I had answered…

The blue spark was blinding, and even though it was brief, I couldn’t see anything for a few seconds. It was followed by the sound of the arc—the moment the welding rod connected with the steel. It obliterated my scream for an instant. A second spark followed. I could see that it came from the front where the battery compartment was installed.

And then, through the blur that was my tears, I saw the charge leave the capacitor and rip across the top of the cabin to the back. I felt my hair standing up in all directions. A snapping sound was followed by a deep humming sound. The light in the storage room was suddenly so bright that I had to close my eyes. When I opened them again, the walls of the shed were bathed in golden light. The machine was activated.

When I lifted my left foot, it shook uncontrollably. But I was afraid the activation was only temporary and I wanted to go back as fast as I could. I put my foot onto the pedal and applied the tiniest amount of pressure. The alarm clock display moved. First, it was only a few minutes. Then a dozen and, next, an hour. I took my foot off the pedal. The display moved another hour before it stopped. Saturday, December 22nd, 3:08AM. I didn’t see anything different in the shed. The light was as bright as before. I pushed the pedal down again. The display went back a few more hours and into Friday the 21st. I increased pressure and skipped three days at once before I slowed down again.

Gently , I reminded myself.

I figured it would be best to go back to a weekday morning, maybe three months ago. I would be at school then and my dad would most likely be in his shop. I could tell him that I had come home from school earlier and he wouldn’t get suspicious, especially if I came in through the main front door. I pushed the pedal down again, this time a little harder. The days became a week, then two and three. I slowed down again, applied only minimal pressure until I came to September 14th. I stopped at 10:52AM. For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether to turn the machine off or not. I decided to leave it on. Other than someone actually stepping into the shed, nobody from the outside would notice it was there.

I moved the cabin top to the side and climbed out. I tried to look at the centrifugal rotor but the light was too intense. I would need a welding mask to be able to see it. I left through the back door and was hit by a breeze of warm air. The snow was gone. The trees had not even started to yellow. My mittens. I’d completely forgotten to take off my winter clothes. I decided to leave my gloves, wool cap, and jacket next to the door of the shed. I still felt a bit overdressed.

My heart was pounding as I walked around the barn to the front door. I felt like I had sawdust in my mouth. I heard the metallic banging sound of a hammer on steel before I reached the door. I couldn’t remember having ever heard something that made me happier. I opened the door and stepped inside.

He stood next to the forge, a large hammer in his hand, wearing his leather apron and a short-sleeve shirt. He saw me and without stopping, he said, "What are you doing here so early?"

I couldn’t answer. I tried to smile but my face muscles didn’t follow my order. They began to twitch suddenly.

"Oh, Dad," was all I could whisper before I ran to him and held him in my arms. I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to make him suspicious that this was anything other than an early dismissal from school and me being happy to see him.

"There, there," he said. "What’s the matter?"

He placed the hammer on the side of the forge.

"You okay?"

For a long time I couldn’t say anything.

"Yes," I said eventually. "I’m okay. I just wanted to say hi and see how you’re doing."

"I’m doing fine. But I need to get different coal. This one burns too dirty. Can you smell it?"

"Yeah," I said, suddenly happy over the sulfury smell in the shop.

"Is everything all right? You seem upset."

"I’m okay. Just missed you, that’s all."

"Okay. Then let me get this formed before it cools down too much."

"Okay," I said. "Sounds good."

He picked up the hammer again and pushed the metal piece he was working on back into the embers.

"See you later," I said.

"Yep. See you later."

I left the barn with the sound of the hammer ringing in my ears. As I walked around back, I felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted from me. When I looked through the dirt-smudged window, I saw my father stop hammering for a moment. As if he’d just thought of something. Then he shook his head and continued.

I stood behind the storage shed for a few minutes and let the sun warm my face. Then I entered, picked up my gloves, jacket, and wool cap and climbed into the machine. I closed the cabin top and began to push the right pedal down. The days on the display passed by. When it moved into December, I slowed down. I don’t know what had changed, but I wasn’t sad anymore. Maybe it was knowing that I could visit him whenever I wanted. Or maybe it was good enough to see him doing something he had loved so much.

My eyes were fixed on the display. I felt the pedal beneath my right foot, the pressure of the forward motion against my leg. When December 22nd approached, something in me clicked. The Traveler must exercise the greatest caution to not set off a chain of events she cannot foresee. I realized that he must have known, that he must have thought this encounter to be too strange to have been a normal occurrence. Did my visit, as brief as it was, change his outlook in any way?