The Experiment

To Whom It May Concern,

I’ve never spent much time thinking about time travel. It’s a theoretical concept; I can’t go back and change events, and if I could, what would I change? There are significant moments in my life, horrible moments, that I wish I never had to live through, but I don’t think they are changeable. Even if they were, I’d be so frightened that I would alter something in my own life and timeline that would take away my now and, most importantly, my family. I could never lose them; nothing is worth the risk.

But, I often lie awake at night going over my words and actions from the day, week or years before and harshly criticize myself. If I could go back in time, the moment I think of one of these regrets that I lose sleep over and make a tiny change to the stupid little choice or thing that I said. If I could alter those moments, I might have a good night’s sleep.

For instance, I’d go back to elementary school and speak when my locker neighbour would talk to me every day. At the time, I chose not to respond to him because he was popular, so I assumed he must be making fun of me. It took retrospect to realize he might have just been being nice.

Or I would go back to church when I was fourteen listening to the adults talk about losing weight. I wouldn’t embarrass my mother by saying, “She looks great; why is Weight Watchers not working for you, Mom?”

I would not have been embarrassed to dance with a guy younger than me at the junior high dance. I liked him, and he deserved better than my friends laughing at him.

I would have noticed that my best friend loved me, and I would have given him a chance. Who grows a girl lilies, her favourite flower, for her birthday? What dumb girl doesn’t realize what an incredible act of love that was?

I would choose girlfriends every time over the guy—no saxophone players for me.

I wouldn’t have made a joke about how animals don’t talk and pretended I did not read and love Animal Farm in my Grade 12 English Class. In fact, in general, I would stop hiding behind my jokes and outlandish stories and instead just let people see that I’m intelligent.

I certainly wouldn’t have entered into relations with the best friend of the guy I loved. He had a friends-with-benefits situation, and I was jealous, so I had one with his friend in hopes of making him jealous. Instead, I made myself untouchable to him.

My good friend kissed me one night and asked me to come to his birthday party. If I could go back and choose again, I would not go to his party. I most definitely wouldn’t bring the friend he chose over me if I did. I also wouldn’t have let his friend take my heartbroken self home.

I would have made a report to Human Resources the first time my boss commented on my bra colour or body shape. Instead, I was so thankful for the job and experience that I played the part. I was the pretty girl he wanted when he hired me, and I used his reference as I moved on in the world.

I would pour my drinks and not trust anyone else to keep me safe. I still lay awake hating myself for being too stupid to stop the bad things from happening to me.

I would tell myself it’s just a job; I’d leave at 4:30, take every lunch break, and negotiate overtime for all the evening meetings and weekends I spent there. I suppose the best change I could make would be to choose not to dedicate everything I had to a boss that didn’t appreciate it, who didn’t offer paid maternity leave, who was supportive to a point when I had a medically complicated child, and eventually dropped me when I was pregnant again.

I wouldn’t tell the man who asked me what development was going up in front of his home, “not to worry, he would be fine with it,” when I didn’t want to admit that I did not know because I’d been away from the office with my sick child. The poor man now has a well-lit car dealership in his front yard. I think of him every single time I drive by.

If I could go back, I would not have dressed up for the “family meeting” with my daughter’s cardiology team. I thought they would give my daughter the best care if I looked a certain way. I learned it doesn’t matter what you look like when you’re told your child needs a heart and double lung transplant. But I think that wearing less makeup, so it doesn’t become smeared across my face from the tears, blinding me and making it impossible to look at the men who held my daughter’s life in their hands, would be a worthwhile change.

I would choose a different route home from the dog groomer last month when all the dirt roads were rutted out. Because now one of the tires on my car keeps going flat, only for my husband to notice, add air and then tell me immediately. Each time, I feel like I’m being scolded.

I have thought about all this since we last spoke, and I learned that time travel is possible. It’s possible, you said, and I’m the only one who can make a difference in this historical event. But you won’t allow me the chance to go back to make changes to my life; who am I to the world? I’m no one. I’ve never been anyone, just one of many. That’s why you feel I am a perfect choice, I just happened to be in the right place in the past, and if I return, I could make a difference, the difference. I could save lives.

Would you do it? Would you go back? Would you make a change that has little to no impact on your life but will change everything for others? Would you do it not knowing the future consequences? Maybe one of those people you save does something worse, hurting more people. Possibly someone else won’t be able to show their strength because they will not experience their heartache or trauma. What if intricate artwork or writing is never created because the artist doesn’t experience tragedy? What if a crucial piece of legislation is never passed because there is no outrage, no cries for change, and everything stays just as it was? Worst of all, what if by stopping an event, you are only postponing it? To go back and make the change, to stop them, only to find out that it happens anyway because no one could stop the inevitable.

Since you found me and asked me to go back, I’ve been thinking. My answer is no; I don’t think I will go back. I believe nothing happens for a reason; everything is random and unplanned. But once it has happened, it makes an impression, influencing the decisions we make, no matter how small or meaningless it seems. After speaking with you, I took out my childhood dominoes; I stood each piece up around me, trying to compare them to a possible outcome, but no matter which domino I touched, they all inevitably tumbled down.

I don’t know how you knew I was in Toronto in 2018 when the van attack happened. I don’t know how you knew I was not on Yonge Street that day but nearby. We were there while our daughter was receiving treatment at Sick Kids. I would often leave the hospital room and escape into the city streets. I’d get lost in the grid system and the crowds of people who don’t know or care a thing about me. You said I was perfect because I didn’t belong there, was close but not impacted, and could adjust without changing my circumstances. You told me I was the first, this was new technology, and I would be a pioneer. I was someone of no importance to the event. So you wish to study the outcome. You picked a historical event not too far in the past as the first exercise and then made me your proposal.

If I do go back and do as you’ve asked, make an anonymous tip, tell them to look for the van, clear out the street, and look into Minassian’s online presence, would I stop eleven people from dying and fifteen from terrible injuries? Or would he have found another way to hurt people, and if not him, another member of his incel? You do not know; this is an experiment.

But this is what I fear you do not understand. You hold technology that can alter the world; even with the best intentions, this is not your place. While I don’t believe in destiny or events that are meant to happen, I do believe that once they’ve happened, they have impacted the world in an unchangeable way. In 2018, the world was beginning to understand misogynist terrorism. They were still struggling to understand the proper way to treat a woman like an equal, a person. In my lifetime, the experiences that keep me up at night are a result of a world where I was taught that I would be more attractive if I did not have confidence, lost weight, stayed quiet, was funny instead of intelligent, and treated other women as if they were my competition. I quickly learned that there are double standards for men and women and that I should blame myself when men mistreat me. Men who were sentimental or treated me kindly were not “manly enough.” I was expected to be dedicated to my job and a loving mother and wife. I was told I am so much prettier when I smile. Misogynist terrorism was a new threat to women due to trying to find equal footing in the world and growing out of our expected gender roles.

All this is something that has impacted me significantly. I am not of no importance to this historical event; after it happened, politicians took notice, the community rallied #TorontoStrong, and there were podcasts and news articles explaining misogynist terrorism. The tragedy made people more aware, and the culture, which was already changing, continued to grow and spread. Only a few short years later, we have terms like victim blaming, the #metoo campaign, and new parental leave policies for both men and women. Tragedies can create movement, and because of this, my daughters won’t lay awake at night, blaming themselves for mistreatment that was not their fault.

Therefore I must decline my participation in the experiment, so my daughters may never have to feel like their only choice is to smile pretty and take it.

Please consider my words carefully. I wish you luck in your future endeavours, but please stay away from mine.

All my best,

Miss Penn