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Billy leaned in closer, eyes locked on the scene in front of him with an intense, unwavering focus. He’d seen it at least a dozen times before, but it still had a hold on him. He always needed to see it at least one more time.
“Go back—4:30 pm the same day. Batson family residence, 315 Chestnut Drive, Fawcett City.”
With a soft glow the Historama reset. Billy had learned to be specific when asking it to show him things. He needed the time, the date, and the location if he wanted to see anything useful. The more details the better. With all of time and space available at his fingertips, there was no other way to find what he was truly looking for. If he didn’t want to watch an empty house for hours at a time he had to get it just right.
There had been a lot of trial and error at first—he had known what he wanted to see, at least in a general sense, but his ideas were based on feelings, on fuzzy, half remembered memories. He hadn’t even known their address when he first attempted to make use of the Historama. After all this time, he still only knew a handful of dates and times that would show him something worthwhile.
The scene began, just as it had every other time that he’d watched it. A woman with shiny brown hair thrown up into a loose ponytail waltzed into the main living area of a house. Her arms were full of brightly wrapped presents of various sizes, all teetering in a large tower, one misstep away from toppling to the floor.
For a moment she looked harried in a way Billy could never remember her being, though maybe he had simply been too young to notice the subtlety of it in her features. Or maybe she had just never wanted him to see her like that. She stumbled slightly on a small toy car lying on the floor by the couch, just barely catching herself before she took a tumble, presents and all. With a quiet curse she deposited the packages onto the dining room table, shuffling them around into a more presentable pile.
The Historama presented the scene a bit like a home video—it captured the moment exactly as it was, no filter, no editing, no rose colored glasses. It was life-like in a way memories often weren’t. Or at least in a way that Billy's weren't. He had gotten a shock the first time he’d heard the curse word slip out of her mouth, unbidden, unconscious, instinctive in that moment where she was out of earshot of her children and thought herself alone. It was a reminder that she was a real person once upon a time, more than just his memories of her, more than just his mom.
She took a deep breath, pushing wayward strands of hair out of her face. Then she smiled. “Billy! Mary!” she called out, in a bright cheery tone. “I’m home! And I brought your presents!”
Peals of laughter echoed through the house, followed closely by the pitter patter of small feet on the thin carpets.
Mary made it to the room first, her pigtails swinging wildly as she ran. Her eyes were bright and carefree as she flung herself into their mom’s waiting arms. Billy watched them with a full heart as his younger self barreled into the room. He latched on to his mom’s legs in greeting since her arms were full of his sister.
A few steps behind, laughing loud and boisterously, was his dad. His sleeves were pushed up to the elbows and there were various smears of colored markers along his arms from where, Billy discovered several viewings ago, he and Mary had decided that their father made a better canvas than the paper they’d been given to draw on.
“Thank goodness!” he laughed. “Our little monsters had me out numbered! There was no escape!”
Billy and Mary burst into giggles, loudly denying any wrongdoing.
“What? Not my little angels!” his mom cried out in mock protest as she pulled the twins into a group hug, one under each arm. “They would never. Especially not when they know mommy was coming home with their birthday presents.”
The twins cheered, chanting presents excitedly as they jumped around their mother's feet.
She merely smiled down at them before nudging them along. “You can have your presents once you’ve washed up, okay?”
Billy and Mary raced out of the room, back down the hallway they had come from, their childish chatter filling the silence.
C.C. closed the distance between him and Marilyn, slipping his arms around her waist and placing a soft, chaste kiss to her lips.
“Did you find it?” he whispered conspiratorially.
Her eyes glittered mischievously. “I had to fight off three other soccer moms for it, but yeah I got it.” She patted one box in the stack that was wrapped in bright green paper. “One Tawky Tawny doll as promised.”
CC’s shoulders sagged in exaggerated relief. “Thank god, the kids would have been devastated.”
“Yeah and now they just get to fight over who gets to play with it first,” she laughed, looping her arms around her husband’s shoulders. “Is the cake done?”
C.C. flashed her a wide grin. “Frosted it during nap time.”
“You know I think we’re starting to get the hang of this parenting thing,” Marilyn teased, pressing their foreheads together. The stayed like that for a moment, listening to the sound of their children laughing over the sound of the running faucet. Her smile faltered slightly, a strange feeling stealing across her face that for the life of him Billy could never identify. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…I know we agreed that taking the twins with us when we travel for our digs was the best thing for us as a family—it’s such an amazing opportunity for them to travel and learn about different cultures and I stand by that—but I’m worried that they’re lonely. I mean they’re turning four today and they only have us to celebrate with.”
C.C. sighed, looking at the stack of presents on the table rather than his wife. “I think that at their age, they can bounce back from anything. And they’re lucky—they’ll always have each other for company. And they’ll always have us. When they start school next year we’ll rethink things, but for now they are as happy as any other kids their age.” He turned back to Marilyn, pulling her closer as he spoke. “In a few years they’ll probably have more friends than we’ll know what to do with, but for now let’s just enjoy being their whole world.”
The two of them shared a tender smile, one that Billy sometimes had a hard time watching. He’d never once doubted that his parents had been in love, or that they had loved him and his sister, but there was something in it, the promise of a future that they never got to have, the fact that they had all thought they had so much more time, that made it hurt so much. How could that do anything other than break his heart?
The moment was broken by his own peal of laughter as his four year old self came running back into the room. Mary followed close behind crying out “No fair! You got a head start!”
For a moment the scene blurred as Billy fought to blink back tears. He did his best to let the soft happy chatter of his family wash over him. He already knew what happened, which toys they were opening and in what order. He could practically recite their conversation from memory—from his own babbling about how cool something was to his parents’ careful explanation of how to set up some new game.
It gave him a sense of peace, even if it made his heart heavy. Perfect for when the ache of being alone really hit home.
“Billy?” Mary’s voice called out from somewhere in the present. “What are you doing in here?”
Billy jumped, spinning around to see his sister standing in the entrance to the room where the Historama was kept. Her keen eyes bounced between him and the orb in front of him, worry creasing her brow as she took in their parents’ faces within. He wondered briefly if any of her memories of them had come back yet or if those were simply lost to her. Then again, as perfect as it was, not even he really remembered this moment from their childhood.
“What is all of this?” she asked carefully, taking a tentative step forward into the room.
Billy swallowed hard. His cheeks grew hot with embarrassment at being caught crying over nothing. He hadn’t been doing anything wrong—he hadn’t—but he still felt an odd sense of guilt crawling up his spine. A part of him wanted to throw himself in front of the Historama, block the precious memory from view, keep it his own little secret.
And maybe he would have done just that if it had been anyone else. But this was Mary. If anyone deserved to be privy to this secret of his, it was her. After all they were her parents too. And she didn’t have the luxury of even the simple, fuzzy memories of them that Billy had.
“I was just messing around with the Historama,” he said slowly, his voice thick with unshed tears. He took a step to the side in a silent offer for her to join him. “I think I’m starting to get the hang of using it.”
Mary stepped forward, stopping beside him to gaze into the Historama herself. She was quiet for a moment as the scene continued to play out in front of them. “Is that…us?”
“Yeah,” Billy said just as softly. “This is our fourth birthday, the last one before…”
Mary instinctively reached out and gripped his hand, giving it a hard squeeze. “Can you show me how it works?”
Billy grinned, his nervous energy transforming into relief, excitement even. “What do you want to see?”
There were so many moments he could show her. Their parents’ wedding—a small affair on a picturesque beach that it had taken Billy ages to learn the name of. Or their family’s first trip to another country—Egypt, in the height of summer, the two of them barely able to toddle. Or there was the time they’d gone to the Fawcett City Zoo, clutching their Tawky Tawny doll as the were shown real tigers for the first time.
“I don’t know,” Mary said sheepishly. “What can it show us?”
“Anything,” he said. “Any point in time, any place on Earth and beyond. As long as you’re specific.”
“So it can show us famous moments in history?” she asked, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Like the moon landing? The signing of the Declaration of Independence? The formation of the Justice League?”
Billy blinked at her in surprise. “Well yeah,” he said. “It might take some trial and error to get the exact right time and place, but there’s no reason it couldn’t show us those things.” He’d never really considered using it for that before. He loved reading about history, hearing old stories of times long past, so he wasn’t sure why it had never occurred to him to try and be a fly on the wall in moments like that. Seeing history in the flesh was probably what the Historama was most often used for, what it was made for. But that had simply never appealed to him the way seeing memories of his family did.
“How fascinating!” Mary breathed out. “How does it work?”
Billy forced himself to focus on his sister. “You just tell it when and where you want to see—as specifically as you can—and it’ll show you.” It sounded easy, but he knew it wasn’t, and he was sure that Mary knew that too.
“Can you show me?”
Billy smiled at her, giving her hand one last squeeze. He thought for a moment about what to show her, a memory that she would enjoy. Eventually he settled on one that he loved even if it wasn’t as flashy as some of the others. He cleared his throat and spoke with as much authority as he could muster.
“September 14, 1935. Noon. Batson family residence, 315 Chestnut Drive, Fawcett City.”
The scene in front of them shifted slightly. It showed the same house, the same living room. There was more clutter on the ground than before where Billy and Mary were spread out with their coloring books, an impressive array of crayons littering the floor between them. It was morning now, sunlight streaming in through the windows. The radio was playing in the background, a soft jazzy tune that after all this time Billy still couldn’t name.
C.C. sat at the dining room table, books and papers covering every available surface within arm’s reach. He hummed along to the song, the deep reverb of it soothing to listen to. Marilyn was leaning over the table across from him carefully studying a map and making notes in a small notebook. For a few moments all four Batsons were completely absorbed in their work.
Billy subtly watched present day Mary out of the corner of his eye, curious about what she would think of this memory. It was one of his favorites, and he really hoped she liked it too.
So far she had simply furrowed her brow, her bright eyes taking in the scene.
“Mommy, look at my drawing!” little Mary called out as she scrambled to her feet holding her paper high in the air. She rushed over to the table where their parents were hard at work—planning their next dig by the looks of it, or maybe just researching for one of the dozen or so books and articles they’d written together.
Marilyn tore her gaze away from the map in front of her, her face instantly softening into the smile Billy remembered in his own memories. Mary placed her drawing on top of the map, standing on her tip toes to see it.
“Now what do we have here?” Marilyn asked, pulling Mary up onto her lap.
“I drew a mummy!” she said proudly. “A mummy for mommy!”
Marilyn laughed brightly. “Oh wow! That’s amazing sweetie!” She squeezed Mary tight and pointed to a yellow shape taking up much of the page. “Is that the pyramid? From our trip to Egypt?”
“Uh huh!” Mary nodded. “That’s were mummies come from!”
“You’re so smart!” their mom cooed. “We should put this on the fridge, what do you say?”
Mary just beamed in excitement.
“What about you Billy?” their dad asked, turning his attention to where little Billy was still sprawled out on the floor diligently scribbling on his own paper.
“I’m not done yet!” he said, covering his paper with his hands when his dad wandered over squatted down beside him.
C.C. held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I get it. You can’t rush art.”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be a surprise.”
It was always a little weird to look at his younger self like this. He was so small, so young. He barely remembered what it was like to be him, to be innocent and carefree, to be untouched by the horrors of the world. Looking at him now it was hard to believe the things that happened to him in the time between this memory and today. How had his uncle looked at little Billy and hated him so deeply? How had his foster families been able to look at him and toss him aside so easily? How had Shazam looked at this tiny child and chosen him as his Champion?
“You really do look a lot like him,” Mary said. “Our dad and the Captain I mean—they could be twins.”
Billy flushed happily. “I know right? Isn’t it great? And with how much you look like Mom when you're powered up, it’s almost like they’re still here with us.” He turned his attention back to the Historama, feeling just a little wistful. “Though nothing beats the real thing.”
“I’m done!” little Billy announced. He held his drawing and his Tawky Tawny doll close to his chest, wiggling in between his parents who had settled down on the couch. “It’s a family picture. See there’s me and Mary and Mommy and Daddy. And this one is Tawny cause he’s family too!”
“Oh wow!” his dad exclaimed as Billy pushed the paper into his face. “It looks like we have two artists in the family!”
Laughter filled the air as the Batson family came together chatting about art and family and mummies. It was the sort of domestic bliss Billy dreamed about.
Mary looked at him oddly, her eyes sad but not as watery as Billy’s had been the first time he watched this particular memory. “Is this where you’ve been disappearing to so often? I thought…”
Billy startled at her voice. He’d almost forgotten she was there. Once he registered her question, he ducked his head, an admission of guilt. “Can you blame me?”
Mary stared at him, her gaze intense, boring into him, into his mind, into his soul. He wasn’t sure what she would see, but he didn’t like feeling so vulnerable, even around his twin.
“You know you can’t spend all of your time watching these memories, right?”
“What do you mean? Of course I can.” He got to see his parents again, if only in these moments, these half remembered memories. Even better, he got to see them during all those moments he’d never even been around for—whether because he wasn’t born or because he was being watched by their nanny. He got to see more of them than he had when they were alive—how many people got an opportunity like that? Anyone would do the same in his shoes.
And it wasn’t like he spent all his time here—just enough to feel connected to his family again. Was that so bad? Surely Mary understood that right?
Mary shook her head, her brows scrunched together in concern. “I mean that it’s not healthy to dwell on the past so much you forget to enjoy the present.”
“That’s not—it’s not like that!”
“I’m not saying that it is,” Mary insisted. “I’m just saying that you need to be careful. Power like this,” she gestured at the Historama, still showing their childhood home, the one neither of them really remembered. “To be able to know the truth of any moment in time, to be able to go back to it whenever you want—it’s dangerous. It’s tempting.”
How could it be dangerous to watch a few cherished memories of his loved ones? To feel the connection to them that he’d been denied when he lost them?
“They’re just memories, Mary,” he said instead, pulling away from her and folding his arms across his chest. “They can’t hurt me.”
“Yes they can.” Mary mirrored his pose, jutting her chin out defiantly. He thought he saw her bottom lip wobble slightly, as if she were going to cry, but when she spoke her voice was as strong as ever. “I get it you know. I get wanting to go back to when things were simpler, happier. I get wanting to get to know our parents better, to make up for some of the time we lost. But…”
“But what?” Billy snapped. He was starting grow annoyed, angry—whether at the way she kept beating around the bush or the fact that he could already tell what she was implying. She thought he was wasting his time remembering his parents, and that hurt in ways he didn’t expect.
“But,” she continued, undeterred. “There’s a point where seeing these memories gets in the way of living your life—your real one.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Billy huffed out. “You’re just being paranoid.”
He hated fighting with his sister. Arguing, even when he was mad at her, felt unnatural. The few times it had happened since they were reunited had been some of the worst days ever. Already he could feel an apology threatening to bubble up in the back of his throat.
“It already has.”
“What are you talking about? No it hasn’t.”
“You missed class today.”
“No I didn’t,” Billy rushed to look at his watch, even knowing that it was rarely accurate while he was in the Rock of Eternity. “I made sure I had plenty of time to—“
“You missed class today,” Mary repeated. “I had to tell Mrs. Cooper that you were sick. And I had to tell Mom and Dad that you had Captain Marvel things to do.”
Billy pursed his lips. He knew how much Mary hated lying to her parents—it was the main reason they’d come clean to them about their powers—but he couldn’t stop the fresh wave of something unpleasant that came over him at the casual way she called the Bromfields Mom and Dad, as if they didn’t already have parents. Usually he didn’t mind so much, but after spending the day with their real parents it was hard not to.
“I must have lost track of time.”
“And how many times has that happened since you started messing around with the Historama?”
Billy couldn’t meet her eyes. “Once or twice,” he admitted. He dug his fingers deeper into his arm. He suddenly felt very, very small.
Mary’s voice was softer then next time she spoke. “I’m not saying you should never look for them again,” she said. “I’m not even saying you can’t use the Historama like this ever again. I’m really so grateful that you shared this with me. I just worry about you sometimes.” Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, her touch so feather light that he almost didn’t feel it.
His vision swam as tears rushed to his eyes. Through the blurry haze, he could just make out the now dormant Historama, as if it had sensed it no longer held their attention. He tried to swallow back the sudden rush of emotion he was feeling, but a sob escaped him. He tried to speak, tried to tell her that he was fine, that everything was fine, even though their parents were gone and they’d almost lost each other and nothing was ever going to be the same again and—
“Oh Billy,” Mary murmured, pulling him into a tight hug. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders in a firm grip. For some reason that just made the tears fall faster, his breath coming out in short little gasps as he tried and failed to rein himself in.
“I just miss them so much,” he confessed. “It’s not fair.”
“I know.”
Billy sniffled loudly, refusing to stop burying his face in his sister’s neck even as her hair tickled his face. “How could you? You don’t even remember them.”
He’d wondered about it for a while, but he’d seen Mary’s face as they watched the memory of their parents. She recognized them from the pictures he’d shown her, but she had startled at the sound of their voices, looking on as a curious outsider rather than one of the people in the memory itself.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t miss them,” she eventually responded. “It just makes it more difficult to understand what I’m feeling. I know it’s harder for you because you remember losing them—remember losing me—but I’ve barely seen you in weeks. I miss you.”
Billy pulled back in surprise to look Mary in the face. How could she miss him when he was right there? Had he really been growing that distant? She stared back at him unwavering.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Because what else was there to say? “I never wanted to…”
“I know.”
Billy swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “I’ll try to be better about it.”
“That’s all I ask.” Mary reached for his hand again, lightly tugging him away. “Now come on,” she coaxed. “We’ve got some memories to make here in the present.”
Billy followed after her, shooting one last glance over his shoulder at the Historama on his way out. “Hey Mary?”
“Yeah?”
“I think tomorrow we should see if this thing will let us see the future.”
Mary’s face broke out into a huge grin. “Now that sounds like a plan.”