Shit. I forgot to log my jump again.
I pull the logbook from my pocket and flip to the page for the newest entry. Time of departure. Not really sure. After midnight. 12:30? I scribble it in. Location of departure: Gas station on Sixteenth Street. What was the cross street? Location of arrival: Same. Time of arrival: That I don’t know.
I walk up to the porch and try to get a good look at the cuckoo clock. I think I arrived sometime around 6:30 pm. Should be close to seven by now. The clock reads three o’clock. I don’t hear any ticking. Well you’re no help. Time zone: Eastern Standard Time. At least I know that one. I look over the empty columns of information I don’t know.
I realize I’ve overlapped my jump times from what should have been the previous day. In a little while my past self will be leaving the lab, headed out to celebrate his first successful day of time traveling with drinks at the bar.
I don’t deserve to celebrate. I’m a terrible time traveler.
I stuff the logbook and my pen back in my pocket and continue down the sidewalk. The old pavers are uneven and the littering of acorns makes me move slowly. I keep my eye out for possible safe anchors. The neighborhood is quiet overall, with only occasional cars passing. Some of the streets are brick and the houses are from a variety of eras, mashed together in time. I reach a small lake tucked away in a park in the heart of the neighborhood. A lone streetlight is shining on a playground in the adjacent park.
Jungle gym. That’s not a bad anchor.
I walk to the play area and am happy to find no sign of kids. Ending up in a locked bathroom with a little girl was awkward enough. I don’t really need to add lurking around children in parks to my image. The redwood bark mulch around the playground equipment is uncomfortable to walk on, but I work my way over to a set of monkey bars. There’s also a swing set, a long metal slide, and the type of merry-go-round that you race around and jump on to get dizzy. I loved those as a kid. Wish they hadn’t gotten rid of them. Safety really took the fun out of playgrounds.
I climb up the two side steps of the monkey bars and then clamber to the top where I can dangle my feet over the edge. I’m happy to be off the bark. A large Banyan tree obscures the streetlight, so I doubt that I’m very visible from the street. There is flapping from some kind of waterfowl next to the lake, but otherwise the area is quiet.
Positioning myself as comfortably as I can with my legs hanging over the edge of the front rail and my lower back resting against the back rail, I set to work arranging my chronometer settings, tilting it to catch some light as best I can. Next time I really need to bring a flashlight. I decide to try to jump forward to the wee morning hours first. Shouldn’t be anyone using monkey bars at three in the morning. I realize I’m still guessing at what time I’m leaving from again. Jumping in the lab with a clock on the wall was a lot easier to manage. I set the chronometer for a seven-hour jump. It should put me somewhere around 3 am. Do I have it set to FWD this time? Yes. Learned from that mistake.
I switch my chronometer back to my left hand where it feels more natural, and clamp down on the monkey bars. Here we go again. I close my eyes and push the pin. Opening them feels like nothing has happened. It does seem a little darker out, doesn’t it? Yeah. Definitely darker. I’m trying to convince myself because nothing else seems to have changed. I double-check my chronometer settings. Everything looks right. Damn. Did it work?
I’m going to need some way of checking this. Quickly never mentioned this problem, but it probably just slipped his mind. I look around for things that might have changed in the last seven hours.
Looking up, I can see a lot of stars but no constellations I recognize. They should have moved anyway. I study the star patterns above me, then take the pen out of my pocket and draw one of the shapes on my hand. Okay. Diamond-shaped cluster above the Banyan. You should be moved in an hour. As I’m staring at it, a dark spot drifts across it. Another cluster disappears next to it and then it reemerges. Don’t get cloudy on me now when I need you!
The little diamond cluster is back to shining at me so I decide to take my chances. I set my chronometer for an hour and jump again. This time I keep my eyes open and stay staring at the cluster of stars. I push the pin on the chronometer and they disappear.
All the stars are gone.
In their place is nothing but a charcoal blackness. As my eyes probe the darkness, I can just make out the reflection of the city lights in the layer of cloud. Figures. At least I know it worked.
Another idea occurs to me and I climb down the monkey bars to the last rung of the ladder and bend down to grab a piece of the redwood bark mulch. I carry it back up the monkey bars to my perch on top and set it on my lap. When I jump it should fall back to the ground. I nestle back into my space between bars and recalibrate my chronometer settings. Okay, it ought to be sometime around 4 am now. Playground still should be safe for a couple of more hours. I set my chronometer for a two-hour jump and grab the bar next to me.
The moment I push the pin, the sky lights up. The blackness is now a predawn blue. The clouds are gone again. One bright point of light is still shining in the sky and I imagine it must be a planet. The neighborhood is now clearly visible around me. I can hear vehicles on the street a block over. Off to my right, beyond some trees, a car door slams. Saint Petersburg is awake. I twist to look behind me and am surprised to see a young blonde woman on the walkway, jogging toward me around the lake less than fifty yards away. She seems concentrated on the sidewalk ahead of her feet. Had she been watching when I arrived, she would have had a clear view of the whole event.
She looks up and sees me. Our eyes meet and she looks surprised. After a moment, she turns her attention back to the path and it curves away following the contour of the lake. I pivot to watch her but she doesn’t look back. I let her colorful figure disappear behind the next curve of foliage before turning back to my chronometer. She was cute. Probably doesn’t go for grown men hanging out on top of jungle gyms . . .
I look down at my lap and find that the piece of bark is gone. I lean to my left and look at the ground, but can’t identify my piece among all of its contemporaries. Clearly I’m going to need a better method.
With the early morning light I can see well enough to fill in my logbook for my last few jumps. I climb down and carefully walk across the bark to a picnic table sitting under the Banyan. I sit down and flip to my log page. One of the columns I’ve been leaving blank catches my eye. It’s labeled “Duration of stay.” What was that column for? Quickly’s lessons obviously did not stick as well I would like. Is it for how long I stayed in a particular time, or a particular location? I decide to just write in both and try to list my stints on top of the monkey bars throughout the night as best I can.
Six more hours and I’ll be about caught up with when I left. It’s an odd feeling to be thinking of a specific time as being home, but I’m realizing more and more how much it matters to me to be in the same flow of time as my friends. We’re all displaced, but being displaced together is much less stressful than being stuck away on my own.
I know I can walk over to Mr. Cameron’s house right now and find them all sleeping. In the next hour they’ll all be getting up and getting ready to head for Quickly’s place. It would be so easy to just go join them, the only problem being that I’m already there. I’m going to be getting up and making myself some toast and jelly before too long. Banana. Bowl of cereal. Breakfast feels like a long time ago. It’s odd to realize it hasn’t happened yet. My stomach is feeling pretty empty. I’d been looking forward to lunch when we got done with Quickly’s lesson in the neighborhood. That’s a long way off now.
There are a couple of grade school boys walking down the street with backpacks. They get to the corner of the block and stop. They’re joking around with one another. One boy pushes the other off the edge of the curb. The slightly thinner boy immediately jumps back onto the sidewalk even though there are no cars coming. They linger around the stop sign. It appears to
be a familiar routine.
Having my monkey bars so near a bus stop puts a damper on my traveling for the immediate future. The random activity on the street is now becoming a factor, too. The odds of someone seeing me depart or arrive have gone up significantly. I stand up and slide my logbook back into my pocket. I walk back out of the park and check the intersection street signs. I realize I’m almost an equal distance from Mr. Cameron’s house as I am from the street where we were practicing with Quickly. An idea occurs to me and I start heading for Mr. Cameron’s house.
It takes me about half an hour to navigate the neighborhood barefoot and arrive at Mr. Cameron’s street. I don’t head for the house immediately. There’s a bicycle shop at the end of the street that is not open yet, but I can make out the clock on the back wall through the plate glass window in the front. The clock reads ten past seven. I still have a little waiting to do.
Dark clouds are moving across the sky as I walk down the sidewalk a half-dozen houses away from Mr. Cameron’s house, then cut through someone’s side yard to the alley. We were picked up in the front of the house this morning but we went out the back door and walked around because Spartacus had wanted to get out into the yard. If I can get a good view of the back of the house, I can see all of us leave.
I sneak into the garden shed and look out the dusty window. A few minutes go by and then the back door opens. Spartacus dashes out into the yard and begins sniffing the flowerbox near the screened porch. I duck instinctively when Mr. Cameron appears. I peer over the ledge of the window. Francesca files out after Mr. Cameron, followed by Carson, and then there I am. A shiver runs down my neck. This is so weird. The other me is followed by Blake, then Robbie comes to the doorway and lingers, leaning on the doorframe. Mr. Cameron stoops and hooks a leash to Spartacus’s collar. I see us saying pleasant goodbyes and watch as I lead the way around the side of the house and disappear. I know it will be only a couple of minutes until we are picked up.
Mr. Cameron is patiently taking Spartacus on a tour of the yard. Robbie has stepped back inside. I slide over to the door of the tool shed and peer out the crack. Mr. Cameron and Spartacus draw slowly closer. What if he comes in here? I hadn’t thought of that eventuality. I might startle him to death. What if I end up being the reason Mr. Cameron dies? My mind races with awful possibilities. My worries ebb as Mr. Cameron pulls on the leash and steers Spartacus toward the house.
I have so many questions to ask Dr. Quickly when I see him. My detour has raised all sorts of variables and problems with time travel that had not previously occurred to me. I’m eager to get back in sync with my life here so I can be less stressed about my actions.
I watch Mr. Cameron go back inside and then wait another ten minutes before leaving the shed. We have to have left by now. I work my way up the walk to the back door. I’m struck with the compulsion to knock, even though I basically live here now. I compromise and give a quick couple raps on the door with my knuckles before turning the knob and poking my head inside.
“Hello?” I call.
Robbie appears around the corner of the sitting room doorway. “Hey. You forget someth—” He stops talking as he gets a look at me.
I look down and realize that in my dirty jumpsuit, cut up arms and no shoes, I differ greatly in appearance from the version of me that just left.
“Hey, man.”
“Hey. What happened to you?”
“Is Mr. Cameron handy? I may as well fill you both in on this at the same time.”
Robbie goes and gets Mr. Cameron and we sit down around the kitchen table. It takes longer than I suspected to tell my story, largely since Robbie frequently interrupts with questions. I tell them my whole experience and how I encountered Stenger. That fact does not affect them as much as I had imagined but they are still largely surprised that I’m from five hours in the future.
“So the other you is over at Quickly’s place right now, and has no idea you’re here?” Robbie asks with amazement.
“Yeah, I never suspected anything this morning.”
“That’s crazy. It’s so weird that we were just talking to you and now you’re like a whole different person!”
“What is your plan now?” Mr. Cameron asks.
“I was hoping that I could just lie low for a few hours, and then when we get close to the time when I disappear off the roof, you can drive me over and drop me back off. I don’t really want Blake to be stuck on that roof waiting for me for too long.”
“We can certainly do that.”
“I could use a bite to eat, too.”
Mr. Cameron gets up to get something for me but I gesture for him to sit back down. “I can get myself something.” I stand up and go to the refrigerator. “I don’t want to screw anything up by changing your day. I may have already I suppose, but I’m not trying to. I suppose it would be best if you two carried on as best you can like I’m not here. I’m just going to go upstairs and try to stay out of the way.”
Robbie and Mr. Cameron seem agreeable, though Robbie is still incredulous, so after I finish a yogurt and another banana, I make my way upstairs. I take a shower and wash my dirty, cut arms, but climb back into my jumpsuit afterward. I find an extra pair of flip-flops to wear and set them by the bedroom door, then stretch out on Carson’s bed. I stare at the ceiling with my head reeling with possible things I might be screwing up, but before long my eyelids start to droop, and before I really notice time has passed, I’m being shaken awake by Robbie.
“Hey. We should probably get going.”
I’m sluggish and half awake in the back of Mr. Cameron’s car, but as we near Quickly’s neighborhood, my apprehension starts to build. What if Quickly is upset with me for screwing up the time jump? I’ve never seen him get angry yet. He’s been a patient teacher so far, but until now, none of us has screwed up quite this badly.
“It’s the next street down,” I say, guiding Mr. Cameron toward our destination. “We should probably take it slow from here. I don’t know exactly what time we left.” I direct Mr. Cameron to an intersection a couple blocks down the street from where we were working with Quickly. As we cruise through the intersection, I peer down the street and see the group of us standing around a mailbox. “It’s almost time.”
Mr. Cameron parks the car along the next block and the three of us get out of the car. I creep back to the corner and peek around a tree. Mr. Cameron and Robbie linger along the side yard on the sidewalk. Through a crook in the trunk of the tree, I watch the group break up and head in different directions. Blake and I disappear beyond some trees to go climb the roof of the ranch house.
Francesca and Carson cross to the opposite side of the street and head toward me. They make it almost to the end of their block before walking into a driveway and climbing into a person’s aluminum boat that is parked on a trailer. I watch with interest as they arrange themselves along the bow of the boat, gripping the bow rail. I signal for Robbie and Mr. Cameron to look around the corner.
“This is going to be cool to watch.”
The two of them join me by the tree and I point out Francesca and Carson off in the distance. Mr. Cameron raises his glasses and squints toward where I’m pointing.
“You have much better eyes than I do. I can’t see much of anything that far.”
“Carson and Francesca are in a boat down there,” Robbie explains.
I keep my eyes fixed on them and watch as first Carson disappears and then a few moments later Francesca follows. The boat is empty.
“That is so wild,” Robbie says.
We stare at the boat a few more moments before I straighten up.
“I guess we should be pretty much in the clear now. As long as Blake and I are gone by the time we walk down there, I think things will be back to normal.”
“Want to just take the car?” Robbie suggests.
“Yeah, I guess that will work, too.”
We get back in the car and go around the block. As we pull up to the stop sign nearest our ju
mping off point, I slouch down in the back seat and peer around Robbie’s headrest to glimpse the rooftop of the rancher. It’s empty. Dr. Quickly is lingering around in someone’s driveway, still jotting notes, and I point him out to Mr. Cameron. He pulls the car over and parks. I watch Dr. Quickly’s face as I get out of the car. His reaction is far less surprised than I had imagined. In fact, he doesn’t seem surprised at all.
“Messed that one up a bit,” I say, walking up to where he is on the sidewalk. He checks his watch.
“You’re a bit early. What happened?”
“I went backward instead of forward.”
He looks a bit more concerned.
“By twelve hours.”
“Oh my. That is a mess,” he replies. “You successfully survived until now though, so that’s something. Did you log your jump?”
I nod.
“Let me see your logbook.”
I hand it over to him. “I think I may be missing some information still.”
When he flips to the page I’ve been using, his eyebrows raise in surprise. “You made five jumps?” His eyes have an avid interest now as they look into mine.
“Yes, counting the mess up, I guess it was five.”
He’s studying my entries. “A toilet railing and some monkeybars?”
“Um, yes sir.”
A broad smile breaks across his face. “There may be some hope for you yet!” He slaps me on the shoulder.
When Blake arrives on the roof of the ranch house, I’m standing in the front yard. It takes a few moments for him to see me. “Hey!” he yells down. “Did you chicken out?”
In Times Like These Boxed Set Page 21