The Epochracy Files

by Chele Pedersen Smith

  Her calls are like a hit and run. After she’s gone, I realize she gets into my head like a piped-in distraction. She strums my nerves for days.

  Chronicle of the Century

  Do Not Open For 100 Years. The stenciled warning on the tarnished chest captured their attention right away. Of course, anything forbidden held promise. Keep out. They wanted in. No cookies. Mouths watered. Reverse psychology worked every time, even with fast-teched teens in 2078.

  Treasures of time ticked away on stage as the crowd clamored around the dirt-clumped crate. It was quite a sight. A relic like this rarely turned up.

  “In your chairs, please!” Mrs. Rethom, a gray-haired principal ten years past retirement ushered order in the auditorium, a place in this day and age which looked more like a planetarium than an educational institution.

  “Over here!” Thirteen-year-old Lyrehc Ssom hovered above the crowd spotting the purple star-shaped braids atop her best friend’s head. “I saved you a seat.”

  Inot Mahgirb squeezed past the dangling legs and plopped into an inflatable cushion, pressing a rubber nozzle to rise up for a better view. “Thanks. It’s a mob scene in here. What do you think could be in the box?”

  “I don’t know but I’m excited,” Lyrehc bounced. Her sensible brown half-wedged, half-chin length bob followed the gravity. “I hope this qualifies as a history lesson.”

  “Sure, it’ll be interesting, but there you go again, learn nerd. Why do you want to add more work? One less subject is fine by me.” Inot surveyed the packed theater. “At least we’re missing math for this. Future fractions are so dumb anyway. Every answers ends as one.”

  “I know, and we still have to show our work,” Lyrehc huffed, rolling her eyes. “It’s only first year. After that, I hear it gets harder.”

  “Senseless,” Inot slouched. “Hey, they better not test us on this buried treasure crap. I’m no pirate and I stink at memory games.” It wasn’t a secret Inot barely tolerated school.

  “Knowledge is cool. We evolve from the past,” Lyrehc reminded her. “Remember when I spilled piping hot faux chocolate” on you in fourth grade?”

  “How can I forget? I still have the scar.” Inot held up her left hand, the last two fingers webbed in thick, pink tissue.

  Lyrehc cringed. “Still sorry. But you have to admit I’ve been careful ever since and you haven’t drank anything more than lukewarm in years.”

  “Are you saying we learn from our mistakes or you’re a bad friend?” Inot flashed a cheesy grin, her galactic braces twinkling like the Milky Way.

  Lyr smiled, satisfied her point was made. “Shhh, it’s starting!”

  “Good afternoon.” Mrs. Rethom clicked a palm device in her hand and her voice echoed as the students’ earpieces tuned into her speaking channel.

  Inot turned hers down a notch.

  “Vice Principal Ekib will assist me as we open the trunk. Now, remember, no levitating higher than the virtual beams in your row. This is to assure safety and so all can see. Taolf and Muileh, lower yourselves, please. I have to tell you boys at every assembly.”

  “Ladies and Gents, one hundred years ago here in ConnectiMasAmpshire, Droftrah West Upper School was known as West Farmford High School in Connecticut,” Mr. Ekib began. “On their hundredth anniversary, the class of 1978 opened a time capsule from 1878 and decided to leave us one as well. Governor Llien’o and Madame President have allowed this one exception to look into history.”

  The room dimmed and the box was highlighted by a free-roaming spotlight magnifying the contents. Mrs. Rethom cut the lock with the “corrode” setting of a laser gun, making the rusty metal fray like yarn. The leaders brushed off the debris with feather copters sending particles of dust to dance with their partners already in the spotlight. Mr. Ekib lifted the lid with a creak.

  Pulling out a beige boot with orange wheels attached, he chuckled, “I remember these. My great uncle showed me his and told me all about them. They are called roller skates. It was all the rage for kids to hang out at rinks and attempt to do something called, “The Hokey Pokey” on wheels. There were even professional teams with an elbowing game of roller derby.” He set the skate on the table. “There were some models with a solo blade to slice through ice.”

  “Very dangerous, indeed. No wonder they became obsolete,” Mrs. Rethom confirmed.

  Mr. Ekib shook his head and pulled out a bright blue, oblong item with a sandpaper textured top and rounded edges. In awe of the skating apparatus, he spun the sparkly clear wheels, acting like a kid himself. “Ah, this is along the line of skates but this is a flat surface. Kids would balance on it. Grandpa passed one down to Dad and he said they managed to stay on and swoosh through cement bowls like empty swimming pools. Eventually these skate boards got aerodynamic designs and became an extreme sport. Towns actually built skate parks where skaters could do tricks, like the half pipe on smaller U-shape surfaces. They would do flips and somersaults and land on a different skate board. There was even a non-wheeled version that rode ocean waves and slid through snow. In fact, snowboarding was a big competition when they had world games called the Olympics.”

  “So, perilous,” Rethom murmured in a motherly tone. “Do be careful. You can break your arm on one of these frivy things. Do not try this for yourself; I mean it.” She glared at the rowdy boys.

  Mr. Ekib gave her a strange look, not quite on board with her view, but he set the toy down as murmurs of confusion pinged among the teens.

  “Why did they risk breaking their necks with wheels when they could’ve slipped these babies on and whizzed around on air?” Inot kicked up a foot to show off her silver-prismed boot gliders.

  Lyrehc sighed. “You really should crack open a book now and then.”

  The principal pulled out an article of clothing. It looked like a below-the- knee-skirt in twill khaki, until she swayed it about and the wide pants parted into long shorts. “Ah, my grandmother and her friends wore these. The tag says it is a gaucho, which sounds like a delicious snack but these flaired well with fashionable boots, especially at dance clubs called Discos.”

  Inot and Lyrehc exchanged amused looks. They loved to call up ancient routines on the old flat screen and dance in Inot’s bedroom. So far they got “jiggy” with The Hustle, Cabbage Patch, The Sprinkler and they even practiced the Waltz. But their favorite was the Moonwalk.

  “Finally some school supplies,” Mr. Ekib announced, spotting a spiral notebook tucked under some gadgets. He pulled it up to show the crowd, a wire uncurling in his haste. “They used paper back in the day and kept it together like this—”

  The interruption of whistles and whoops caused him to stop and investigate. His cheeks turned a shade darker when he saw why.

  The tumultuous blonde flirting on the cover in a red strappy swimsuit was not academically sound. Her provocative breasts pressing through her top seemed out of place even now in a less prudish time, yet here this sex symbol splashed school supplies of the past. A sticky note on the back claimed this gal, Farrah, was someone named Charlie’s angel, but it still didn’t seem wise —or even holy— for over-eager teenagers to sport this around school, no matter what “era” of judgment.

  When the V.P. quickly chucked it back into the box amid boos and hisses, he tried misdirection with shinier objects.

  “Electronic Quarterback!” Mr. Ekib announced with glee, bringing up what resembled the antique calculators encased in the math hall. “I thought this was only legend,” he gushed. “My great uncles spoke of this. It runs on batteries, those cylinders we test in science lab. The screen is small and resembles a football field with just a few buttons to move the red blip up, down and side to side. Hard to believe such a simple graphic kept kids entertained for hours.” Glancing down, he spotted more. “Oh—old technology!”

  He pulled up several machines, one being a clunky rectangle with brown faux-wood paneled veneer and five buttons along the front edge demanding action. Record, Play, Pause, Rewind, and Forward.


  “This white cord looks like an old fashioned phone plug,” he mused, examining the line as if left behind by outer space. “I heard about these. Yes, here’s an AC/DC plug. This was back before lunar energy. Mrs. Rethom, do you have any clue?”

  “Yes, my parents had one when I was a child. It was made two ways; as a cassette player and an answering machine. One played musical tapes or record voices, like voicemail does today. My grandparents performed skits on it when they were kids. The only snag would be if the tape unraveled and we had to rewind the cartridge with those old lead pencils to reel it back in. It was just dreadful if the tape material was chewed up completely, resulting in garbled, cryptic alien sounds. A similar version had a phone jack so we could hook it up and have it record messages. We could leave the house and never miss a call.”

  Hands shot up in the audience and the principal allowed a question from the smartest student. “Yes, Adnil?”

  “Mrs. Rethom, why would you go through all that trouble in the olden days with all the wires and fumblesome pieces?” the girl asked. “I mean, when you have your earpiece, it’s all-in-one and goes with you.”

  “Yes, good question, dear. That is true now. But in these olden times,” she paused to look offended. “We did not have the advances we currently have. I should explain that my ancestors were not quick to change their technology. My family did not have much money to spend on the bell and whistles of new trinkets so we made due with what we had for as long as possible. My grandfather was a tinker and repaired everything instead of tossing them out. We were lucky to have a cordless phone but it was only chargeable for in-home use while my friends walked about town with iPhone Tens. But luckily this old dinosaur took calls if we were not home so we never missed anything important.”

  “Of course, I heard by the 2010s, people didn’t mind dodging house calls,” Mr. Ekib added. “Most were robotic politics or sales pitches. I remember granddad saying when he was a kid, it was common to unplug the whole works and just rely on wireless smart phones but they sure didn’t sound bright enough to protect against something called spam.” He riffled through the capsule and brought up a blue square tin. “Oh, perhaps he meant this?”

  The room rattled with laughter as the magnifying spotlight brought a photo of meat into focus.

  “Oh, that is just harmless ham,” Mrs. Rethom assured, bringing more giggles from the crowd. She felt like a partner in an old Vaudeville act. “Except for its high salt content it’s doesn’t pose a threat and it’s actually quite delicious. We had fried Spam with eggs in the, uh, olden days,” Mrs. Rethom said, aiming her pretend scowl at Adnil. She peered into the box and reached for something.

  “Oh, this looks famil—ouch!” Mrs. Rethom poked her finger bringing up a pointed stylus attached to a pencil in a ring. “Yes, a painful memory from another fine school tool. Now it’s an arithmetic artifact, right up there with the abacas. I present the compass.”

  Lyrehc’s arm waved wildly in the air. “Mrs. R?”

  “Yes, Ms. Ssom?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the stage light.

  “That doesn’t look like the compass we study in ancient mapery.”

  “Good observation, dear. This makes circles for geometry. We now do it electronically with our laser pointers but children had to poke the paper and rotate the pencil. But they must be careful as this is quite sharp.” She put her finger to her mouth. “Okay, Mr. Ekib. We have time for one more and then it is lunch.”

  “Alright, what will it be?” The vice principal flexed his hand, as if spinning a wheel of luck. Feeling around, he attempted to lift a small, black metal frame with round letter keys. “Well, this is heavy.” He enlisted both hands and set it down. “Seems to be a relic word maker. There’s a roller attached to the back where you pull this piece of paper through and an ink spool runs across it. It looks very much like a personal computer but I don’t see a plug or wireless switch.” He lifted the piece to peek underneath.

  Mrs. Rethom intervened. “My Great-Aunt often described writing term papers on one of these contraptions when she was a young girl,” the principal pined. “Let me see.”

  She settled in as if it were a computer keyboard. The keys stuck and some had worn off letters, but she managed to type the old fashioned pangram using all twenty-six letters of the alphabet, “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.”

  “Yes, the ribbon is a bit faded. And it takes some muscle to pound a key, but it is nostalgic,” Mrs. Rethom waxed. “My folks progressed to an electric version but what a feeling it is to shake hands with the past. There’s something about the sound—tap and punch, tap and punch—and the bell when the carriage returns—oh, it’s like a heartbeat to the stories of another time.”

  “Let me try,” Mr. Ekib suggested, bending over and giving rhythm to the rhyme he rapped out.

  Inot gave Lyrehc a tired look to say, old people. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

  “She hasn’t dismissed us yet.”

  “At this point, she won’t even notice. We can just fade away.” Inot stood.

  “Give it a few minutes,” Lyr whispered. She secretly wished she too could bang out a few paragraphs.

  When the kids began to get restless and the murmur rose louder, the principal snapped out of her love story and bid them a good lunch.

  “There are many more items in the box so this will be on display in the fifth spiral of the library the rest of the week. You can get up close and personal after school,” Mr. Ekib promised.

  “But no riding the skates!” Mrs. Rethom warned.

  The students hovered out.

  “We have to get a look,” Lyrehc urged. “Can you stay after today?”

  “Sure, it’s Monday,” Inot reasoned. “It’s my brother’s day to calibrate cerebral drives at Dad’s shop.”

  “You’re so lucky your father is an inventor!”

  “Well, so is your mom. She discovered the vaccine for acne. All the teenagers love her, and she’s getting a Nobel Peace Prize.”

  Spinning up five levels after class, Lyrehc couldn’t contain herself. “This will be like a time machine.”

  “Relax, it’s just a bunch of old junk,” Inot reminded her.

  The crowd was thinner than they expected. Three kids from the school news club were clowning around with the tape recorder, “reporting” from way back when while the editor pounded a story on the typewriter.

  A bunch of girls from the popular clique were trying on retro clothes and making fun of each other.

  “Get a kick out of those rollercoaster slip-ons!” Inot elbowed, nodding toward a zombie-walking girl in hilly rubber-soled “earth shoes.”

  Several boys were balancing on the skateboard, betting how many could fit.

  “I wonder what’s left,” Lyr asked as they approached the chest. Peeking in, she brought up a box of snack cakes. “These belonged to a girl named Debbie, I suppose. Oh, she wrote a note on the back in marker. ‘This is our favorite lunch at the cool table.”

  “I guess she shared them with her buddies. Sounds like they were a nutty group,” Inot teased, reading the name of the goody. She took the box and pulled off the cardboard zip tab.

  “What are you doing?” Lyr whispered, mortified. “You’ll get us in trouble.”

  “How can we can get a feel for the outdated 70s if we don’t explore?” She pulled out a cellophaned set of chocolate-covered wafers, giving it a sniff. “Smells like peanut butter.”

  “Ooh, nut butters are contraband.”

  “Think we can sneak a taste?” Inot asked, tempted.

  “Are you crazy? Eat a one-hundred-year-old food? It’ll probably kill us.”

  Inot read the side of the package. “Nah, it’s still fresh. See, a bunch of big lab words means it’s preserved like that mummy you were reading about.”

  “We might be allergic.”

  “I’m not,” Inot mumbled. To her horror, Lyrehc realized her friend’s mouth was full and one of the treats was half-gone.

>   “Put that back!”

  “It’s delicious. Take a bite.”

  “No, our system isn’t used to this stuff. We’ll get sick.”

  “We’ll be fine. And these are scrumptious. No wonder they loved these.”

  “No wonder you keep winding up in detention.” Lyr grabbed the goody and crammed it back into the package, hiding it deep into the trunk. “Hey, look at this.”

  She held up a blue-framed screen with a dangling stylus.

  “Magna Doodle,” Inot read out loud. “How does it turn on?”

  Lyrehc checked the back. “I don’t see a switch. Or a Wi-Fi setting from the old days.”

  When she flipped it over, her thumb smeared the screen and a smudge appeared.

  “Oh, like that.” Inot took the attached pen and scribbled on the display. Inot was here.

  “Were you here or not? That is the question,” Lyr giggled.

  “I bet this was fun on a rainy day,” Inot said, doodling away. “I wonder what rain was like.”

  “Uh, wet, like the shower, silly.” Lyrehc dug through the trove for more items. “Hey, I thought our government switching to all-powdered food to help world hunger was relatively new, but looks like they had meal pouches back then too.” Dismayed at not being part of a problem-solving generation, she fanned out three colorful packets.

  “More food? Let me see!”

  “Pop Rocks,” Lyr read. “Sorry, I don’t think these are edible after all. Oh, maybe it goes with this.”

  She pulled up a smooth stone with a colorful face.

  “Funny, says it’s a Pet Rock,” Inot mused. “Hmm, I guess the envelopes are what they eat.”

  “Or how to grow one.”

  “Cherry flavored,” Inot pointed out on the red packet. “Just like our dessert dust. And look, candy.” Discreetly tearing a corner, a pungent scent hit her nose. “Yep, fruity all right. Here.” She poured some of the pebbles into Lyrehc’s palm. “Live a little,” she urged, seeing her friend fret.