by Young, Luke
Gone is the scar where I sliced my hand open cutting wallpaper ten years ago. Grinning widely, I think this is pretty fucking cool. This is big. I take a deep breath. Raising my gaze to William, I notice he's looking at three large men heading our way and they don't look happy. William steps toward me. "I think we should get out of here."
Nodding, I follow him through the emergency exit just as one of the men rushing over shouts, "Hey, stop right there."
"Hurry," William says as he sprints ahead of me.
I take off after him, my young legs carrying me easily at his pace. I feel my pants slipping off my trim waist and take hold of the waist band, pulling them up. We move down into the valley, with the sounds of the construction equipment fading away as we head toward the road and the front of the old building.
Standing in the parking lot catching our breath, I run my hands through my hair and it's all there, every last strand. Thick and full, my receding hairline is gone. It's amazing how much you don't realize you miss your hair; you lose it so gradually that the impact of the loss is, well, lost on you. But getting it back all at once, is a complete shock to your system. I can do nothing except smile. My mind quickly flies through all the other signs of aging that have surely now been reversed. I'm desperate to look at my face in a mirror. I'm sure the bags under my eyes are gone, the lines, the wrinkles. Then my thinking goes south, I'm hoping my equipment is functioning like it used to. Don't get me wrong, it still works or should I say worked in the future or whatever, wait I didn't say that right. I'm confused as to what tense I should be using about where I came from three minutes ago— that, in and of itself, seems like a weird thing to ponder. My head is spinning.
I take a deep breath through my young lungs. "So, how do I look?"
"What?" William replies, confused.
"How do I look?"
"Um, younger." William smiles. "Welcome to July third, nineteen eighty eight."
"Dude, this is going to be amazing. I don't know how to thank you."
"No thanks are necessary. Just make the most of this. You've been given a gift that most people can only dream about. Don't waste it."
"I won't." I exhale deeply. "There is no way I will screw it up this time. No way."
"And try not to be such a moody asshole this time."
"What?" I look at him, insulted.
"I told you I've been briefed."
"Okay, all right." I look across the road to where the post office and Wal-Mart used to be and they are not there. They've been replaced with a gas station and beyond that nothing but trees. Turning back toward the building, I spot the parking lot full of cars from the nineteen eighties. I shake my head, shit this is wild.
William puts on a serious expression. "So, good luck."
"Wait, that’s it?"
"For me it is."
"What should I do now?"
He shrugs. "You need to figure the rest of this out on your own."
"Okay." I take a moment to think. "I guess I need to get to College Park."
"I guess you do. Your shift starts at six."
"Shit, how—"
"You'd better get moving since it's a little after three."
"Wait, aren’t you going to get me there?"
He shakes his head no.
"Can't you just blink your eyes and, you know…" I fold my arms in front of me like I Dream of Jeannie and blink. "... work some magic?"
He glares at me.
"Seriously, you can't get me there?" I ask.
"I can't spend any more time with you. I've got other things I need to be doing."
"Like what?"
"That's classified."
"Classified? How can that be—"
"Remember what I said about being an asshole."
"Oh, yeah, sorry."
"Remember don't waste this opportunity."
I nod as he turns and walks away, heading back toward the trees.
Standing still for a moment, I take stock of my situation. I pat my pockets and feel my car keys in one side and my cell phone in the other. I pull out the key fob to my 2012 Mini Cooper, midlife crisis car and head toward my assigned parking space. Part of me is expecting to see my car there, but of course it is not. I pull out my cell phone. It's an iPhone 5 and I push the button to bring it to life and punch in my security code. It powers up, and for some reason I'm not surprised. The power meter shows 59%, but the signal strength bar is completely blank. Now, for some reason this surprises me. I'm not thinking all that clearly for obvious reasons. I touch my email icon and it displays a "no connection available" message.
"Okay," I mumble to myself slipping the phone back into my pocket.
I pull out my wallet and look inside. Everything is as I remember it. My driver's license, credit cards with their 2015 expiration dates and forty eight dollars in cash— the bills marked series 2009. This could be a problem.
I desperately want to find a mirror and jerk off. Wait, that came out wrong— I don't want to watch myself jerk off in a mirror, I want to check my current looks and separately I want to perform one of my, hell, most guy's favorite activities but with my new, or should I say old, and improved equipment. Both those items need to wait; I've got more pressing things to deal with, specifically getting my ass to College Park in less than three hours. It could easily be a two-hour drive the day before a national holiday in rush-hour traffic.
I walk toward the front of the building. Ahead of me is a nervous looking guy in his mid-twenties walking through the front door. I follow him in. He heads to the guard desk and says, "I have an interview with Greg Marshal. I'm Tim Watkins."
"Please have a seat."
I smile. This is my chance.
Picking up the phone, the guard dials a number. "Mr. Marshal, Tim Watkins is down here." When he hangs up the phone, he turns his attention to the young guy. "He'll be right down."
The guard makes eye contact with me. I stammer, "Um, I'm here to pick someone up. They're coming soon."
He nods and returns his eyes to something on the desk. Sitting down in a chair next to Tim, I wait. Minutes later a man appears from around the corner, smiling with his hand extended. "Tim, good to meet you."
I recognize Greg instantly. He must be about forty and looks pretty good for his age. Tim rises up and puts out his hand. The two meet in the center of the lobby and shake.
I don't make a move to stand or say anything. I just sit there as if Greg will somehow recognize me, smile and rush over to shoot the shit. Ridiculous, I know, but give me a break, I'm new at this time travel crap.
Heading toward the hall with Tim following, Greg asks, "Did you have any trouble finding us?"
Finally coming to my senses, I spring up from the chair and loudly say, "Greg."
Turning, Greg gives me a wide-eyed look but doesn't say anything.
"Greg." I repeat as I walk toward him.
He moves to meet me in the center of the lobby, giving me a confused look. "Yes."
"Can I speak to you for a few minutes? It's—"
"If you're applying for the job, you can drop your resume off at H.R. and we'll give you a call."
I shake my head. "No, I'm not applying for a job."
"Look, if you're selling something then—"
"No, I really just need a few minutes of your time."
He sighs, looks at his watch before glancing at Tim then returning to me. "Okay, wait here. After this interview I'll meet you here."
"Okay…" I reply without thinking.
Greg turns and heads away.
I say way too loudly, "It really can't wait."
Without looking, Greg says, "Sorry." He walks down the hall with Tim behind him.
Rushing after him, I step past the guard desk. "Greg, this is important."
The guard rises up from his seat. "Hey, stop."
Greg turns to me and sighs, waiting.
"Um, I'm… Tracey Barnes is, is… she's my mother." I pull that lie out of my ass and lift my palms up putting on
my best pleading expression. The guard reaches me and grabs me by the arm.
A smile flashes across Greg's face. He approaches me and waves the guard away. "It's okay."
After releasing my arm, the guard heads back to his desk.
Greg's smile is brighter still. "How is she? I haven't seen her in a long time."
"She's great."
"Look, I'd love to chat, but can you wait? I'll be down in thirty minutes."
Waving my finger at him to draw him closer, I give him a sympathetic look. He leans in and I whisper, "I hate to break this to you this way, right here, but uh, I'm… your son."
His eyes shoot wide open as he moves back a step. "What?"
"She told me about you… when you guys dated and I'm your son."
He runs his fingers through his hair and gazes at me speechless. Closing his eyes, he slumps against the wall.
I look around and see both Tim and the guard eying me confused. I return a hesitant smile before focusing back on Greg. "Is there somewhere we could talk?"
"Huh?" He opens his eyes and appears as though he might pass out.
"Can we talk somewhere?"
"Yeah, okay."
I'm sitting in Greg's office in front of his desk. He's behind it nervously tapping a pen against the arm of his chair. On his desk is a huge personal computer. I shake my head and comment, "God, how old is that thing?"
"What thing?"
"The computer."
"It just came out." He scoffs. "It has a 20 megabyte hard drive."
"Oh, wow, yeah sorry. It's really nice. I'm not sure what I'm—"
Sighing, he leans forward in his chair and looks me in the eye. "So, Tracey Barnes…"
"Yep."
"How old are you?"
I pause thinking for a moment. Wait, how old was I in nineteen eighty eight? My eyes widen. "I'm twenty one."
Now he pauses with the gears seemingly turning in his head. Suddenly, he frowns. "I dated Tracey in sixty nine so if you were my son, you'd have to be closer to eighteen. What is this shit?"
Holding my hands up apologetically, I explain, "Um, look, no, I'm not your son, but…"
"How do you know about Tracey?"
"You told me about her."
His jaw drops open. "When?"
"In two thousand thirteen."
"The year twenty thirteen?" He looks at me like I have two heads.
I nod with one eye brow cocked wearing a timid smile.
"You mean, l told you this in a year that doesn't happen for a couple decades?" Cringing, he narrows his eyes.
"Uh, yeah."
Shaking his head, he picks up the phone and dials. "This is Greg Marshal. I need security in my office now, please."
I stand and say, "Wait, just give me one minute to explain."
"That's right." Greg says into the phone, before putting down the receiver. "I'm not sure what kind of crap you're trying to pull, but don't move."
"I know this is hard to believe, but I actually work here… for you. You hire me in ninety six."
Folding his arms, he shakes his head in disbelief. "I don't know what kind of drugs you're—"
"We get to be pretty good friends."
"Okay, yeah, buddy."
"Look…" I sigh. "You told me all about how your wife won't do it with the lights on. How you only have sex in missionary position and how unsatisfied you are."
Horrified, he looks around the room as if there could be other people listening. When he returns to glare at me, he says, "You little shit. I'm going to—"
"At lunch one day you told me all about Tracey and how she was the only other girl you were ever with."
With his expression softening a bit, I saw that I was finally reaching him, so I continue, "How she, you know, went down on you when you were parked near the railroad tracks."
"Shit." His jaw falls open.
"How you never forgot about her. How she moved away and you never saw her again."
"Yeah…" Greg spins in his chair to look out the window.
I return to my seat and take a deep breath. "You told me you love your wife, Alice, with all your heart, but you just couldn’t forget about Tracey. You told me you thought about her a lot."
"I've, um, never told anyone about this— no one." He sighs and spins in his chair back to look me in the eye. "But, how do you know all this?"
"Have you ever seen that old movie Back to the Future?" I give him a confused look. "Wait, has that even come out yet?"
He looks at me like I'm out of my mind. "Oh, so you're saying you went back in time riding in a Delorean."
"No, but it's just like that movie except Michael J. Fox, when he goes back, he doesn't change... he's still the same age, but when I did it, I came back as my younger self." Cocking my head, I make a face. "Which sorta makes sense, I guess."
He's looking past me with his eyes glazing over as he seemingly fights to process all this. After a moment, he says, "Oh… okay, yeah—"
Suddenly there's a knock on the door. Greg gets up, opens it and steps out and closes the door. A few seconds later, he returns alone and plops down in his chair, looking me in the eye, speechless.
"Wait." I smile. "I can prove it to you." I pull out my cell phone, and type on the screen.
"What the hell is that?"
"Cell phone," I say as if he should know what that is. Looking up from my phone, I give him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, these come out in the nineties. You can make calls and use the Internet and… wait what time is it?"
He looks at the clock. "Almost three thirty."
"Shit, just watch this." I press the screen and hand him the phone.
He looks at the picture I took of him at his office birthday party. "Oh, God I look just like my father. Do I really lose all that hair?"
I give him a sympathetic nod. "So do I."
He looks the phone over carefully and hands it back to me. "You're here why… how?"
"I don't have time for all that now. You believe me, right?"
"Yeah," he says. "I guess."
"Good. Do you think you could give me a ride to College Park? I need to get there before six."
"Why?"
"My shift starts at six."
"Shift?"
"Yeah, I have to work at the ice cream place," I say casually.
Now he looks at me like I'm really out of my freaking mind. "You came all the way back here to work at some crappy job in an ice cream place?"
"No… yes… I mean…" I shake my head frustrated. "I came back to get a second chance with the girl I let get away— this amazing girl. The girl of my dreams." I sigh, dreamily, slumping back in my chair.
He puts his hand to his chin. "You realize this is crazy, right?"
"Yeah, but… Look, I really don't understand how this whole time travel thing works, but I'm pretty sure if I don’t get there by six, none of what is supposed to happen tonight will happen and I might screw everything up."
Chapter 14
Five minutes later, Greg's driving me in his aging Honda Civic toward College Park. Realizing I've forgotten to check myself in a mirror since I've been sort busy going back in time and explaining all of it, I pull down the visor and take the opportunity. I run my hands over my face, grinning. "Wow."
I tilt the mirror up looking at my hairline as I run my fingers through it. "I really miss having actual hair. Losing it really sucks." I glance over to Greg. "Sorry."
"I don't want to think about it," he grumbles.
"Does anyone even know why the hell men lose hair? I mean, it makes absolutely no sense. Name one other thing on your body that just falls off?"
He simply shrugs. "What year did you say you, um, left from?" He makes a face as if he can't believe he's actually asked that question.
"What?" I'm still engrossed in checking out my old— new hair.
"What year?"
"Two thousand thirteen."
"So, I still have my job?"
"Yeah, you're a Director."
Looking out the window, I shake my head in disbelief as I see all these cars from the late eighties looking so shiny and new. Everything looks so strange. We're driving past places I know, but really I don't— open fields where there should be strip malls and forests where there should be housing developments. We pass a gas station and the price is ninety nine cents a gallon. I let out a chuckle.
"So what's it like?" Greg asks.
"What?"
"The future."
I take a moment. "It kinda sucks. I mean, you know, how they say everything is worse now than it was when you grew up?"
"Yeah."
"We'll it's really a mess. Gas is like four dollars a gallon. Wars in the Middle East, terrorists and... it's all reality shows on TV."
"What's a reality show?"
"Like they take one girl who's not married and match her up with like twenty guys. She sorta gets to know them and eliminates them one by one until she picks one to marry or something like that."
"And that's a show?"
"Oh, there's lot of them. Like this year there was a new show where they get washed up celebrities to dive into a pool."
"You're kidding?"
"No."
He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.
"And the Internet is a big deal. Somehow all the computers in the world are connected together. It starts in the mid-nineties and takes off like crazy. Everyone has a cell phone and their phones are also connected to the Internet. It's a whole social media thing." I nod my head. "Facebook, yeah Facebook is a big deal."
"Huh." Looking at me with a glimmer in his eye, he says. "So I should buy stock in this Facebook when it comes out."
"No." I chuckle. "Only if you want to lose half your money."
He frowns. "Oh, so what's a good investment?"
"I'm not so sure I should tell you?" I fold my arms. "I mean, it's not really fair is it?"
"Well, I'm not so sure I should be driving you either." He makes a face.
"I'm kidding." I break into a grin. "I'm no investment expert, but it's pretty simple. Can you buy stock in Microsoft now?"
"Yes, I own some shares."
"Good, buy all of that you can. Hold that until you hear the word Amazon. They become this giant Internet retailer. Buy every share you can, mortgage your house, sell a kidney… borrow money. Buy it all the stock doubles and triple like every week for a while. It's ridiculous."