The Relentless Pursuit of a Breakthrough

Somewhere between Spock and Einstein, Garrett became convinced it was possible; between The Doctor and Rufus he so romanticized it that the pursuit possessed him. An early draft of his wish list read: Dinosaurs, Pythagoras, Jesus? Of course, now that he’d passed puberty and plunged into R&D, the list had changed. 

Garrett had intrigued a wealthy senior executive who hoped for one more dance with his wife. So, funding was a non-issue. He started small, sending egg timers a few seconds back, tuning it to go longer each time. He also devised a component to return to the present. A nagging problem was destination; each subject had to be sent to a receiver. All appearances suggested no dates prior to his having built it. 

Upon successfully sending back a live rat, he conditioned it to engage the return device. Then, he built a sort of time-travel 3D printer; once tests on that had supported life, he sent back the rat and the return device to a month before Garrett had come to the building. He began the sequence, then the rat was gone. Before a full minute, the rat returned and Garrett’s heart jumped to hyperdrive. 

Garrett awoke on the roof as the sun rose. He checked his timer: He’d been out two minutes. He stood and made his way to the fire ladder, following the meticulously-planned route he had traced before making the jump. Once on the ground, he pulled out his recorder.

“Possible neuropathy in extremities; feet and hand sensations diminished.”

A newspaper on the sidewalk confirmed the date. He had really done it.

It was only a short walk to Rutherford High. Garrett slipped in among the students and headed for the quad. If anyone asked, he was trying to find a cousin who forgot his homework. No one asked.

It certainly was a bizarro yearbook. As he scanned the crowd, he’d see a face– then two, then three– that instantly brought back memories. Every clique was exactly where it usually was.

Then Garrett spotted himself, sitting on the lawn with Shane. Judging by their motions, they were still talking about the fantasy movie they were going to make together. Yes, this was probably the day. Garrett checked his coat pocket, making sure the letter was still there. Next to him was Ian, a kid in his class.

“Can you give this letter to Garrett Morse?”

The sophomore didn’t seem to notice. Garrett tapped his shoulder.

“Hey! Hey kid!” 

Nothing. 

“Can anyone hear me?”

Nobody.

“I have a bomb!”

No.

Garrett sank to the ground and wept bitterly. He tore up the letter, which had read:

Garrett–

It’s your future self. Password: Flagellate. 

URGENT: Before I tell you anything else, Shane needs you today. He’s going through rough times, and you will mock him today because the popular kids are starting to like you, but not him. If you fail, he will hang himself tonight and you will never forget it.

Bad Brother

       He was terrible until the day he died. Every time we got together he would spend most of the day describing how great his new job at the marshmallow factory was or how many donuts he could do around the buoys at the lake before vomiting. Six. It was no mystery that some of it was going to come up free marshmallows. I'd often think that maybe I'm the jerk for not being happier for him. Maybe it was just because I was so miserable that his news would always come across as arrogance. Which ever it was, he had no idea how much I'd always wanted to be him. And he was painfully unaware that I'd been on unemployment since I was laid off from my entry-level position at the sanitation department. You'd think trash-picking would be one industry untouched by the recession.

The day he died I was especially depressed after my cat was found by my neighbor at the bottom of their pool. I sat there wondering how I was supposed to dispose of my soggy friend when a knock brought me to the front door. A man in a trench coat was there facing the other way. Who does that? He didn't turn around until after l said hello and I recognized him as my brother's friend Douglas. Douglas was a weirdo. He was a bad influence on my brother I thought, or maybe it was the other way around. Either way I was not excited to see him or welcome him in to my death odorous home.

"What died in here?" he said.

"My cat. Well, it died next door. In the pool." I replied.

He got all serious after that, asking about my criminal record and when was the last time I traveled abroad. I told him as little as possible but my life had been so boring for the last couple months I went along with his strange questions longer than I'd like to admit. At a certain point though I excused myself to use the toilet and from there called my brother to see why Douglas had paid me an unwanted visit. He answered by telling me a story about a witch that cursed a small village in Norway.

"That village was racist." I said.

He agreed and told me that the meaning of this story was all that kept him from certain death. I didn't understand but my brother only lies in person so I knew it was true. Six hours later we met in the woods behind an abandoned bank our mother used to pay "outrageous fees" to years ago.

"It's definitely mafia but I'm bad with accents so I don't know." he said.

We rented a car and I drove all day trying to understand their stupid riddle while he slept for the first time in days. We had some great conversations on that trip before they caught up with us. After all these years I thought, finally a fond memory.