by Eric Nixon
Harsh sunlight blinded me for a moment as the sounds of a busy city street filled the warm late-summer air. I blinked it off until my eyes adjusted to the difference. I was standing in a doorway, maybe one hundred feet from where the accident was to occur. I hurried down and rounded the corner to see a police sawhorse and several orange cones blocking the right-hand lane for the first twenty feet of the curb and into the intersection.
No.
An orange city pickup truck with flashing yellow lights was parked nearby while two workers in jeans, leather work boots and reflective vests pushed wide brooms, shoving small bits of plastic, glass, and reflective debris into a pile. The kind of bits you’d expect to see if a city bus had hit someone.
NO!
How could I have missed it? It still happened? How? I looked around frantically, in search of an answer, anything...and spotted a digital clock on a building across the intersection that gave the time. As I watched the minute advanced to 3:41 pm.
Wait a second. She was hit at 2:42 pm. I checked my watch, which told me it was 2:41 pm. Then it hit me. I never figured for Daylight Savings Time. I did miss it, but it’s ok. All I have to do is jump back to the present, change the time, and I’ll be back in time to save her.
I hurried down the street, stepped back into the vacant doorway I had appeared in, pulled out the small recall remote, and pressed the single button. Swirling light filled my view as I stepped out onto the riser. My eyes shot to the control booth, which was empty. Good. I giggled as I hopped down, dashed around the corner and sat down at one of the computer stations. I changed one number, made a happy little double clicking sound out of the corner of my mouth, and ran back to the main room just as the whirring increased and the deep light came flooding back. Finally, I was going to do it right. Nothing’s going to stop me now!
This time I made sure to close my eyes so I wouldn't be caught off-guard by the intense sunlight. Once I heard the sounds of the busy street in front of me, I turned to the shade of the doorway, opened my eyes carefully, checked my watch, and confirmed it with the digital clock across the street. Both read 2:41 pm. Yes! I ran down the street, and slowed at the corner. I peered around and, wow, there she was. Right there. Not even twenty feet away from me. Her back was to me, but I knew it was her; the tan, three-quarter length overcoat, her brown hair pulled back into a smart pony tail, the matching dark frames of her glasses, hmm, that’s weird, I didn’t recognize that dress, or those shoes, or that expensive-looking purse. Either way, it was definitely her, without a doubt.
I don’t know how long I stared at her, but the beeping from my watch told me that it was almost time. I looked up and sure enough, there was the bus, number 42, about sixty feet away and coming fast.
I wasn’t a witness to the original accident, but she didn’t seem to be moving towards the road at all, and she was a good six feet from the curb. Still, the bus was bearing down and I was not going to let her die. I leapt into action, running as fast as I could, slowed down as I approached, grabbed her shoulders and yanked her back...or tried to at least. The man, I hadn’t noticed before, was standing beside her had his arm around her waist (hey!) which it made it difficult, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bus-shaped angel of death whizz past with no fatalities. I couldn’t help myself, I swung June to one side, and planted a kiss to remember on her wonderful lips. Apart from getting a nasty scratch from something on her left hand, this was the happiest moment of my life. I did it!
For some reason she was struggling and squirming to break free. She probably didn’t realize it was me as I did pretty much come out of nowhere. Ok, time to go.
I ran back down the street towards where I appeared. I did allow myself one last look backwards, raised my camera phone and snapped a picture of her. Yes! I practically floated down the street on a white puffy cloud of pure, undiluted joy. My heart was all warm and gooey and felt like it was filled with smiles, giggles, and everything else that is happy and good. Nothing could burst this bubble.
Seconds later, I was back at the doorway, and in a moment of nostalgia for the joy that had transpired a moment ago, I opened the pictures on my phone and looked at her again as I pulled out the one-button recall remote for the time machine. Wow. There she is. Alive. With a disgusted look on her face, but she’s definitely alive. Huh, that’s weird, I wonder why? Oh, there’s that guy she was with in the picture, too. My smile slipped slightly as I realization of recognition dawned over me, wait...I know him...
My fist clenched in anger and triggered the button, pulling me back to the present.
The green light and whirring faded but I didn’t move. I stood there staring at the pixelated picture of the man I’ve seen in countless newspaper and magazine pictures. The same man who I last saw in person exactly where I’m standing now.
Mark Robbins.
Goddamn.
The sound of someone clearing their throat made me look up and I saw that Dr. Mason was sitting in the control room. I felt my heart drop sixteen stories south.
He leaned forward and triggered a microphone. “Hi, Tim. We need to talk.”
I started to move but stopped when the guards that were standing, four deep, on either side of the time machine’s doorway stepped forward. I pleaded, “Ron, I’m sorry. I had to do this.”
“I know you did. Actually, I know everything. I know what you did, why you did it, and what you’re about to do.”
“How? I thought you were off enjoying half-price appetizers right now.”
He laughed. “The present me is, yes. I’m the early Monday morning me that has spent the entire weekend at work, trying to figure out what the hell you did to the world. So, here I am, making things right.”
I was confused. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You see, you just discovered something disturbing in that picture you took on your phone. Your girlfriend isn’t your girlfriend anymore, she’s with Mark Robbins. And, to add injury to insult, the scratch you got on your right arm is from her oversized engagement ring. You were going to find out all of this in a few minutes after going through the archives to look the two of them up. When you did, you would have found out that the guy who snuck into the time machine yesterday went back five years into the past and, by some amazing fluke, met and fell in love with your girlfriend, causing her to never have met you. You were busy designing the security improvements late last night when I found this out. I didn’t tell you because I knew if you discovered this, you would go back and try to ‘fix’ things, just as you are about to do.” Dr. Mason shook his head. “I read your psychological assessment after her accident and I thought you were fine, that this wouldn’t be a problem. Apparently, I was wrong.”
Ron paused. “I don’t blame you for what you did next. You obviously planned on saving your girlfriend for a very long time and were infuriated that he not only scooped your ride into the past, but the love of your life as well. So, to fix things, you went back and stopped him in the lobby when he trying to get past security. He was arrested and never had the chance to go into the past. With him gone from the picture, you went back again, saved June, and life was fine and dandy for you.”
Dr. Mason shook his head. “Something you didn’t consider, though. While Mr. Robbins did something wrong by beating some people up and stealing a ride into the past, he did fund the research that eliminated all disease on the planet. That research saved untold millions of lives...including that of my brother. So, sorry, I can’t let you let all of those people die just so you can be with someone.” He leaned forward pressed some buttons and smiled. The Machine roared to life all around me. “Here’s what I’ll do for you, I’ll make sure you’re completely taken care of for the rest of your life with a new life partner. Thank you for your work here, but your services won’t be needed anymore. I can’t afford to have someone on staff who is temped to use The Machine for personal uses. It was great having you work on this project, you were a big help up until today. Have a great
life.”
Swirling hues of green and blue shined around me, and in the blink of an eye, I reappeared in a stark white room with a wide desk. The digital clock on my phone said I was one minute in the past. A police officer stood before me, smiling while several more encircled me. “Tim Eastman. Welcome to the United States Penitentiary Administrative Maximum Facility in Florence, Colorado. We’ve been expecting you.”
####
About the author
Eric Nixon is the author of a collection of poetry, Anything but Dreams, and three short stories, Retribution on a Jetpack, Incident on the Hennepin, and Plenty of Time. He is currently finishing his full-length science fiction novel, 2492.
Eric lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Kari Chapin, author of the bestselling book, The Handmade Marketplace: How To Sell Your Crafts Locally, Globally, and Online.
Connect with Eric online:
Website: EricNixon.net
Twitter: @ericnixon
If you enjoyed Plenty of Time, you may also like these other titles by Eric Nixon:
Retribution on a Jetpack
A woman with nothing to lose embarks on a potential suicide mission, across the dangerous inner asteroid belt, with only one goal in mind: to destroy the man who took her family. Set in the distant future, this a companion story to the forthcoming science fiction novel, 2492.
Incident on the Hennepin
In the year 2492, the luxury cruise ship, Hennepin, makes a mysterious emergency stop to the distant Treadway Station. As the ship arrives, Card, a maintenance worker, goes outside to make repairs on the station, and returns an hour later only to find all 25,000 residents have gone missing. As he tries desperately to escape the nightmare unfolding around him, he discovers he may share the same fate as his crewmates.
Anything but Dreams
Observant, engaging, and heartfelt, this collection will pick you up and whisk you along the gamut of emotions from exuberant happiness, to deep loss, with frequent stops at the ecstatic, as well as the absurd. Eric Nixon has recorded the world around him in an original and wonderful way with a poetic style that is uniquely his.
