FutureImperfect

by Stefan Petrucha

  “Long story,” he said, but before he could start it, she kissed him again.

  This is great, Harry thought, kissing back. And I’m not even being yanked into A-Time.

  But then he heard Siara’s parents storming up, Didi and Gogo racing toward him.

  “That’s my daughter!”

  “Let the girl go, Keller!”

  Even so, they kept kissing, and the moment seemed to last forever.

  But when forever finally ended, it wasn’t because Didi or Gogo grabbed Harry, or because Mr. and Mrs. Warner pulled Siara away. Nope. Before anyone’s harsh hand could touch either of them, something yanked Harry Keller out of his body and pulled him into A-Time.

  Not now! he thought.

  As Harry’s body began to collapse, he saw Siara’s beautiful eyes widen in surprise. Then she unfurled into her trail, along with the rest of time. And there he was again.

  At least the storm was gone. Quirks, Glitches, and Timeflys once again dotted the terrain. As Harry had sensed, the huge edifice that scarred the landscape had vanished. Everything was as it had been the very first time he entered the nonlinear realm.

  He should have been satisfied, but he was more annoyed.

  He stomped his feet and yelled at A-Time. “Bad A-Time! Bad! What is it now? Can’t I get a single fricking break here?”

  A small Quirk “unked!” as it dodged Harry’s stomping. He kicked at the ground behind it, narrowly missing its lobster-size claws as it fled. “Was it you? Are you some drag-poor-Harry-into-A-Time-just-as-he’s-getting-the-girl Quirk?”

  He was clenching his fists when he noticed his hands and arms glowing. The radiance wasn’t from some inner light. It was from something outside. He looked up. The source was easy enough to spot. A bright light shone from a golden pinprick in the multi-colored sky. The funny star swelled so brightly, Harry had to shield his eyes. It tore itself free and drifted to the ground a few yards away.

  What is this? The Wizard of Oz? I hope I don’t have to wear ruby slippers….

  Harry squinted—the light was nearly blinding, but at its center he could make out the figure of a man. When the sphere landed, the man stepped out of the light, and in an instant, Harry knew who it was.

  “Mr. Tippicks?” Harry said.

  “Yes, Harry,” Emeril Tippicks said. “It’s me.”

  A feeling of guilt slammed Harry. “I, like, totally forgot all about you! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

  Tippicks’s smile widened, like that of a man who’d found God right where he left Him. “Couldn’t be better, Mr. Keller, couldn’t be better. You see, I met my dead father. Saw him, spoke to him. He’s still…well, maybe not alive—it’s more accurate to say he still exists here. All the little accidents I had today—well, turns out they weren’t accidents. It was him, sort of tapping me on the shoulder, trying to let me know he was here. For years, I thought he’d died, but he’d simply chosen to become something else. He’s one of the Obscure Masters. And now I’ve had a chance to say how sorry I was to have doubted him. I have so much to thank you for, so very much, Mr. Keller.”

  He extended his hand. Harry reached out to shake it and smiled politely, but he was really thinking, That’s all great, but it’s your happy ending. Can I get back to Siara now?

  Still, having abandoned his teacher in A-Time, he felt obliged to make small talk. “So…glad none of us are crazy and all of us are alive, huh? So to speak, I mean. Are you…uh…planning to stay?”

  Tippicks shook his head. “No, no. Can’t, really. Apparently I have some part to play in something the Masters are working on. Very hush-hush.”

  “Cool,” Harry said. “Hey, any chance you’ll recommend me for regular classes now? I mean, assuming I can stay out of Windfree?”

  “Oh. As I understand it, you’ll stay out. The Masters said they’re already arranging that and you shouldn’t worry, but that you could fix it all just as easily yourself. They told me a few things, and I’m afraid I didn’t understand everything they said. As for the classes, if it makes any difference, I’ll be happy to make the recommendation.”

  “Great, and I’m glad the uh…Masters aren’t angry with me for messing up their boy’s Initiation,” Harry said. “They do seem to have a kind of lax attitude toward, you know, human life.”

  “Well, I’d have to say that they definitely didn’t seem as worried about it as you or I might be, but my impression is that they’re not so bad. Some of them are even immortalized on the mosaic in front of our school. And you see, Harry, that’s why I’m here. They wanted me to tell you something, something they’re surprised you haven’t figured out yourself yet.”

  “What? Did someone leave a sweater at the giant edifice thing?”

  “No. The Initiation, Harry. It was never Jeremy’s. It was yours.”

  “Mine?” Harry said.

  Tippicks nodded. “That’s what they said. They’ve been watching you from the beginning. And you passed. The word splendidly was used. Now they want you to join their ranks. They want to teach you all they’ve discovered. They wanted me to tell you that the Fool is only the first of the archetypes, and even the archetypes are just the beginning, not that I have any idea what that means. They want you to know it won’t be all fun and games. There’s a lot of hard work, terribly hard. You’ll have to stay here most of the time, even after death, but if what I saw is any indication, the rewards are beyond compare—and I don’t mean the money. I’ve seen them Harry. It’s like they’re a whole other race unto themselves. The next step up.”

  When Harry didn’t answer right away, Tippicks grinned. “It’s your decision of course, but if you ask my advice, I have to tell you, I’ve reviewed a lot of colleges for my students, and this a pretty sweet deal.”

  Harry stood there open-mouthed, thinking of all he’d been through, all he’d seen, and about how much more he wanted to see, how many more questions he wanted answered, whether they made sense or not. It had been such a long walk from when he first arrived and believed he was like Columbus, the first to land on the A-Time shores. Then again, the Native Americans were in North America before Columbus. And they say the Norse arrived before him, too, and maybe the Irish, and the Romans, and the Chinese. And who knows who else?

  “What do you say?” Tippicks asked.

  Harry closed his mouth and twisted his head. “No.”

  Tippicks frowned. “No?”

  Harry nodded. “No.”

  Tippicks sighed. “Nostradamus will be disappointed, but not surprised. I have to confess, though, I’m surprised. Would you mind if I asked why?”

  Harry shrugged. “Well, remember how you were teaching us the Odyssey in Special-Ed class? You know the part where Odysseus visits the land of the dead, and on the way back out, his guide takes him to two doors? One leads to reality, and the other leads to the land of dreams and shadows. Odysseus is about to take the door to reality, but his guide stops him and says no. He points him at the door that leads to the realm of dreams. ‘That’s your world, he explains.’ So, I guess I just feel the same way. It’s my world.”

  Tippicks thought about it a moment, then nodded. “It’s like TS Eliot said, Mankind cannot bear too much reality.”

  Harry furrowed his brow. “Did you ever quote him to me before?”

  “Not that I remember. Why?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Well,” Tippicks said, still smiling. “I was told it would be rude to try to change your mind, but there is one more thing before I send you back to deal with Ms. Warner and her parents. The Masters realize it’s your nature to be terribly curious, so, given all they’ve put you through, I’m empowered to answer one question. No gods will hit you. Whatever question you like will be answered in quick and simple terms with no repercussions whatsoever.”

  Harry thought a moment. I stopped a suicide, a mass shooting, dated myself, and got totally deconstructed. I found out linear time doesn’t exist and that the borders of the human self are more an opinion tha
n a fact. What else would I like to know?

  A few Timeflys flitted about in the sky above him, reflecting colors off their ephemeral skin. Harry smiled at the sight of them.

  “What are those?” he asked.

  Tippicks looked up. He twisted his head sideways as if he were listening to something, then spoke. “Those? Those are dreamers. Everyone comes to A-Time when they’re asleep. They just don’t remember.” He turned to look at Harry. “I’m told it will be like that for me when I return. I won’t remember seeing my father. The Masters have their secrets to keep, but I was promised I will always remember what it felt like.”

  Harry was about to ask how Tippicks would be able to keep his word on helping him get back into class if he didn’t remember, but before he could say anything, Tippicks shifted in the air. His balding head moved down to the center of his body as his arms and legs folded in.

  For a second, Harry thought it was like when Elijah vanished, but Tippicks wasn’t disappearing; he was changing. Colors came forth in patterns as his body squared. His face melted into the flatness.

  “Initiation is awakening Harry. Try not to nod off.”

  Tippicks undulated a few times, as if testing his new form, then flew away to join the other Timeflys that dove, wove, and spun in the timeless rainbow sky.

  “Well look at that, would you?” Harry said.

  Then he got back to Siara, her parents, and the world.

  Epilogue

  Pushing the present

  From six until twelve

  Sisyphus times his own prison

  He can’t hear the ticking

  He’s too busy kicking

  Dead in the center, just spinning

  Then he falls just as slow

  But it’s not far to go

  When you have to end up beginning

  —SIARA WARNER, TENTH GRADE

  As Jeremy stepped through, a trophy appeared in his arms. It felt warm, like the hug of a mother; perfect, like a father’s approval.

  He wasn’t sure where he was, but he knew he’d won. Harry Keller was as dead.

  And now the kisses of a hundred gorgeous women awaited him and the balm of sweet water that poured from a hundred fountains not built by the hand of man.

  His smile faded when he saw there was one last door, beyond which lay an even greater prize.

  So he ran to it, not noticing the trophy in his hands vanishing. He pushed the door and it yielded, like a woman who wanted him in the worst possible way.

  And there at last was the final, dizzying truth.

  As Jeremy stepped through, a trophy appeared in his arms. It felt warm, like the hug of a mother; perfect, like a father’s approval.

  He wasn’t sure where he was, but he knew he’d won. Harry Keller was as dead.

  And now he kisses of a hundred gorgeous women awaited and the balm of sweet water that poured from a hundred fountains not built by the hand of man.

  His smile faded when he saw there was one last door, beyond which lay an even greater prize.

  So he ran to it, not noticing the trophy in his hands vanished. He pushed the door and it yielded, like a woman who wanted him in the worst possible way.

  And there at last was the final, dizzying truth.

  As Jeremy stepped through, a trophy appeared in his arms. It felt warm, like the hug of a mother; perfect, like a father’s approval.

  He wasn’t sure where he was, but he knew he’d won. Harry Keller was as dead.

  And now he kisses of a hundred gorgeous women awaited and the balm of sweet water that poured from a hundred fountains not built by the hand of man.

  His smile faded when he saw there was one last door, beyond which lay an even greater prize.

  So he ran to it, not noticing the trophy in his hands vanished. He pushed the door and it yielded, like a woman who wanted him in the worst possible way.

  And there at last was the final, dizzying truth.

  As Jeremy stepped through, a trophy appeared in his arms. It felt warm, like the hug of a mother; perfect, like a father’s approval.

  He wasn’t sure where he was, but he knew he’d won. Harry Keller was as dead.

  And now he kisses of a hundred gorgeous women awaited and the balm of sweet water that poured from a hundred fountains not built by the hand of man.

  His smile faded when he saw there was one last door, beyond which lay an even greater prize.

  So he ran to it, not noticing the trophy in his hands vanished. He pushed the door and it yielded, like a woman who wanted him in the worst possible way.

  And there at last was the final, dizzying truth.

  As Jeremy stepped through, a trophy appeared in his arms. It felt warm, like the hug of a mother; perfect, like a father’s approval.

  He wasn’t sure where he was, but he knew he’d won. Harry Keller was as dead.

  And now he kisses of a hundred gorgeous women awaited and the balm of sweet water that poured from a hundred fountains not built by the hand of man.

  His smile faded when he saw there was one last door, beyond which lay an even greater prize.

  So he ran to it, not noticing the trophy in his hands vanished. He pushed the door and it yielded, like a woman who wanted him in the worst possible way.

  And there at last was the final, dizzying truth…

  “Time is speeding up. And to what end? Maybe we were told that two thousand years ago. Or maybe it wasn’t really that long ago; maybe it is a delusion that so much time has passed. Maybe it was a week ago, or even earlier today. Perhaps time is not only speeding up; perhaps, in addition, it is going to end.

  And if it does, the rides at Disneyland are never going to be the same again. Because when time ends, the birds and hippos and lions and deer at Disneyland will no longer be simulations, and, for the first time, a real bird will sing.”

  —PHILIP K. DICK, 1978

  Acknowledgments

  Again and always to Liesa Abrams for rescuing Squalor from timeless obscurity. To Eloise Flood for agreeing with her. To Margaret Wright for putting up with my flailings and failings, and the same to Amy Stout-Moran, wherever she may be. To Andy Ball and Ben Schrank for picking up where others left off.

  To Who Wants Cake (Dan Braum, K. Z. Perry, Lee Thomas, Nick Kaufmann, and Sarah Langan—the best crit group ever!) not only for their advice, but also just for seeming happy whenever they got to read another chapter of Harry and Co. Now that I’m out of NY and living in Amherst, I shall miss these scarecrows most of all.

  Lastly, since all selves may be fictional, to Harry Keller, my first profesional fictional creation, named not after some latter-day boy wizard, but after poor, crazed Harry Haller (from Herman Hesse’s Steppenwolf) and Helen Keller, whose lack of sight and hearing gave her glimpses of a greater world. Hope I did right by you!