Kurt

I've always loved time travel. This is a just a simple short story dealing with one of its theories.

Kurt met himself when he was three years old.  He didn’t know it then, but not because he wouldn’t have understood.  In fact, it may have been a good idea to have told him at that age, since children are always less skeptical and more likely to latch onto truth.  Whether it would have made things easier or not is impossible to say, but Kurt was not aware, at three years old, that he had met himself.

            It happened in the grocery store; specifically, a Super Target, where he was accompanying his mother (against his will, since he was quite content watching Cartoon Network when she scooped him up and buckled him into the car-seat of her Honda Odyssey) while she purchased some much needed foodstuffs for the relatively new family.  And, as will be plain to see, relativity is key.

            There, near the refrigerated dairy products in the furthest left corner of the store, Kurt’s mother was filling the cart automatically, thinking of all the things she needed to do that day while she snatched gallons of milk and tiny cardboard cases of cream cheese.  Kurt himself was sitting uncomfortably in the shopping cart’s overused plastic seat.  Although his mother had tried to buckle him in with the provided straps, Kurt had continuously unbuckled himself until she gave up somewhere near the men’s belts.  Presently, his arms were folded across his chest, his shoulders lifted up to his cheeks, the corners of his mouth curled into the lowest frown he could muster.  A furrowed brow completed his upset stature, silently clarifying exactly how he felt about being pushed around Target instead of enjoying another episode of the Johnny Bravo Marathon.  He didn’t even care if the seat extension in which he sat made less room for his mother to fill the cart; in fact, he was quite happy with the complication.  Maybe it would teach her a lesson.

            An old man in a long, black trench coat strolled into view from an adjacent aisle.  His advanced age was clear from his dramatically slouched posture; his body from the shoulder blades down was perfectly erect, but his neck and shoulders were bent forward at a seemingly forced angle.  His face, which certainly would have evidenced his oldness further, was mostly covered by a low, black fedora which hid all but his round, clean-cut jaw.  His mouth was curved into a frown, much more natural than baby Kurt’s, and the silver hairs falling from the back of his hat were well kept and healthy.  He was particularly thin and tall, and his slim coat extended nearly to his knees.  His legs were clothed in durable, black slacks; his feet shod in recently shined black shoes, meticulously tied with small, neat knots. The nature of his clothing beneath the trench coat was a mystery to a passerby, as the man was so hunched forward that the open chest was concealed at eye level.  Kurt, however, could see he wore a clean, white shirt, buttoned to the top.  A red and gray striped tie, matching the fedora’s ribbon exactly, was looped expertly around his neck.  His hands were stuffed into his trench coat pockets while he eyed the shredded cheeses with little interest.  After what seemed like hours to baby Kurt, but was more likely less than a few second, the old man turned towards him and pulled one thin, spidery hand out of his pocket, reaching up to the low rim of his hat and lifting it enough to make eye contact with the little boy.

            Immediately, Kurt felt some queer tinge of excitement.  He gazed at the old man with inexplicable fondness, as he was sure they had never seen each other before.  The man’s face was tough but kind, with long wrinkles stretching from his tired, blue eyes like rake prongs.  One of his eyes twitched and one corner of his mouth crept up into a sly smile.  Kurt blinked, unsure of why the old man would be making such an unmistakable expression.  The smile slowly morphed into that of an old friend--not ‘old’ as in aged, but a friend you’ve known for a wonderfully long time--and he nodded, lifting his hat a little more in a respectful greeting.  Kurt lifted one chubby hand and waved, all feelings of unpleasantness having vanished with the man’s appearance.  He even grinned at the black clothed stranger, inspiring an even bigger smile from its recipient.  And then, just as suddenly as he had come, the old man dropped his hat over his face, shoved his hand back into his pocket, and briskly walked away.

            And that was the first time Kurt met himself.  But, surely, it was not the last.

            When Kurt was nine years old, he and his parents, along with his two younger siblings, took a trip to St. George, Utah, from their home in Seattle, Washington.  They all rode in the same blue Honda Odyssey, except now it was Kurt’s little brother, Ned, in the car seat, while he and his sister quarreled in the back.

“Be quiet, you two!  Just look out the window,” their mother shouted from the front seat.  “Kurt, how about writing something about today in your journal?” 

            A few weeks earlier, Kurt had walked into his mother’s room while she had been writing in her journal.  Upon inquiry, she explained that when she got older and wanted to remember what she had done, she could return to her journal.  Kurt was so fascinated with the idea that he demanded his own journal.  She handed him an empty spiral notebook with seventy whole pages.  Kurt knew he could never fill up so many, but he decided to write in it every day.

            Faithfully, he had recorded each day since on the blue-lined sheets.  Now, as his mother suggested, he pulled the book from his pillowcase and began to scribble his thoughts.

 

Dear Journal,

            Today is Febuary 28, my grandmas birthday.  We left super ealry so we could get to her house in saint gorge and spend the day with her.  I love my grandma, she is awsome.  I have’nt seen her in a long long time and I cant wait to get there.  We will play games and I hope go see a movie.  Well that’s it for now, see ya.

           

Storing the precious words back in the bag, he couldn’t help but think about reading those very words when he was all grown up like his dad.  It fascinated him to know that in twenty years he’d be able to look back and know exactly what he had done on February 28 of 2002.  Now in a far less contentious mood, Kurt gazed out the window voluntarily (unlike his argumentative little sister, who was staring out her window with a very similar posture to the one he donned many years before in the Super Target), fondly watching the unfamiliar scenery whip by as the family followed the Interstate towards St. George.  While passing a small town with hardly more than a gas station, a black Volkswagen Golf accelerated on its merging lane to match traffic’s flow, blinker clicking slowly as it crept into the lane directly right of the blue Odyssey.  Kurt, whose eyes had been following the little car for some time, finally caught a good look at its driver.  Surprisingly, the man seemed equally interested in Kurt.

Equaling the Honda’s speed, the Volkswagen stayed near long enough for Kurt to make a mental description.  He was older, probably in his late sixties, and was dressed up in a white collared shirt under a tight, black sweater vest.  His modern-styled hair was thick but silver, swooping casually across his forehead.  His blue eyes looked up into Kurt’s, squinting slightly while a warm smile covered the rest of his shaven face.  He lifted up his right arm, waving to Kurt a little, to which the boy returned with his own barely noticeable acknowledgement, wiggling his first two fingers.  The man seemed to chuckle before returning his eyes to the road, reaching down into the passenger’s seat and grabbing a black, pinstriped fedora.  It looked vaguely familiar to Kurt, but the Volkswagen quickly sped up and passed the Honda, disappearing in the group of cars and semi-trucks ahead.

And that was Kurt’s second meeting with himself, although a true meeting had not yet occurred.  In fact, those initial meetings were the only ones in which Kurt did not carry on some form of conversation, which may or may not be a good thing.  In any case, the first time Kurt talked to himself, he was thirteen years old, and it was very brief and not at all explanatory.  In fact, Kurt hardly took notice of it at all.

Not a week after his thirteenth birthday party, Kurt was with his friends at the mall, using up his birthday money on designer clothes, video games, and pricy food.  After the Oriental woman handed him his change, which he stuffed into his right pocket, he snatched his box of noodles and chicken off the counter and turned around, accidentally bumping into the man behind him.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” they said at the same time as the Styrofoam carton slipped out of Kurt’s hands.  With surprising speed, the man crouched down and caught the box before it hit the ground, slowly straightening his legs until he reached his full, intimidating height.  Kurt looked up into the man’s face, old enough to have wrinkled slightly but young enough to look lively.  His long, slender hands set the box into Kurt’s own outstretched pair, and Kurt took quick notice of the man’s slim, black suit and red and gray striped tie.

“Thank you,” Kurt said, somewhat shocked at the man’s reflexes.

“Thank yourself,” the man said with a wink, and suddenly darted off to the side and walked away with quick steps.  If he had been in line for Chinese Food, he must have changed his mind.  Wherever he was going now, Kurt dismissed him as another odd individual at the mall who had no relevance to Kurt’s own life.

Weeks later, while Kurt was walking to the bus after school finished, he received his fourth visit from himself (although, of course, he didn’t know it), and perhaps one of his most bizarre meetings; if not, certainly the most alarming.  He heard his name called out from a group of his friends behind him, turning around to wave goodbye while a car door slammed shut loudly in the distance.  He started to shout, “I’ll see you to--”

Suddenly, he heard rapid, hard-slapping footsteps running towards him, followed by a pair of skinny hands latching onto his shoulders.  Startled, Kurt turned to see who had grabbed him, stumbling slightly.  A young man, probably in his late twenties, had a tight grip on Kurt’s shoulders and was holding him in place, eying him up and down with a crazed smile.  Kurt pulled away, backing up warily.

“What are you doing?” he asked.  The young man was mumbling something which suddenly became determinable:

“…and your hair is so long; I don’t remember ever letting it get that long.  Apparently I did, though.  You’re in eighth grade, right?  You must be, if you’re this tall already and still going to Middle School.”  His eyes lit up as he gasped loudly.  “That means you’re going to High School next year!”  He suddenly became very serious, staring at Kurt from beneath his brow while holding one finger up warningly.  “You’d better stay away from that Summer girl, Kurt; everything will go a lot smoother if you just focused more on Chemistry and less on her.  What about your other classes, are they all right?  Well, how would you know, you haven’t even taken them yet!  Not that any of this even matters… it’s not like I’m going to change anything now.”

The man was sickeningly thin and pale with messy, unkempt brown hair, and sunken blue eyes with long bags hanging under them.  He wore an un-tucked white button up over a white T-shirt, loose black tie, and dark gray skinny-jeans with black, slip-on Vans.  As he continued to talk senselessly, he walked around poor Kurt as if he were a fascinating exhibit.

“Look, I gotta go,” Kurt said, feeling distressingly awkward and embarrassed.  Some girls were looking his way, laughing as the man held up Kurt’s right arm and examined his hand closely.  Kurt pulled it away, starting to run towards the bus.

“Wait, Kurt!  I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk to you!” the skinny man yelled, running after him.

“Get away from me!” Kurt yelled behind his shoulder, increasing his pace as he darted through the parking lot in front of the school, keeping his eyes on the bus parked at the side of road ahead.

“Don’t you know who I am?” the man’s voice shouted, further away than before.  He must have stopped running, but Kurt didn’t.  He reached the bus, leaping up the ridiculously tall steps and nearly colliding with the driver.

“You’re almost late, Kurt,” she said, closing the door.  He apologized and started walking back to his seat.  “Who was that man?” she called back to him.  Slowly, he looked out the window.  The figure was clearly visible, standing in utter defeat in the middle of the parking lot, arms hanging loosely down to his sides as he stared at the bus miserably.  He seemed to sigh, hunching over painfully as he turned and walked towards a black Volkswagen.

“I have no idea,” Kurt lied, walking quickly to his place.  He threw his backpack into the empty seat by the window, dropping himself next to it.  Was that man really who Kurt thought he was?  It was impossible, but all the things he had said… and that look on his face… and those words he yelled out: “Don’t you know who I am?”

Kurt pulled his journal out of his backpack.  He had long since filled up his first journal; it was lying beneath two others in his pajama drawer.  Faithfully, he had written entries almost daily, each time getting longer and more thoughtful.  He had always been an intellectually advanced child, enough, even, to pretend a lower level of thought as not to be considered “nerdy” by his peers.  Although he faked a middle school mindset, his thoughts were often based on complicated notions: molecular structures, human anatomy, global economics, and galactic anomalies were some of his favorite subjects to research and ponder.  Most recently, however, he had become infatuated with time travel.

It was mostly because of his science teacher: Mr. Dubuign was once a university professor at Yale who had dedicated his adult life to the study of quantum physics.  His theories were, simply put, ridiculous.  He believed time was as manageable and controllable as matter, and his experiments to prove it cost Yale hundreds of thousands of dollars... in repairs.  He was kicked out of the university and somehow found himself teaching middle school science.  Of course, he couldn’t resist sharing his preposterous theories of time manipulation with his students, and although Kurt could clearly see his teacher’s theories of creating “controlled black holes” were inconceivable, his intentions struck something in Kurt’s mind.  Was time travel really possible?

Kurt was sure that if he dedicated his life to time travel, as Mr. Dubuign had tried, he would find a way to do it in his lifetime (that was one of the great qualities of Kurt: confidence.  Although he was enviously humble about it, he was sure he could do anything he set his mind to).  Now, on the bus, he reread the journal entry he had written only a few days before.

 

Dear Journal,

Mr. Dubuign, my science teacher, is obsessed with time travel.  His proposed methods of achieving it are complete nonsense, but the idea itself intrigues me.  Would it truly be possible to send yourself back in time?  After some research, I find it highly unlikely.  Or, if it were possible, I don’t believe anything could be changed.  But however unlikely it may seem, I am sure it would be possible if I diligently sought a way.  Already I am concocting ideas and experiments, the first of which I want to try right now.  Today is November 21, 2006.  I am promising myself two things today: that I will devoutly study time travel for the rest of my life, and that I will visit myself on November 22, 2006 when I achieve it.  If I get a visit from myself tomorrow, the experiment will be a success, and I truly will study time travel for the rest of my life.  If not, I suppose it’s not possible after all and I will stop wasting my time.

 

That was on Tuesday, the twenty-first.  All the next day he waited painstakingly for a visit from his future self, looking at every stranger who walked by him with rising hope.  But, at the end of the day, no one had approached him with a message of success, and he went to sleep downtrodden.  Apparently, it isn’t possible after all, he had written.

And now, on Thursday the twenty-third, had he really just received the visit he convinced himself wasn’t going to happen?  Had he honestly just missed the opportunity to talk with a future version of himself because he was a day late?  The more he thought about it, the sicker he felt inside, and the bumpy bus ride wasn’t helping.  The visitor was considerably younger than Kurt had expected, and his appearance was less than calming, too.  But no matter what he looked like, Kurt had just met himself for the first and last time (he thought) and would never have another chance.

Then again, his philosophical mind began to say, his experiment had just succeeded.  Even though future-Kurt was much more frazzled and funny-looking than Kurt had expected, he had definitely manifested himself.  Whether Kurt had talked with him or not, he had just proven himself that he was right!  Time travel was not only possible, but judging by future-Kurt’s youth, it was possible very soon!  The more he thought about this, the better he understood why future-Kurt had been so ecstatic.  He had just come back in time and was seeing himself in the past!  No wonder he was talking so fast and seemed so fascinated.  It was completely logical; why hadn’t Kurt thought of this while he was in the presence of future-Kurt?  Angry at himself, he started to write in the journal:

 

Dear Kurt,

I’m so sorry I didn’t realize who you were!  I had thrown the concept of time travel out of my mind and didn’t think you would actually come and see me!  I really am terribly sorry, and I hope badly that you come to visit me again!  Perhaps next time, you might approach me in a less occupied area where we don’t have to worry about the people around us getting curious.  In fact, I’ll set up a place!  Tomorrow (it’s November 23, by the way), meet me in the fort we built with Dad forever ago in our backyard after school.  In case you don’t remember, that’s about 3:00pm.  Again, I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you, and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!

 

Excitedly, Kurt put the journal back into his pack and smiled the rest of the drive home.  The day passed by agonizingly slowly, and he couldn’t sleep at all that night, pacing about the house and memorizing historical dates from the internet to keep his nerves down.  At school on Friday, a few people asked him who that weird man in the white shirt was the day before.  He told them he didn’t know and dismissed him as some crazy guy off the street.  He paid extra attention to Mr. Dubuign’s sidetracked lecture on time travel theories, just in case some of his ideas might prove helpful to Kurt’s cause.  He walked outside, half-hoping to see crazy Kurt run at him again.  Slowly, he walked to the bus, looking around for any sign, but there were none.  He cracked his knuckles on the ride home, breathing slowly as he tried to stay calm, wondering what fantastic conversation he was about to have.  Immediately upon arriving home, he threw his backpack into his room and raced outside, crawling into the makeshift fort he had constructed with his father many years before with old junk from the garage, which they were cleaning out.  Instead of throwing it all away, Kurt’s brilliant mind drew a blueprint that his praiseful father followed orally to the utmost exactness.  It was shaped like a giant cone tipped onto its side.  The big end was closed off, and the little end was the entrance.  He had to get on his hands and knees and squeeze through the hole to enter the cozily small, round room.

Someone closed the gate of the fence that surrounded Kurt’s backyard.  Now they were walking over the grass… towards the fort?  Kurt listened carefully to the slow footsteps, quite contrary to the overexcited ones he heard at the school.  Maybe future-Kurt was trying to stay calm, too.

Yes, someone was definitely walking towards the fort now.  Kurt held his breath as a pair of dress shoes suddenly appeared at the cone’s entrance.  The man dropped to his knees and started to bend down, his tie falling into view.  Finally, a head fell low enough to the ground for Kurt to see.  Despairingly, it was clearly not future-Kurt’s face.  It was the face of his father.

“What are you doing in there, Kurty?” he asked playfully.  Kurt half-smiled, rolling his eyes.

“Just checkin’ on the old place,” he answered, “making sure nothing’s falling apart in here.”

“How does it look?”

Kurt shrugged.  “Pretty good.  Nothing’s collapsed, at least.”  Showing no intention of coming out, he simply sat cross-legged in place and stared at the ceiling.

“Well, that’s good,” his dad said.  “Is mom home?”

“I dunno, didn’t see her,” Kurt said truthfully.  “Probly, though.  It is Friday.”

His dad laughed while standing up.  “Sure is, Kurty.”

Kurt loved everything about his dad, except for his habit of giving people cheesy nicknames.  But that wasn’t important.  As he heard his father knock on the back door, Kurt hoped future-Kurt didn’t accidentally run into him.  That wouldn’t be easy to explain.  Luckily, his mother opened the door and let him in, emptying the backyard.

Kurt waited in the cone for nearly two hours before giving up.  He simply couldn’t understand why future-Kurt wasn’t showing up.  Walking to his room miserably, he suddenly remembered something.  The first time future-Kurt showed up, it was a day after he had originally planned.  Perhaps whatever time machine future-Kurt was using had some malfunction, and he would actually show up tomorrow!  Upset with himself for not considering that before, Kurt spent the rest of the day looking up time machines and their possible flaws.

Shortly put, future-Kurt did not arrive the next day, even though Kurt spent almost his entire Saturday waiting and reading in the cone.  Suspecting another time machine error, he admitted future-Kurt another rain check.  But he didn’t come Sunday, either--or the next day--or the next week--or the next month--or the next year.  In fact, Kurt had nearly forgotten his (supposedly) first meeting with future-Kurt on that twenty-third of November by the time he finally received another visit. 

He was in his junior year of high school (which was going much better than his sophomore year, in which he had let a certain girl named Summer distract him from schoolwork), and he drove to school every day.  Due to his love for learning, Kurt was taking an extra class after school and, as a result, his was one of the only cars in the student parking lot when class ended.

On November 24, 2009, a sixteen year old Kurt was walking out of the school, twirling his keychain around his forefinger, when he looked out at his gold Honda Accord and noticed a black Volkswagen parked next to it.  He stopped dead in his tracks; that car looked excitingly familiar.  At a heightened pace, Kurt continued on his path towards the cars, straining to see if anyone was sitting in the black one.  Sure enough, as he approached, a middle-aged man in a slim, black suit stepped out of the Volkswagen and walked around his car, facing Kurt with a warm smile.  The nearer the boy came, the more he was certain of who the man was.  By the time he came to a halt a mere yard away, his heart was beating at an unprecedented rate.  Then, for a few quiet seconds, the two just looked each other, fully aware of the approaching words.

“Hello, Kurt,” the older one said casually.

“Hello, Kurt,” the other one said joyfully.

For a moment, there was silence.  Then the older one started to chuckle, and the younger one joined in.  Before long, they were both laughing heartily, and simultaneously moved in for an embrace.  It was, perhaps, the most sincere and gratifying hug the universe has ever known.

“You probably have a lot of questions,” the older Kurt said, leaning against his car with a ready grin.  He was over six feet tall, but Kurt was already six foot and was no longer intimidated by his future height.  He wore a black suit, perfectly fitted around his thin but healthy body, shiny black shoes and red and gray striped tie.  His face was gently wrinkled, and his short, thick hair was just beginning to gray.  Through the window of the VW Kurt could see a black fedora that seemed to tinge on his memory.  Without really thinking about it, he asked, “Have we met before?”  He laughed at his own question, and clarified, “I mean, when you were this age.”

Future-Kurt furrowed his brow.  “I don’t think so,” he said, then relaxed a little.  “At least, not yet.”

Kurt smiled and nodded, finding it hard to form his scattered thoughts into words.  As if reading his mind, future-Kurt said, “I know how you feel, Kurt.  It’s really hard to get a good question together.  Maybe it’ll be easier if I just do most of the talking until you get organized.”

Kurt simply nodded, urging the elder to continue.

“First of all, you need to understand how time works.  Just like you’ve figured out, you can’t change it.  Traveling through time is like putting an extra loop on a timeline.  Nothing on the line ever changes, because anything that has happened will happen, and anything that will happened, in a sense, has happened.  It’s all relative to the observer.  I’m sure you understand.”

Kurt nodded truthfully, finally having assembled a meaningful question.  “Why didn’t you come three years ago when I asked you to?”

Future-Kurt laughed slightly.  “Well, I guess I can’t tell you I couldn’t find the time.  Honestly, I hadn’t quite figured out how to control the whole process yet.  It’s all in order now, and I can go anywhere I want on the timeline.  It took a lot of work, but it was fun the whole way.”  He squinted a little, as if what he was about to say was difficult.  “I don’t want to tell you too much, see, because that would ruin the whole point of your life.  But at the same time, I really do want to tell you everything, because it all would be so much easier for us.  And yet, at the same time, I know I won’t tell you everything because when I was your age, the future-Kurt didn’t tell me.  It’s sure strange being here, now, because I can remember bits and pieces of this conversation from your angle.  In way, I know what I’m going to say, but even then, I feel like I’m figuring it our right now.  Do you sort of understand?”

“Yeah, I totally understand,” Kurt said, unable to hide his excitement.  “But you have to tell me some things.”

“Of course,” future-Kurt agreed, nodding.

“What’s your… or, my… or…”

“Our,” he said with a wink.

Kurt grinned, hardly believing his situation.  “What’s our occupation?”

Future-Kurt bit his lip.  “Well… I can’t really tell you that.  But I can tell you we make a whole lot of money.”

“Are we married?” Kurt asked excitedly.

“Yes,” future-Kurt answered without hesitation.

“Who is she?  Have I met her already?”

The older one rolled his eyes.  “I can’t ruin everything!  But I will tell you this…”  He leaned a little closer and whispered, “She’s smokin’ hot.”

“Yes!” Kurt exclaimed, pulling back his fist and accidentally hitting his elbow on his own rearview mirror.  He gasped in pain and started rubbing it briskly.  Future-Kurt laughed.

“I remember doing that!” he said, shaking his head.  “This sure is strange.”

Question after question, answer after half-answer, Kurt learned little bits about his upcoming life, along with advice which future-Kurt told him “didn’t really matter anyway, because none of it’s going to change anything.”  They spoke with one another for nearly an hour before Kurt realized how late it was getting.

“My mom’s going to wonder where I’ve been!”

“No, she won’t,” future-Kurt reassured.  “I called her as you were walking out of school.  I told her I was a member of the school board and wanted to interview you anonymously about the After School program.  She said I could take as much time as I needed.”

“Wow!  That’s awesome!” Kurt said, shaking his said in wonderment.  “She doesn’t even know she just talked to her son.”

“Older than she is,” the other added, and they laughed some more.  Suddenly, future-Kurt became a little more sullen.

“Now, Kurt, I’m going to have to leave, but there’s a few things I need to say before I go.”

The pain Kurt felt at the idea of leaving his future-self was indescribable, but he had known the whole time it couldn’t last forever.  He simply nodded sadly and intently listened, taking careful notes in his head.

“I know very well that after tonight, you’re going to become obsessed with time travel.  And, as we both know, you’ll eventually succeed.  That’s not to say you won’t fail a time or two; you will.  But be patient, and remember this night and how you feel.  Trust me, boy, this is only the beginning of the joy you’ll feel from time traveling.  It’s amazing.”

“I’ll say,” Kurt blurted.  “You seem like the happiest guy I’ve ever met.”

At this, the thrilled smile on future-Kurt’s face dimmed into a sympathetic one.  “That’s something else I need you to know,” he started, sighing deeply.  “There will be a long period of time between these ages of ours right now where our obsession with time travel will come very close to destroying our life.  I wish I could tell you to change it, but even if I did, there would be no way.”  After another pause, he said, “You’re going to lose everyone close to you for a long time, Kurt.  It’ll be hard, and it won’t make any sense sometimes, but just remember: it all works out in the end.  No matter what happens, and no matter how crazy things may get, you win in the end, Kurt.”  His smile returned, and he took Kurt by the shoulders in his long, spidery hands.  “You win!  By the time you’re my age, everything in your life is as close to perfect as it can get!  Please remember: everything’s going to be okay.  All right?”

Surprisingly, Kurt felt himself getting a little teary.  Apparently, so did future-Kurt, and they looked into each others’ shining eyes admiringly.

“Okay,” Kurt said.  “I can do this.”

“You most certainly can.”  They embraced again, neither of them wanting to see the other leave.  But finally, they opened their respective car doors and climbed inside.

“Don’t be thinking this is last time you’ll get a visit from yourself,” future-Kurt said, surprising the young one a little.

“What do you mean?  I’ll see you again?”

“Well, yes, but not at this age.  The next few times you meet me, though, I won’t be quite as… mellow… as I am now.  If fact, you may find yourself rather obnoxious at times.”  He laughed, and finished the meeting by saying, “But don’t worry, Kurt!  I know better than anyone that you turn out just fine.”

And with that, he shut the car door, turned on the little black car, and sped out of the parking lot.  As Kurt watched him drive away, he couldn’t help but wonder what great and terrible times were in store for him between now and when he would be the one driving away.  Suddenly, he heard the Volkswagen honk the classic “beep, beep, beep-beep, beep,” to which he replied a satisfying, “BEEP, BEEP!”

The Volkswagen turned left and disappeared from view behind the school.

Author's Note

This is definitely not my best work, but I've always had a soft spot for this story. My fear is it's just too boring--is that true?

Reviews

[Drako]

honestly, you can't have thought this was boring. this was great. it was so different from most time traveler stories. most of them get boring, and most always involve changing the past. yours is more unique in that you bring the idea that the past can't be changed. i enjoyed reading this and will be looking into more of your work

[JelliFyshKissUs]

If this is what you consider too boring, the writings you adore have to be magnificent beyond all imagination. The wonderful thing about writing is that it can be on any topic from any angle. And writing this story about time-travel from the perspective of a growing Kurt is a fresh take. Most are written from the time-travelers POV--which happens to be the same person in this story, but you know what I mean. Development of the characters and the story was superb. Reminded me of a book I read years back by Dean Koontz (my suggestion is that you DON'T read him. I would describe his work as Stephen King on LSD, cocaine, and ecstacy) in which a woman from the age of about six to her mid-thirties, keeps being saved from horrific incidents in her life. The first time, he saved her in a grocery store robbery. Come to find out. The man was actually from the 1940's, a german soldier working for Hitler. German scientists had developed time travel and the army was using it to travel into the future and devastate the U.S.... or something like that. Anyway, the guy they'd sent to time travel stumbled upon her in a bookstore, found her exquisitely attractive, but also pitied her because she was wheel-chair bound and disfigured, so he made it his mission to go back and correct her life. Talk about love... That's the vibe I kinda got from this story... but I digress

Terribly sorry I've been snooping around in all your works instead of just focusing on your novel. I actually come to your page with the intentions of diving right into but my mind is just so curious about the other ideas the float around in that brain of yours. I guess I should take that apology back because I'm glad I did it. I have come across some great works, but I will get back to the novel now and stop letting my eyes roam... right after I check out a poem or two. Lol!!