Recollection

The inside of the car was heating up intensely. The back trunk whirred, cackling with static. Outside, darkness loomed like black mist and from the reflection of the window stared back a weary face.

I glanced at my wrist, watching the handles of my watch twitch erratically. It was clear they were no longer accurate, but still I checked them anxiously over and over again. The flight was estimated to take around six to seven hours, but wondering how much time had passed and how much more was left was worse than the wait itself. There was always the fear of being lost in time — what if the unit malfunctions? The Temporal Recon Division stressed that there is no guarantee the jump will be successful, that the best they could promise was a 66% chance. I let go of the steering wheel and slacked back into the seat.

Around a minute later, the car gave a loud thud and light flooded in as if the sun was peeking from behind an eclipse.

I waited until the displacement unit shut down completely, then stepped out onto the fresh patch of grass. Dizziness invaded my senses. The surrounding was the same as it had been when I left and it was a little edifying how the past was, in essence, still the very same world we live in at the present. The breeze was cool and the fields smelled of rich, damp soil.

I took a few deep breaths to shake off my nausea and got back in the car, started the engine, and entered the highway. There were hints of recent rain; the smell of wet asphalt mixed with petrichor, the grass glistening in the sun like little diamonds, a faint rainbow hanging below a passing storm cloud. The timing was on point…

To explain how my “time machine” worked or to prove that I was from the future would be tedious and unfruitful. I can’t tell you which days it rained 60 years ago, and I can’t recall what number won the lottery or which airplanes crashed when. Redirecting the course of history by unveiling upcoming major events or revealing key people was strictly prohibited by the 177th Temporal Recon Unit. I was utterly out of my element, but then again, I hadn’t been assigned to this mission to convince people. At least not everyone.

I stood before a white door on the porch of a white house. My gut felt like it was filled with lead. What would I even say? “Hi, I’m your great grandson,” was the last thing one would’ve believed coming from a stranger; however, it was the most direct and truthful approach.

I raised my hand, already balled and sweaty, and knocked on the door. Then knocked again. Then for the third time. Silence. The locks clicked and out came a short, wiry man with large spectacles that reflected the sun itself. He had a rough beard, salt and pepper hair and sharp, calculating eyes. I recovered from my momentary recoil, gathered what was left of my courage and extended my hand.