Him

“Who’s Paul?”

I looked back at Christine and resisted the urge to answer with: he’s your husband. You meet in about five years, get married in three, visit the world for a while longer and then you are expecting a baby in early 2024.

“Just…someone from my nightmare,” I replied.

“And Nat? Same thing?” she asked.

I nodded.

“You still don’t want to talk about it? Your nightmare, I mean”

“It was just a silly dream, Chris. Nothing more to it.”

“Seemed very real to you for just a silly dream, just saying.”

“Nothing to worry about,” I said.

It was Monday morning. Two days after I had woken up in 2012. I had spent the previous day in bed, trying to wrap my head around everything that was happening. I also spent the day trying to avoid Christine, who was just constantly looking for any excuse to have sex. Of course, we were in a relationship. I told myself bitterly that she had always been like that and not once, while we were together, did I ever complain about it. On the contrary. My fondest memories of her were the two of us in bed. Here she was, as per her usual, giving herself to me. I felt like such a hypocrite.

“Are you calling in sick, today?” she asked.

I was. I had to think for a while where I was working and what my job actually was. The concussion didn’t help either. My phone did. I had notes, text messages with colleagues, meetings scheduled in my calendar. All the memories came rushing back thereafter.

I had a plan. There were a couple of things that I needed to check in order to really wrap my head around this whole situation. On Saturday I went to sleep praying and hoping that this was just a fucked-up dream and that I’m going to wake up back home, right beside Nat. No such luck.

While I was waiting for Christine to go to work, I kept scrolling my phone, amazed at how different it felt when compared to the one I had in 2024. It wasn’t just the phone. Social media was so different as well. I had never realized that. I wasn’t sure which one I preferred. Neither, if I’m really being honest. Then it struck me. I typed Nat’s name in Instagram. Got a couple of hits, but she wasn’t among them. I opened Facebook (that was a doozy) and did the same. And there she was. I couldn’t believe it. I could barely see the photo, but it was her, alright. I sent her a friend request.

“Gotta go, handsome!”

Christine leaned on top of me and gave me a kiss. I tried to respond while also concealing what I was doing on the phone. As she got up, I could see it in her eyes. She was not buying it. She knew something was off. But that was a problem for another time.

As she was leaving, I jumped from the bed, beginning to get dressed while also checking the phone from time to time. No reply just yet.

I didn’t remember her phone number, otherwise I would have tried calling immediately. What am I saying, I never knew it, let alone remember it. Who does nowadays?

I went to my computer and opened the betting site I had accessed on Saturday night, while Christine was sleeping. I had checked any sporting events that I could bet on, trying to remember said events from my initial 2012. The French Open finals were taking place the next day and I betted on Nadal winning it. The match started on Sunday but had to be postponed and resumed on Monday, due to rain. I didn’t remember that particular detail, but I did remember Nadal winning the tournament. So, there I was, checking whether I was right.

Lo and behold, my betting account was sitting nicely with an extra 500$ attached. I was right. He had won. So did I.

I wasn’t entirely convinced. Nadal winning the French was great, but he usually did win that. What was this proving? I tried to remember other sporting results that had happened in 2012. More surprising ones. Basketball. NBA. Did Lebron win his first title in 2012? I was fairly sure he did. I checked the site. The playoffs were still under way. The Miami Heat were playing the semi-finals. They were tied at 1-1 with the Indiana Pacers. I betted on them winning the series and then the final. I also betted that Lebron’s going to be named MVP on the finals.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

I didn’t have too much money in my bank account, but I went almost all in, just so I can prove it to myself that this, all this, was actually real. In any case, I wouldn’t know for sure for another couple of weeks. So I had to wait.

Went back to my phone, hoping for a reply from Nat. Nothing. I walked the apartament up and down, thinking on what to do next.

One other thing I had managed to determine was that I didn’t actually…you know…travel through time. I mean, I wasn’t transported back in 2012 the same way I was at home. I had woken up in 2012 exactly as I was in 2012, physically speaking. No beard, a few pounds lighter, fewer grey hairs. I was, through and through, 24 years-old again. Only my memories from the last 12 years or so remained. I remembered everything. From how I broke up with Christine, the next jobs I had, how I met Nat, the pandemic, our house – everything.

I had to know whether she was in the same situation I was, or if I was on my own in all this. Did Natalie remember the past ten years? Did she remember me? Or was it just me that came back? The thought of it was dreadful. I felt alone, abandoned – in a world that I kind of knew but in which I didn’t really belong anymore. I spent the next several hours procrastinating.

Then a notification popped off on my screen. Friend request accepted. I burst into tears, hands trembling, speaking to myself: oh god, oh god.

The chat opened:

Natalie Fisher: Hello

Jamie Adams: Hi!

NF: Jamie? Are you…

JA: Yes!!!! Oh god, yes!!!

NF: Oh my god. Oh my f-ing god ☹(((

JA: So you remember everything????

NF: yeah

JA: thank fuck, I was losing my mind.

NF: Jamie, such a good idea to look me up on fbook

JA: I know!!! =)))

NF: Jamie, what’s happening?

JA: I don’t know, babe. But we’re going to fix this, right?

NF: yes

JA: together, yeah?

NF: yeah

JA: where are u, babe? I need to see u now!

NF: I’m at home

JA: right, where’s that?

NF: at my parents

JA: oh. Oh of course!

NF: yeah

JA: shit

If I was 24, then Nat was now 18. In high school. Living at her parents’. On the other side of the country.

**

Her

That morning found me staring in the mirror for minutes at an end. It was surreal to look at myself at 18-years-old again. I looked so different. Younger, obviously, but also quite childlike like I hadn’t yet reached womanhood. I felt out of place in my own skin.

No matter how much I tried to, I couldn’t remember his phone number. And even if I somehow could, I wasn’t sure that he even had that number in 2012. I had no idea. I began scrolling through my contacts, looking for someone that was in my life at that time that could help me somehow get in touch with him.

It went as well as you can imagine. My contacts were comprised of other high school colleagues, friends from town, relatives and teachers. I lingered for a bit over the name Theo, but then chose to move on. I gave up. The phone was useless. I threw it away and tried to come up with a new idea.

Suddenly it rang. I had just received a Facebook notification and I lost my mind. How stupid can you actually get?

I gave up social media during the pandemic. Completely. I just…couldn’t do it anymore. It was just…too much of everything. It wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t productive, it wasn’t anything good. It took a while to get it out of my system, but once it did, I never felt the need to go back. So, if you can imagine, my brain didn’t for a second think at social media as a solution.

But he did. He thought of it, my smart and beautiful boyfriend! I felt a rush of love and adrenaline invading me. There he was. Friend request from Jamie Adams. Before I could take a breath and do anything, the stupid thing died on me. No battery. I cursed out loud and fortunately got the confirmation that both my mom and dad were at work and couldn’t hear their 18-year-old daughter speak that way.

I looked for a charger. Like an addict, I grabbed it and with trembling hands I plugged it in. No power. You’re kidding me. We had no power. I screamed and cursed again at the empty house. This actually happened quite often. The area I used to live in with my parents had a terrible electrical infrastructure, hence we also had a backup generator in the garage that you had to spin up manually.

Say no more. I went down there and tried to start it up. No matter how hard I pulled that rope, it wouldn’t start. I checked the tank. Yep, no gas. No gas canister either. Dad had been slacking. I was beginning to lose my mind. There was no car in the garage either. We only had the one, and dad used it to drive mom to work and then to get to his own job as well.

My only shot was to go downtown on bike. I changed my clothes and did just that. I busted the door to the first coffee shop I came across, ordered something and then sat at a booth where I could plug in my phone. I could feel the scrutinizing looks of those already there. I bet they were thinking: teenagers, so dramatic all the time.

It took fifteen minutes for the phone to charge and start. But then it did and I could finally accept the request and chat.