The Time Traveler's Almanac

“My what?” There was nothing in “The Love That Conquered Time” about a tow truck. The woman stared at him, looking confused. Alan stared back, equally confused. He started to wonder if he’d made a mistake. But then he saw those eyes, bigger and greener than he’d ever thought possible. “Matrix,” he said out loud.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that meeting you is so bullasic.”

“Mister, I don’t understand one word you’re saying.” Cecily knew she should tell the man to go away. He was obviously deranged; she should call the police. But something held her back, a flicker of recognition, the dim stirrings of a memory. Where had she seen this man before?

“I’m sorry,” Alan said again. “My American isn’t very good. I come from English-speaking Europe, you see.”

“English-speaking Europe?” Cecily repeated. “You mean England?”

“Not exactly. Can I come inside? I’ll explain everything.”

She let him come in after warning him that her neighbours would come running in with shotguns if they heard her scream, and that she had a black belt in Kung Fu. Alan nodded and followed her inside, wondering where Kung Fu was, and why she’d left her belt there.

He was ushered into the living room and told to have a seat. He sat down on the red velveteen-upholstered sofa and stared in awe at such historical artefacts as a black and white television with rabbit-ear antennae, floral-printed wallpaper, a phone you had to dial, and shelf after shelf of unpreserved books. She picked up a wooden chair and carried it to the far side of the room before sitting down. “Okay,” she said. “Talk.”

Alan felt it would have been better to talk over a candle-lit dinner in a restaurant, like they did in the story, but he went ahead and told her everything, quoting parts of the story verbatim, such as the passage where she described him as the perfect lover she’d been longing for all her life.

When he was finished, she managed a frozen smile. “So you’ve come all the way from the future just to visit little ole me. Isn’t that nice.”

Oh Matrix, Alan thought. She’s humouring me. She’s convinced I’m insane and probably dangerous as well. “I know this must sound crazy to you,” he said.

“Not at all,” she told him, gripping the arms of her chair. He could see the blood draining out of her fingers.

“Please don’t be afraid. I’d never harm you.” He sighed and put a hand to his forehead. “It was all so different in the story.”

“But I never wrote any story. Well, I started one once, but I never got beyond the second page.”

“But you will. You see, it doesn’t get published until 1973.”

“You do know this is 1979, don’t you?”

“WHAT?”

“Looks like your timing’s off,” she said. She watched him sink his head into his hands with an exaggerated groan. She rested her chin on one hand and regarded him silently. He didn’t seem so frightening now. Crazy, yes, but not frightening. She might even find him quite attractive, if only things were different. He looked up at her and smiled. It was a crooked, little boy’s smile that made his eyes sparkle. For a moment, she almost let herself imagine waking up to that smile … She pulled herself up in her chair, her back rigid.

“Look,” he said. “So I’m a few years behind schedule. The main thing is I found you. And so what if the story comes out a bit later, it’s nothing we can’t handle. It’s only a minor problem. A little case of bad timing.”

“Excuse me,” Cecily said. “But I think that in this case, timing is everything. If any of this made the least bit of sense, which it doesn’t, you would’ve turned up before now. You said yourself the story was published in 1973 – if it was based on fact, you’d need to arrive here much earlier.”

“I did get here earlier, but I was too early.”

Cecily’s eyes widened involuntarily. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I was here before. I met you. I spoke to you.”

“When?”

“You wouldn’t remember. You were three years old, and your parents threw a party for you out in the garden. Of course I realised my mistake instantly, but I bluffed it out by telling your mother that I’d just dropped by to apologise because my kid was sick and couldn’t come – it was a pretty safe bet that someone wouldn’t have shown – and she said, ‘Oh you must be little Sammy’s father’ and asked me in. I was going to leave immediately, but your father handed me a beer and started talking about something called baseball. Of course I didn’t have a present for you…”

“But you gave me a rose and told my mother to press it into a book so that I’d have it forever.”

“You remember.”

“Wait there. Don’t move.” She leapt from her chair and ran upstairs. There was a lot of noise from above – paper rattling, doors opening and closing, things being thrown about. She returned clutching several books to her chest, her face flushed and streaked with dust. She flopped down on the floor and spread them out in front of her. When Alan got up to join her, she told him to stay where he was or she’d scream. He sat back down.