A great way to unload stress in the middle of the week:)
A short oneshot I came up with in Physics today:)
I don't own anything: Audrey Niffenegger does:)
Sunday, November 15, 2015, 3:30pm
Peter: I hate Shakespeare. I mean sure, I love his work. I like his style, his crude yet not so crude sex jokes. They must've been a riot back when people actually understood them. I like Shakespeare until I have to write about why exactly I like his work. Right now we're working on "Much Ado about Nothing", I read it in one sitting. I can probably tell you anything, any little detail about the play. But Mr. Rodgers asks me to write an 800-1000 word paper about it...my mind draws up blank.
After about two hours typing in catchy yet stupid opening sentences I did what any other sensible person would do. I played Starcraft. Okay, fine. Not the most sensible thing to do. Or productive. But right now I really just wanted to bang my English teachers head through a door.
Then I heard a dull thud behind me. Great. She was here.
"Clothes under the bed. November 15, 2-0-1-5." I said not even bothering to look around.
"Thanks…" I could hear her looking under the bed and pulling clothes on. Weird. I can still remember the first time I saw her.
It was a very similar situation. I was sitting at my desk doing my Math HW, it was a really rainy day and I was 13. The age when boys begin to realize that cooties are just a ploy that parents make up so the kids stay away from each other. Very tender age. Not exactly the right age when an 18-year-old girl shows up in your room naked.
"From the future my ass" I first thought when I saw her. Two days later, I believed her when a series of her bizarre predictions came true. My cousin in D.C. would get a spot as a TV news reporter, my neighbor's friend from France came over and she was a freaking math genius, and, despite not studying, I would get 99% in my Math exam. The first and last time I would exceed in math. When she came back I begged her for more from my future. She didn't budge. She only told me so I would trust her. And I have ever since.
"Watcha doin'?" she asked. I spun on my swivel chair and saw her dressed in Tommy's extra large I-heart-NY sweatshirt and grey MIT sweatpants.
"You couldn't have gotten anything else?" she said flipping her hair out of the sweater.
"Tommy left me all his 'fat clothes' no way in hell I'm gonna wear them…my mom would noticed if I stole her stuff…she keeps an inventory…I know…messed up…and I'm sorry but I don't wear flowers and bunnies."
"You're telling me I'm wearing your brothers 'fat clothes'?" she said looking down at her grey ensemble.
I shrug "I washed it." I watched her plop down on my bed and stare at the ceiling lamp. She was probably looking at the Buzz Lightyear sticker I had stuck there when I was 7.
"When're you from?" I ask.
"How old are you?"
"I meant…how old are you now?"
"Oh…" she said, facing me "Let's see…2015…two years your junior" Somewhere, she was 14. I might as well ask…it was a habit:
"Where are you…now?"
She just smiled "THAT would ruin the surprise. You never get tired of asking do you?"
No. "When do we meet?"
"Can't tell you."
"I hate that you're like that."
"It's part of my responsibility…as a CDP. I would have to kill you if I told you too much." She said winking. There was that silence. I watched her. The sun on her pale thin face, her dark eyes, her long hair almost brushing the carpet.
"Have you listened to it yet?" she said smiling at me.
"I wish my grandma could sing like that…"
"I wish I could sing like that."
"You probably sing amazing."
"I can sing alright. YOU can sing like my grandma."
I felt myself turn red.
"I … no… I don't know if I should be insulted or flattered that I sound like a chick when I sing." She laughed and chucked my pillow at me.
"You know what I mean, twat!"
And we laughed. We talked about my favorite songs on the record, how she had been practicing new violin pieces and wanted to perform in public more often but was scared she would vanish in the middle or something. I wouldn't mind that. Especially if a performance was going really bad.
She smiled at me.
"You're hungry." I said reading her expression.
"Cookies or sandwich?"
I threw my pillow back at her, and made my way downstairs to get her a sandwich. My mom was reading some politician's autobiography when I came in.
"How's your paper?"
"Fine…" I muttered shuffling around getting stuff for the sandwich.
"You want me to do that for you?" she said eyeing me carefully.
"I'm fine…" guiding my knife as it applied peanut butter to the bread.
"Make sure you…"
"Yes, mom." I said cutting her off before the spiel about putting everything back exactly where it was and making sure I washed the knife twice and dried it. So, with her sandwich and milk in hand I made my way back to my room. Only to find the grey workout clothes on the bed, and no person from the future. Guess she had gone back. I put the milk on my desk and took a bite from the sandwich. She'd be back. Alba always came back.