Magnificent Magenta of Time Travel

This piece was originally published on Medium almost two years ago.

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A gargantuan grape-colored glow stick, the FlewChin bisects Glendale, California, and runs alongside the freeway until it disappears into another time.

It stops glowing. Fletcher is fixated on it. Someone approaches. She smiles at Fletcher, readies her Osmium board, and leaps into the FlewChin.

The FlewChin glows immensely. From that dull, dark grape color to magnificent magenta. The woman is flung forward. Her Osmium board already deteriorating. She jumped in with a basketball-sized board. That’ll carry her 200 years in the future before it disintegrates.

Fletcher smells that familiar scent. Permanent marker. You never smell that anywhere. These ancient tools were used by humans back in the 1900’s. They fell out of common use in 2100.

Now, in 2323, Montrell’s the only person seen with them. Montrell sits in the booth, marker in his mouth, cap open, that sickly aroma wafting in the terminal. Fletcher wanders towards him. Montrell marks something down on a white, square, thin object called paper. He looks up.

“Fletcher!” Montrell shoves the marker back in his mouth. “Another day of sightseeing?”

The FlewChin stops glowing and the two are left in the dull, dark grape colors.

“You ask me that every day.” Fletcher forces a smile.

“Cause you’re here, every day.”

It’s true. Ever since Suchin invented the FlewChin and jumped as the first time traveler… Fletcher has come here every day, hoping she’ll return. She still hasn’t, not for eight months. She was supposed to. Fletcher wonders if she found a new, better life… a new, better boyfriend who she doesn’t argue with. Or… did something worse happen?

A man steps up to the FlewChin. He holds his iridium board tightly, and leaps into the FlewChin. The FlewChin glows magnificently and flings him backwards. Montrell pulls the marker out of his mouth and scribbles on the paper.

“Dude comes here every week. Each time he heads back in time a little further.”

Everyone in the world either comes to the FlewChin and jumps in… or they don’t come at all. Uninterested, too scared… they just don’t come. Fletcher’s the only one who comes here… and doesn’t jump in.

Him and Montrell. But it’s Montrell’s job.

Fletcher sits and waits to see if his girlfriend will return. If the inventor of the FlewChin will fly back to present time to be with him again.

The stench of Montrell’s marker lingers. It’s horrible, but it comforts Fletcher. It means he’s with someone who won’t ask him, “How’s it going, buddy?” or “Coming back to the lab soon?” It suggests he’s with someone who’ll let him be. Treat him like a normal person… not like a heartbroken individual. He’s with someone who won’t ask him about his relationship, or press him to finish his work with the serum. With Montrell, Fletcher feels normal.

The FlewChin doesn’t stop glowing… even though the man with the iridium board is long gone.

“Hm.” Montrell grunts.

Fletcher takes a deep breath. He smells… not marker… something sweet. It smells… sticky. Like pomade. Like the one Suchin used. Fletcher gets a sense of déjà vu. He remembers coming to the FlewChin with Suchin when she left. Only he didn’t. Fletcher didn’t say goodbye to her because they’d been arguing. Something he’s regretted ever since.

But he has a distinct… memory… of coming to the FlewChin with her. Kissing her lips before she leapt in. Suchin looks relatively the same. Fletcher looks exactly the same. But he wears yellow clothing. Strange. Fletcher’s never worn yellow clothing. It washes him out.

The FlewChin glows brighter. Magnificent magenta. A dot of bright yellow approaches from the future end. It’s a person, walking backwards. They hold hands with another person.

They walk down the FlewChin and approach the terminal. The air is filled with a sweet scent… as Suchin… and a yellow-clad Fletcher… walk backwards through the FlewChin… and approach Fletcher

“Suchin!” Fletcher yells out.

She doesn’t hear him… she and the yellow-clad Fletcher stroll backwards past him. Fletcher follows them.

“Suchin! Can you hear me?! Of course you can’t. Are you returning to me? Of course not. You’re already with… me.”

Suchin and yellow-clad Fletcher continue, hand in hand. Fletcher waves his arms at them. The yellow-clad Fletcher glances over and his eyes pop open.

“What are you doing with Suchin?! She’s my girlfriend! Sure, that means she’s your girlfriend… but no! You’re future me! You should be with future Suchin! Present Suchin is mine!” Fletcher yells.

Yellow-clad Fletcher opens his mouth and speaks strangely. “Erchelf tneserp ma I. Dk-rrew muh-rees eetilatrommi ruoy.”

“What?!” Fletcher is confused.

The two continue walking backwards. Only yellow-clad Fletcher sees Fletcher. Suchin is smiling… happy. So carefree.

“Muh-rees.” Yellow-clad Fletcher says.

“What’s muh-rees?” Fletcher asks frantically.

“Muh-rees.” Yellow-clad Fletcher points at Fletcher. “Uoy.”

The two walk off… backwards… along the FlewChin. They disappear into the past. Fletcher sprints over to Montrell.

“That was her and… me?! Should I go after… her?! Them?!”

Montrell is scribbling something with his marker.

“You know, working the FlewChin for so long, I’ve picked up some Backwards-ese.” He says.

“That’s not… anything.” Fletcher scoffs.

Montrell holds up the paper. He has written, “Muh-rees.”

“Yeah, what’s “muh-rees” mean?” Fletcher asks impatiently.

Montrell holds something up. It’s an ancient reflection device called a mirror. He holds it in front of the paper, angling it towards Fletcher. Fletcher studies the backwards reflection.

“See-rum.” Fletcher reads slowly.

“You must finally get that immortality serum perfected.” Montrell chuckles. “Congratulations, you live forever, and you eventually get the girl.”

“The serum! But I didn’t…” Fletcher is wide-eyed.

“Not yet. But you will.”

“But how long will I have to wait to… to be with her again?!”

“I don’t know, what amount of time isn’t worth it?” Montrell asks.

“There’s no amount of time.” Fletcher says confidently. “I’m heading to the lab.”

Fletcher marches off.

“Good!” Montrell calls after Fletcher. “Cause you look damn good in yellow, dude!”