The No-Magic Science Box

“Was it too much to try and change the world?” I think to myself as I stumble, tired and cold, across the street to a little inn.

I look around the dim room of flickering candlelight and shuffle over to the bar. With tired eyes, I look over the man who is cleaning glasses and eyeing me with distrust and wonder which language he speaks. New York is international in my time, too, but for now, it is almost predominantly Dutch, German, French, and British. Three out of four non-English speaking. I clear my throat and hope for the best.

“Can I get a double whiskey neat?”

“Whiskey?” British.

I smile, happy he could understand, and then shake my head. Everyone is drinking rum these days.

“Uh, let’s do rum. I’d like a large glass of rum. In fact, I’ll take the whole bottle.”

The portly man stops and puts the glass and rag down. He walks up to me and leans on the counter between us. “The whole bottle?” he asks, his furry mustache bouncing as he speaks.

“Yeah, just… the whole- the whole thing. I’ll take the whole thing.”

He straightens up, eyeing me closely. “That’ll be 40 cents.”

I stare at him. The shock of the dramatically reduced cost of living has worn off by now. I know I’m being ripped off. “40 cents? Good God, man. A whole gallon costs 40 cents.”

“You can go buy yourself a gallon in the market.”

Point taken. “Alright, 40 cents.” I pull out my little bit of money and begin counting. “And can I get a sandwich, too?”

“A what?”

“A sandwich.”

“What is a sandwich?”

And that’s when I realize this place doesn’t even have sandwiches.

In fact, sandwiches were invented in 1762 by John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich, so that he could eat and play cards at the same time. But I didn’t realize that when I asked.

I shake my head. “Uh, can I get some bread and some meat and some cheese? And butter.” When there’s no mayo, butter will do. I had to figure that out pretty quick. Nobody likes a dry sandwich.

“Butter and cheese?” he asks. I give him a look with all the girl-power-anti-body-shaming fury I can muster and he raises an eyebrow in response. “Alright,” he says, throwing up his hands. He turns into the back room, which I assume is a kitchen, and I begin nursing the rum. It is blindingly good. “What kind of meat do you want?” he calls from the kitchen.

“What kind you got?”

“I have pork.”

“Pork it is.”

He shuffles in, a high-stacked plate in his hands. “That’ll be another 40 cents,” he says, dropping everything on the counter. The bread and cheese both fall off and land on the slightly sticky wood. Sanitary.

“Another 40-! Oh alright.” I dig around in my pocket and I give the man his money. He watches me as I slice open the bread and begin layering the butter and the cheese and the meat.

“Rough day, huh?”

I snort. “Yeah.”

“You talk funny.”

“I’ve heard that once or twice.”

“Where are you from?”

I pause and look up at him, too tired to come up with anything but the truth. “The United States of America.”

“The what?”

“The United States of America.” I go back to buttering my bread.

“I’ve never heard of the…”

He trails off and we say it together: “The United States of America.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause it’s 1690.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’m from New York.”

“Uh… oh.” He is clearly confused. We are both quiet for a moment. I take a massive bite of my sandwich and groan with delight.

“So what happened?”

“You won’t believe me,” I say, taking another bite.

“Then it’ll be a good story.”

I chuckle, my mouth full, and force a swallow. “Alright,” I say, placing my sandwich on the plate. “You asked for it.” His mouth twitches curiously as my expression changes, jolting between emotions and landing on delirious amusement. I chuckle and take another sip of rum.

“I spent today running for my life. I’m pretty fit, but somehow the rough terrain is harder to sprint across than the treadmill at my gym.”

“Treadmill?”

I roll my eyes. “Never mind that. Anyway, at first, I was just the town kook. In hindsight, I could have dealt with that reputation. But at the time, it seemed to me absolutely insufferable. My pride was pricked. I was considered pretty smart in my own time. In their ignorance they found me to be crazy.”

“Your own time?”

“Yeah, the year 2023.”

“2023?” he asks, scoffing.

“Yes, I’m from the future. Now keep up, ok?”

“If you’re from the future, how did you get here?”

“Listen, it’s really complicated. Basically, it was an accident. Can we just stick to the story for now?”

He crosses his arms and his whole body rocks as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “You expect me to believe this?”

“See, I told you you wouldn’t believe me!”

He’s shaking his head now- rolling his eyes. “A fine story it is, then. Go on.”

“Alright. So… Crazy. I should have stuck with crazy. Because now I’m not just the town kook; I’m the village witch. They want to hang me up and burn me at the stake until the demons leave my body or something like that. The old preacher man was shouting fire and brimstone and I didn’t wait around to hear the whole verdict. I snuck away as stealthily as I could and then I ran while the crowd gathered pitchforks and sticks and rope and whatnot.

“All I knew was that I needed to find some other place to stay. As a New York girl, I’m not overly thrilled of making my way to Jersey, but I’ve got to go somewhere.”

“What’s wrong with-?”

“It’s just a thing, ok? In 2023, it’s a whole thing.”

He scoffs again. “Alright.”

I chomp out another bite of my sandwich and try to remember where I left off. Oh right, running for my life. “So, yeah, that’s it,” I say. “I spent the whole day and most of yesterday running for my life. Those people are persistent, I’ll give them that much.”

“So… they thought you were a witch?”

“Right-o.”

“But you are not a witch?”

“No sir-y.” I take another bite.

“So then why did they think you were a witch?”

“Because I told them about things from my time. I told them the future and I told them about science. Big mistake. Not big on science, these ones.”

“Well, I rather enjoy science.”

“That’s good. You’ll do well for it.”

“With science, you can always test your theories. Couldn’t you just-”

“Test my theories?”

“Yes.”

“See, that would be nice. Except that I don’t actually know how any of it works. Like computers. I use them every day of my life- I’m a programmer, God help me. But do you think I know how to build a motherboard? Not a chance.”

“What is a computer?”

I rub my whole face with my hands. “It’s… It’s like… a box,” I say, letting my arms drop to the counter. I look at my plate and notice my sandwich is gone. The man follows my sad gaze and groans, picking up the plate. He goes into the back and returns with more bread, meat, cheese, and butter. I am so happy that I grab his face with my hands and kiss both his cheeks. He stumbles back, startled, and I laugh.

“Thank you.”

“So what is so special about a box.”

“This box is special because you can write words on it and find information and look at pictures and buy things. It connects to the internet and you can access all the information known to man in the whole world in any published language.”

The man throws his head back and laughs heartily. I roll my eyes, but I can’t blame him. It sounds ridiculous.

“Alright, so you work every day with a magic box but you can’t make one.”

“I told you, it’s not magic. I can’t say a spell over a box and turn it into a computer. It’s wires and metals and electricity-”

“Electricity?”

“Yeah electricity. It’s energy and you can… never mind.”

“So, if you have a box that gives you all the knowledge in the world, then why do you not already know how to make one?”

“Because I mainly use it to watch cat videos and laugh at the memes my friends send me.”

“Memes?”

“Funny pictures.”

“And videos?”

“Moving pictures.”

The man starts chuckling. His whole body is shaking and I think I see him wipe away a tear out of the corner of my eye while I butter my next sandwich.

“I know, hilarious. Questionable life choices.”

“I’m sorry, but pictures and cats? You have all the information in the world in one box and you look at comical pictures and… cats?” Now he’s really lost it.

“Hey,” I said, feeling slightly defensive. “New York is the concrete jungle. I’m fighting for my life out there between my Starbucks lattes and late-night TV, ok?”

“Concrete?”

I groan. I take a bite of my sandwich. With a full mouth I say, “It’s like rock,” and leave it at that.

“So they wanted to kill you because you told them about this magic- I mean, science, box?”

“Well, really they almost threw me on the stake when I first showed up in my yoga pants and sports bra for public indecency. They thought I was some kind of grungy harlot or something. But in 2023, that is perfectly acceptable hiking attire.”

“What is… yo…yo...”

“Yoga pants are like stockings but they don’t cover your feet, and a sports bra is… well in the future, women stop wearing stays and just wear a bit of fabric to keep the ladies up.”

The man blinks, bewildered. “You walk around in stockings that don’t cover your feet and some fabric over your breasts?”

“Listen, I told you. It’s perfectly acceptable in 2023.”

He cracked a smile and leaned forward. “I don’t think it sounds half bad. Just don’t tell the preacher I said so. Or my wife.”

It’s my turn to laugh. I drink some more of my rum and shake my head. “Well, at least I know men haven’t changed.”

He smiles. “So they burned you for your stockings and for the box?”

“They did not burn me; they tried to burn me. It is a big difference for which I am grateful. And no, just for the box. Well, really it was when I tried to show them my phone to prove to them that it was real. But same difference. Witchcraft, they said. With the yoga pants, the women just gave me this old dress and told me to burn my yoga pant and deal with it. And they made me wear that stupid bonnet. I tossed that away a while ago. They were pretty mad about my anti-slave speeches I kept making, too. That didn’t do me any favors. But they weren’t going to burn me for it.”

“So, all of this because you wanted to save your pride and you showed them your no-magic science box?”

“Basically. But it wasn’t just about my pride. They had to listen to me or else they’d all die.”

“Why would they die?”

“We read about it a hundred times in history class. There’s this big massacre that happens. The French and the Indians team up and kill everyone. I was trying to warn them. But they wanted to burn me at the stake, so… oh well,” I say with a shrug and take another bite of my sandwich.

He eyes me curiously and then takes my bottle of rum.

“Hey!”

“You can have it back tomorrow. That’s enough for you.”