Time Owes No Favours

"Remember, you will have only 24 hours, so make whatever you do count."

That message rang in my ears as I went to sleep. If things went according to plan, I'd wake up several years—okay, decades—back in time to May 17th, 1985. I had a very restless night. Fortunately, my associates had supplied me with a strong version of benzodiazepine. As soon as I popped a couple of pills and downed them with the last of my Irn Bru, I passed out and was in dreamland.

I can't quite remember what I dreamed about, but when I woke, I was back in my childhood bed and childhood body.

As my mind had not fully adjusted and the sleeping pills had left me a bit fazed, I was shocked to look around the room at Transformers, He-Man, and my brother sleeping beside me.

"Arrggh!" I shouted as my mum, much younger than she is now, rushed in to see what was wrong. I told her nothing and that it was probably just a bad dream. I had to pinch myself to check this was real, as my voice was much higher pitched than my current voice—the voice in my head, still, I might add.

It worked. I had made it. I could do so much good from this position. Even in 24 hours, I could send some messages to the police about Dunblane Primary School's school shooting in 1996, and tell authorities to be on high alert for Pan Am Flight 103 on December 21, 1988. That's the plane that exploded and the wreckage ruined a small Scottish town called Lockerbie, killing 259 people on the plane and 11 people, normal townsfolk.

I could, and maybe I should, but rather selfishly, the one significant change I wanted to try and make was closer to home. How I was going to make any difference stuck in my 5-year-old body, I had no idea—but I had to try. Not every day do you travel safely back in your timeline, and you can make a difference.

Breakfast was great, I'm not going to lie. As I walked into our old kitchen and saw the table set with some orange juice and a selection of miniature Kellogg’s cereal boxes, I was going to have Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, but they had been taken. So, I settled for Rice Krispies and enjoyed the Snap, Crackle, and Pop! as the milk poured over the pale puffed rice.

My aunt Filomena—Fil for short—was a lovely person. It was only later that I learned just how hard her life had been before it was cut short. She was like my mum—but a little cooler. Maybe just because she wasn’t my mum. I often spent time with her and my cousin when Mum and Dad were at work.

Although that was a long time ago, I still have strong memories—maybe not memories, but emotional connections to that period. She felt like a safe place. Most of my mum’s family did. But I think it was especially felt around her, because it seemed we spent lots of time with her.

She was an intelligent lady, a phlebotomist, which I thought was cool. If a little... well, bloody.

Breakfast, though tasty, was overshadowed by the mission I found myself on. My self-imposed, self-appointed mission. To try to change time. No, not try. I was not going to screw this up.

The only thing is, my mind may have been that of a 45-year-old, grumpy old man, but I was stuck inside the body of a tiny, bespectacled, nervous wreck of a 5-year-old with bags of energy to burn off. It was hard for my adult brain to think properly.

I know she died on May 18th, 1985. Car crash. Our whole family forever changed. Ruined.

Could I really do it? At this moment in time—or back in time—I was the only person with the remotest of chances. I surely owed it to my Nonna, my mum, my aunts and uncles, and the rest of our extensive family to try, didn’t I?

I won’t go into details, but bathtime was humbling.

I knew we’d be going round to Fil’s house. How could I stop her from driving for the next few days?

Wreck her car? I was only 5, but that seemed like the most obvious thing.

I’d need to figure that out once we get there.

As I walked into the house and was picked up without asking to be picked up, I realised just how much of a disadvantage I was in. I barely understood the science that got me here. Still, I understood that transporting a fully adult version of myself to a time I already inhabited would cause some disaster. I didn’t need that on my conscience. So, body-swap time travel was the way forward.

My adult mind was being interfered with by my child-like brain, motivated by sweets, toys, and cartoons.

They never prepared me for this.

I asked Mum if Fil’s car was working. The shocked looks on the two of them suggested it was as insane as I thought it was as soon as it left my lips.

I also was beginning to wonder if my bolshy, selfish attitude towards this prized gift I had been given—for an extortionate amount of money—was really as justified as I liked to try and convince myself it was.

To my family, though, Fil’s life was worth everything—millions of others couldn’t compare. I am not sorry. That’s how family, blood, and loyalty work.

There was also the warning in the back of my head that I should not be doing this in the first place, because messing with set events in timelines incurs the wrath of time itself. And she is a beast I don’t want to tango with. Apparently.

Still, seeing her lovely youthful face and knowing she had a full life ahead of her (so I thought, anyway) and seeing her interact with my mum, my cousin, and how she was with me—I am sorry, Time, but the whole threat thing was not working to stop me.

I asked if I could play outside in the garden, close to her parked on the driveway. I would work out something. How hard can it be? Cars break down all the time.

Linda came out too. I didn’t want to tell her. How could I anyway? “I’m from the future, a future where your mother has been dead for 40 years.” I kept quiet and worked on my plan as the lone wolf I preferred to be. It’s less messy when you involve fewer people in your mistakes. Something I can attest to in my adult life.

The greater the miles apart, the freer they are from your mess.

I still regret how distant I had been from my family in recent years—the extended side of it. Still, it felt necessary.

As the overwhelming weight of the task at hand—the task I set in motion—hit me, I grabbed a rock. But before I threw it, I got a grip on myself.

What am I doing? Was I about to throw a rock at a car to save her? What if I hit her? What if I made everything worse?

Still, my childlike instincts got the better of me, and I threw it anyway.

Unfortunately, Fil stepped in the way at the wrong time, and rather than smashing the car window, the stone hit her shin.

I am then reminded of how kind she was.

Mum is angry, and I can tell Fil is not best pleased with me nearly breaking her shin with a stupid rock, but as I cry (where did that cry come from? I feel my immature mind is taking over here), she leans down and swoops me up and cuddles me.

“Accidents happen.”

My whole body sank in on itself, if that’s even possible. As she put me down, giving me the lightest of kisses on my forehead, I was struck by her words.

I could do any number of things and might even succeed in stopping her from dying that night—that fateful night.

But at what cost? And besides, she could have died at any other point in history. The days that followed when I was not there.

One thing that has stuck with me, since I was that kid, the kid I am right now—I always hoped she knew how much I cherished her. Selfish again. But hindsight, and being unable to ensure that they know, means you are left with unanswered questions and unverified beliefs.

Maybe the whole point of this vain exercise was not to prevent her death, because I couldn’t. But perhaps it was for me to find some sense of closure and understanding—that she knew she was a special part of all our lives.

I sat on the steps outside the house, thinking and kicking my ridiculously, stupidly small feet against the blades of freshly mown grass.

Linda came and sat with me, which made me shove her a little. We giggled, and then I heard Fil and Mum call us in.

I had to do something—to let her know. Just even for me. For me to know she knew.

I would draw her a picture. That’s it.

Parents seem to love pictures (okay, I know as an adult with now adult children, that it’s not always the case, but the thought is what counts).

I drew a picture, crude but better than my adult pictures ever are, of Mum, Dad, my brother, Nonna, Linda, Fil, my other aunts and uncles—and just with a speech bubble from my little stick figure with weird-shaped and oversized feet saying:

“You are loved, Aunty Fil!”

Then everything was a bit foggy and hazy, and I woke up.

I wasn’t in my childhood bed anymore. I checked my trousers.

Yep. I was back.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: I may update these author's notes with more details later. Just... can't right now. This is very personal. It is for Belle's Back to Our Youth [an unofficial challenge].

For some history lessons:

Here are other things: