Yours Truly, 2095

Day 1: Here is the News-2

What was sprawled out in front of me now was a major marketplace bustling with commerce and pedestrians. Each building was so close to each other they were almost touching. It was store after store as far as I could see. Parking lots that had never been there before were full of flying cars, all grounded. It was quite a sight to behold.

Families walked around together, plus businessmen in suits and women having lunch. Flying cars were mostly stuck in traffic, trying to grab an open parking spot. Main Street had been turned into an even greater mecca of leisure.

Where the heck did all these people come from? Isabella Creek always had a humble population without that much fluctuation throughout the years. The head count of people on this street seemed to be triple the population of this whole town.

I passed a maître d’ who stood outside on the sidewalk and wore a warm, inviting smile.

“Good day, sir.”

“Hi,” I muttered, unsure of what else to say.

I focused my attention elsewhere. The traffic congestion loomed over everyone, and I noticed certain characteristics about the flying cars. For whatever reason, I only saw them fly uniformly over existing roadways, dropping below ten feet just to park. A tourist bus flew across my line of sight and landed softly at a bus stop ahead of me.

I weaved in and out of the hustle and bustle, finally arriving at a coffee shop. I hadn’t realized it until now, but I was hungry. I reached into both pajama pant pockets, hoping to find any kind of money or valuable item that might buy me a snack. Both pockets came up empty. I let out a deep sigh.

Just as I was about to turn away, I spotted a stack of items next to the check out. They appeared to be the same devices that I had seen the man on Greenwood Avenue retrieve outside his house. The stack seemed to contain thousands of them.

My curiosity got the best of me. I stepped into the coffee shop. The stack was the darkest black I had ever seen, devoid of light. It was practically sucking the light from the coffee shop into itself. I reached down and picked up the top one.

It felt slightly heavier than a normal piece of paper, but it was hard and sturdy—more like a piece of plastic—and there was a small tab at the top on the right side. I turned over the device and noticed the back was not as shiny as the front. I flipped it over again and studied its front. I could see my own reflection if I angled it toward the store’s track lighting. I tilted the paper-plastic again the other way and, as I moved it, I noticed someone else in its reflection.

Startled, I controlled any instinct to jump. He clearly wasn’t in line to buy anything, and I wasn’t exactly blocking any of the store’s items for sale. There really was no reason for him to be standing there at all, unless it was specifically because of me.

As I put the device back on the pile where I got it from, he spoke.

“Slide the tab.”

“Excuse me?”

He was in his forties with a rough, weathered face. There were scars and traces of a hard life all over his cheeks and forehead. What little hair he had left was thin and coarse.

He spoke again. His voice was raspy, but his demeanor was authoritative.

“The blue tab at the top. Slide it to the left.”

I darted my focus back to the pile. I didn’t dare pick it up again.

“Suit yourself. I guarantee that, if you slide the tab, what you see will either help you make sense of all this or make it more confusing.”

He turned and walked away without buying anything.

I picked up the thingamajig, pinched the blue tab with my thumb and index finger, and slid it. The screen blinked for a second. Then the front page of what looked like a newspaper appeared.

A newspaper? I hadn’t been expecting that. I couldn’t believe there was an entire newspaper on the screen of this small piece of plastic.

My eyes caught the headlines.

Full-Term Test-Tube Babies Can Grow Overnight!

I was immediately dumbfounded. This felt like something out of a Ray Bradbury story. I scanned up to the top of the screen, and I read that the article was published by the World Broadcasting Authority. Maybe this was closer to Orson Welles than Ray Bradbury.

When my eyes finally caught the print written above World Broadcasting Authority, the device almost slipped from my hands. I caught it just in time to avoid making a huge scene. The girl working behind the counter noticed my fumble, however.

“Are you okay, mister? Say, are you going to buy that? My boss doesn’t like it when people stand there and read things without buying anything.” She swiped away a brown curl from her eyes.

“I—I’m not sure. Is this thing accurate?”

I pointed to the words above the publishing company of the newspaper.

“Yep.”

“But how?”

A look of confusion and then annoyance passed across her face.

“If you aren’t going to buy anything, then I’m going to have to ask you to put—”

She wasn’t able to finish her sentence. The same man who had just been talking to me earlier, suddenly barged into the coffee shop and slammed down some change on the counter.

“It’s paid for now.”

Before I could disagree, he shoved me out of the coffee shop, with me still gripping my newspaper device. When the door to the coffee shop closed behind us, we stood eye to eye on the sidewalk.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“You’re still confused, aren’t you?” he replied.

“If you know what’s going on here, please tell me.”

“I’m Bruce. Take your ViewPaper back to the town house and look it over. Take a shower. Get out of those pajamas and put on some real clothes. Meet me at the Sidewalk Dancer tonight at seven o’clock for dinner and a drink.”

“I don’t really know where I’m staying. I—”

“Where did you wake up?”

“In some apartment on Greenwood.”

“Then that’s where you’re staying.”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“Did you look in all the dresser drawers? I’m sure you’ll find some that are your size.”

“What’s the Sidewalk Dancer?”

“The café down the street”—Bruce turned to point farther down Main Street—“right there. At night it turns into a pub. I think it’s best to wait and talk there.”

“Who are you?”

“Someone who knows what kind of morning you’ve had. Look, Jeff, the most important thing for your safety right now is to go back to your place and change into whatever clothes were left for you. We’ll talk tonight.”

Bruce turned away and crossed the street. I headed back toward Cohen Avenue in the direction that I came from. The clusters of pedestrians thinned out the farther away I got from downtown.

I was extremely skeptical of trusting Bruce after he magically appeared almost out of thin air like that—or trusting anyone here in this seemingly parallel universe for that matter—yet something about Bruce’s authority, mixed with his willingness to help me, eased my reservations and convinced me to trust him. I tucked the newspaper device—he had called it “the ViewPaper”—underneath my arm.

As I turned onto Greenwood, I wondered if I should try to find my own house on West Winter Street. What had happened to the house that Julie and I had bought? Maybe she was there? Would it help solve any of this mystery? Or, like the ViewPaper, would it just create more confusion?

Bruce’s sense of urgency about my pajamas kept me returning to where I woke, however. It probably wasn’t a good idea to take a detour to a house that might very well complicate the situation.

I decided to hold all my immediate questions until I met Bruce later that night.

When I finally reached the town house where I had woken up, I walked straight inside. It was exactly as I had left it. I managed to find a closet that I hadn’t noticed earlier, seamlessly hidden within the bedroom wall, and pulled back the doors. Inside were three pressed suits, a row of jeans, and the dresser of clothes Bruce had mentioned. Everything was in my size, just as Bruce had said.

I grabbed some clothes and headed toward the shower. As hot water hit my skin, I closed my eyes. For the first time since I woke up, I was able to relax.

I was forced out of my trance and begrudgingly snapped open my eyes when I thought I heard the front door open. I couldn’t quite tell through the sound of the shower. What had just been so therapeutic and enjoyable, now became a major hindrance.

I carefully reached for the valve and slowly turned the knob so the water would stop falling from the showerhead. I attempted to draw as little attention to the bathroom as possible. Perhaps with all the stress I had experienced so far, I had dozed off. Maybe I only thought that I had heard the front door.

Then I heard something like the rustling of plastic bags as the weight of their contents hit the kitchen counter. A moment later it sounded like someone putting away groceries in the cabinets and refrigerator.

I slowly reached for one of the towels and carefully wrapped it around my wet waist. I focused on controlling my breathing. Panic had elevated my breaths. It was getting harder to hear what was going on in the house. I strained to make out anything.

As far as I could tell, I had three options. Hide in the shower behind the curtain. Get dressed as fast as possible and push through whoever or whatever was out there and flee. Or stand and explain. None of them sounded particularly comforting.

I was lost in my how-to-survive-an-intruder-attack-in-the-bathroom calculations when I heard the front door open and close again. Whoever was in the house was leaving.

I flung open the bathroom door and ran into the living room with just the towel wrapped around my body. I peered through the living room window and was able to get a view of the driveway. One of those flying cars idled about a foot off the ground and appeared unoccupied.

I ran to the other side of the room to get a different view of the walkway and the driveway. I had a clear shot of the flying car in the driveway but not of the person who had just been in the house. I leaned into the glass, my forehead touching the cold pane. I gasped. I could finally see who it was.

I turned so fast from the window to run outside to catch her that I carelessly smashed my knee against the corner of the kitchen table. Flashes of red streaked across my vision. I finally collected myself and forced myself to move forward despite the pain. I had to get out of the town house. I had to see her.

I swung open the front door just in time to watch her curly hair disappear as she closed the door of the flying car and adjusted herself in the driver’s seat. I ran toward the bright red vehicle. Unsuccessfully I tried to get her attention by flailing my arms in the air while I ran to her before she drove away.

As she turned out of the driveway, I stopped running.

“Julie!”

I almost yelled her name again, but the flying car had reached its altitude, and she was too far away to hear me.

What could she have been doing here? Had she really just been making a pit stop to drop off groceries? Groceries!

I gripped my towel a little tighter around my waist as I ran back into the house to check out what Julie had brought home. There were indeed empty plastic bags in the trash from some place called Eldorado Food Mart. I had been right about the food.

I checked out the refrigerator to find milk, eggs, cold cuts, cheese, bottled water, and other miscellaneous items. I wondered how Julie could be so nonchalant about bringing home groceries and then leaving again to go elsewhere without at least saying hello.

I kicked myself for being too scared. Since she had gone grocery shopping, she probably planned on returning at some point. I looked at the clock and thought about meeting up with Bruce later. What if Julie didn’t come back by then? I decided that, despite my ever-growing hunger, maybe it was better to wait on her so that we could have a meal together. I really didn’t feel like eating alone.