The Mandela Effect

Ch. 1

A man stands behind a desk on the floor of an auditorium-style classroom. Behind him, blackboards on rollers are positioned blocking the view of the smartboard. They are covered in smeared, white chalk. The preference for chalk over digital betrays his late 40s age in a way his hair color, lack of wrinkles, and stable hairline never did.

He is packing his laptop, papers, and other odds and ends into an old, weathered messenger bag. In the air, a mix of dust and chalk, churned up by his erasing and the class exiting a few minutes before, makes the air visible as the setting sun streams into the windows high above the empty room.

At his feet, the rows of chair desks attached to the floor rise stadium-style towards the back of the room high above and seemingly dozens of feet from his lectern and desk. He takes a moment to examine the empty room, the chairs seem to still be swinging from their recently departed inhabitants. He sighs deeply and folds the top flap over the bag before slinging it over his shoulder.

Suddenly, the door in the back of the room swings open violently and bangs against the back wall. Bouncing back, it rattles on its seemingly ancient hinges. The door may very well be older than him. People should really be more careful.

"Jon," a voice calls to him from the back of the room, "what the hell are you still doing in here?"

Jon is brought back to the moment and looks up to the now open, but still filled, doorway. Instead of the wooden door, and its yellowed glass with thickly-layered painted muntins, always repainted by never stripped beforehand; a hefty man with yellowed teeth and a thick sweater.

"Jon?" the man calls out to him again.

"Yea?" Jon answers innocently.

"What's wrong with you?" the man asks, stepping into the room fully.

"Me?" Jon answers, "nothing?"

"Then, let's get a move on!" the man insists, "we're going to miss our flight!"

Jon seems to realize where he is for the first time.

"Oh right," Jon says checking his watch, "wait, we have plenty of time. What are you worried about?"

"I can't start drinking until we get to the airport!" the man exclaims.

Jon shakes his head, "Mark, you realize this is a work trip right?"

"It's a conference," Mark answers, "It's 10% work and 90% fun."

"Maybe for you," Jon says, coming around the corner of his desk and starting to climb the steep stairs, "but I'm presenting."

Mark waves off the comment. He looks at Jon and then around the door, "Wait. Where are your bags?"

"In my office?" Jon answers, confused about the question.

"What?!" Mark exclaims, "that's all the way across campus!"

"I didn't realize you'd be picking me up at class, sweetheart," Jon laughs.

"Alright, alright" Mark says, "I'll get the car and meet you out front. But, move your ass!"

Mark turns and exits the room, heading back into the hallway.

"I'm coming," Jon yells after him, and nearing the apex of the stairs, he pauses to look back at the classroom.

"Move it!" Mark shouts from down the hall.

Jon laughs as he turned and exits the room, pulling the door closed behind him.