When It Mattered Most

Where AM I?

Mark opened his eyes slowly, this thoughts coming slowly. He was laying under a tree, the sun slowly rising from the horizon. He stretched his arms and heard his back crack. It was sore from evidently lying there the whole night. It was surprisingly warm. That didn't make sense; last he knew, it was snowing outside.

Standing up Mark began walking towards the street a few hundred feet away. Wandering along the sidewalk, he saw an old newspaper on a public bench. An unfamiliar front page stared back at him and he looked at the date and the publishing address.

He looked again.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked once more.

That was impossible. He dropped the paper back on the chair and began to walk along the strangely empty sidewalk.

Struck by a sudden thought, Mark searched himself. He was wearing his rectangular glasses, his new red flannel, blue jeans, and running shoes. His front pockets yielded only an extra button and string for his flannel and a gum wrapper. His back pockets were better stocked. He had his flip phone, but it only had fifteen percent power; he also had his wallet, which had four twenties, six ones, and a handful of change.

He decided to take his chances with his phone and turned it on. Checking the calendar he saw that the news was telling the truth about the date, and the news about the year. He had ended up eight years in the future, in Los Angeles. It was Friday, May fifteenth, six in the morning.

He did the first thing that came to his mind, he called his mom. The number was no longer in contact. Of course. It's been nearly a decade, she was bound to get a new phone by then.

He tried his stepmom, no answer. He tried his closest friend, Tyler, and got the same result. Same thing for Bob and for Wade.

His phone died.

Suddenly feeling lightheaded he sat down, knees buckling. His vision became blurry and he looked down to see his hands shaking. Sniffing, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear them to no avail.

He didn't know what to do.

He had no knowledge of LA, no way of contacting anyone he knew, and hardly enough money to last more than a day or two.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but only when no more tears would come did Mark stand up. He couldn't stay there forever. Walking down the street he began to brainstorm.

First things first: he needed food. He had enough for cheap meals for a couple of days, but he needed a way to get money. He could try panhandling, but the thought gave him a bad taste in his mouth.

The second thing he needed was a place to stay. It wasn't very cold, but he knew the worst thing to deal with were the elements.

Next thing was knowledge. Things were bound to have changed since two thousand twelve. There was going to be a new president, he would need to see if he could get back into school, try and get copies of his ID and social security number so he could get a job until he had enough money to buy a plane ticket. Mark paused.

If he was in the future, what was going on with the him from now? Did he become someone? Was he the person he wanted to be, successful and making a change in the world, someone to be proud of? Future Mark would have graduated by now. Gotten a job.

Mark had no idea what his future self would be doing right now, he'd be thirty now. He had no idea what he was doing. Did he finish his book? Make a successful video game? Get into sound mixing for video games or movies? He must have done something worth while if he was living comfortably in Los Angeles.

Mark was getting worried. The streets were too quiet. No one was outside. He walked along the sidewalk. The houses were clearly lived in with all of the cars on the driveway and lights on in houses. But no one was outside. What had happened?

Mark paused outside one of the houses. There was a sick Tesla in the driveway, way cooler than the newest ones from home. Suddenly he heard barking and shouting from the house and a huge weight collided into him. As he pushed himself up with his elbows he saw that it was a beautiful golden retriever. A man in a fancy looking face mask and gloves cautiously walked up to him from the doorway, noticeably keeping his distance. The dog jumped off of him and he stood up. The man looked vaguely familiar.

"I'm so sorry about Chica, she's usually not like this." The dog, Chica, was jumping up onto the man, trying to lick him. "Chica!"

Chica slowed down, "Chica, sit!"

Chica sat and the man rubbed her head and neck vigorously, "Good girl!" He gave her a treat from his pocket. Chica panted adorably.

The man looked confusedly at him behind a pair of circular glasses and floofy hair, "What're you doing outside? You did see the alert on Wednesday, right?"

Mark sighed, seeing very little point in lying to the first person he's seen all day. "No. I just woke up in the park and I have no idea how I got there."

The man blinked at him. He looked strangely familiar in a way that Mark couldn't describe. Maybe he met him before he got here, or passed him on the street a long time ago? Mark didn't know, but the man seemed to have the same feeling.

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" The man was looking intently at him, stepping forward a bit.

Mark frowned a bit, "I don't know. I mean, you look really familiar, but I can't place why."

The man's eyes widened in enthusiasm, and he waved his hands around, "I know, right? There's just something off about this."

"Yeah..." The conversation teetered off a bit and they were just standing there awkwardly while Chica panted between them. Glancing back up at the man, Mark asked, "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but what's up with the face masks, and why is no one outside like, at all?"

The man looked at Mark incredulously (or as incredulous as you can with most of your face hidden). "You're joking, right? You don't actually know what's going on right now?" Mark shook his head, "Where have you been the past eight months?"

Mark sighed, seeing no way around it. He needed answers more than he needed secrets right now. "2012."

The man looked at him with furrowed eyebrows for an uncomfortably long time before gasping lightly and staring at him with wide eyes.

"What, what is it?"

The man suddenly looked around, as if checking for something, then looked back at him. "Come with me."

The man ran back into the house, Chica at his heels. Not having anything better to do, Mark followed the man into the house.