For the First and Final Time

The basement was dark, even with the lights on. Of course it was, the lights were old. In the whole time Alex had lived there, and the seven years after, her father had never changed them. They barely functioned, but they weren’t broken, so he didn’t change them out. The lights weren’t the oldest thing in the basement, just about all of her dad’s old junk was in here. Books on information years out of date, computers filled with software that hadn’t been useful in decades, and a dozen other types of old clutter.

She hadn’t thought about clearing out the basement, not when she got the phone call, not at the funeral, not for over a month later. When Alex’s mother asked if she would do it, Alex was surprised it hadn’t been done already. Her mother never valued the contents of the basement. Her parents had been happy for Alex’s whole childhood, but if there was one thing they did argue about, it was the basement.

Alex started looking through boxes around her father’s desk. An encyclopedia set, a box labeled ‘Commodore’ that weighed more than a large dog. She figured she’d sort the things into three categories, ‘Donate’, ‘Sell’, and ‘Keep’. The encyclopedias were the start of the ‘Donate’ pile. When she looked into the ‘Commodore’ box and found an old computer (as well as about two dozen accessories), she put it in the ‘Sell’ category. The box of science fiction books? She leafed through them, pulling one or two out, and put the box with the donations. The three tube televisions? ‘Donate’. If they were garbage, at least a thrift shop might know where and how to throw them away.

Alex cleared out the area around her father’s desk for about half an hour, and finally got to the desk itself. The desk held the only somewhat-modern computer in the entire basement, a mug of pens, and some old notebooks. Nothing all that important, except…

A large metal box, with a faded warning label on its side. On the front was a large power switch and two headphone jacks. One was empty, the other led to what seemed like a tape recorder. It had only three controls, a green arrow, a black square, and a red circle. Play, stop, and record.

Alex picked up the tape recorder, and immediately felt an old sticky note on the back. She turned over the device and read it.

10/27/2026

PRESS RECORD

SAY HELLO

Alex checked her phone. It was October twenty seventh. Had Dad left this for me? Told Mom about this? How would he know? Alex though. She pulled off the sticky note, and saw something else written on the back.

1: 26 PM

TRUST ME,

-DAD

She checked her phone again, it was 1:25… the handwriting was definitely her dad’s– all caps, characteristically messy. He didn’t write much, hated how it looked, joked about how he’d never have gotten a single job if he couldn’t type. But how did he know the time?

Her phone’s clock silently changed from 1:25 to 1:26. Alex paused for a moment, and pressed the record button. Nothing happened. She looked down at the tape recorder, and then the box. The power was switched off.

She flicked the power switch, and the tape in the recorder started to move. Alex looked down at the note.

“Hey”, she cautiously said into the microphone.

Alex pressed the stop button, and a red light flashed. What now? she thought. The tape seemed to rewind on its own. After a few seconds, a green light next to the red one turned on. She looked down at the tape recorder, The play button is green.

Alex pressed play,

“Oh my god!” a young man’s voice shouted from the tape recorder’s little speaker, “It worked! Wh- who is this? When is this?”

The tape stopped, and then rewound on its own… Alex thought she recognized the voice from old home videos she’d seen at the funeral. My father? When did he set this up? How did he set this up? He sounded so young in the recording, she barely recognized it was him talking.

Alex looked at the tape recorder again. The red light was blinking.

She pressed the record button, “Hey… dad. It’s Alex.” What am I doing? She thought to herself, It’s pre-recorded, isn’t it? “It’s October 27th, 2026, 1:26 PM… like the note says.”

She pressed the stop button, the tape rewound, and after a second, the green light came back on.

She caught her breath for a second and, without thinking, pressed the play button.

“Dad?” the voice in the tape asked, “Oh my god… I have a daughter… 2026? Thirty four years! Oh my god. Do we have flying cars yet?”

The tape rewound and started blinking red.

How would he know I said that!? She thought. maybe he had used some software off the internet to make his voice sound younger. Would that even be possible? And why would he do it like this? Why not just leave a letter or something, for after he was gone.

Alex pressed record, “No, Dad, we don’t have flying cars yet,” she thought for a second. Thirty four years. she did the math in her head, “What is 1992 like?” she said, chuckling, not quite sure why she was playing along with this.

The tape rewound, and the green light came on. She clicked play again.

“Well, you’re… actually in the future,” her young father said, clearly ecstatic, “but it sure feels like the future right now. There are computers that fit in the palm of your hand, digital audio on disks read by lasers, the Internet… you probably know all about the Internet in 2026 though.” He paused for a moment, “What do you have in 2026?”

Alex waited for the red light to come back on, “It’s mostly the same, I think. We have a lot more internet connection now, it’s good and bad.” Alex remembered just how weird what she was doing was, “Hey, how exactly is this working? Is there a computer in the box or something?”

She stopped the recording and the tape wound back. She waited for the green light to come on. She was about to mess with the box, see if it was broken, when the green glow caught the corner of her eye.

She pressed play, “Oh, no, I must not have told you yet. Right, you’re my daughter. Is Sharon your mom? That’s unimportant… in fact, don’t tell me. It might mess with time… is that how it works? I’m not sure yet. Listen, thi-”

The tape cut off, rolled back. Before she could hit record, the green light blinked back on. She laughed a bit. He must have run out of tape. And who the hell is Sharon? Alex had no idea. She clicked play.

“Agh, sorry about that. Limited by my time I guess.. And budget, if I could do this with CDs it would be way better,” Her father was talking so fast she could barely keep up, “Anyways, the A-wire connects to this tape recorder, the B-wire to my 486 machine for signal processing, and the big box is an-”

The tape cut out again. She waited for the light to come back on and pressed play.

“These recordings are so short!” He shouted annoyedly, “The box is the power supply for ‘The Orthowire’. On a simple level, the machine displaces information, either forward or back in time. Letting a conversation happen between me, and someone in the future.”

Alex thought for a moment, This can’t be fake. But if he invented freaking time travel, why not use it? Sell it? Why not tell anyone?

Her thumb pressed down the record button, “Dad, why didn’t you tell anyone about this?”

She pressed stop, and the tape rewound. She clicked the play button just as the green light came on.

“I- well I’m planning to tell people, but if I didn’t- or, won’t I guess- I’m sure it’s for a good reason. Hey, what’s your name?”

Alex paused as the tape’s spools spun. She hadn’t heard him say her name so far. Maybe it was really time travel?

She clicked record, “My name’s Alex,” Her hands started to shake. She was sure why, but didn’t want to admit it. “I think I should tell you something.”

The tape scrolled back 

“Okay, Alex. I’m all ears.”

“You left a note for me, on the back of this recorder, but I was never allowed down here while- ” Should she tell him? “Dad… you died in August.”

The recorder spooled back. And then sat, no light, no sound, for over a minute. The green light flashed on. Alex wiped a tear away from her face, and pressed play.

“You probably shouldn’t have told me that,” Alex had never heard her father sound scared like that, “Was I happy?” The recording cut, almost abruptly.

Alex was crying now.

“Yes, Dad. You were the happiest person I knew.”

“That’s… good.” He seemed nervous, unsure, “Alex. The Orthowire is burning out… when I run out of filament I don’t know if I’ll be able to get more, I only have enough to send one or maybe two more messages back and forth.”

Alex sobbed. She thought she was over this a month ago, thought she had at least started to deal with losing him. She pressed record.

“Dad, please don’t go, please. There has to be something, a way to keep it running.”

The tape recorder flashed green almost immediately after spooling back.

“Listen, Alex. I’m not good at comforting people, not yet at least,” he laughed nervously, “I’ll…” He paused for a moment, “I’ll write you, okay? Where are you right now?”

“I’m in your basement,” Alex shook a little, “at your old desk. Dad… is this real?”

She stopped the tape, waited as it scrolled back… slower than it had earlier, and the green light came on, dimly.

“I’m almost out of filament, this is my last message. In the upper left drawer, at the back, I’ll leave a journal, just for you. Okay? I promise. Whoever you’ll be Alex, I love you.”

The play button popped back up, but the spools didn’t move. The light never came back on.

Alex wiped tears from her face and sat for a while. She gingerly pulled open the drawer, and reached inside. She pulled out a large, heavy book, and it fell open to the last page.

08/14/26

ALEX, THIS IS THE LAST THING I’M WRITING IN THIS BOOK.

I SPENT A LOT OF TIME AFRAID, YOU CAN SEE IT IN MY EARLY LETTERS. AFTER A WHILE THOUGH, I BECAME LIKE YOU SAID I WAS. I BECAME HAPPY, I MET YOUR MOTHER. WE LIVED A GOOD LIFE, ALL OF IT FOR YOU. IT MUST BE HARD RIGHT NOW. DON’T WORRY. IT WAS THE BEST THING I EVER DID, FINDING OUT WHO YOU WERE. I LOVE YOU

-DAD

Alex smiled, grabbed the book, and, just before walking upstairs, looked back at the pile of things around her father’s desk. She took the pieces of paper she’d used to mark the ‘Donate’ and ‘Sell’ piles, and crumpled them up. She’d figure out what to keep after she’d read her father’s journal.