A date in time

"I'll be back from my date in two minutes" I called out to my housemate, donning a shirt and buttoning it to the collar. I heard an indiscriminate grunt of acknowledgement and consulted my shoe collection to pick out something that was a suitable balance of casual and smart, and that wouldn't look out of place.

This was my 3rd date with Jane, and things were progressing well. I mean, she was an old fashioned girl, and we had just kissed at the end of the last date, but that's the way I like them really, and you couldn't expect more of a woman from her time. Women from my time are too pushy, and I like old fashioned courting and romance. I selected a suitable pair of brown brogues and brushed my hair in the mirror that reflected my presentability score. A row of faces greeted me at the bottom frame of the mirror to match my presentability, intellect, credit and interest ratings, but since meeting Jane, I was happy for once to dedicate myself to one person and swiped left to dismiss them.

Taking one final look at myself, I switched the mirror off, grabbed the lab-grown bunch of flowers I purchased earlier that day and left the house. I waited in line at my local Time Inc. transport office (one day I'd be able to afford my own), set my destination and sat inside a pod. With my destination preprogrammed, all I had to do was swipe my credit chip, sit back, and 20 minutes later (we all knew the mantra 1 minute per decade) I'd be at the door of Jane's favourite restaurant, F. Cooke traditional pie shop.

Watching the years fly by, I pulled up a copy of the news summary for the 9th September 1950 on my retinal implants to read what had happened in the week since I had last seen Jane.

Since the time shift of 2124, travelling back in time to trade, educate and learn was commonplace. Fraternising with the natives was less acceptable, but many of us did it, flirting with the edge of what was considered legal. As long as you didn't stand out too much, or make too much disturbance to time, you could get away with it. The trick was learning to fit in, doing your research, and not taking too many chances.

Some of us would invent entire alternative lives to explain our partial absence, but these became hard to manage, and sometimes would cause more confusion and problems then they were worth.

Others (myself included) preferred just to be honest and explain what we were, as crazy as that may sound. Certain periods in history were easier to explain the process too. Fortunately, the 1950s with its obsession with science fiction, the beginnings of nuclear power, and the start of modern science was easier to explain it to than most. Even if they didn't fully understand how it was all possible, they could at least get a grasp on the concept.

 Even though I found Jane old fashioned, for many of her time, she was progressive, and not entirely at home in her own time. Many like her welcomed the opportunity to meet people who were also not of their time. Sadly, because of the "time paradox", people could only ever travel backwards, but never forward, creating an even more complex web of privilege in the world.

My journey drawing to an end, I could slowly see the 1950s London streets drawing into view, along with the smoke and grubbiness that accompanied them. 

I left the pod, and it blended into the surroundings to await my return and wandered the three streets to the restaurant. Even with my attempts to blend in, I knew I stood out. Something about my general look. People in the past were generally more gaunt, they smoked more, ate less healthily, optimised their bodies less than those of us from the 2150s.

Turning the corner to the restaurant, I stopped to take a breath and relax my fluttering heart before entering.

I scanned the room for Jane and couldn't see her yet, but made my way to the table we met at last time. I sat and glanced at the menu, but already knew what I wanted, I looked forward to my fill of beef pie and mash every week, it's nothing like the food from my time. A handful of indeterminate minutes passed, where I was lost in my thoughts, and Jane surprised me with her sudden presence. 

She always did this. To me, a soul from the 2150s, the 1950s was sensory overload at the best of times. So much noise, so many smells, so much texture. My senses were overloaded by her perfume, the scratching noises, smells and grain of the natural fabrics in her clothes, the loud sound of her shoes, the strange way her hair sat so rigidly in place. That's not to say it was unpleasant, quite the opposite, but it took a few minutes for my senses to settle down. Not that I showed this, of course, Jane, like many home-timers was always on edge with out-of-timers, paranoid of seeming stupid or colloquial. I calmed my jittery senses and stood to greet her with a small peck on the cheek. 

She blushed and looked guiltily to the floor, which of course made her look more stunning.

"Oh, stop looking at me like that, you're embarrassing me" she gushed.

"You like it, don't you?" I retort, with cheek in my voice.

"Well of course I do" she bashfully whispered under her breath, "But it simply isn't the done thing, you know that"

"Well, I can't help my out-of-time ways can I?" I respond, not regretting a thing I had done, of course, I loved drinking in this sensory delight.

The waitress appeared and took our order. This whole ordering process of the past still fascinates me, such an inefficient idea. You wait for one person to take your order, then they go an tell someone else what it is, someone else prepares it, someone brings it back again. Then if you want more, you deal with the whole merry dance again, and when you want to pay, off you go again. So many people for such a small thing. Of course, in the 2150s, the bots take care of everything.

While we wait for our food, we make small talk, I hand over the flowers, she blushes some more, I ask her about the weeks events I read on my way here, she asks me about my week. We hold hands under the table and stare into each other's eyes, and I drink in the warmness of the whole scene.

Our food arrives, we eat. Another sensory experience I relish, food in my time is functional. Pills and potions that provide you with just the nutrition you need, as efficiently as possible, but with no fun or pleasure. Food from the 1950s is all just so damned heavy, (I think they use the words' stodgy' and 'rich', such glorious words you would never even think of in the 2150s). It's so full of flavours, textures, and, yes I know, so full of ingredients that are bad for your body, especially a body like mine not used to such wasteful junk like sugar, fat, wheat, dairy, and meat. If we even had animals left that were worth eating, it seems such an impossible concept to me, but here was everyone around me eating dead creatures. Crazy.

Jane doesn't like to talk while she's eating, she likes to retain as much grace as possible, and that requires concentration. I, on the other hand, am still enjoying this novelty, and am barely used to using 'cutlery', so shove food into my mouth, hit my teeth with the 'fork', nearly stab myself in the face with the 'knife', drop crumbs on the floor, and generally embarrass myself. Thankfully she loves that and makes laughing eyes at me the whole time.

We finish our food, and she orders tea. Something people in 1950s seem to continually consume, again, so much wonderful waste! It's a hot, murky coloured liquid, filled with dairy, and some odd sort of dried leaf thing. I am not used to hot liquids, so always attempt to drink it too quickly, nearly burning my mouth. Again, a sensory experience I should shy away from, but when you are used to feeling next to nothing, every experience is glorious.

Full of food, she relaxes back into her chair. I can sense she is going to bring up the subject she often brings up when she sees me. 

"I miss you sorely every week. Can't you come more often? I know…"

I cut her off, knowing where this conversation is going.

"… Sorry Jane, as I already explained, it's simply not possible at the moment. I have a job in my home time, responsibilities. I could look into applying for an era reporter job, but I'm not qualified. I could…"

I stop myself before I finish the sentence. As much as I'd love to stay here in the 1950s with sweet, sweet Jane, I wonder what living out of time would be like. And besides, currently staying out of time permanently is reserved for a select few.

She sits forward, resigned, but understanding.

"There have been whispers recently of changes to the time laws, some of us are hoping that this might mean they become more relaxed. There are rumours that factions representing our interests are growing, but it's just rumours. Until then, we have to keep things as they are."

Jane sits further forward, drops my hand from under the table and gives me a look I have never seen on her face before, and it shocks me. Somewhere between resentment and victory.

"You're damn right things are going to change."

She says, in a tone and manner I have never heard from her before.

"We've had enough of people from your time flitting around the timeline like a flock of locusts, causing disruption whenever you go."

Her look turns to disgust.

"In my time we look back on you with disbelief. How could you all be so reckless in the past, with no consideration for the impact you're causing?"

I lean back, lost for words and shocked.

"I, I, we, we…"

"That's right, only ever thinking of yourselves. That's the problem with your time. You used the time schism to profit, financially, and… emotionally" Jane takes on a particularly disgusted expression when she mentions these last words.

"In the 2260s we've decided to put a stop to all you… time wasters. Hunt you, make you learn to respect time and the people and events in it."

She grabs my hand again, but this time forcefully, with a firm grip.

"We're leaving." She says. Now pay for our meals and let's leave like nothing happened. Just two old-timers having lunch together."

She grips me by the hand as I fumble in my pockets for replica 1950s pounds and hand them over, I drop them on the counter as she pulls me out of the restaurant.

"But, but where are you taking me?" I stammer. "I can't go to your time due to the paradox."

She pulls me harder down a dark alley.

"Don't you worry. Where I'm from, we have the perfect solution for people like you, where you can do no harm to anyone or any time."

She forces me into a corner, and I catch one final glance at her beautiful face. A face I so looked forward to seeing, a face I adored and would have spent the rest of my life with had it been possible. Jane pushes a button, and a pod appears out of the background. She pushes me into the dark, cold portal.

"Enjoy stasis" she shouts as the door closes behind me and I catch one last breath of the sights, smells and sounds of 1950s London.