A Day in History

I used to be a history genius, but everything changed on my 18th birthday.

The voice over the loudspeaker boomed as the pilot announced that we were making an emergency landing. Looking out the window of the small plane I saw lightning striking all around us as the plane dipped and swayed doing its best to stay airborne.

A silent prayer escaped my lips, as I prayed not to die today, not on my birthday. The plane dipped suddenly making me feel like I was on a roller coaster, not something I’ve ever enjoyed. The movement on my right caught my attention. Tyson gave me the thumbs up, a huge grin on his face as he held Mary Jo’s hair, her head buried in an air sickness bag.

The next dip was the furthest drop we had so far. Gripping my chair's armrests I pushed back into the seat as far as possible. Unable to speak, I stared straight ahead, eyes focused on the illuminated fasten seatbelt sign. The plane continued to dip and sway like a boat caught in an unyielding storm, With each movement the seatbelt sign pulsed, like it was breathing. 

We hit the ground with a skidding bounce—then another—and another. I think we landed four times before we stopped. But hey we were on the ground, and everyone was alive. Not exactly the best start for our school’s Academic Team and our trip to the HSNCT, (High School National Championship Tournament).

I followed the others down the ramp to the concourse. I’d never seen an airport this small before. It only had two gates one for arrivals and the other for departures. Each gate had a seating area of about fifty chairs. Across the way were a series of big bay windows separated by two bathrooms.

In front of the bathrooms, I saw Ty locked in a shoving match with Donald Jorgeson. Curiosity getting the best of me, I strolled over to check it out. Besides, who doesn’t want to watch a fight, in an airport, after an emergency landing, over a bathroom?

“Hey Ty, what’s the problem—” Just then I saw the Out of Order sign on the door of the Ladies' room.

“Mary Jo’s in there, and this Neophyte keeps trying to go in.”

“You better quit calling me that,” Donald said, trying to push his way past again.

Just then Mr. Glasser stepped between the combatants and asked the one question that always seemed to make things worse.

“What’s the problem, gentlemen?

A flurry of shouts and raised voices echoed in the mostly empty concourse as everyone started speaking at the same time. A rookie mistake I thought, but somehow, he understood exactly what was happening. Directing the groups to their neutral corners he called for any females who needed the bathroom, to go now. While he watched the door.

Ty and I decided to check out the rest of the area. The concourse was rectangular shaped, with two gates and the bathrooms on one end and a small food court on the other. The sections were separated by escalators that headed down to the baggage and ticketing areas.

We strolled over to the food court, where several small tables sat in the center of a group of vending machines. The assortment of food options was impressive. They had everything from standard snacks to Ice cream. My stomach is still queasy from the multiple landings, I thought it best to stick with the basics. Soda and a candy bar. Ty on the other hand went with a double cheeseburger and an energy drink. Looking for a place to eat, we opted to sit in the departure area where we had our pick of seats. It was empty except for the flight crew and a couple of stragglers like us.

“Want to study?”

“Sure,” Ty said, as he got up and walked away.

Shrugging, I dug through my backpack to find the right subject cards. Tyson was the best baseball player in our school district and our Academic Team’s sports aficionado. Me, I was our resident history geek. So, I pulled out the study cards for our respective areas. I had a pack of index cards for fifteen different historical subjects. Ty often referred to me as, the portable Jeopardy game.

“What’s up?” I asked as he returned.

“It’s still the girls' turn,” he said. “If they take any longer, I’m going to have to find a planter or something.”

“Well, you might want to start looking.”

“Why?”

“Because two more girls just jetted into the bathroom.”

“Great,” he said, snatching the stack of cards I held out. “What do we have today?”

We quizzed each other Jeopardy style for about an hour when I caught a glimpse of Mr. Glasser trying to peek into the bathroom. Nudging Ty with my foot, he looked up from his cards and I pointed towards Mr. Glasser. We only needed to watch him for a minute before we started cracking jokes at his expense. First, he knocked on the wall, then shouted into the room with his hands cupped around his mouth. After several attempts to get someone’s attention, he stepped away. By the time he got to us, he had spoken to everyone on the concourse, nobody had seen any of the girls exit. With a defeated shake of his head, he walked to the bathroom… and stepped inside. 

The staticky sound of an intercom pierced the air drawing everyone’s attention to the crew standing at the departure desk. Hope filled the air until, the Flight Attendant announced that all inbound and outbound flights had been canceled. Sounds of displeasure rang throughout the small room. Before the questions started to fly, she continued to explain that they did not have any information about the storm or when it would let up. At that point, she handed the mic to the plane's Captain. Clearing his throat for effect, he announced that the airport was in lockdown and everyone still in the airport was being directed to get comfortable, because all the exits had been locked for our safety.

“What if there is a fire?” Donald yelled, creating a stir within his little group.

“Then we put it out, or we all die,” the captain said, no inflection in his voice. “Does anyone have any intelligent questions?

“How about something to eat?” someone shouted.

“Just get with one of our flight attendants and they will take care of you…” Predicting the next question he continued. “And yes, it is on us… Anything else?” 

Ty jumped up and headed back to the vending machines. While he was gone one of the crew approached me, and asked if he could hang with us. I hesitated—creep alarm going off in my head. Looking around for help, I didn’t see Ty or Mr. Glasser. Heck, even Donald was gone … I hurriedly started packing our stuff to get away.

“Wait, wait, wait…” he said. “I’m not trying anything. Let me start over.”

Turns out he was the copilot on our flight and his name is Bob Roberts. He overheard us studying for the tournament, and being a history buff, he wanted to help. About ten minutes passed before Ty returned holding a tray of what seemed like one of everything from the vending machines.

“Hope you’re hungry? Cause Daddy’s home and he’s gots some vittles.”

Bob busted out laughing. “So, you’re the one they were talking about,” he said holding up a radio with a shake, then pointing at an earpiece.

“What can I say, I’m a growing boy,” Ty said with a boyish grin. Setting down the tray, Ty told us to start without him. He needed to use the bathroom first.

Handing Bob a stack of cards, I thought I’d go first, to see how much he knew and give him an example of how the questions would be asked at the tournament.

“Subject: Natural disasters.

Answer: The term for when dissolved carbon dioxide (CO2) suddenly discharges from deep lake waters, forming a toxic gas cloud.”

“A limnic eruption. Wait, I mean, What is a limnic eruption?” Bob said. With an air of confidence in his voice. “Go again, until I miss one.”

I hit him with about ten more questions, and he nailed everyone, better than… then I got an idea or let’s say a feeling.

“Subject: Bowling

Answer: The term used when a player intentionally throws themselves across the foul line, while still holding the ball.”

“Hmm…” he said cupping his chin with his hand, tapping his cheek with his finger. The corners of his mouth twitched the working of someone holding back a smile. “What is… The Flying Fontez?”

“Tyson Gibbs, you asshat, I shouted, looking around.”

A roar of laughter erupted from across the concourse. I turned towards the commotion, there sat Donald, and the rest of the Academic Team huddled around a table. In the center of the table was a radio, just like the one Bob was holding. Moments later a chorus of Happy Birthday filled the air.

“Donald told me that today was your birthday, so we decided to lighten the mood a bit. Hope you don’t mind?” he said with a genuine smile.

“Where is he?” I demanded, looking around the room.

“Who?”

“Tyson—Ty—my best friend. The one who brought all this,” I said, gesturing at… nothing. It was all gone. The food, Tyson’s backpack, the cheeseburger wrappers. Now frantic, I searched all around us, and all I found was the contents of my backpack spilled on the floor.

“What did you say his name was?” Bob asked. Giving me that look, people give you when appear to be talking to yourself. But you're actually on the phone with ear-pods in.

“Tyson Gibbs: dark skin, big smile, baseball hat, a little taller than me… jokester,” I said to Bob with a slight irritation in my voice.

Puzzled, Bob explained that it had only been he and I for the last hour or so. At first, I was beginning to think this was part of the joke, and he had taken it way too far. But something in his voice told me he was serious. He had no idea who I was talking about.

He went on to say, that the only person he’d heard of with that name played baseball for the Brooklyn Dodgers… in 1947. I stared at Bob in confusion as he continued to tell me about Tyson Gibbs. How he was the first African American player in Major League Baseball, a six-time All-Star, and a Hall-of-Famer.

“—Jackie Robinson,” I interrupted. “The person you’re talking about. His name is Jackie Robinson.” Diving to the floor, I dug through my cards until I found it. “Here—here it is, April 15^th, 1947. Jackie Robinson was the first African American player in MLB history,” I said handing him the card.

He reached for the card and handed me his phone, and we swapped. Reading the article, was everything I knew about Jackie Robinson, but it had Tyson’s name and—

“SHIT... that’s him,” I blurted. “He even has the scar over his left eye where I accidentally hit him in the head, playing horseshoes last year.” Borrowing the phone, I ran across the concourse and showed the picture to my team. Then the other passengers. Then the crew. No one recognized him. My last chance was to find Mr. Glasser, but he was missing too.

Either I was dreaming, or we lost two people from our group, and I was the only one that noticed. Skulking back to my seat, I plopped into it letting my body fall limply. Head hanging low I saw that my backpack was in the chair next to me and the floor was picked up.

“Want to study? It might make you feel better,” Bob asked.

“Sure.”

“Where do you want to start?” he asked, continuing to scan through the cards.

“Don’t care, how about one of those,” pointing to the card he just turned sideways.

“No, these ones have incorrect answers.”

Shocked, I stared at him, anger warming my face. I knew that every single card was correct. They had been checked against no less than three credible references. And any discrepancies were addressed with the tournament judges weeks ago. If anybody was incorrect it was him.

“Let’s start with that one,” I said, pointing to the turned card, a smug tone to my voice.

“Okay.

Subject: American history

Answer: The man who assassinated Abraham Lincoln on April 15, 1865.”

“Who is John Wilks Booth?”

“Nope, try again,” he said.

That question kicked off quite an argument. By the time we were done, I picked up all the cards and stormed off. I sat stewing for a few minutes then my curiosity took over. Looking over the so-called incorrect cards, I failed to see the errors. Deciding that I needed another opinion, I asked Donald.

Either Donald and Bob were in cahoots, or something weird was going on. So, I hit up each member of my team and they all said the same thing. My answers were incorrect.

Realizing I didn’t have anyone to talk this over with, I headed back to Bob with my proverbial tail between my legs. After a small bit of razzing, he heard me out and decided to help me research the discrepancies with my cards.

The first one we tackled was the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. According to my records, it was John Wilks Booth. However, his memory, the internet, everyone in my class, including one old dude who overheard me asking one of my classmates, it was… Carl Eugene Glasser. Mr. Glasser, our missing academics teacher. The pictures on the internet weren’t great but, you could tell, it was Mr. Glasser.

When we got to the second card, Bob slid it off to the side. Commenting that it was my buddy the baseball player. With an understanding nod, we moved on to the third card. And in tournament fashion, he asked me the next question.

“Subject: Maritime Disasters

Answer: Originally from Missouri, she moved to Colorado at eighteen, then later became the charter member of the Denver’s Woman’s Club.”

“I’m pretty sure that my notes say The Unsinkable Molly Brown. But since the card was turned, I bet you're going to tell me I’m wrong… Right?”

“Yep.”

“Who do you have?”

“The Unsinkable Mary Jo Watkins.”

My jaw hit the floor. I totally forgot about Mary Jo. She ran straight to the bathroom after getting off the plane. She was the reason TY and Donald almost got into a fight. After a quick search, I found a page that had a picture on it. It was her. She had on a big gaudy hat and was handing some dude an award, but it was unmistakenly her.

I grabbed a piece of paper from the counter and started listing the names of the missing people. We had Ty, Mary Jo, and Mr. Glasser. Next to each name, Bob wrote the date and year of each major event. It only took us a moment to see that April 15^th, was the common denominator. Then I realized two more people were missing.

“We’re not done,” I said.

“We're not?”

“No, we’re missing two more from our group. Cindy Wilkins and Diane Foster. I remember them running into the bathroom while Mr. Glasser guarded the door.”

Looking from the stack of cards to Bob, I sighed. Just then Bob slid his phone towards me, and I couldn’t help but smile. Not one of those nice to meet you grins, but one of those, hey you just hit the jackpot type of grins. On his phone was a website titled, This Day in History and he selected April 15^th.

The site listed every major event, anniversary, famous birth, and notable deaths for that day in history. After locating the study cards from each event, we crosschecked them for discrepancies and names. When that failed, we dug deeper.

Still drawing blanks on locating the other two girls, I started to doubt our efforts, and then Bob asked what subjects they specialized in. For a second, I didn’t understand, then I saw where he was going. He also presumed that if they prevented something from happening in the past, there would be no record of the event for us to research by.

“Diane was our Literature representative.”

“And the other… Cindy?

“Science or Art… I think”

The whole idea of movement in time or whatever this was, made me feel excited and afraid at the same time. Staying with the date as an anchor point, we searched for anything positive or negative in the world of literature. Hours crept by before we found her.

The short of it is, that she was an investigative reporter for the Toledo Blade. According to what we could find online, she was instrumental in them receiving a Pulitzer Prize, for an investigative series about, the atrocities committed by US forces in Vietnam.

Finding Cindy, turned out to be way more difficult. Whatever became of her was hidden so deep or she hadn’t created enough of a ripple in time for us to find her. Without any other clues to add, we were forced to recap what we thought we knew.

Which is…

Five people are missing, four of which we found in history centered around the date of April 15^th. They were all stranded at this little Podunk airport in the middle of nowhere. They all used the same bathroom on the same day.

What we didn’t know was; the why, the how, or the how long…

Checking his watch Bob smiled and said, “Let’s find out.” With a thunderous clap, he sprang to his feet and sprinted into the bathroom. Glancing down at my phone, I saw it was 12:01 am.