This Can't Be Right ... Can It?

THIS CAN’T BE RIGHT … CAN IT?

 “This doesn’t make sense.”

Chet and Kevin were sitting at a table in the cafeteria. Both were enrolled in the creative writing course being offered by the university, a prerequisite course for an English degree, and a suggested course for any program that involved writing. So, all the programs.

Chet had been reading the paper in front of him. It was this the class handout with week’s writing prompts listed.

“What,” said Kevin halfheartedly while scrolling on his phone.  

“This prompt,” he said, pointing at number four in the list. “‘Start a story with someone receiving a message from their past self, warning them of the consequences of their actions.’ It doesn’t make sense.”

Kevin looked up. “So? Use another prompt. If it doesn’t make sense to you, then don’t use it. We only have to write one short story, not five. Go for one you like.”

Chet shook his head. “But it’s wrong." He shoved the paper towards Kevin. "I’m not imagining it, right? It doesn’t make sense? You can see the problem? It’s not just me?”

Kevin zipped open his backpack, and pulled out today’s handout.

“What number?”

“Four.”

Chet sat watching Kevin read.

“Seems fine to me.”

Chet lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

Kevin nodded.

“Read it again.”

Kevin started to complain—it would take away from his phone time.

“Just read it,” said Chet.

Kevin did, but only to humour Chet.

Kevin liked Chet, but he found him a little intense. They’d known each other since high school, and had ended up in the same second year course by a fluke. 

Every student in every program had to take at least one English class, and the two of them ended up in creative writing. Kevin chose creative writing because it seemed to be the easiest course, with minimal reading, and he only had to make up stores. No referencing, no citations. Kevin was in the Kinesiology program, hoping for a future in either physical therapy or occupational therapy. His ultimate goal was to work as a trainer for any professional sports team, preferably hockey. He would not have to write a lot, just fill in charts. So, he’d chosen creative writing. A bird course, he’d thought. Not so much. Who knew there were rules to to be followed when writing fiction? There were scenarios, character development, setting, conflict, resolution. The list went on and on.

But he had his secret weapon—Chet. Chet was heading to law school, and figured learning how to write concise stories would only help him when crafting opening arguments, and closing arguments, and writing briefs—a lawyer's life is about writing.  Being able to weave a story together is a lawyer’s super power. And, Chet was okay about helping Kevin, reading his work, and making suggestions. Chet said it helped him hone his own skills. And, that was why Kevin was willing to spend the extra time rereading prompt number four. Plus he felt that he kinda owed Chet for all the help he gave him.

“Still don’t see it, dude.”

Chet sighed. He liked having Kevin as a friend in the class, but, honestly, he was a lot of work, sometimes. When Chet proofread Kevin’s work, he usually became frustrated, because he knew that Kevin could do better. Kevin was not dumb—not by a stretch. He was just … careless. With a side of lazy. A lot of times good enough was all Kevin ever aspired to—a pass, a “C”, the median, the average. But he never failed test, a course, or a paper. He just didn’t live up to his potential. Chet shook his head. He knew he sounded just like every teacher in every school in the world, but he just wanted Kevin to do his best. In fact, Chet worried that his helping Kevin made it so that Kevin didn’t try as hard as he should. After all, he had Chet to figure everything out for him.

Chet turned his attention to the sheet in front of Kevin. “Right here,” he said. "It says that the protagonist gets a message from their past self. How?”

Kevin shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Mailed it, or texted it? I dunno.” He looked at Chet. “That’s what’s bugging you?”

Chet nodded his head, “Yes. But think about it. Why would you’re past self send you anything? It’s your history. You already know what’s happened. They don’t have send themselves anything. They’ve done what they’ve done, and they know it.”

“Ahh,” said Kevin. “I get it. The character would already know the consequences of their actions because it’s their past. There’s no need for a message from the past. Got it.”

“Right!” said Chet. He knew Kevin would eventually get it. “The prompt doesn’t make sense.” He circled the words past self in red on his sheet. “Now, if that was future self, then it makes sense. It’s a common enough trope.”

“Trope?” asked Kevin.

“You know, common story line, or plot device, that is sometimes overused. Like the hard-boiled private eye and femme fatale, talking animals in fairy tales, duel at high noon in westerns, time travel, like now.” He pointed to number four.

Kevin nodded. “Got it.”

“A character leaving messages for their past self, or showing up to warn their past self about some horrible thing that is going to happen is all over movies and books. That movie with Ryan Reynolds, Adam is a good example. The Time Travelers Wife, and The Time Machine are both examples of travel from the future to the past to right a wrong. But there isn’t a single example of someone coming from the past to the future to warn their future self about something they did before, because they all ready know what they've done!” Chet shook his head, looking at the paper.

Kevin shrugged. “So it doesn’t make sense—don’t do it. Write a story that makes sense to you.”

Chet shook his head. “But, why is it here in this week’s prompts?”

Kevin looked confused. “Uh, because is part of the assignment.”

“I know, but is it a trick? Do you think Professor Donnelly is doing this to trick us? Or maybe using the prompt as a way of seeing which students are creative enough to write a couple thousand words on a senseless topic?” He looked at Kevin. “Do you think it’s a test?”

Kevin put up his hands in a “settle down” motion. “Chet, buddy, I think you’re reading way too much into this. I think Donnelly had a brain-fart and mixed up the words past and future.” He looked at Chet skeptically. “There are way too many students in the course to be doing subliminal testing on them.” He shook his head. “No, I think it was an error. Plain and simple. Brain-fart.”

Chet wasn’t really listening. “I think maybe I’ll try it. You know, just in case it’s really a test on creativity.” He sat there, bouncing his pen on the paper, thinking.

“Knock yourself out, Chet. I’m doing numbers three. A good getting-your-just-desserts story.” He looked at Chet. “You know,” he said, “you could just go to Donnelly’s office and ask her.”

“I could, but I want to show her that I can use my imagination to figure out the problem.” He smiled. “And write a good story in the process.”

They parted ways. Chet had no more classes for the rest of the day, so he headed to the coffee shop just off campus. They had great coffee, free wifi, and there was a really cute barista working—a winning combination. 

Once he was settled at a table in the back, he opened his computer, and considered the assignment in front of him. He tossed concepts around in his head, trying to figure out the best way to approach the prompt.  

Okay, it needs to start with a message, he said to himself.  

Fingers drumming on the table, while he stared at the blinking cursor.  

From my past self.

More drumming.

Why would that happen?

He mulled over possible scenarios when the past would need to remind the present of the past. It was so confusing. None of them worked. Then he thought about the protagonist being older, near the end of his life. When he was young, he’d made a deal with who …. the devil? He’d used the devil in a story last week. But that was the only reckoning he could think of, so devil it was. And now was pay-up time.  

It was a hard story to write. It seemed like a very overused trope. But at the same time, it was hard to frame. He decided to use flashbacks. After a solid five hours of struggling over the story, he was done. He packed up his computer and headed home.

The next day, when he was on the way to his ethics class, Chet happened to walk by Dr. Donnelly’s office. There, taped to her door, was a correction notice.

In yesterday’s prompts, there was a mistake. Prompt number four should read FUTURE SELF, not PAST SELF. I’m sorry for any inconvenience his may have caused.

Chet's jaw dropped open. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It wasn’t subliminal testing. It wasn’t a ruse to see how creative he was. It was a mistake. Just a mistake. A mistake he had devoted five hours, three coffees, and he was pretty sure, some grey hairs, to.

Just then, Kevin walked up and read the note on the door.

“Huh,” he said, “You should have listened to me, buddy. It was just a brain-fart.” He chuckled, and punched Chet lightly on the arm, and kept walking.