The Slip Up

Time travel wasn’t exactly what Damien expected; no flashing lights, huge noises, crazy hallucinations. In fact, it was relatively boring. The capsule went dark, save for the overhead light that came on once the safety belts were connected. Over a speaker, he heard:

“Sequence initiated. Forward travel destination, 35 years. Scheduled arrival date: July 17, 2055”.

His capsule moved slightly, like the feeling of a vehicle accelerating, and seconds later, the opposite, a slight pull forward of braking.

“Sequence successful. Current date: July 17, 2055.”

Stepping out of the capsule, Damien barely had to adjust his eyes. Unfortunately, the future wasn’t as exciting as he thought. No huge digital billboards, no flying cars. In fact, it was rather mundane. Vehicles were electric, but looked like mobile boxes. Houses were identical, just taller or shorter (from what he could assume were bigger and larger family sizes). But he wasn’t here to observe. No, in fact, he wanted to see what legacy his high school football championship had left for him.

Fourth quarter, 17 second left. Richmond High was down by five, and god dammit Damien wasn’t about to lose this chance to be state champs his senior year.

“Ready! Set… HIKE.”

The ball was snapped back, and Damien took off down the field, as quickly as his legs could carry him after four quarters of play. Fake right, head down the left side. He knew this play well. He should, considering he had come up with it for Coach Johns. Damien looked to his right, and saw the defense catching up. His juke had bought him some room, but was it enough?

He turned, looking towards the 30 yard like where the snap had taken place. He saw the crowd on their feet, both sides screaming for their school to win. He saw the ball, spinning through the air, seemingly in slow motion. 5 yards to the goal line, he jumped. The ball slipped, touching the tips of his fingers. He fell, landing on the defender who had grabbed his feet. The ball tumbled end over end, and towards number 63 waiting in his own endzone. Damien got up, ears buzzing from the impact, when it happened.

The player in the endzone didn’t catch the ball. In a true out-of-the-movies scene, it hit his helmet square on the top, bouncing up into the air. Damien rushed to his feet, into the endzone. This time, he was ready. Like metal to a magnet, the ball stuck in his arms, and he planted his feet firmly in the endzone.

“RICHMOND’S DONE IT. 2025 IOWA STATE CHAMPIONS!” boomed over the loudspeaker. No flags on the play, no chance he was dropping the ball now. His teammates rushed him, dogpiling, as the stadium erupted in cheers and yells and hoots and hollers. Damien could see his parents in the stands, hugging, pointing at him, proudly telling their neighboring fans “that’s our son!”. His coach was giving handshakes to the assistants, fist bumping other players. And most of all, the recruit that had been stationed at the corner closest to the endzone had stood and was slowly applauding Damien’s incredible feat.

Now, overlooking the parking lot of what had used to be a Denny’s, Damien set out to see just what that moment had brought him. Fame? Fortune? Women? He knew it was probably breaking some time travel paradox to see what was going to happen to him in 30 years, but he couldn’t care less. Spring break, senior year, and not a care in the world. He made sure to engage the shield so others around wouldn’t be curious what the egg-shape device sitting in the middle of the parking lot would be for, and set out towards his high school.

He glanced in the front doors, hardly any different from when he had seen them just after school on Friday. Huh, I guess if it’s not broke, don’t fix it. Damien laughed at the sight of it, knowing his school had been built just five years previous, and had apparently stood the test of time. Of course, there were some additions, including a handful of graffiti tags here and there. If he was lucky, and had planned it well, there should be a key under the brick of a stone path he had chosen Friday night. And, as luck would have it, it was still in the same place.

The heavy, metal doors creaked open as he entered the side entrance to high school. The interior was just as the exterior; hardly changed, save for a paint job and some newer looking furniture. Damien tuned his attention towards the hallway going towards the front of the school, a faint glowing of lights from the trophy cases telling him he was headed in the right direction. Oh man, I wonder how many pictures of me there are up here, he wondered to himself.

Damien turned the corner, bracing for a shrine built in his honor, highlighting his impressive football career, starting with his senior-year catch that caught the attention of news outlets nation wide. But instead of cases filled with his image, there was hardly any mention of Damien. One picture from his senior year, the football team in their jerseys, but that was it. No picture of the catch, no NFL road to fame he was almost certain would be there. In fact, aside from the team photo, there was hardly any mention of him at all.

Walking along the trophy case, Damien caught glimpses of faces and names he recognized. Mitchell Krantz had gone on to become the governor. Darcy Ficek had started a successful medical clinic in North Dakota. Hell, even Trevor Petrovsky, the immigrant student who everyone had teased, ended up being an Olympic gold-medalist in wrestling. It seemed that his friends had success, but where the hell was his moment of glory?

Continuing on he saw something that gave him hope. In an article written about Coach Johns’ retirement, he saw his name come up.

“I have thoroughly enjoyed my time coaching varsity football at Richmond High School. To my friends, family, and coworkers, you have inspired me to become the best man that I could be. To my athletes, your support and dedication have shown me that I chose the correct path in my life. And to Damien Matthews, thank you for giving me the greatest moment of joy in my entire career at Richmond High School.”

If it was the winning pass, it apparently had been forgotten by everyone at the high school. Damien didn’t know what to feel. Confusion, yes, but where the hell was his moment of glory? His world had been turned into constant celebration, and here he was 30 years later, trying to figure out why it wasn’t everywhere for him to see. It wasn’t until he moved further down the cases that, finally, Damien knew what he was actually remembered for.

In a separate case, all on its own, sat a TV with a button on the exterior of the glass casing. An embossed plaque above the TV read “Damien Matthew Defensive Slide”. His eyes lit up, a huge smile came across his face. “I knew it! I knew I would be remembered somehow.” With anticipation, he pressed the button.

The recording started off in the middle of a basketball game, and Damien could pick himself out on the court. “Oh damn, I get those Jordans? Sweet.” He relaxed a little and watched the video play out. Two minutes in, the video went into slow motion. The camera focused in on Damien, and he braced himself against the glass. Eyes wide, mouth in a huge open smile, he watched the basketball sail through the air, towards where he was standing. His future self was facing away from the ball, something he only assumed was part of the play. Suddenly he saw himself turn around, the basketball coming straight for him. Standing straight up, it hit Damien square in the gut. “Ouch… okay, okay, I can come back from that.” He waited, the video still in slow motion. And as future Damien bent over in pain, he turned his back on the camera.

Now, it’s important to know that Richmond High School’s colors were white and navy. The jerseys were white, with navy coloring, and the shorts were white with navy stripes down the sides. However, there was now a third, less-than-flattering color down the backside of Damien’s shorts. His eyes still wide, his face quickly went from one of hope to one of total unbelief. “I… SHIT… my shorts??” Damien yelled, still watching the video. Adding insult to injury, the brown river streaming down his legs puddled on the floor, leaving his guard to slip and fall in his puddle of detritus. The video quickly ended, with an end caption that read “After the incident, Damien quickly dropped out of sports, never to play again. He denied a full-ride scholarship to Ole Miss for football. He currently teaches elementary school gym at DeRosier Elementary”.

Damien couldn’t believe it. 30 years after a nationally renown championship, 30 years after the greatest night of his life. All of it reduced—literally and figuratively—to shit. A few moments of silence passed as Damien contemplated his life. Was it even worth coming to the future? Was this going to happen no matter what? What did he have for dinner that night?

All these questions ran through his head as he ran out the door. His footsteps echoing off the pavement, a group of what he assumed were students form the high school had taken up a game of basketball outside the school. He turned to look at them, watching them play for a few moments.

“Bro, stop passing so hard, you’re gonna make me pull a DM!”

The other players laughed as the kid mocked bending over in pain while another dramatically slipped and fell to the ground. Damien could feel the steam coming from his ears. His life, in two days, had gone from NFL hopeful to diarrhea disaster. He quickened his pace, making it back to the travel pod in half the time it took him to get to the school. Closing the pod door, he entered the return information, taking him back exactly one nanosecond after his departure.

Once back in his home, he threw himself onto the couch, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. A second later, his dad walked in.

“Hey bud, are you doing alright? Fame going straight to your head, huh?”

“Yeah… something like that. I just need to be alone for a bit dad.”

“Sure thing, bud. Oh, by the way, Coach Frenzel wanted to see if you were still interested in signing up for basketball this spring.”

“You know what, dad,” said Damien, “I think I’ll pass for this year.”