Younger Than My Daughter

Three days into a brand new year! So glad to see 2021 and so glad to be back home! Last year was one loooong year! Can't complain though. Forty-one proud years of existence! Life has blessed me with 3 precious children. I keep a picture of them in my wallet to show them off. My baby, twenty, is at the prime of her life, she thinks. My boy, twenty-one, has spent the last year of his life trying to "find himself"! And then there's my eldest, my blue-eyed Margaret! She's a whole century now! The BIG ONE ZERO ZERO! Yes, you heard it right! Don't backtrack to check my age thinking you've lost it! I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't lived it and seen it with my own eyes last year. I mean she practically helped raise me! Imagine that! 

She was there when I was born on December 1, 1980, which was also her sixtieth birthday to be exact.  She said her mom told her all about me and when I'd arrive. For every important event in my life, she was there like a parent, only... she was my child. We get the perplexed stares in public when she calls me Dad, but it's ok. 

In my heart, I doubted for years that she was mine. I mean, everyone else's kids are younger than they are and I couldn't recall ever meeting her mother. After waking two days ago, however, I'll never doubt it again. It's a long story. Let me start from the beginning... well... the end... or is it the middle? ANYWAY! I'll just start with December 31, 2019, the night I celebrated the big 2020, the night I partied like I'd never partied before. 

I've never sung, danced, or drunk so hard in my life, especially in my own garage! The music was bumping, the food was extravagant, the women to die for -- not that I wasn't married, but what are eyes for if you can't look at beautiful things? When the drinks finally hit me, it was time to chill. I settled on a bar stool. "One more shot," I called to Jimmy. "Are you sure, man? You can barely stand. You'll miss the countdown." "Not for the world," I mumbled. I staggered back to my bedroom to get my cellphone, but ended up toppling onto the bed. From the garage, I could hear 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, HAPPY NEW YEAR!  

Startled awake by the Happy New Year chants, I stumbled back to the party, landing on the floor in a drunken stupor. "Are you ok?" My, she was a beauty! Her short, bobbed, black hair cuffed the curves of her petite face. The pearls on her wrist an exact match to the shiny pearl necklace hanging from her neck. She wore a red, feathered headband that accented the short, red dress hugging her shape and accentuating her red high heels. I looked around and observed other women dressed in similar attire. Men donned tuxedos and Victorian style suits. A middle-aged man clenched a pipe between his lips just under his curled, handle bar mustache while adjusting the hat that made up half of his height. How did they change clothes so quickly and when? I looked around for somebody, ANYBODY that I could recognize, but not a single face in the place was familiar. It finally sank into my head that the drinks had definitely done a number on me. One too many! I should've stopped when Jimmy said. I'll just sleep it off and everything will be back to normal tomorrow. 

"Are you?" she said again. I turned back and locked eyes with the breath-taking, beautiful woman who stooped to the floor in front of me, her bright, blue eyes staring back with curiosity and concern. "I'm beautiful, I mean, I'm f.. f.., fine," I stuttered as she helped me from the floor. I finally rose and climbed onto the nearest stool, trying to recollect. "You're alright! Dance with me!" she beckoned dragging me from the stool to the middle of the room. Now, I'm no dancer. I have absolutely no rhythm at all. "Can you do the Foxtrot?" she asked while holding my hand preparing to make a complete fool out of me. "Uuh, no." "The Shimmie?" As she demonstrated, I was convinced that I could at least pull that one off. As I attempted the Critterbug, Jitterbug, or whatever she called it, I was suddenly relieved that no one else I knew was there.  

We danced for half an hour after I finally loosened up. Soon the dance lessons began to take a toll on me. "I definitely need some fresh air," I gasped. "I'll walk with you outside," she said throwing back the last of her drink. She grabbed her black, fur coat from the coat rack and I approached to help her put it on. As we left the room, I could've sworn I heard "In the Jailhouse Now" by Jimmie Rodgers playing from a jukebox in the corner, but who am I to say? I'm fully convinced that I'm completely wasted now. 

We walked outside into the crisp, fresh, midnight air. Ford Model T's, a variety of touring cars, and other classic cars lined the streets. I won't attempt to name them. I just know they were old ones like the model cars sold in stores, large and life like! Car show cars! I was in heaven, until I realized that I had no idea where mine was. This surely wasn't my yard, so I couldn't remember where I parked to save my life. Luckily, after a chat and a shared cigarette, she offered me a ride home, possibly because I was so under the influence. She walked me over to her 1919 Pan Model A Luxury vehicle. It looked exactly like a model car that I could only dream of driving. For now, I was fine with the passenger seat. I told her that I was married, so I needed her to drop me off around the corner from my house so I wouldn't be seen getting out of a car driven by a beautiful woman. Smiling, she agreed.

When we arrived at my house, absolute confusion set in. There was no house at all, only a field, one vast field that branched out for, what seemed like, acres and acres. I could've sworn this was the street, this was the lot where I've abode for fifteen years now. I quickly had to find a bed so I could sleep this senselessness off. No more alcohol for me after this night. "There's no house here and there never was. You've had a bit much tonight, haven't you?" she asked. "Yes, but.... yes, I'm afraid so." "Get back in. Let's go. You can get a room, sleep it off, and you'll be fine in the morning." As we drove off, I looked back at my house that wasn't there and at all of my neighbors' houses that also weren't there. "What's on your mind?" she asked. "Nothing," I lied. "Anyway, tell me more about yourself."  

Turns out, her name is Maggie. She's single and she's a flapper. Ok, that was a new vocabulary word for me too. She wears short dresses, smokes, drinks, wears her hair bobbed, and let's inappropriate words slip from time to time. She was taking advantage of her independence, daring to be different from the stay-at-home woman whose job is to take care of children and house duties while men handle everything else outside of the home. I thought to myself, "Most woman that I know are flappers if that's the case." Apparently she had no idea. 

"Pretty soon we women will be able to vote too. I can't wait. I know a lot of things that I want to see changed in this country." Puzzled couldn't explain the look on my face. "What do you mean? Women have been voting for years. Where have you been! You act like this is 1920 or something!" She belted out a laugh that only Santa could imitate. "You definitely have to sleep that off," she chuckled. We pulled up to a hotel that I'd never seen before. "Here you go. Just what you need, a good night's rest. Tomorrow, I'll take you to find your car." I slowly got out wondering if she'd be alright driving home alone. "Will you be ok?" "I'll be just fine," she said with a carefree attitude. I walked to the hotel door, and looking back, noticed her still parked. "One more drink?" "I guess so," she replied. "What would one more hurt anyway?" 

We got a room, two strangers with two things in common -- alcohol and confusion. She didn't know women had voting rights and I couldn't make any sense of this whole night since the New Year countdown. Anyway, there we were with our last glass of wine. Exhausted, I leaned my head back for a minute on the head board and BOOM! Ten o'clock the next morning greeted me with the daylight. Two wine glasses on the table, but only one person in the room. No Maggie in sight. I checked the closet, then the bathroom and figured she'd tiptoed out during the night. Knock, knock. I heard wrapping at the door as it opened simultaneously. "Oh, good morning! Did you sleep well?" she asked enthusiastically. "Sure I did. You had me worried for a second." I noticed that I hadn't seen my cell since before the countdown. Maybe I left it at the bar. I needed to call and check on my family since I couldn't find my house last night. For sure it would be there today. Today everything should make perfect sense!

We headed back to search for my car. Droves of women crowded the street marching and chanting something like, "Voting rights! Unity! Liberty Equality!" while waving signs that reiterated their cries. "Ok!" I yelled. "Enough of the games!" "Oh, you don't think women should have the same rights as men?" she asked jerking her neck to make eye contact. "THIS IS 2020! EVERYBODY'S VOTING NOW EXCEPT CHILDREN!" There was a deadening silence in the vehicle amidst the distant chants taking place dozens of feet away. Slowly, she asked, "Are you serious?... it's 1920, not 2020. You're a whole century off." Refusing to dispute it any longer, I looked around at my surroundings. I realized that nothing actually looked 2020ish. There were no Toyotas, Hondas, or Nissans. Children nearby were playing in vintage attire, overalls, and cocktail dresses. Men in business suits crammed the street as protesting women in plaid frocks, short skirts, and Peter Pan collared shirts rallied for dreams that, as far as I knew, had already come.

Reminiscing on all that had happened since the countdown, things began to add up. Due to my history of spicing up stories, I knew that no one would ever believe this one. "Hey, snap out of it," she said snapping her fingers to bring me back to reality... or whatever it was. "Look," I started. "I was born in 1980." It is supposed to be 2020. I DO NOT belong here. This looks nothing like my town or era. I recognize no one. Don't you see how my clothes are different from yours? You've never seen this type of attire before, have you? Look at my hair, look at my shoes!" I wailed. "I think you're crazy! Just CRAZY!" she yelled. "I was born in 1890 so I'll be 30 years old this year!" Suddenly, I remembered the picture in my wallet. My family and I had posed in front of our 2015 Toyota at an airport. High rise buildings, an airplane, and other vehicles were in the background. For sure she'd believe me now. 

She stared at the picture in silence for, what seemed like, five minutes. "The car," she said softly, never lifting her head, "does it... fly? I mean, people have predicted that cars would fly 100 years from now." "No, but the airplane does." She asked about the older, blue-eyed lady. It was hard enough convincing her that I was from 2020. How could I explain a child who's older than I am, whose mother I don't recall meeting? "A family friend," I replied. "And the younger lady beside you, is that your wife? She looks happy, independent, free." "Yes. She's all of that. She works outside of the home as a dentist. She votes as well as other women, and black men and black women as well now." We looked back at the women still protesting in the streets. "Keep believing," she whispered. Suddenly, she fell into my chest and sobbed. "I want to go there so badly! Please, take me with you, please!" she cried clinging to me. "But I don't know how I got here, nor how or if I'll ever get back." I held her, but I don't think there was a hug comforting enough to ever stop her tears.

So there I was somehow, in 1920, far away from home, not separated by distance, but separated by time. I learned new people, men, women, and children, but Maggie was my closest friend. She stayed close to me, hoping that I'd never leave her life without her to return to my own. We dated and fell in love, although I was a married man. In all fairness, I thought I'd never see my family again. We spent so much time together partying. I finally drove the 1919 Pan. We'd even frequent the jazz clubs from time to time to hear Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong. I found a job in a textile factory, even though I expected to return home sooner or later. They were amazed at my knowledge for some reason. Maggie was so ecstatic about finding a job as a secretary. I was excited for her. She had so many questions about the future, I had so many questions about the past. 

On March 1, 1920, she told me she was pregnant. I was elated with joy, but at the same time thinking, "What if I wake up to reality? What then?" Nevertheless, I was content. We got the 1920 stares for being unmarried and pregnant, but we didn't care. I wanted her to sit home, but I didn't dare suggest it. She already didn't want to be in 1920. So we both continued working, preparing for the baby. I often thought about my family back in the future and how they were doing. Would I ever see them again and, if so, when? Would they believe me? Of course not. If I could call and tell my wife that I was in 1920, she'd probably reply with, "Stay there."  

August 18 was a special day for Maggie. I had been in 1920 for eight months now. This day, the 19th Amendment was ratified giving women voting rights. Maggie stood on the street, five months pregnant, with tons of other women listening to the news over the loudspeaker. There was an uproar as if your favorite sports team won a game for the first time in years. The joy on her face couldn't be explained in words. You just had to be there. I thought that if I could go back to 2020 at that moment, she could've cared less. She hugged me with the joy of a child who's father had returned from war. I held her tightly in my arms and kissed her. "Is this close enough to 2020 for you?" I asked with a smile. "Maybe for a moment!" she said excitedly, "for a moment!"  

At last December 1, 1920 had arrived! The baby was on the way! Maggie pushed one more time giving it all she had. Then she was here! A perfect blue-eyed little girl! The nurses wrapped her and handed her to us. Maggie held her close in her arms. "I'll call her Margaret," she said through the sweat and tears. I kissed them both. One of the happiest days of my life, even though I wondered how I could ever explain this to my family, or if I'd even dare.

I had a whole month with her, baby Margaret. I held her, kissed her, fed her every chance I got. But nothing could keep December 31, 1920 away. It would be a whole year that I'd been misplaced from reality. It doesn't seem like it was a year ago when we met. I looked at her holding baby Margaret. I hugged and kissed them both. "Tomorrow will mark a year since we met," she smiled. "Yes, it will." We stayed home to celebrate the New Year 1921, well 2021. "It all makes sense now, Maggie". I took the picture from my wallet. Knowing she'd understand like I finally did, I pointed at the elderly lady with the blue eyes. "This is Margaret." She looked at me and nodded with assurance. We could hear the excitement on the streets from our bedroom, gregarious youngsters counting down to the new year as I slowly dosed off for the last night, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2,1...

I jumped up to people shouting Happy New Year, Happy 2021, and Jimmy telling me that I had too much to drink again. That was two days ago now. 

December 31, 2021...

She lie on the white sheets of the hospital bed, gazing off into the distance. "Margaret?" I whispered. Her wrinkled face now pale, sunken cheeks, her tiny frame so small, so frail, so weak. Her eyes deep, dark... distant as she clung to life with short, weakened breaths. "I love you, Dad," she whispered. "I love you too Margaret..."