30 Years in 30 Steps

This was supposed to be the summer I would never forget. Concerts, trips to the beach, endless memories, picnics, sleepovers. Instead, I lie suffocating in some rich old guy's house in the middle of nowhere we rented for the summer.

I’m jolted from my existential moment by the loud creak of the stairs. The footsteps aren’t slow enough to be my dads, but too heavy to be my little brother’s.  Before she can open the door I yell out to her.

“What do you want?”

To my utmost annoyment, she opens the door widely, letting in a stream of bright light. I squint trying to adjust to the sudden illumination.

“I want you to get off those goddamn video games and get out a bit.” 

“Ma, I already went for a walk today, remember? With Hugo?”

“Go explore the house or something. Your father says the library is incredible.”

“Library? How fun,” my voice drips with sarcasm.

“There’s also a game room.” This lightens my mood a bit. If this man can afford crystal chandeliers, he must have a semi-decent game room. I walk past my mom and begin to head down the stairs.

“It’s upstairs Logan!” She yells after me. I curse under my breath and quickly walk the other way.

***

The game room is a disappointment, to say the least. It’s a somewhat random collection of pinball machines and other games I have never heard of. They all have a thin layer of dust coating them. I doubt half of them even work.

I look around, and a switch on the wall catches my eyes. I flip the switch and suddenly all the machines whirl to life. Flashing colors and inaudible introductions to each game bounce off the walls. I close the door behind me and walk towards the very back of the room. There is one machine that didn’t turn on with the others.

“Time Hop” I read out loud. The words scream at me in metallic silver font. I gently clear the dust from the glass. This game isn’t broken, it’s been ruined on purpose. Wires stick out from all sides and the inside of the machine has collapsed and collected itself in one pile at the bottom of the glass.

“HUGO,” I yell, “get your ass down here!”

The little boy comes running through the door only seconds later.

“What do you need pig face?”

“Shut up. I have a project you can help me with.” Hugo looks at the busted pinball machine and grins playfully.

“Only if you insist.” 

***

We sit in the game room for what feels like hours. Hugo fiddles with various wires and circuits. I watch the kid work his magic, occasionally getting the tools he requests. I have never been able to comprehend how an 11-year-old could be so talented. After about 3 hours and 4 noise complaints, Hugo proudly steps aside from the game which looks like new. 

“You owe me” and with those parting words, I’m left alone again. 

Unlike the other pinball machines, this one has its own plugin directly behind it. As soon the plug makes its way into the wall, all the other machines lose power causing the room to go dark. 

“Welcome to Time Hop” a soft blue light illuminates my face, and the hollow words bounce around in the eerie silence. “Please place your left thumb on the scanning pad.”

The screen lights up with an outlined thumb. For the ’90s, this technology is really impressive. I do what the game tells me and fill out random information about myself, I assume for statistical purposes.

“Launch your first ball,” the female robotic voice says. I pull back the launcher and watch the tiny metal ball bounce under the glass. There are two different holes for the ball to enter: one labeled the past, and one labeled the future. I aim for the future. They both give 50 points each so it doesn’t really matter which one I aim for. 

I watch as the ball slips into “the future” hole. The machine turns off. I sigh and bang my fists into the glass. I’m about to call for Hugo but my voice seems to get caught in my throat. I look down and everything around me starts to disappear. I hear a mechanical voice in the distance. It’s the same voice who instructed me to play the game.

“Choose a year, Logan Anderson.” 

I must have passed out, maybe mom was right and I’ve spent too much time on the screen. Or maybe I just died. Hugo could have made a mistake and electrocuted me. 

“Choose a year, Logan Anderson.” The polite voice repeats.

“2050.”

Water starts to pour in from whatever limbo universe this is. It comes from nowhere but suddenly fills everywhere. I’m surrounded by nothing, just an endless span of water.

“Walk towards the door please.”

I follow her instructions and wade through the water. I look down at my bare feet. Every step I take, my feet get larger and I rise more off the ground. I’m getting older I realize with a shock. I do the math. By the time I reach the door, I will be 45 years old.

Every few steps I feel bursts of pain, most likely from surgeries my future self had. I see cuts on my legs turn to scars then fade into nothing, I see tiny pimples pop up then leave seconds later, I see 30 years of my life go by in 30 steps.

Finally, the aging stops, and I reach out for the doorknob. I crack the door open a slit, similar to how my mom would crack my door. I realize that I am as old as her now. 

I turn the knob and walk into a metal room. The door closes behind me and vanishes into the wall. An older man stands in front of me. This is me. I jump from my reflection but then curiosity drives me back. I smush around my face. I examine every part of me. I’m naked, in a metal room, with no clue where I am, who I am, or even when I am, if that makes sense. 

The wall slides out of place and a man who looks like a doctor steps forward. He looks at the floor and throws a pair of white clothes at my feet. I put them on and am alarmed by the sheer size of my body. 

“You must be very confused but unfortunately I do not have time for extensive explanation. You’re time until The Decision is very limited but I will try to educate you as fast as possible. Please refrain from asking questions until I am done.” I nod my head in agreement. So much is confusing me right now but I know when the right time is to speak, and this is not it.

“You chose the year 2050. We have been developing technology for years that makes time simply a number, not a value. The only thing we can not do is go into a future that doesn’t exist yet. You have been living in my version of the past and to you, we are the future, but past, present, and future are just words. Time cannot be defined in such simple ways. We have been studying how aging works with new time travel technology. For example, the whole thing about seeing your future self or a duplicate of yourself is a myth. When someone travels to the past, they embody what they would have looked like at that time. By traveling to ‘the future’ you have removed yourself from the past. It is all very complex and I don’t expect you to understand it. Any questions so far?” 

I had so many questions but I had to shut off the ones I knew wouldn’t help.

“Why create machines like that though? Why not just live normally?” The doctor let out a strained laugh.

“There is no normal anymore. Ever since the virus from your childhood, everything has gone down for humanity. Come, it’s easier to just show you.”

I’m led down a passage of bright white hallways. I take a look out a window. Everyone is wearing a mask. Corona Virus must have ended by now? Right?

Finally, we reach a room that is empty except for a large hologram in the middle, waiting to be set into motion. The doctor presses a couple of buttons on a panel and the projection comes to life. The first scene is protests. I recognize some of them. They are climate change protests.

“They spoke out” the words ring throughout the chamber with haunting undertones. Chanting and cheering fills the room. The protest scenes warp into scenes from the virus. Hospitals filled with bodies, empty roads.

“They tried to prevent the worst, but is anything really preventable?” The hologram displays flooding, wildfires, disease, deadly storms, wars, and so much death. 

“2050 is only the beginning.” 

The people today are suffering from the actions (or lack of them) taken. This will be my future, this is my future. The doctor switches off the hologram.

“The masks are an attempt to protect people from diseases going around. Temperatures are deadly hot and many places have been abandoned because conditions are unlivable. Gangs and terrorist groups compete for control over collapsed and weakened governments. Fires burn through forests. Food is short and water is in abundance. Coastal areas are flooding.” The doctor reaches for my hand and squeezes it tight.

“Hope is not gone. With Time Hop technology, we can change things. But there is one issue. When a person travels to the past, any memories of what they learn of the future are gone, to retain some sense of normality. If you do choose to return home, you won’t remember any of this information.”

I have to go back to my family, but I also have to help in whatever way I can. This must be “The Decision” the doctor spoke of earlier. I go to get a pen from the table.

“It’s no use, Logan. We’ve tried it before. Any markings you make on yourself will be washed away with your memories on the walk back. When you reach the other side, you will be  exactly the same person as when you left.”

I consider this all. There is physically nothing I can do to help myself remember that can withstand 30 years of time. Going back will be a gamble. But I have to, for my family. I will fight for everything that causes these people to suffer because one day I will be these people.

“I want to go home, sir.”

“Follow me.”

I’m led to a metal room, similar to the one I arrived in.

“Please step inside. Let yourself be scanned and then select a time. Walk towards the door through the water,” the doctor said in a matter of fact tone. “Oh and Logan, you’ll meet me when you’re older.” He says with a smile. I’m confused but I offer a weak smile in return.

“Thank you for everything you are trying to change. I’ll do my best to do my part on the other side.” 

And with those parting words, Logan Anderson let himself be taken away by the mist. He stood, knee-deep in an ocean that was his life. He walked towards the door on the other side. Memories slipped away, like little grains of sand through open fingers. The next few steps went slowly. Logan was hyperaware of every change in his body and how with each step, the previous one was forgotten. He took one last look around, just as confused as when he first stepped out, but the other door had disappeared. The only thing that remained was a little boy, standing alone in a sea of problems with only one way left to go: forward.