Re-Defining History

Every time Marcus looked at his wife Jenny, his heart broke. She just sat on their bed, staring at the wall. She had been like that since the day of the accident; it had completely broken her. Occasionally, she would get up and go to their son’s room and just sit there. She would stand at his dresser, taking clothes out—unfolding tee shirts and jeans only to refold them again. She longed for her son’s scent in his toys and bedding. Then she would return to their bedroom and continue to stare at the wall.

Marcus had been devastated, too. It was all he could do to attend the funeral. His little man. His baby boy. Marcus couldn’t think of him without getting tears in his eyes and his throat tightening up. But he had found a way to live with the grief; he had even started back to work. But Jenny — she was completely broken.

*

It was her brokenness that led Marcus to go to Re-Define, Inc. Their billboards advertised that “You can remake a whole new life.” One of his buddies at work used them after a silly fight with his girlfriend that led to them breaking up and his girlfriend moving to Atlanta. One trip to Re-Define, and the fight never happened, and now they were engaged. That’s what he said. What could it hurt to check it out?

*

Jenny kept going over the events of those critical few minutes in her mind. She was on the front porch, wearing a large sunhat because it was a bright summer day. Joey, her pride and joy, was playing in the yard with a plastic baseball bat and a plastic baseball on a little t-stand. He was only two (twenty-six months when Jenny wanted to sound official), so he didn’t hit the ball very often. But when he did hit it, he hit it solidly across the yard. He would squeal and giggle excitedly as he ran to retrieve the ball. Jenny kept a close eye on him as she sipped iced tea and worked on her tan.

*

Marcus easily found the building and took the elevator up to the seventh floor, where he met a very professional receptionist at a rather large desk. When he checked in, he was given a clipboard holding a sheet of paper with questions about every aspect of his life. Marcus found the questions tedious. He just wanted to hit the re-set button and get his wife back to normal and hold his son again. At last, he was ushered into a little room with an elegant desk and two velvety chairs. As he looked around, he saw prints of Monet’s Woman with a Parasol and Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon. Marcus had taken one art history class in college and easily recognized these two paintings. A smartly dressed woman came into the room after him.

“Hello, uh. . . Marcus. I’m Suzanne Williams. I’ll be your Re-Define Coordinator.” She reached out a manicured hand and shook Marcus’s. “So, let’s just go over the ground-rules before you start thinking we can do something that we can’t. As you probably know, time travel was created by Dr. Roberta Crenshaw, however there are limitations. Many people come in here wanting to save JFK or kill Hitler. We’ve had people ask to save Lincoln and sleep with Cleopatra. We don’t ask why. However, we are unable to Re-Define those aspects of history. Time-travel only works on recent history and on your own history. Time is malleable for only just so long. Once we get to a point, time rejects change and forces will work actively to prevent you from Re-Defining history. For example, you might break a leg on the way to Ford’s Theatre or run out of gas before you get to the grassy knoll. Recent history hasn’t “settled” yet and has a degree of flexibility. We use that flexibility to let you Re-Define your personal history. We also have found that changing the history of someone else, such as the President or the Pope, can be difficult. Re-Define has its best impact on your own personal history. So, what can we do for you today?”

“I would like to stop a car accident.” Marcus fidgeted nervously as he said this detail.

“I see. Was this a car accident you were involved in?”

“No.”

*

Jenny remembered how she had an ominous feeling when Marcus went to work that morning. “Please honey, call in sick. Stay home with Joey and me.”

“Jenny, you know I would love to, but those third quarter earnings reports are due today and my boss will have my hide if I don’t get them done. I’ll be home early, I swear.” With that, Marcus kissed his wife and small son, and left for the day.

After lunch, Jenny and Joey went into the front yard to enjoy the sunshine. The backyard was small and full of stickery-weeds. Jenny sat on a lounge chair, in a big floppy sun hat, sipping her iced tea. Joey was playing with his baseball set that grammy and grampy had gotten him for his birthday. When he connected the bat with the ball, he never hit it very far.

Their front yard didn’t have a fence, like most front yards in the neighborhood. It was a lush green carpet of well-kempt grass gently leading down to the sidewalk. For the most part, it was flat, so balls did not roll out of the yard of their own accord. The grass was long enough to stop the ball’s progression. It was the perfect yard for a toddler to play in and a mom to sunbath in.

Then she heard her cellphone ring. In this bright light, she couldn’t see the screen very well to read who was calling her. She had no intention of answering one of those annoying spam callers asking her to buy siding for their house or more Medicare coverage. She had to cup her free hand around the little screen to shade it from the harsh glare of the sun. Who would be calling at this time? Then she heard the breaks squeal and the small thump of a little body hitting the asphalt.

Within moments, their sleepy suburban street was full of lights and sirens. A helicopter came to take Joey to a specialized children’s hospital. For three days, it was a flurry of people, machines, surgeries, discussions -- none of which mattered to Jenny. She only wanted the broken body of her sweet baby boy to get better.

*

“You understand,” cautioned Suzanne Williams, his Re-Define Coordinator, “that re-defining the history of another person is less successful.”

“It’s my son. So, it is my history, too. I lost my son, so this is my history. And my wife is in a deep depression, which is part of my history, too. This is my life, my history.” Marcus’s voice cracked and his eyes began to water as he reached for a tissue from the box that suddenly appeared on the desk.

“Were you in the accident yourself?”

“No.”

“I see. Yes, yes, we might be able to help you but since you, yourself, were not involved directly in the accident, your chances of a successful Re-Define lessen some.”

“How much?”

“Well, a Re-Define that involves the person directly, like if it had been you driving the car, usually has an 85% success rate, meaning the Re-Define client is satisfied with the results. Since you are somewhat removed from the actual moment, I think your odds drop to about a 70% chance for success. Remember, whether you are satisfied or not with the outcome, you must still pay the fee for the service.”

“Let’s hear it. What’s the fee?”

“How long ago was the accident?”

“Ten days.”

“Again, the further back you go, the lower your odds that you will be successful. Going back ten days and impacting something that you yourself were not involved in drops your probability rate," Suzanne typed numbers into a calculator that suddenly appeared, "to 53%.”

“I have to try.”

“Very well. You are in a Category C, since you are ten days removed. Your fee is dependent on how far you travel and how long you stay.” She showed him a laminated chart listing distances and times of stay. Marcus had to carefully consider this question. He could go back for eight hours and take the day off work. He could go back for four hours and leave work at lunch time. He could go back for as little as half an hour. What could he do for half an hour? The prices went up dramatically the longer a person stayed; an entire day was the price of a mansion on a medium plot of land, and a 30 minute trip could cost as much as a new car. What would he be willing to pay to get back his wife and child?

Marcus pointed to the 30-minute column. “That’s fine. I understand you have a payment plan?”

“You’ll meet with a financing specialist before you go to the Re-Defining room.”

“Yes, yes. Let’s do this.”

Suzanne Williams passed him a stack of papers that had suddenly appeared on the desk. He had to approve, initial and sign most of them. Twenty minutes later, he was ready for the next step.

*

Jenny hated herself for having looked at her cellphone. In those few moments, Joey had hit his plastic baseball off the tee for an imaginary homerun. The toddler giggled with joy as he ran after it. It didn’t land in the yard, as other balls had. It hit the sidewalk and bounced out to the asphalt. Joey ran after it.

The teenager driving the white sedan was being a good driver. She was going a very cautious 20mph as she looked for the address of the house where she would drop off her next food order. As she peered to her right, studying house numbers and comparing them to her delivery sheet, it was easy for her to miss sight of the little boy. He was easily hidden by the height of her car’s hood. It happened so fast.

Before she knew it, Jenny was across the yard and in the street with her boy. The teenager had called 911 on her cellphone and sirens filled the air. A helicopter landed in their front yard to take him to a specialty children's hospital. No, Jenni could not ride with them. A neighbor offered to drive her to the hospital. Her tee-shirt and hair were covered in her son’s blood. She waited for hours in the waiting room. Someone had called Marcus’s office. Someone else had called her parents.

*

An orderly dressed in scrubs escorted Marcus to a Re-Defining Room, where he sat in a Re-Defining chair. It looked a little like a dentist’s chair: it was “medical” looking and reclined, but it was well-padded and comfortable. Marcus settled into the chair and a tech began attaching cables and electrodes to various places on his body. While he was being hooked up, the orderly reviewed his program.

“Ok, man. You want to be transported to ten days ago. You will be transported into your own body, and you will have 30 minutes to make any corrections to your life that you want. What time do you want to be there?”

“Hmm. The accident happened at 2:19. So, I would think 2:00pm would be ok. You said I get 30 minutes? I guess I should have as much time as possible, so let’s say 1:50pm. That should do it.”

“Ok, man. It’s your life. 1:50pm, ten days ago. You will appear in your own body. You will be aware that you are the future you. People around you won’t see a physical difference, but they may notice something fishy if you make a big deal of it when you arrive. Got it, man?”

“Got it. Let’s get on with it.”

The tech finished and both the tech and the orderly went into a small room adjacent to the room with Marcus and the special chair. In a few minutes, Marcus began to hear whirring and clicking and other mechanical sounds, then suddenly, he found himself in a sales meeting.

“Of course,” Marcus thought to himself, “when the accident happened, I was in the sales meeting, brainstorming ways to drum up new business.”

The head of his department was droning on about social media, which the man clearly did not understand.

Marcus coughed and politely interrupted his boss. “Uh, Mr. O’Neill, I have to step out and make a call. It’s urgent.”

“No, you don’t. We’ve had this meeting the books for a month. Your call can wait.”

“No sir, it can’t. I’ll be very quick.”

“I don’t care. Sit there if you want to keep your job.”

Marcus had no idea why his boss was being so unreasonable. The meeting was scheduled to last until 2:00 – he would still have plenty of time to call home.

When the meeting ended, Marcus quickly got his cellphone out. Oddly, there were no bars for reception on his screen. That’s never happened here before. Marcus quickly walked around the floor, trying to find good reception. Only there wasn’t any. 2:05. He looked around for a landline to use. He found one fairly quickly in an unused conference room, but when he picked up the receiver, it didn’t have a signal on any of the lines. His cell still had no reception. 2:11. He looked around for another land-based phone. It seemed like every secretary was on their phones all at once. Every line was tied up with the mundane business of the company. He decided to go to his office, two floors down, and use that phone. The elevator was being especially slow, so he ran down the stairs. 2:16. Still no cell reception. He picked up his office phone. Every line was still tied up. He started swearing at the phones. “Come on, come on damn you. One of you fuckers needs to get off the phone. It’s an emergency.”

2:18. His cellphone finally got reception bars and he immediately pressed the speed-dial for Jenny’s cell. It started ringing. One. . . Two. . . Three. . . What was taking so long? Why wouldn’t she pick up? Four. . . Five. . .

2:19. Jenny’s phone went to voicemail. It was all happening again. He hadn’t made it.

2:20. Marcus was back in the Re-Defining Room.

*

As Jenny waited to hear news about her baby, she suddenly remembered the phone call she had ignored when everything happened. She picked up her phone and opened the window for missed calls. The call at 2:18, the one she couldn’t identify because of the sun’s glare, was from Marcus.