The Here and Now

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. He read that scrawled on the sign in front of the bookstore. He smiled; he knew better than anyone the answer to that age-old question because he had been there in that situation. He knew much more about space and the stars, how many are visible from here, even with their new telescopes, and what was beyond their reach. To others, it might simply seem to be a random sign, but he knew this was just more; little breadcrumbs, markers around an event., It was far less random than it appeared for those looking for them.

He walked down the street past little stores and coffee shops, more of an alley, he decided, in a repurposed industrial area that now housed small boutique hotels, restaurants and bars, arts and crafts. It's a beautiful sunny summer afternoon, not too hot, just a day that seems perfect, people are walking around, but it is past the lunch rush and too early for dinner crowds.

He isn't sure what she looks like, but he knows that once he sees her, he will know it; the markers are always apparent if you look for them.

He scanned the alley and the people wandering, moving through the occasional car navigating the passage. A large parkade is on the right, with benches along the wall.

She had her back to him, but he knew right away that it was her; yes, very fitting, he thought, that would work. She had a brown suede vest with long fringe all over, a 1960's hippie look, and a matching purse that she was currently hunched over and digging through as she chatted to a large man sitting on the bench. He seemed like he was getting up, hopefully, to leave. He slowed his walk slightly to give himself more time; he smiled at that phrase that popped into his head 'to give himself more time’".

Closer now, he has a better look, faded jeans, sandals, beads looped around her neck, her hair was shoulder length and almost the same color as her jacket, no makeup, just freckles across her nose. She could have stepped out of the 1960s; he thought she would look entirely at home at Woodstock or the corner of Haight and Ashbury. Again, he acknowledges that the wardrobe selection that morning would not be random, although she would not be aware of that fact.

He is also reasonably sure what she is digging through her purse for; on this day, it can be only one thing, if it is her.

"Nice chatting," said the man as he stood and nodded to her. "This is my ride; I hope you find it." He says this as he walks toward the Uber, slowing down at the curb.

"Thanks, you too, yeah likely I left it at home… so strange, bye." She replied.

He slowly stops, his back to her, so he appears ready to walk across. He weighs how to open the conversation and what to lead with, it's almost sure that it is her, but he needs to ensure that it's her phone that is somehow misplaced because that is the breadcrumb that most makes sense. He decides to hold that question and lead with something else; he turns and moves one step closer.

"Oh, that is amazing; I hope you don't mind, but your outfit is such a retro look; I love that vest." He said, "Sorry, I am a photographer; I notice things like that."

"Oh, thanks; yes, I love it as well." I think I was born out of time; I would have been more at home in this era." She waves at her vest and purse."

"Yes, you look like you would."

She looks up at him.

"Oh, you have a great outfit as well."

He is wearing off-white pants, a cream linen Jacket, a Black shirt, and cream fedora like they wore in the 1950s and a pair of classic wayfarer sunglasses. "That is very 1950's, you look like you just stepped out of a movie, or TV show, very uh… Madmen, you know?"

"Thank you, I guess we have at least two decades represented between us."

"Yes…yes, we do, don't we, that is funny. I loved the 1950s as well, and the 40's, actually most decades other than the one we are in, I often feel like I somehow have been there, maybe in a past life."

"Maybe you have."

"That is true; maybe I have. Do you believe in past lives?"

"I believe in many things; maybe it's the artist photographer part of me."

"That might be it." She gave him a look like she was assessing him. "My name is Zoe." She said after a moment."

He laughed. "of course, it is a perfect name for the outfit."

"I know, right? My parents were hippies in their way, I think."

"And my name is Don" he reached out a hand to shake, and as he did so, he shifted over and sat down on the other end of the bench. "Do you mind?" he nods to the bench as he lowers himself."

She shrugs and motions to go ahead. "Don, nice to meet you. Also, a cool name and also so fitting, like Don Draper."

"Yes, just like."

She reaches out and shakes his hand. "Oh, that is weird." She looks down at their hands. "It's like you have amazing energy. Has anyone ever told you that?' she shakes the hand slowly and doesn't let go.

"Not exactly, not everyone, but there are times when I connect with people easily, usually kids and animals, though."

"Huh, it's odd, sort of like I know you really well, but also." She slowly let’s go of his hand and then looks confused; she stares at her hand.

There it stopped sort of, how odd." She frowns in thought. "Do you mind?' she holds her hand out again.

"Not at all." He reaches his hand out and clasps it again.

"There it is again, weird but so familiar it's like I have known you forever. Amazing energy, do you feel that."

"Yes, maybe we are similar." And with his free hand, he removes the sunglasses.

"Oh wow, your eyes."

His eyes are very pale green, so hard to tell the color, almost blue, very unusual, but it wasn't the color that surprised her. "We have exactly the same color eyes." She said.

"Yes, I noticed that."

She sat looking at his eyes and laughed. "What are the chances of that."

"I know" He looked down at her lap; her one free hand was still inside her purse. "I am sorry, did I interrupt you? Did you lose something?'

"What? Oh no, I think I left my phone at home." She removes her hand and just folds the purse closed.

There it was, not that he needed confirmation because it was already clear to him that she was the one. Still, it fascinated him just how things line up, how the scattered breadcrumbs work together. Nothing is random; it all must fit together; no phones are allowed.

He nods. "I see." He looks down at their hands and raises his slightly. "So, before I let go of your hand and break this odd bond we seem to share." He nods knowingly.

She smiles and nods, clearly in no hurry to let go, but at this point, she wouldn't. He knows that now, the energy flow between them will have become familiar to her, an immediate bond she will trust.

"Before I let go, I have to tell you that a man I work for would love to meet you, and I think you would really enjoy meeting him; I think you would find him interesting and have a lot in common."

"Really, like what? "

"He is very much a kind of 60's guy as well. Mr. Warhol would love your outfit."

"No way, Warhol? You are kidding, right? Just like Andy Warhol?"

"No, not just like, his name is actually Andy Warhol."

"Seriously, Andy Warhol?"

"Yes."

She frowns slightly; she is thinking, assessing him. She seems to decide, though, and leans in a little. "Can I tell you a secret?" She doesn't wait for the answer and assumes that he will want to hear. "I am crazy about that era, as I think I said, but also space travel; those are the two things I would love to do." She pauses and then laughs gently. "Actually, it's more like I have done it, lived in those times, and often I have dreams about space that are so vivid that I think I must have been born in the stars, at least you know, in some other life, I guess. Is that odd, do you think?”

He shakes his head and gives her the most sincere smile. "No, not at all. While we are sharing secrets, it's odd that we seem so similar because I am often certain that I have both time traveled and come from space. I don't really share that with many people, actually, no one, to be honest. But you seem like someone I am okay sharing that with." He remembers to add at the end, "That seems so strange, that we are so similar." It's not, but he says it for her.

She nods, and he is aware that their hands are still clasped, while that bond will last for a period, everything has a pace; at some point, it will fade; he has a tiny window. So, before she can comment, he continues. "It also makes sense that you would want to time travel and visit space because you can't do one without the other, you know that, right?

Her brow furrows slightly in thought. "Hmmm, no, I don't think so; they are linked?"

"Yes, can't have one without the other?'

She tips her head slightly to one side. She raises her eyebrows just slightly an unasked question, looking for more information, he decides. But he is observing every move, watching for any slight movement that indicates that the 'here and now" will try and grab her back from this conversation; time is funny, it doesn't like to let go, so it is critical that she doesn't react and let go of his hand. Once she breaks that clasp, the moment is gone, everything must be of free will, so these tiny cracks of opportunity must be precise. The best is to forge on and hook in her interest.

"Yes, they are the same; one exists because of the other. Imagine that you want to travel back a few hours in time; well, part one is going back in time from where you are, but where you are is physically different from where you were because the earth is rotating, so you must move back in time, and you have to physically move to that location as well. That is a few hours, many hours, and you may end up in the wrong country or find yourself in the ocean, right time, just the wrong place.

"Oh, I see, yes, that makes sense, doesn't it? I never thought about it like that."

"It gets even more complicated because the earth also moves around the sun, and then you have the sun and the galaxy. If you wanted to visit the 1960s…."

"The earth would have been in a completely different place among the stars, right? she says, finishing his thought for him.

If there was doubt that she was the one, which there wasn't, then this ended any doubts. She got to the same conclusion that his people had, a conclusion that opened all travel everywhere. But of course, she knows it, deep down.

"Yes, that is exactly right." The window is narrowing, and if it's to be, it must be now. He leans ever so slightly in and lowers his voice slightly. "Can I ask you a question? If it were possible to go back to the 60s and travel the stars, would you go? "He leans back and watches for the reaction.

"Would I?" she bites her lip in thought, then laughs. "Well, I guess yes! Why not? That would be the greatest adventure ever, so yes, why not? Scary but fun, I think. Do you have a way to get there, Don?" The last part is delivered lightly, teasing him he is aware.

"Yes, I do; let's go and see Andy Warhol and show off these outfits."

"Yay, let's do it. Do you have a DeLorean?"

"Oh no, much easier than that." He reaches into his pocket. "We just need something for people to look at." And with that, he holds up a small cigar-shaped tube, but half the size. He turns slightly and looks at the road behind him; one car is passing, none to the end of the block, and no pedestrians for about 30 to 40 feet.

Right on time, he notes; this time, he got the timing just about perfect. He throws the object across the road, and as it arcs towards the other sidewalk, he turns back and gives her a reassuring smile. "Fireworks, just light, and sound.” He says. "Hold tight, don't let go," He squeezes her hand slightly. Her eyes, for the first time, show a flash of uncertainty; the 'here and now" starts its pull to keep her; she will remove her hand and wonder if the man on her bench is crazy, but he knows it is too late for that, there is no stopping this now. "Let's go and have an adventure in time and space."

The object lands not with a bang but a high-pitched screech, like those rockets that people light up on the 4th of July. A plume of purple smoke shoots up in the air, and all eyes around them turn to see what is going on, so nobody notices the two disappear.

If anyone was near, all they would have heard were the coins clattering to the bench and through the slats onto the pavement below. They might see the paper bills falling to the ground because nothing with a date can ever get through, and not that it matters in this instance, but neither can a cell phone.