Time Travel Reporter Jessie Wayback
By: Mark Starlin
Tags: Time Travel, Short Story, Science Fiction, Fiction, Lit

I was a journalism major at NYU. I was on my way to class, cutting through Cooper Triangle on the path through the trees, when a man suddenly appeared in front of me. Out of nowhere. Literally. He just appeared. Of course, I was a little shocked. Not totally shocked. This is New York after all. But shocked enough to stop in my tracks. Then he said my name.

“Hello, Jessie. My name is Myriad Era. I am a time traveler. In my origin time, I publish historical accounts. I am also working on a collection of documents entitled The Complete History of Mankind. It is obviously a large project. I’ve come to offer you a job.”

I just stared at him.

“I know it is hard to believe that time travel is real, but I assure you it is. You don’t have to take my word for it. Look at this photograph.”

He handed me a strange-looking phone. On it was a photograph of my grandfather when he was in the Vietnam war. I had seen a couple of photos of him from that time, long before I was born, but I had never seen this one.

“That doesn’t really prove anything,” I said.

“Keep swiping.”

I swiped to the next photo. It was my grandfather again, after the war, before he married my grandmother. I had not seen this one either. I kept swiping. Photo after photo of my grandfather at many different ages. Then the photos of my Dad began. Year after year. I had never seen any of them before either. Finally, photos of me began. Dozens, from different years in my life. All photos I had never seen before.

“How did you get these?”

“I took them all today. Well, technically, over the course of 50 years, but they were all taken in a 24 hour time period.”

I was shaken, but I still didn’t believe him.

“Show me your time machine,” I said.

He laughed and said, “I am afraid that is an old bit of human imagination. I don’t have a time machine. Well, I guess you could say I do, but it is implanted under my skin and controlled by my mind.”

I laughed a mocking laugh.

He vanished.

I looked around. This must be some kind of prank, I thought.

He reappeared.

I stepped back.

“The human mind is the most powerful machine ever created. I figured out how to use it, in conjunction with a chip, to manipulate time. It’s quite tedious to explain. I will spare us both the lecture.”

I felt like I was losing my grip on reality. Apparently, the disappearing and reappearing man recognized that also and said, “Well then, enough for today. Your mind isn’t ready to accept this truth. I will visit you again tomorrow.”

He vanished again.

My legs could no longer hold me. I sat down on the pavement. The rest of that day was a complete waste. How could I have possibly concentrated on school when I had just witnessed a man vanish and reappear, and claim to be a time traveler. With photographic proof. I wandered around the city in a daze. I didn’t get much sleep that night either.

The next day I expected someone to show up and tell me it was all an elaborate gag. At least I hoped it. But, it didn’t happen. Era showed up again in Cooper Triangle.

“Are you ready to consider my job offer?” he asked.

“Perhaps. First, take me to the past.”

“I will be happy to do so. However, it requires trust on your part. I can’t simply hold your hand and take you with me. It doesn’t work that way. If you want to be a time traveler, you have to allow me to implant a chip under your skin behind your ear. It is incredibly small. You will not notice it. Nor will anyone else. It is undetectable.”

“You’re not doing surgery on me,” I replied.

“Oh, it’s nothing so dramatic. It is injected. It is quite painless and only takes a second.”

He pulled out a small medical tool. “This is it.” I simply press it against your skin and touch the screen with my finger. A second later it will be done and you will have the ability to time travel. I will, of course, need to train you how to control it, but after training, you will be perfectly capable of time travel on your own.”

“Why me?” I asked.

“Simple. I like your style of writing. I like your thought process. I like your sense of humor. Your courage. Your enthusiasm. I know you love history. And I could use a different perspective. Plus, I am a man and you are a woman. You can go places I can’t. You can approach women without the social issues I face in previous times. ”

My head was still reeling. Unable to accept what I was hearing. But also alive with the possibilities if it were true. I could witness history as it was happening. I could walk among legends. Presidents. Kings. See events unfold. It was a heady thought.

Not sure if I was ready to throw caution to the wind and let him implant something in my neck, I decided to ask more questions. That’s what journalists do, right?

“What does the job entail?” I asked.

“It is quite flexible. I want you to visit significant people in history and interview them. And witness significant events in history and record them first hand. I have done much work already but as you can imagine there is much left to do. The project may well outlive me. You are young. You may need to complete it. Or perhaps you may need to find another to pass the work onto. It is the job of a lifetime. Or perhaps I should say uncountable lifetimes.”

“How much does it pay?”

He laughed. “Money is inconsequential. It is freely available for those who know what will happen next. This job pays in experiences. More experiences than anyone could possibly have in one normal lifetime. You can see revolutions unfold. Watch kings be crowned. Visit great artists and watch them paint, or perhaps even pose for them. Witness great musicians first performances. Talk to geniuses as children. Ride with cowboys. Travel in space. Visit human colonies on other worlds. And all I ask in return is your account of the adventure.”

It was getting harder and harder to resist.

“How do I know any of this is real? It sounds impossible.”

“I could show you more photographs or videos, but they will not convince you any more than the ones I have already shown you. You must decide if you trust me. I have other candidates for the position, but you are my first choice. I will return again tomorrow. If you are not ready to commit by then, I will bother you no more.”

“Let me chose the location for our meeting tomorrow.”

“Very well, if it will ease your mind. What is your choice?”

“Sheep Meadow in Central Park. Dead center.”

“Good choice. A wide open lawn. No way to hide trickery. Sheep Meadow it is.”

“Aren’t you afraid people will see you appear out of nowhere?”

“Not at all. I appear instantly. Anyone who sees me will simply assume I was there all along. Their minds will compensate for my sudden appearance. And if not. Who would believe them?”

Then he vanished.

I desperately wanted this to be true. At the same time, I hated Era for putting me in the position of having to decide. I had a plan for my life already. Become a journalist, climb the ranks, make a name for myself. Then quit, write books, and raise a family. Corny as it might sound to most people, I firmly believed I could pull it off. Now I was in agony. Torn between choosing two lives.

The next day I walked through Central Park. Across West Drive, careful of the joggers, cyclists, and businessmen in suits riding powered scooters to work. Past the rows of older people sitting on benches watching the joggers and cyclists and businessmen on scooters, and down the path to Sheep Meadow. I walked out onto the lush green lawn. Past the tourists with their cameras focused on the surrounding skyline or each other. Past the locals sitting on blankets, desperate for some greenery in their concrete and steel lives. To the center of the meadow where I unfolded my blanket. I sat down and pretend to read a book, although my mind was far too busy to concentrate on the words.

I didn’t have to wait long before Era appeared and sat down next to me.

“I was here in 1864 when 200 sheep grazed on this meadow. They trimmed the grass and fertilized the lawn. Quite ingenious. Did you know when Central Park was being designed, city commissioners called for a large greensward, or open field, to allow militia displays and military parades? This location was home to several small communities of poorer New Yorkers, mainly German, Irish, and African-Americans. They were uprooted and moved. Large boulders and a high ridge were blasted to level the land and two feet of topsoil was trucked in from New Jersey. You could say this is a little bit of New Jersey in New York. Once it was complete, the park designers, Olmsted and Vaux, shrewdly convinced the commissioners that a scenic park was not really the best place for military displays. They introduced the sheep to give it an English countryside feel.”

“You were really here then and saw them?” I asked.

“Yes. I saw Grover Cleveland dedicate the Statue Of Liberty in 1886. I watched the Empire State Building being built. I saw the first Ali-Frazer fight at Madison Square Garden in 1971. Saw the horror of 9/11. Watched the Simon and Garfunkel concert on the Great Lawn in 1981.”

“I’m ready. I’ll do it. Give me the chip,” I said.

“I am beyond pleased. But I would be unfair and untrue if I did not warn you that time travel will have its own costs. Aside from the obvious danger of visiting dangerous events, there is the personal cost. You will never have a normal life. A family of your own is not a realistic possibility. The pull of time travel is too great to resist long enough to maintain a family. There will be time for brief love affairs, in many centuries, but nothing lasting. It would be too cruel for those who love you. For you will surely leave them. This job will consume your life. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I think I do.”

“You don’t, but you will. Very well then. Shall we walk to a less conspicuous location so I can inject the chip?”

“Lead the way.”

As we walked to a quieter location in the park, Era asked, “Where would you like to visit first?”

“Surprise me.”