Trusting yourself

Reggie had just finished his final wind sprint of the day when he noticed a man pacing back and forth on the edge of the practice field. He looked familiar – extremely so – but the youngster wasn’t in the habit of talking to strangers.

Now 15, he had been taught to be wary of people he didn’t know, especially when he was alone. So, he took off his cleats, wiped his face with his towel, snatched the football off the ground and prepared to walk back to his house around the corner.

“Hey, Reggie,” said the man, giving a quick wave. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Reggie was wary but hardly scared; the man appeared to be in his mid- 60s and walked with a slight limp. Still, he ignored the hail and continued his journey.

“Reggie, please,” said the man. “You know who I am.”

This time the young athlete was compelled to approach the person. He wasn’t sure why … it just felt like there was no reason not to.

“Can I help you with something, sir?”

“Sir?” said the man. “Sir’s what we call our dad. It’s me, Reggie. I’m you … you 50 years from now.”

Reggie fixed his eyes on the man’s face and could tell that he did, indeed, look like a much older version of himself. He had a broad nasal bridge, oversized ears and a small mouth compared to the rest of his face. The resemblance was remarkable, as though his yearbook photo had been run through an online age changer program.

“What do you mean you’re me?”

“I’m from 2075,” said the man. “I’m part of the Chinese Academy of Sciences Time Travel Project … CASTP is what it’s more commonly known as. They created the first time travel wormhole in 2068 and they’ve been perfecting it ever since. I volunteered to be a part of it.”

Reggie shook his head.

“That’s a cool story, bro, but you should probably find your DeLorean and head back to the future. I need to get home.”

“Wait,” said the man. “I know you don’t believe me, but let me prove it to you. Last year, you asked Cindy Stackhouse to the fall dance. You really wanted to ask Marie Houser, but you knew your best friend Jacob – Jacob Simms – had a crush on her and had been talking about asking her since school started. Because of that, you backed off. You ended up double-dating at the dance and had a terrible time because you couldn’t stop thinking about Marie. And afterwards, when everybody wanted to go to Grace Marquette’s party afterwards, you pretended to get sick so you could go home. You just couldn’t stop thinking about Marie. And then when you walked into the house, Ferdinand, your cat – our cat  – had barfed in the hallway and you stepped in it.”

Reggie’s eyes widened. The man’s details were spot on.

“How … how do you know all that?” Reggie asked.

“Because I’m you, my dude. I lived it. We lived it. You’re gonna get home today and mom’s gonna have fresh oatmeal cookies for you because she always makes cookies on Wednesday. And she calls you ‘Regirito,’ which you kinda like unless she calls you that in front of your friends, then it embarrasses you.”

The man went on to describe events and thoughts that no one could possibly know, and Reggie was astonished at the accuracy of it all.

“This has got to be some kind of trick,” Reggie said. “I don’t know how you know all this stuff and it’s creepy, man. But there’s no such thing as time travel.”

The man sighed.

“There is and there isn’t. There wasn’t in 2025, but there was in 2068, which means – now – time travel has always existed. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here?”

“Next Monday morning you plan to walk into Peabo Tolliver’s music store and tell him you’re quitting your guitar lessons so you can concentrate on football. Don’t do it. I know you don’t wanna hear this, but you’re gonna blow out your knee in the season opener against Markham High. And then you’re gonna end up having surgery, and you’ll blow out the same knee again your senior year. And it’s gonna be really, really bad. You’ll never play football again. Not in high school, not in college, and certainly not the NFL. But if you give it up now – and stick with guitar – maybe when you see me again, I won’t be limping. Maybe we’ll be talking about music.”

Reggie tried to speak but words wouldn’t come. Instead, all he could muster was a weird moan that seemed to grow longer – and louder.

“Regirito! Son! Wake up!”

Reggie opened his eyes and saw his mother hovering over him. He was soaked in sweat and felt his heart racing.

“Are you OK, buddy?” she asked. “I heard you moaning all the way in the kitchen. Must’ve been a heckuva nightmare.”

Reggie looked around his room and – after a few seconds –realized he was  awake.

“It was crazy, mom,” he said. “It was strange, but it seemed so real. I had time traveled back to warn myself about … it’s stupid.”

Reggie’s mom leaned over and gave him a kiss on top of his head.

“Well, you’ve had a lot on your mind,” she said. “Sometimes when you get stressed out you get nightmares. So, have you decided … you know, whether you’re gonna give up guitar?

Reggie smiled.

“You know, if it’s OK with you, I think I might just give up football,” he said. “I really like playing guitar. You can’t play football forever, but you can play guitar forever, right?”

“Very true kiddo … very true. And I’d rather you make hits than get hit. Anyway, your dad’s making pancakes. Why don’t you come down and get a stack.”

Reggie sat up in bed, stretched, and eyed the Stratocaster placed on the guitar stand. Even though the dream wasn’t real, it still offered good advice.

“Oh, by the way,” his mom said, leaning in the doorway of his bedroom, “there was a package on the steps this morning addressed to you. It’s from something called the Chinese Academy of Sciences. Any idea what that’s all about?”