Kurt met himself when he was three years old. He didn’t know it at the time, but not because he wouldn’t have understood. In fact, it may have been a good idea to have told him at that age, since children are often less skeptical and more likely to latch onto truth. Whether it would have made things easier or not is impossible to say, but Kurt was not aware, at three years old, that he had met himself.
It happened in the grocery store; specifically, a Super Target, where he was accompanying his mother (against his will, since he was quite content watching Cartoon Network when she scooped him up and buckled him into the car-seat of her Honda Odyssey) while she purchased some much needed foodstuffs for the relatively new family. And, as will be plain to see, relativity is key.
There, near the refrigerated dairy products in the furthest left corner of the store, Kurt’s mother was filling the cart automatically, reviewing her mental to-do list while snatching gallons of milk and cardboard cases of cream cheese. Kurt himself was sitting uncomfortably in the shopping cart’s overused plastic seat. Although his mother had tried to buckle him in with the provided straps, Kurt had continuously unbuckled himself until she gave up somewhere near the men’s belts. Presently, his arms were folded across his chest, his shoulders lifted up to his cheeks, the corners of his mouth curled into the lowest frown he could muster. A furrowed brow completed his upset stature, silently clarifying exactly how he felt about being pushed around Target instead of enjoying another episode of the Johnny Bravo Marathon.
An old man in a long, black trench coat strolled into view from an adjacent aisle. His advanced age was clear from his dramatically slouched posture: below his shoulder blades his body was perfectly erect, but his neck and shoulders were bent forward at a seemingly forced angle. His face, which certainly would have evidenced his ancientness further, was mostly covered by a low, black fedora which hid all but his round, clean-cut jaw. His mouth was curved into a frown, much more natural than baby Kurt’s, and the silver hairs poking from the back of his hat were well kept and healthy. He was particularly thin and tall, and his slim coat extended nearly to his knees. His legs were clothed in durable, black slacks; his feet shod in recently shined black shoes, meticulously tied with small, neat knots. What he wore beneath the trench coat was a mystery to a passerby, as the man was so hunched forward that the open chest was concealed at eye level. Kurt, however, could see he wore a clean, white shirt, buttoned to the top. A red and gray striped tie, matching the fedora’s ribbon exactly, was looped expertly around his neck. His hands were stuffed into his trench coat pockets while he eyed the shredded cheeses with little interest. After what seemed like several minutes to baby Kurt, but was more likely less than a few second, the old man turned towards him, lifting the low rim of his hat with long, spidery fingers just enough to make eye contact with the little boy.
Immediately, Kurt felt a tinge of excitement. He gazed at the elder with inexplicable fondness, as they had surely never seen each other before. The man’s face was tough, but kind, with long wrinkles stretching from his tired, blue eyes like rake prongs. One eye twitched while the corner of his mouth crept up into a sly smile. Kurt blinked, unsure of why he would make such an unmistakable expression. The smile slowly morphed into that of an old friend—one you’ve known for a wonderfully long time—and he nodded, lifting his hat a little more in a respectful greeting. Kurt lifted a chubby hand and waved, all feelings of unpleasantness having vanished with the man’s appearance. He even grinned at the black clothed stranger, inspiring an even bigger smile from its recipient. And then, just as suddenly as he had come, the old man dropped his hat over his face, shoved his hand back into his pocket, and briskly walked away.
And that was the first time Kurt met himself. But, surely, it was not the last.
When Kurt was nine years old, he and his parents, along with his two younger siblings, took a road trip to St. George, Utah, from their home in Seattle, Washington. They sat in the same blue Honda Odyssey, but it was Kurt’s little brother, Ned, in the car seat, while Kurt and his sister quarreled in the back.
“Be quiet, you two! Just look out the window,” their mother shouted from the front seat. “Kurt, how about writing something about today in your journal?”
A few weeks earlier, Kurt had walked into his mother’s room wanting permission to use the computer. She had been writing in a little book, her “journal,” as she explained upon inquiry, for her and her posterity to read and remember in the future. Kurt was so fascinated with the idea, he demanded his own journal. She handed him an empty spiral notebook with seventy whole pages. Kurt did not believe he could ever fill up that many, but he promised to write in it every day.
Faithfully, he had recorded each day since on the blue-lined sheets. Now, at his mother’s suggestion, he pulled the book from his pillowcase and began to scribble his thoughts.
Dear Journal,
Today is Febuary 28, my grandmas birthday. We left super ealry so we could get to her house in saint gorge and spend the day with her. I love my grandma, she is awsome. I have’nt seen her in a long long time and I cant wait to get there. We will play games and I hope go see a movie. Well that’s it for now, see ya.
Storing the precious words in his bag, Kurt imagined reading the entry when he was all grown up like his dad. It fascinated him that in twenty years he could look back and know exactly what he had been doing on February 28 of 2002. Now in a far less contentious mood, Kurt gazed out the window voluntarily (unlike his argumentative little sister, who had donned a posture very similar to Kurt’s years before in the Super Target), fondly watching the unfamiliar scenery whip by as the family followed the Interstate towards St. George.
While passing a small town with hardly more than a gas station, a black Volkswagen Golf accelerated on its merging lane to match traffic’s flow, blinker clicking slowly as it crept into the lane directly right of the blue Odyssey. Kurt, whose eyes had been following the little car for some time, finally caught a good look at its driver. Surprisingly, the man seemed equally interested in Kurt.
Equaling the Honda’s speed, the Volkswagen stayed near long enough for Kurt to analyze his appearance. He was older, probably in his late sixties, and was dressed in a white collared shirt under a tight, black sweater vest. His styled hair was thick but silver, swooping casually across his forehead. His blue eyes looked up into Kurt’s, squinting slightly while a warm smile covered the rest of his shaven face. He lifted his right arm a little, waving to Kurt. The boy responded with a barely noticeable acknowledgement, wiggling his first two fingers. The man seemed to chuckle before reverting his eyes to the road, grabbing a black, pinstriped fedora from the passenger’s seat. It looked vaguely familiar to Kurt, but the Volkswagen quickly sped past the Honda, disappearing into a group of cars and semi-trucks ahead.
And that was Kurt’s second meeting with himself, although a true meeting had not yet occurred. In fact, those initial interactions were the only in which Kurt did not carry on some form of conversation, which may or may not have been a good thing. In any case, the first time Kurt talked to himself, he was thirteen years old. It was very brief and not at all explanatory. In fact, Kurt hardly took notice of it at all.
Not a week after his party, Kurt was with his friends at the mall, spending his birthday money on designer clothes, video games, and pricy food. After the oriental woman handed him his change, he snatched his box of noodles and chicken off the counter and spun around, accidentally bumping into the man behind him.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” they said at the same time as the folded cardboard slipped out of Kurt’s hands. With surprising speed, the man crouched down and caught the box before it hit the ground. Stunned, Kurt watched him slowly straighten his legs to his full, intimidating height. His face was old enough to have wrinkled slightly but young enough to look lively. His long, slender hands set the box into Kurt’s own frozen pair, and Kurt took quick notice of the man’s slim, black suit and red and gray striped tie.
“Thank you,” Kurt said, somewhat shocked at the man’s reflexes.
“Thank yourself,” the man said with a wink, walking briskly away from the food court. If he had been in line for Chinese food, he must have changed his mind. Wherever he was going, Kurt dismissed him as a helpful stranger and returned to his friends.
Weeks later, while Kurt made his way to the bus after school finished, he received his fourth, most bizarre, and certainly most alarming visit. After exiting the building, Kurt heard his name from a group of his friends behind him. He turned around to wave goodbye, taking no notice of a car door that slammed shut loudly in the distance. He started to shout “I’ll see you tomorrow!” as rapid, hard-slapping footsteps moved towards him, followed by a pair of skinny hands on his shoulders.
Startled, Kurt turned to see who had grabbed him, stumbling slightly. A young man in his late twenties held Kurt in place, eying him up and down with a crazed smile. Kurt tried to pull away, backing up warily.
“What are you doing?” he asked. The young man was mumbling something which suddenly became determinable:
“…and your hair is so long… I don’t remember letting it get that long. Apparently I did, though. You’re in eighth grade, right? You must be, if you’re this tall already and still going to Middle School.” His eyes lit up as he gasped loudly. “That means you’re starting High School next year!” He suddenly became very serious, staring at Kurt from beneath his brow while holding one finger up warningly, giving Kurt an opportunity to shake his grip. “You’d better stay away from Stefani, Kurt. Everything will go a lot smoother if you focus more on Chemistry and less on her. What about your other classes, are they all right? Well, how would you know, you haven’t even taken them yet! Not that any of this even matters… it’s not like I’m going to change anything now!”
The man was sickeningly thin and pale with messy, unkempt brown hair, and sunken blue eyes with long bags hanging under them. He wore an un-tucked white button-up over a dirty undershirt, a loose black tie, and dark gray skinny-jeans with black tennis shoes. As he continued to talk senselessly, he circled poor Kurt like a fascinating exhibit.
“Look, I gotta go,” Kurt stuttered, feeling awkward and embarrassed. Some girls were looking his way, laughing as the man held up Kurt’s right arm and examined it closely. Kurt pulled it away, starting to run towards the bus.
“Wait, Kurt! I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk to you!” the skinny man yelled, running after him.
“Get away from me!” Kurt yelled over his shoulder, quickening his pace as he darted through the parking lot, locking his eyes on the bus parked at the side of road ahead.
“Don’t you know who I am?” the man’s voice shouted, further away than before. He must have stopped running, but Kurt didn’t. He reached the bus, leaping up the ridiculously tall steps and nearly colliding with the driver.
“You’re almost late, Kurt,” she said, closing the door. He apologized and started towards his seat. “Who was that man?” she asked him. Breathing hard, he looked out the window. The figure was clearly visible, standing in utter defeat in the middle of the parking lot, arms hanging loosely down to his sides as he stared at the bus miserably. He seemed to sigh, hunching over painfully as he turned and shuffled towards a black Volkswagen.
“I have no idea,” Kurt lied, walking quickly to his place. He threw his backpack into the empty place by the window, dropping himself next to it. Could that man really be who Kurt thought he was? It was impossible. But all the things he had said… and that look on his face… and those words he yelled out: “Don’t you know who I am?”
Kurt pulled his journal out of his backpack. He had long since filled up his first journal, which lay beneath two others in his pajama drawer. True to his goal, he had written entries almost daily, each one gaining length and depth. He had always been an intellectual child, enough, even, to pretend a lower level of intelligence as not to be considered “nerdy” by his peers. Although he faked a middle school mindset, his thoughts were often based on complicated notions, difficult psychological subjects, and complicated scientific mysteries. Most recently, he had become infatuated with the possibility of time travel.
The fascination was inspired by his science teacher, Mr. Dubuign, once a university professor who had dedicated his adult life to the study of quantum physics. His theories were, simply put, ridiculous. He believed time was as manageable and controllable as matter, and his experiments cost his previous employer hundreds of thousands of dollars—in repairs. Banned from the university, he somehow landed a job teaching middle school science. Of course, he couldn’t resist sharing his preposterous theories of time manipulation with his students, and although Kurt could clearly see the logical fallacies in his teacher’s plans of creating controlled black holes, his intentions struck Kurt’s interests. Was time travel really possible?
Kurt was sure that if he dedicated his life to time travel, as Mr. Dubuign had attempted, he would find an answer to that question in his lifetime (confidence had always been one of his most admirable attributes). Now, on the bus, he reread the journal entry he had written only a few days before.
Dear Journal,
Mr. Dubuign, my science teacher, is obsessed with time travel. His proposed methods of achieving it are complete nonsense, but the idea itself intrigues me. Is it truly possible to send something, specifically myself, back in time? After some research, I find it highly unlikely. Or, if it is possible, I don’t believe anything could be changed.
However unlikely it may seem, I am already designing experiments, the first of which I want to try right now. Today is November 21, 2006. I am promising myself two things today: that I will devoutly study time travel for the rest of my life, and that I will visit myself on November 22, 2006 when I achieve it. If I get a visit from myself tomorrow, the experiment will be a success, and I truly will study time travel for the rest of my life. If not, I must suppose it isn’t possible after all and I will stop wasting my time.
That was on Tuesday, the twenty-first. All the next day he waited painstakingly for a visit from his future self, looking at every stranger who walked by him with rising hope. But, at the end of the day, no one had approached him with a message of success, and he went to sleep downtrodden. Apparently, it isn’t possible after all, he had written.
And then, on Thursday the twenty-third, had he really received the visit he convinced himself wasn’t going to happen? Had he missed the opportunity to talk with a future version of himself because he was a day late? The more he went over it in his mind, the sicker he felt in his stomach, and the bumpy bus ride didn’t help. The visitor was considerably younger than Kurt had expected, and his appearance was less than calming, but no matter what he looked like, Kurt had just met himself for the first and last time (he assumed) and might never get another chance.
Then again, he reminded himself, the experiment had been successful. Despite future-Kurt’s tardiness and frazzled appearance, his manifestation had been clear. Kurt grinned as he realized that time travel was not only possible, but judging by future-Kurt’s youth, it was possible very soon! The more he considered it, the better he understood why future-Kurt had been so ecstatic. He had just come back through time to meet himself in the past! His overwhelming excitement was completely logical. Why hadn’t Kurt realized this while in the presence of future-Kurt? Angry at himself, he started to write in the journal, directly addressed to his recent visitor:
Dear Kurt,
I’m so sorry I didn’t realize who you were! I had thrown the concept of time travel out of my mind and didn’t think you would actually come and see me! I’m really terribly sorry, and I hope badly that you visit me again! Perhaps next time, you might approach me in a less occupied area where you don’t have to worry about being seen. In fact, I’ll set up a place! Tomorrow (it’s November 23, by the way), meet me in the fort we built with Dad in our backyard after school. In case you don’t remember, that’s about 3:00pm. Again, I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you, and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!
Excitedly, Kurt repacked the journal and beamed the rest of the ride home. The day passed by agonizingly slowly, and he didn’t sleep at all that night, pacing around his room and devising questions for his future self.
At school, a few people asked about the weird man in the white shirt. He told them he wasn’t sure, dismissing him as insane.
He paid extra attention to Mr. Dubuign’s sidetracked lecture on time travel, just in case some of his baseless ideas might spark an idea in Kurt’s whirring brain.
He walked outside, hoping to see future-Kurt run at him again. Slowly, he walked to the bus, surveying carefully for any sign, but there were none.
He cracked his knuckles on the ride home, breathing slowly as he tried to stay calm, imagining the fantastic conversation he was about to have.
Immediately upon arriving home, he threw his backpack into his room and raced to the backyard, crawling into the makeshift fort he constructed with his father many years before with old junk from the garage. Instead of throwing the clutter away, Kurt’s drew a brilliant blueprint that his praising father followed orally to the utmost exactness. It was shaped like a giant cone tipped onto its side. The bigger end was closed off, and the little end was the entrance. Kurt had to squeeze through the hole on his hands and knees and to enter the cozily small, round room.
Minutes later, someone opened the gate of the fence that surrounded Kurt’s backyard. Kurt listened carefully to the slow footsteps approaching the fort, quite contrary to the overexcited slaps he had heard at the school. Maybe future-Kurt was trying to stay calm, too.
The gate closed noisily on its own as a pair of dress shoes appeared at the cone’s entrance. Kurt held his knees close to his chest, trying to steady his breathing as the stranger dropped to his knees, his tie falling into view. Finally, a head replaced the grass in Kurt’s line of vision. Disappointingly, it was not the face of future-Kurt, but the unmistakably familiar face of his father.
“What are you doing in there, Kurty?” he asked playfully. Kurt half-smiled, rolling his eyes at the childish nickname.
“Just checkin’ on the old place,” he answered, “making sure nothing’s falling apart in here.”
“How does it look?”
Kurt shrugged. “Pretty good. Nothing’s collapsed, at least.” With no intention of coming out, he crossed his legs in front of him and stared interestedly at the ceiling.
“Well, that’s good,” his dad said. “Is mom home?”
“I dunno, didn’t see her,” Kurt said truthfully. “Prob’ly, though. It is Friday.”
His dad chuckled while standing up. “Sure is, Kurty.”
The leather shoes disappeared from Kurt’s limited view. As he heard his father knock on the back door, Kurt hoped future-Kurt didn’t accidentally run into him. That wouldn’t be easy to explain. Luckily, his mother opened the door and let him in almost immediately, emptying the backyard.
Kurt waited in the cone for nearly two hours before giving up and trudging to his room miserably. He lay dejectedly on his bed, wondering why future-Kurt hadn’t arrived. Suddenly, a thought struck him: the first time future-Kurt showed up, it had been a day after the original plan. Perhaps whatever time machine future-Kurt was using had some malfunction, and he would actually arrive the next day! Upset with himself for not considering the lag before, Kurt spent the rest of the day researching time machines and their possible flaws.
Shortly put, future-Kurt did not arrive the next day, even though Kurt spent almost his entire Saturday waiting and reading in the cone. Suspecting another time machine error, he admitted future-Kurt another rain check. But he didn’t come Sunday, either—or the next day—or the next week—or the next month—or the next year. In fact, Kurt had nearly forgotten his (supposedly) first meeting with future-Kurt on that twenty-third of November by the time he finally received another visit.
He was in his junior year of high school (which was going much better than his sophomore year, during which his first girlfriend Stefani distract him from schoolwork), and he drove to school every day. Due to his love for learning, Kurt was taking an extra class after release-time hours and, as a result, was largely alone in the student parking lot when class ended.
On November 24, 2009, a sixteen-year-old Kurt was striding to his car, twirling his keychain around his forefinger, when he noticed an excitingly familiar Volkswagen Golf parked next to his golden Honda Accord. He stopped dead in his tracks, hardly believing his eyes. At a quickened pace, Kurt continued on his path towards the cars, straining to see if anyone was sitting in the black one. Sure enough, as he approached, a middle-aged man in a slim, black suit stepped out of the Volkswagen and walked to the trunk, facing Kurt with a warm smile. The nearer the boy came, the more certain he was of the man’s identity. By the time he stopped a mere yard from the man, his heart was beating at an unprecedented rate. Then, for a few quiet seconds, the two just looked each other, fully aware of the approaching words.
“Hello, Kurt,” the older one said casually.
“Hello, Kurt,” the other one said joyfully.
For a moment more, there was silence. Then the older one started to chuckle, and the younger one joined in. Before long, they were both laughing heartily, and simultaneously moved in for an embrace. It was, perhaps, the most sincere and gratifying hug the universe has ever known.
“You have a lot of questions,” the older Kurt said, leaning against his car with a ready grin. He was over six feet tall, but Kurt was already six foot and was no longer intimidated by his future height. He wore a fitted suit, shiny black shoes, and red and gray striped tie. His face was gently wrinkled, and his short, thick hair was just beginning to gray. Through the back window of the Golf, Kurt saw a black fedora that seemed to tinge his memory. Without thinking, he asked, “Have we met before?” quickly clarifying, “I mean, when you were this age.”
Future-Kurt furrowed his brow. “I don’t think so,” he said, then relaxed a little. “At least, not yet.”
Kurt smiled and nodded, finding speech strangely difficult. As if reading his mind, future-Kurt said, “I know how you feel, Kurt. It’s hard to get a good question together. Maybe it’ll be easier if I do most of the talking until you get your thoughts organized.”
Kurt simply nodded, urging the elder to continue.
“First of all, you need to understand how time works. As you’ve speculated, you can’t change it. Traveling through time is like putting an extra loop on a timeline. Nothing on the line ever changes, because anything that has happened will happen, and anything that will happened, in a sense, has happened. It’s all relative to the observer. I’m sure you understand.”
Kurt nodded truthfully, having finally assembled a meaningful question. “Why didn’t you come three years ago when I asked you to?”
Future-Kurt laughed slightly. “Well, I guess I can’t tell you I couldn’t find the time. Honestly, I hadn’t figured out how to control the whole process yet. It’s all in order now, and I can go anywhere I want on the timeline. It took a lot of work, but it was fun the whole way.” He squinted a little, as if what he was about to say was difficult. “I don’t want to tell you too much, see, because that would ruin the whole point of your life. But at the same time, I really do want to tell you everything, because it all would be so much easier for us. And yet, at the same time, I know I won’t tell you everything, because when I was your age, the future-Kurt didn’t tell me. It’s sure strange being here, now, because I can remember bits and pieces of this conversation from your angle. In a way, I know what I’m going to say, but even then, I feel like I’m coming up with it right now. Does that make any sense?”
“Yeah, I totally understand,” Kurt said, unable to hide his excitement. “But you have to tell me some things.”
“Of course,” future-Kurt agreed, nodding. “Ask away.”
“What’s your… or, my… or…”
“Our,” he said with a wink.
Kurt grinned, hardly believing his situation. “What’s our occupation?”
Future-Kurt bit his lip. “Well… I can’t really tell you that. But I can tell you we make a whole lot of money.”
“Are we married?” Kurt asked excitedly.
“Yes,” future-Kurt answered without hesitation.
“Who is she? Have I met her already?”
The older one rolled his eyes. “I can’t ruin everything! But I will tell you this….” He leaned in a little closer and whispered, “She’s beautiful.”
“Yes!” Kurt exclaimed, pumping his fist and accidentally hitting his elbow against his own rearview mirror. He gasped in pain and started rubbing it briskly. Future-Kurt laughed.
“I remember doing that!” he said, shaking his head. “This sure is strange.”
Over a long conversation, Kurt learned little bits of his life, along with some great advice which future-Kurt told him “didn’t really matter anyway, because none of it’s going to change anything.” They talked for over an hour before Kurt realized how late it was getting.
“My mom’s going to wonder where I’ve been!”
“No, she won’t,” future-Kurt reassured. “I called her as you were walking out of the school. I told her I was a member of the school board and wanted to interview you anonymously about the After School program. She said I could take as much time as I needed.”
Kurt hummed a laugh, shaking his head in wonderment. “She has no idea she just talked to her son.”
“Older than she is,” the other added, and they laughed some more. Then, quite abruptly, future-Kurt became more sullen.
“Now, Kurt, I’m going to have to leave, but there are a few things I need to say before I go.”
The sorrow Kurt felt at the idea of leaving his future-self was indescribable, but he had known the whole time it couldn’t last forever. He simply nodded and listened intently, taking careful notes in his head.
“I know very well that after tonight, you’re going to become obsessed with time travel. And, as we both know, you’ll eventually succeed. That’s not to say you won’t fail a time or two; you will. But be patient, and remember this night and how you feel. Trust me, boy, this is only the beginning of the joy you’ll feel from time traveling. It’s amazing.”
“I’ll say,” Kurt blurted. “You seem like the happiest guy I’ve ever met.”
At this, the thrilled smile on future-Kurt’s face dimmed into a sympathetic one. “That’s something else I need you to know,” he started, sighing deeply. “There will be a point between these ages of ours when our obsession will come very close to destroying our life. I wish I could tell you how to change things, how to avoid it, but even if I did, there would be no way.” After another pause, he said, “You’re going to lose everyone close to you for a long time, Kurt. It’ll be hard, and it won’t make any sense sometimes, but just remember: it all works out in the end. No matter what happens, and no matter how crazy things will get, you win in the end, Kurt.” His smile returned, and he took Kurt by the shoulders in his long, spidery hands. “You win! By the time you’re my age, everything in your life is as close to perfect as it can get! Please remember: everything’s going to be okay. All right?”
Surprisingly, Kurt felt himself getting a little teary. Apparently, so did future-Kurt, and they looked into each others’ shining eyes admiringly.
“Okay,” Kurt said. “I can do this.”
“You most certainly can.” They embraced again, neither of them wanting to see the other leave. But finally, as the teenager wiped away a tear, the elder Kurt opened his car door and climbed inside.
“Don’t be thinking this is last time you’ll get a visit from yourself,” future-Kurt said through his open window, surprising the young one a little.
“What do you mean? I’ll see you again?”
“Well, yes, but not at this age.” He pointed to his mature face. “The next few times you meet me, I won’t be quite as… mellow… as I am now. If fact, you’ll find yourself rather obnoxious at times.” He laughed, and finished the meeting by saying, “But don’t worry, Kurt! I know better than anyone that you turn out just fine.”
And with that, he rolled up his window, started the little black car’s engine, and sped out of the parking lot. As Kurt watched him drive away, he couldn’t help but wonder what great and terrible times waited between high school and when he would be the one driving away. With a shaky sigh, he stooped into his car.
Before the Volkswagen turned onto the main road, it disappeared without a sound.
) I am unable to find any. You've done a great job with this piece of work. Your use of description is amazing, especially how you show the future Kurts going from well-dressed, to sloppy, and then to well-dressed. The use of the journal as he gets older is a cute aspect as well; I loved reading the entry of the nine-year-old Kurt. 
Gender:
Points: 1040
Reviews: 3