With a slow creak, I push the door open. And I find myself back in 1989. With the off white walls, and the goose diarrhea green carpet. In my childhood bedroom I had a set of hand-me-down bunk beds. They had a lightly stained wooden frame. And they also had the same mattresses that my Dad and uncle Alan must’ve had back in 1960.
I slept on the bottom bunk. I never knew why, but I think I was scared of being exposed. I needed to hide in those days. The bottom of the upper box spring had a sheer fabric covering that had a giant rip in it. A rip large enough that I could stick my entire arm inside.
At one end of the bedroom, I had a 13” TV and my Nintendo Entertainment System. The TV and my Nintendo were my best friends growing up.
I sure as hell wasn’t my best friend growing up.
It was late June. The West Alabama heat hadn’t started baking my home yet, but it would soon.
Looking under the covers I see a truly sad sight. It’s me. A shivering, sweating, soaking wet mess. 12 years old, and in the midst of a war with chickenpox.
My time machine hasn’t gotten a ton of use in recent years. But something told me I needed to pay this guy a visit.
Strangely, I feel a little nervous right now. I remember how scared I was going through this originally. With a little nervous trepidation, and trembling hands, I sit on the edge of the bed. My old bed.
I reach out and gently tap my shivering and soaking wet 12 year old self on the shoulder. He’s sleeping pretty hard, but he needs to wake up.
When he doesn’t wake up, I gently nudge him awake. He takes a couple breaths, sees a strange man sitting on his bed, and jumps straight up out of bed.
“Hey! Hey! Hey! It’s okay!” I say.
“Who are you? Why are you here? How did you get into my room?” He asks. This is going to take some work.
“Ry, it’s okay. I got you. I’m from the future. I’m you, but from the future.”
12 year old me looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. He holds the back of his left hand against his forehead.
“I feel so bad.”
“I know you do. But you’re not making this up. You’re not hallucinating this. This is you. I am you.”
“What year are you from?”
“Two thousand twenty.”
“I’m still alive?” He asks.
“Yeah, I’m only 43.”
“But that’s older than Mom.” Resisting the urge to take the bait, I ignore this statement.
“Ry…I want to show you something.”
“Am I in trouble?” He asks. He’s talking to himself from the future, but he thinks he’s in trouble. Therapy’s definitely in his future.
“You’re not in trouble, bud. You’re okay. But I do want you to look at something. I want you to — ” Before I could even get out what I wanted to tell him, 12 year old me lifts up the sheet and immediately starts to panic. He’s crying and hyperventilating. He sees how wet his sheets and his PJ’s are.
“Is that?” he asks meekly.
“Yeah…it’s sweat. And pee…” I say with gentleness and compassion. 12 year old me is crying pretty hard. I simply hold his hand as he does.
“Mom’s gonna kill me,” 12 year old me says.
“No, she’s not. She’s not even gonna be mad. She’s not even gonna be mad, bud.” He seems to be winding down a little bit.
I look into my 12 year old eyes. And I see the eyes of a heartbroken young man. A kid who has seen so much pain, heartbreak, and sadness in his young life. A kid who is a boy king, but he sees himself a peasant.
“Is it ever gonna get better?”
“Ry, buddy…can I let you in on a secret? When you’re 32 years old, you almost die. Remember when granddaddy had to go to the hospital because he had to get his gallbladder taken out?”
“Yeah. Wasn’t he out the next day?”
“I was in the hospital for almost a week. I was out of work for a month.”
“But you’re okay…I mean, I’m okay. Right?”
“We’re fine. We’ll be okay,” I say. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling right now?” My 12 year old self takes a deep breath. He averts his gaze away from me. I gently guide his face back to meet my gaze. “It’s okay. You can talk to me.”
“The kids at school make fun of me for talking to myself.”
“Fuck those assholes. What’s on your mind, buddy? What’s on your heart?”
“I guess I’m really scared. I’m scared that it’s never gonna get any better. That I’m always gonna be…a loser, I guess. Mom and Dad are disappointed with me. I’m never gonna be anything. I’m just really scared.” I take a deep, intentional breath. I really want what I’m about to say to land and land hard.
“You want to know what’s going on in 2020? With me? With the world? Nobody can leave the house because there’s a disease that’s killing people. If you get within six feet of other people you don’t know, you could catch the disease. It’s catchier than anything anyone’s ever seen. More than a million people in the country have this disease. Over 60 thousand people have died from this disease. And it’s getting worse every day. People can’t go to work because this disease is so dangerous. There are no sports or movies. It’s a scary time to be alive. I’ve been living in a hotel for two months because my landlord went crazy. I’m really scared too,” I say.
“You’re scared?”
“Grownups can get scared too. I’m just saying I hear you. I get you. You’re an amazing kid. You’re so smart. People love you. You don’t even know how many people love you.”
“Are people gonna love me after they see…y’know…” 12-year-old me says as he points to the mess in his sheets.
“It’s an accident. Accidents happen. You can’t blame yourself for this. What was your fever a couple days ago?”
“Like 102 I think.”
“Want to hear something cool?”
“There’s something cool from this?”
“You’re never gonna have chicken pox again. You can’t get it again.”
“Wow…really?”
“Yep. And you know something else cool? You grow up and become somebody really cool yourself. You’ve written two books. You’ve published one. People can buy it and read it. You’re gonna publish the other and you’re gonna write a bunch more books. You’re also gonna support some amazing people in doing amazing stuff. You’re gonna have amazing friends. You’re gonna change the world!”
“Me?”
“Yeah you, sitting in your own sweat and pee. You’re gonna change the world just by being you!”
“Don’t lie to — ”
“Ry…listen to me. You don’t have to do anything but be yourself. You’re going to change the world. You, Ryan. You’re going to change the world. And I’m going to cheer you on as you do it. I am so proud of you. And I love you so much.” 12-year-old Ryan pulls me into a big hug. He needed this so bad. And you know something? I need it as well.
“You promise it’s gonna be okay?”
“You have my word. On our life, you have my word. Now let’s get you cleaned up and figure out how we’re gonna tell Mom about this.” And just as I say that, Mom opens the door and is completely dumbfounded by my presence.
“Who is this?” She asks 12-year-old me. 12-year-old me just looks at me to say, ‘what are we gonna do?’
“I got this,” I say. I turn to Mom. “Mom, do me a favor. He needs to know that you’re not mad.” I lift up the sheet and show Mom the accident.
“Is that — ”
“Yes Mom, it is,” He says to her.
“He’ll explain later. But do me a favor. Don’t leave this mattress out by the street for garbage pickup. Load it onto Dad’s truck and he can take it to the dump.” On that, I turn to leave. “Hey Ry? I love you,” I say with a smile.
“I love you too,” he says. I turn to leave again.
“Who was that, Ryan?”
“It was me from the future. I grew up.”
“I’m gonna check your temperature again.” As I’m walking out the front door, I can feel Mom’s presence standing behind me in the kitchen. “Who are you and why are you in my kitchen?”
“I’m sick. Go take care of me and figure it out later.” I walk out the front door and leave. I start to walk down the long street. I turn around and see 12-year-old me staring out the bedroom window watching me walk down the street.
