Bleak Future

I think I may be dead in the future. Either that, or time travel will not be perfected in my lifetime.

I mean, I have invited my future self many times to come have a visit. I've provided express times and places, set meetings, as it were, for future me to travel back to.

Perhaps, time travel will be an inexact science. Perhaps, future me just keeps barely missing the appointments...

Now, the first invite, if I understand correctly, has been destroyed. So, it doesn't really count.

It was a Thursday night, sometime back in 1981 or 82. My mother had choir practice and my sister was asleep on one of the front pews.

It was a big old building, built in 1910, apparently by an architect who did not believe in straight lines. The balcony swooped and curved, spilling in the center like a tsunami over the faithful below. The fluid curve was matched, in tidal-fashion, by the lower-level pews, and I had taken station behind them, far in back in the shadows.

The redheaded girl with cute freckles and big boobs, who usually made out with me in the basement during these interminable choir nights, was not there. So, I was left to my own devices.

I had already broken into the candy locker in the kids' choir rehearsal room. I had already snuck into the upstairs girl's bathroom to poke around. I had folded a fleet of paper airplanes out of the attendance cards. I was bored. I wished the red-haired girl was there.

Fidgeting, I discovered that the royal blue carpet scrap, left over from the 1978 renovation, used to line the pew-back hymnal rack, simply came out when I tugged on it. It then dawned on me that I should leave something there, hidden forever, out of sight.

Quickly, I got to work scribbling a note to myself. I carefully dated and timed the note. I assumed if time travel were possible in the future, then I could go get the note, and know when and were to go visit myself.

Sitting alone in a dark pew, a visit from old-me seemed like a good idea. Unfortunately, I never showed up.

Now, out of curiosity, on a visit back down to California in the mid 90s, I drove through the city of Pomona and visited the old sanctuary. Amazingly, with little looking, I quickly found the old note. Carefully, I put it back in place, covered it back up with the dusty carpet scrap, and replaced the mouldy song books.

Sadly, however, that sanctuary, my note with it, was demolished just a few years later.

My second attempt at directing future time travel may still be in play. A year or two after writing that unsuccessful note at the church, I wrote another. This time, with more specificity and planning. I detailed when and where I would be willing to meet, which was on my driveway, during an hour-long window on a Saturday, just to make it easy on all of us.

I folded the note and wrapped it in tin foil. Then, I put the foil-wrapped letter in a plastic bag, which was further wrapped in Saran Wrap. This was stored in a Quaker Oats canister, and sealed with more plastic, tin foil and duct tape.

I buried the message deep in my back yard. Oddly, that following Saturday, at the appointed time, I again failed to show up from the future. I, of course, have no way to verify that the letter is still there.

Lastly, during a lonely summer night in 1988, as Tom, Brian and Dave were out on the town, raising a ruckus, I was alone, back at the yogurt shop, taking an inventory of gummy bears, Oreo crumbles and bags of plain liquid yogurt.

It was late, and I was bored. I decided, once again, to attempt an invitation. Once again, I wrote a note, naming the date and time. This time, I simply slipped it up over one of the suspended ceiling tiles in the back room. I mean, how often do those things get changed?

Sadly, old-me did not come walking in through the front doors. No body did. So I closed early and went home.

Apparently, that night was indicative of the future of that little operation, and it closed its doors permanently shortly thereafter. The crappy-looking fast-food Chinese restaurant that moved into the spot (which Dr. B will tell us whether is still there) did not seem to change out the old ceiling tiles. Therefore, barring an unforeseen roof leak, the note should still be up there.

Carl Sagan once hypothesized that time travel was impossible because we've never been visited from the future. It's possible, though, that we're just not interesting enough to come visit.

I still hold out hope for a visit, though. I dream of a future, where everyone is able to buy their own set of sexy servant clone girls, and if that's the case, I do hope future me brings his with him...