Chapter 2
TWO
What is that smell?
I’m almost too scared to open my eyes. The scent assaulting my nostrils is the male cologne Cool Water—and it instantly reminds me of my boss from the T-shirt shop where I worked on Main Street in Shell Beach when I was younger.
I brace myself and slowly open one eye.
And then the other.
Holy cow.
How is this possible?
Moments ago, I was lying on Anna’s couch in Brisbane, and now I’m actually in Shell Beach. Standing at the front counter of a shop that no longer exists—and next to Ashley, the aforementioned Cool Water-wearing boss.
I stare at him. He looks exactly the same as I remember. I worked at that shop for a year in 1999, and I left when I got fired for a huge misunderstanding with a customer. Ashley took the customer’s side, and I never saw him again.
The memory still frustrates me, but the shock of seeing him in his original form temporarily overrides that.
“What do you think?” Ashley asks.
It takes me a moment to remember how to speak.
“Uh… about what?” I ask dumbly.
He sighs. “What is going on with you today? This is the third time you’ve zoned out. Is there a problem at home?”
“Oh… no. Nothing like that.” My brain is so overloaded by the current environment that I figure responding with the path of least resistance is the best way to go right now.
“I need you to pay attention. I’m starting to have second thoughts about leaving you in charge next week.”
“You’re going away?”
He looks at me like I have two heads. “Do I need to take you to the hospital? Are you having some sort of episode? Wait. You didn’t raid my desk drawer, did you?
Because that stuff isn’t for newbies. I made the mistake of giving some to a friend with no prior tolerance on the weekend, and it wiped a good twenty-four hours from his brain. ”
“Uh, no. I didn’t raid your desk drawer.” I suddenly remember Ashley having quite the recreational drug habit. Ecstasy was his first choice, but I’m not sure that’s what he’s referring to right now.
“Then what is it?”
Okay, time to focus, Rachel. If what Kurt and Anna said is true, I am now back in 1999 on the same date as the future.
What was that again? The ninth of April?
I think that’s right. I barely remember last year, let alone several decades ago.
But standing here next to Ashley is starting to jog my memory.
I began working at the shop just before Christmas, so I would have been employed for four months now.
Ashley often left me in charge of the shop while he went away, but this must have been the first time. Where did he go again?
I suddenly remember. “I meant to say when are you going away? As in, what time is your flight next week? Are you flying directly to Bangkok?”
He relaxes slightly. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?
My flight is on Monday morning at 6am, so I’m going to stay in Brisbane the night before.
The flight goes to Sydney first and then straight onto Bangkok.
But none of that is important right now.
I need to know you’ll be comfortable ordering stock while I’m away. ”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him. Even though I probably have no idea how to use their computers anymore.
I have another thought. Kurt said this whole thing will only last two hours. If so, I don’t have to worry. Especially because nothing that happens now changes the future.
I grab my stomach dramatically and double over. “Oh, I think I’m about to get my period.”
Ashley looks at me, horrified. “Right now?”
“Any second. And I forgot to bring tampons. What time am I supposed to be working until?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Never mind. Just leave now. You can make up the time tomorrow by coming in early.”
“Okay.” I’m happy to promise anything since I won’t have to follow through.
I pretend to hobble out the door, but Ashley calls out as I’m almost free.
“Rachel!”
“What?”
“Your handbag.”
“Oh. Right.” I turn, and Ashley hurries over with a red patent-leather shoulder bag. I quickly snatch it from him and go outside.
Out of Ashley’s view, I straighten up and walk normally down Main Street.
Wow. This is weird. Main Street doesn’t look like this anymore. And I should know since I still live down the road—albeit no longer at my parents’ house.
I suddenly stop when I catch myself in the reflection of a shop window.
Jesus.
I’m young again.
Just like Kurt and Anna said.
How is this all happening?
In the present day, I have a blonde bob, but right now, my hair is long and brown.
And I’m wearing a shiny baby-pink skirt with a sleeveless knit top in the same colour.
I forgot how fun late-nineties fashion was.
Now, all I wear is black. It’s just easy.
Like how Steve Jobs used to only wear black turtlenecks so he didn’t have to waste any of his precious decision-making power on clothing choices.
At least, I think that’s why he wore them.
In 1999, Steve Jobs would have been releasing those fun desktop and laptop computers that had bright translucent colour panels on them.
Life was so simple then. Now. Am I really in 1999 at this very moment?
I pause as I see a tall skinny guy holding up a sign that says The End of the World is Nigh! Y2K is the first sign of the apocalypse! Repent now!
That’s an interesting take on attempting to convert people to his religion.
He sees me staring and yells out. “Planes are going to fall from the sky! The banks’ computers will malfunction! There will be massive power outages! Chaos is coming!”
I don’t stick around long enough to hear what he thinks I should do to prevent falling victim to said chaos.
I’m very tempted to tell him I saw into the future, and everything continued as normal.
I’m sure he’d be way more horrified to hear of some of the other events that occur down the track.
Like environmental disasters… and crazy viruses…
and wars that get broadcast nonstop through our twenty-four-hour access to the internet.
I take a deep breath and look around.
It’s a beautiful early autumn day, so I turn down an alley that takes me to the beach.
I’m pleasantly surprised to see the sand isn’t overcrowded with cabanas like in the future.
There’s an occasional umbrella, but most people are lying on their towels directly in the sun.
Which I suppose is not a great thing when it comes to future skin cancer risk, but at least I can see the ocean and its gentle waves lapping at the shore.
I walk along the boardwalk, which is still almost the same in the future, and sit on a patch of grass in front of one of the resorts.
I hadn’t actually expected to end up here, so my brain is a bit slow to make the most of the situation.
The whole discussion with Kurt pops back into my brain.
How can I prove that all my decisions would have eventually led me to the same destination?
I wish I had asked my cousin for more detail about his own experiences before I took the compound.
I wonder if he’ll let me have more after this dose wears off.
I look at my wrist and see a blue Baby-G digital watch. I laugh out loud. It’s like I’m participating in some sort of cosplay. I laugh even harder when I see someone walk past with an old-school stereo perched on their shoulder, and California Love by 2Pac blares from the speaker.
1999 was a strange time for me since Anna had decided to stay in Paris for a while after finishing her pastry chef training, and Kelsey had moved to Brisbane to establish what seemed like a sophisticated city-girl life.
I never left Shell Beach, which I don’t regret, but I did feel a little left behind.
Which is maybe why I married so young.
It suddenly occurs to me that I met Frankie in August 1999, and we got engaged on New Year’s Eve.
Because of the whole Y2K hype, we’d joked it could be the world’s shortest engagement before the world fell apart.
We’d been obsessed with the movie Strange Days and had watched it earlier in the evening, which had created a weird fatalistic vibe over the night.
The movie’s tone was a bit dark and cyberpunk—like a lot of movies from that era.
I wonder if we were doomed from the start. Having met during such a melodramatic phase of our youth, would it ever have worked?
Frankie wasn’t just obsessed with Strange Days. He was obsessed with film in general. He’d seen about ninety-five percent of all movies released throughout the eighties and nineties, and he could tell you all the themes and subtext as if he were a human encyclopedia.
When we broke up, he’d just landed a job working as a film reviewer for a newspaper in Sydney.
I hadn’t wanted to leave Shell Beach, and I was annoyed he’d applied for—and accepted—the position without consulting me.
I know it was technically his dream job, but he didn’t even give me the courtesy of informing me beforehand.
My heart still aches at the memory of seeing him get in his car on that final day. He drove a red Volvo station-wagon that his parents had given him after they upgraded. I even remember that the licence plate had the letters FOX purely by coincidence, and we playfully called the car the Foxmobile.
Why am I feeling so melancholy? Is it because I’m now in a time before any of this even happened? And should I be making the most of my two hours here? It’s probably been at least twenty minutes already. What does one do with a short amount of time travel?
I stand and continue walking along the boardwalk to the other end of Main Street. This part weirdly looks the same. Half the businesses are still there too. Like that gelato shop. And that seafood restaurant.
I’m just wondering how to maximise such a unique opportunity to revisit the past when I stop. There’s a red Volvo station-wagon parked in front of me.
And the licence plate contains the letters FOX.