All he had to do is that one thing, and it would all be over. Nothing hanging over his head.

Diane smiled. A lock of brown hair tumbled in front of her eyes. "It's a dream deal. No strings attached. No mess, no muss."

"No mas."

"C'mon, Bill," she said. "You and I started this together. You get that first trip."

"Suppose it killed me, or worse. What if you're wrong, and we unravel everything?"

She sighed. "We've been over that a thousand times. It can't happen. On your first trip, you can make small changes, but you cannot disturb the major events of the time-space continuum as they are indexed. Can't. Time won't let you. Not at all. Can't kill someone. Can't stop a baby from being born. Can't prevent Columbus from crossing the ocean to the New World. But you can fix a little mistake between people who already interact like forgetting to call your mother on her birthday or making up with an old friend after an argument... or just maybe me stepping off a curb. That was a little thing. Just a step. On a second trip, time becomes so sensitive to your presence that every microscopic interaction with the past causes a reaction. They build on themselves until our reality tears itself apart. You only get one chance."

She took Bill's hand and looked into his eyes. "Don't you remember what it was like our first time? Or before I was stuck in this chair?"

She patted the tall wheels at her side and held the back of his hand against her chest. Bill could feel the softness of her breast underneath her shirt and the pounding of her heart. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. "I want another memory of us making love while I still could. Please, Bill. Go back in time and give me that memory, and if you can, stop me from being in that accident."

They hit it off fast. She was a physics graduate student with a hot body, researching some theoretical nonsense about time. He worked construction, tanned and buff. One chance meeting in a bar turned into one-night stand that went on, and on. They didn't even come up for air for two days. They spent more of the first two weeks naked than dressed.

It was hot that day, so he took off his shirt. He pounded away with a jackhammer on a sidewalk next to the campus. She was walking with a friend, carrying way too many books. He waved. She didn't see him. He switched off the hammer and waved with both hands, yelling.

Her eyes lit up. She patted her friend on the arm and pointed to him. She waved, and then trotted toward him.

Right in front of the car, a red Taurus.

He ran.

All the sound of the world stopped. Her body crumpled to the side in slow motion, her head off the hood, and then she tumbled over the car. Her body lay in the street. He reached her first. She grabbed his hand.

"Bill!" Her body was a mask of terror and confusion. "Don't leave me alone. Whatever you do, don't leave me alone! Promise me."

He swallowed hard. "I promise."

She slumped. He thought she was dead, but she was still breathing. Sirens. People yelling. Everything blurred for him until she was being loaded into the ambulance and he was standing there, talking to a cop.

"She was crossing the street to see me. I called to her, and she stepped in front of the car. This was my fault. If I hadn't yelled, she'd be fine."

The cop mumbled something about it just being an accident, but Bill didn't listen. At the hospital, he found out she could breathe ok, and had use of her arms, but nothing below that. There wasn't anything they could do about it.

He stayed with her through the recovery and rehab. Married her and provided for her. He stood beside her as she got her Ph.D. and got a grant to do exotic research.

He helped her with experiments. Bathed her. Carried her to bed and helped her up again every day. He stayed as she grew more and more bitter, more desperate. In every way, he was the best husband he could be to her.

The bar by the MIT campus was crowded, just as it was that night. It smelled like all college bars, too much alcohol and too many young people close together. From where he was in the back corner booth, Bill could see his younger self sitting with his pal, Jerry. They were eyeing up the brunette and the blonde at the bar. The younger Bill got up and headed for the restroom.

Bill saw his chance. He took the urinal next to himself.

"Buddy," he said. "I got something to tell you, and it's the most important thing you'll ever hear."

The younger version of himself goggled. "W-Who are you?"

Bill sighed. "I'm you. Look, shut up and listen. When you play rock, paper, scissors with Jerry, pick paper. Remember that. If you pick paper, you'll get the blonde. If you pick scissors, you'll live in misery for the next twenty years."

Bill pushed the rinse button and walked out, leaving his younger self open-mouthed with amazement.

A moment later, his mind filled with the memories of Diane's accident being caused by Jerry yelling to her instead of him and being best man at their wedding. Bill experienced his own wedding to the blonde, Linda, in a flash. A moment later, he felt himself sweeping back through time toward his present day.

He told thought to himself, You can only make a little change. I didn't leave her alone. I kept my promise.

A moment later, he added, I better get Linda pregnant before Jerry messes with this.

The air about my home is electrified as the whirlwind barrels toward my tiny little cabin, nestled in an open field within the township where I have lived for over twenty years. This lakeside community has developed into a gated, ritzy type of neighborhood, all with the exception of my tattered, worn looking house, a miracle that it is still standing.

My name is John Acumen and for all the insight I have into human inner turmoil and spiritual warfare, I have chosen to stand on the sidelines throughout my entire life…until now! I was first called by God to be His prophet to this soon apocalyptic and dying world when I was 10 years old. I had an understanding of God that would rival the greats in history. It was an intuitive knowledge that I could only have received by God Himself, an intimate knowledge more of the mind and heart of God, than knowledge of the facts surrounding His existence.

Even so, I had put Him off all of my life, unwilling to accept His purpose and plan for me, for I wanted to see what I could do with the talent He had given me. Besides, I feared He would send me to Africa to prophesy to pigmies.

My life was put on hold that day, for everything I did or tried to do, never came to fruition. Every job, every creative endeavor just laid there, neither good nor bad, just laid there.

And now, I find myself fifty years of age with a dozen major health problems and no real wealth to speak of, waiting for the remainder of my life to end in the same dismal way it has been lived thus far.

As the sky becomes more increasingly ominous and darkness covers the noonday, I hear the sound of a train coming closer, knowing there are no trains where I live, indicating the fast approach of a tornado.

I've always heard that a scared prayer doesn't count. Nevertheless, I bowed my head and asked all the same.

"God, it's been awhile…" trying to figure out how to approach the subject after so long a silence. "How you doing? Okay, I'm scared; I'm really, really scared, not as much about dying, but more about dying with unfinished business. I've put you off for decades, but if you still want me as I am today, right now, I surrender everything to you."

I should have accepted my calling when He first offered it to me. I had to do it my own way though and so I did, losing everything in the process, my health, what talent I had and a chance for a family. I'm lost in my own hands!

And suddenly, along with the roaring of the tornado outside I heard a voice echoing in my spirit, "Go and stand in front of your gate and face the wind."

"What!" I said out loud. My heart was telling me to go but…

"Go and stand in front of your gate and…FACE THE WIND!" this time an audible voice spoke, shaking the contents of my home.

I opened the door and walked outside into the wind heading toward the gate to my fenced in yard. As I walked, my mind raced with images and essences of everything I had ever done wrong. I watched every selfish act being played out and every self-willed decision made. I was sickened by what I saw, grieved for ignoring my calling and my relationship with God for these many decades.

As I was teleported in my spirit through time, I saw myself accept the calling He had placed on my life when I was only ten years old. This spiritual redemption of my past only took minutes, the time it took me to reach my gate.

When I got there, I felt different, stronger somehow as I looked up and saw the largest tornado I have ever seen, now only twenty yards away. Although large objects were being moved by the wind, cars scooting across the road, downed trees everywhere, my feet were planted by God and I could not be moved.

"Speak to the wind!" His words heard clearly this time.

I was afraid to speak; realizing that any words I spoke now would seal my commitment to God's purpose and this time, permanent.

As the tornado hastened, I raised my hands and said, "Stop!" Before I could say more the wind dissipated immediately before my eyes. Everything stopped. Neighbors came outside to find me standing with my arms raised. Embarrassed, I lowered my hands and started walking back to the cabin.

One of the neighbors who lived to the side of me said as I passed by, "We're lucky to have a man of God near to protect us."

I thought he might be making fun of me, until I looked straight into his eyes and noticed that he was crying. I had never seen that before.

When I walked back into my cabin, I realized that my true career, my vocation in life was to honor God through my obedience, no matter what He asked of me, no matter what He wanted me to do, it was the work I knew best and was good at. Otherwise, I was just a failure doing my own will my own way.

As I was settling out, I wondered what He would have me do next. Not knowing how they had gotten there, I happened upon two airline tickets to Africa and a book on African pigmies on my desk by the window! I guess your fears are not always as terrifying as you imagine them, especially when stacked up against the worst Hell one can imagine, the missed opportunity of one's true destiny.

If the multifaceted social dynamics of a middle school lunchroom could be compared to something so mundane as a mere spiral galaxy, then Alyson Reynolds's table would be its center. Bright stars of the gel-haired, denim-wearing, pubescent variety gravitated into her orbit, basking in rays of popularity. Outside that circle, moving away towards colder, darker places, evidence of the heat death of the universe could be observed, as Krelboynes moved like lesser planetoids bobbing and floating in eddies of unknown, unseen, and unremarked dark matter.

But sometimes, often when least expected, a comet will streak out of the void, pulled by peculiar magnetism, drawn forth on a collision course for the bright center. Most of these are stillborn charges, nothing more than passing streaks that barrel forward only to be diverted with a look or a laugh.

Alyson was first to spot the oncoming geek. He was her age she knew because they shared a class – English, maybe, she couldn't recall – but he was short and thin and looked like a sixth grader. He wore brown corduroy pants, a green T-shirt with the picture of a sword-waving elf and the word, "Link" written across the top, and a pair of checkered Vans.

"Oh my God," said Stacey. "Is that boy coming over here?"

Jennifer looked disgusted. "Looks that way."

"Let's throw fries at him," said Alyson and all the girls laughed.

"What's his name?" asked Judy.

Alyson shrugged.

"Donnie Piker," said Jennifer. They all gave her the look and she said, "What? He's been in our same grade since kindergarten."

"Yeah, but none of us knows his freaking name," said Stacey and they laughed again, but then quieted as Donnie stopped at their table.

A hush fell. Everyone was watching. Mostly they were waiting for the laughter to start.

"Hi, Alyson," said Donnie Piker. He was shaking noticeably and this made Stacey snort, which got all the girls going until they shushed each other to silence.

Donnie blushed so red his pimples all but disappeared.

"Ahhm, yes?" said Alyson, contempt in her voice.

He looked down at his much-abused shoes, seeming to search for words. Finally, he said, "I was – ahh, wondering if you had a date for the winter ball?"

Jennifer guffawed and slapped the table.

"Holy shit, he's going to ask her out," said Stacey.

"Wait," said Alyson, raising a hand, "let me save you some –"

Something boomed in her head like crunching ice cubes, only the (sound? was it a sound?) didn't radiate along her jaw. It was in her head – in her mind, like thunder caught in her cranium. Her eyes widened as she felt something large and uncomfortably familiar ease into her consciousness – ease into her head!

Alyson lowered her hand. She didn't mean to lower her hand, it just happened. And she smiled. Oh, God, why was she smiling at Donnie "Geek-o'-the-World" Piker?

"Let me save you some time, Donnie," she heard herself say. "I would love to go to the winter ball with you. And I know you don't have a car yet, so would it be alright if my mom drives us?"

Donnie gapped at her, his eyes bulging in astonishment.

"Yeah," he said, and then with more enthusiasm. "Yeah, that would be perfect."

"Wear your black suit," said Alyson. "You always looked best in black."

"Ahh, okay," said Donnie. He shuffled back a few steps and then ran from the lunchroom, hitting the swinging doors at speed.

Some part of Alyson that was not Alyson knew he was going to hurl. He would tell her later, after the dance, and they would laugh.

"Have you lost your mind?" asked Stacey her voice flat. She looked scandalized, but at the same time there was a keen, hungry glint in her eyes. She had been Alyson's best friend since second grade and their social positions had been well set even back then. This little fiasco might just change that dynamic.

"I've got to go powder my nose," said Alyson, heading for the swing door Donnie had exited.

"Powder your nose? What is this, England?"

Alyson ignored that and all the staring onlookers.

Inside her head, fourteen-year-old Alyson screamed and struggled for control, but nothing she did could make her body listen. She was like a bus passenger watching the scenery whiz by. And the scenery as not pleasant.

She entered the nearest girls restroom, checked to make certain it was empty – at least that's what she thought the phantom running her body was doing – and then leaned her hands on one of the sinks to stare into a mirror.

Her mouth said, "Hello there, Alyson."

She felt an invisible hand loosen inside and suddenly she could control her tongue.

"Who are you? What's going on? Am I possessed?"

Her head shook. "No, you are not possessed – well not by a demon or something that doesn't belong. So far as I know it's impossible for a consciousness other than the original to take control of your body."

"The hell does that mean?"

"It means, my dear, that I am you, though I must admit I'm a very different you and thank God and the baby Jesus for that."

Alyson gaped at herself.

"I am you about twenty years from now. My name is Alyson Reynolds Piker and I am married to one of the richest, most famous, smartest men in the world."

"I marry that –"

"Watch your mouth. You have no idea what a man that little boy grows to be. In fact, I wouldn't be here, correcting your stupidity, if it wasn't for one of the toys his brilliant mind cooks up in about ten years. Self-stream time travel. You can enter your own consciousness at any point along your lifeline. He decided never to release it to the public – too dangerous he says and I agree, but we use it now and again when necessary. Don calls it Hindsight."

It's my passion, it's my curse. I can't help it, I have to undo what happened to Mary. It consumes me.

Ten years-old, walking her home from school, she was only six, after all. We called the firstgraders yard apes, don't ask me why. I remember I was embarrassed that I was ‘stuck' with her. I hung back with some of my fourthgrader friends, while she skipped ahead. She knew enough to stop at the crosswalk. She wasn't stupid.

I was probably twenty feet back when the light went to yellow. Even then, I could see the red El Camino speed-up instead of slowing. The driver was trying to make the light, he wasn't going to make it. Mary was poised on the curb like a sprinter, waiting for the gun.

I started to run. I could tell that her focus was on the little green ‘walk' sign, and not on the traffic. She was only six!

The smell of burning tires and the coppery, cloying odor of so much blood still haunt me, forty years later. Every time I hear the screech of a too-hard brake, I cringe. But I'm going to change all of that.

She was my responsibility, damn-it-all!

The driver wasn't at fault. It was me. I was supposed to see her home, safely, and I failed. I was ten feet back and at a full, ten-year-old gallop when this old lady—must have been at least eighty—reached out and grabbed me, stopped me cold.

I was seventeen when I first saw the early temporal calculations and it all became clear to me. Even then, the equations were developed enough to tell me that travel to the past was not only possible, it was doable! I wasn't really good at higher math, Mary was the smart one. But I was good enough to know that the Project would happen, someday. And I would be on it.

Rasmirov was almost foaming at the mouth as he and Schrieber went at it, again. His sweaty, bald pate bobbed up and down in time with each vehement statement.

"History cannot be changed, you blithering moron! The calculations are one-hundred-percent accurate on that."

"But dummkopf, you continue to forget the little ‘equal' sign in the middle. If the changes on the right are balanced by the changes on the left, then all is well, but the equation is different!" His round glasses had slipped down his long, narrow, beak of a nose until hey teetered precariously close to destruction. He wouldn't push them up until they actually slipped.

"If the equation is different, then Time…History Itself has been changed."

"Nonsense!"

"Idiot!"

It was an old argument, and as usual, I was backing Schreiber on this one. But nobody in the room cared what I thought. I was just the guy who kept the computers running and turned their obscure equations into code that made their Device, work magic. To them, I was no more important that the guy who swept the floors.

For the most part, they were right. But I did have one advantage over LeCletus, our janitor. I could turn the thing on, and set the date. One thing that all the equations agreed upon, travel to the past was a one-way trip. I would balance the equation! I had 1970 cash, clothes and glasses. I was as ready as I could be.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I had spotted her an hour before, and followed her as she walked around town, gawking like a tourist. The shock of it took a half-hour to subside. I had time, school wouldn't be out for at least fifteen minutes. I had to talk to her.

"Dad?" she said when she turned to my voice. She sounded at least as startled as I felt. She reminded me of… Grandma, only taller.

She was much younger than I remembered, maybe fifty-five and aging well. But I recognized her the second I saw her. She was the old lady who stopped me, all those years ago…she was… Mary!

"So these two time travelers walk into a bar." It's all I could think of.

"Billy?… Billy!" As she hugged me, I noticed her hippie clothes smelled like they came from the same retro shop where I'd bought mine. Mothballs and incense.

We held each other for a long time, her shoulders quivering as our silent tears mixed. If passersby paid any heed, neither of us were aware of it.

"You—this you—stopped me from saving you, in my timeline." I finally choked-out my only explanation.

"I ran-out in front of the car and you followed me, in mine," her voice was hoarse, she wiped her nose on a tie-dyed sleeve. "Witnesses say you grabbed me and threw me up and over the car. I remember landing in the bed of that awful El Camino. And the screaming tires."

"The equations have to balance," I glanced at my watch, only minutes, now.

"You sound like Schreiber." She looked at her watch, too.

"I won't let you stop me, Mary."

"I will not let you trade your life, for mine. You don't know what it's been like…the guilt."

"I was responsible for you."

We both startled at a growling rumble down the street. There was something about the sound of it that immediately cut through even the intensity of the moment. Half a block away, stranded at the light and revving like a racecar, was the El Camino.

"Balance." It was all she had to say.

"Two for two," I answered.

The light changed, the El Camino's tires squealed as the driver raced for the next intersection.

Billy caught up with Mary, standing at the crosswalk. The light had changed, but nobody moved to cross. There had been a terrible accident just down the street, two mangled bodies lay in the road, hands still firmly clasped.

"I'm not a narc!"

Both of them looked at me, disbelievingly. They made no attempt to hide that fact.

"Yes, I know you don't trust me. What's a person, looking like me, doing in here, The Black Crow Head Shop, if not?"

She is very cute, nineteen years old, tall, and down right sexy, like her Mom. He is a frizzy headed student about 22 years old. Both of them "hang out" and work at their friends business. In the 1970's, selling underground magazines and drug paraphernalia was a legitimate business. The drugs were not.

"Listen," I tell them, "I'm from the future."

He spits his drink out and she starts to laugh.

"And I'm from Alpha Centuri," he says.

"I'm his first mate." She adds quickly.

I know he would love that.

I can see they are both intrigued. "I'm here, from the future. I won a trip back in time to see what I could see…and stuff."

She smiles, "And stuff?"

"Yeah. And stuff."

"Where's your machine?" he asks

"Don't need it. I'm only here for a little while. I have a few things I want to do and some people I would like to meet before I have to return. I should meet them here."

"You know… Mister what's your name…"

"Artie, just call me Artie."

"You know Artie," he points to the glass case and the goods for sale, "If you're not a narc, why would you pick a place. This can't be the safest place considering what goes on here, at times."

"Maybe so, and then again, maybe it is."

"Listen you two," I tell them, "You," I point to the guy, "You need to get your butt out of here. This is nothing but trouble and YOU know it!"

To her, "Listen sweetie, I know intimately what you're about. Why do you keep doing that? Where's your pride? You're pretty, smart, and by god, you really need to get away from here before it traps you. Do you want to be like your Mom and Dad?"

To him, "The same goes for you. I know you like her, but you are encumbered with other responsibilities. Take care of those first, finish what you set out to do and then see."

The two of them pull closer together looking at me like I'm a mad man.

"I'm going to tell you both something that only some one returning to their past would know."

I whisper in his ear and he turns white. I whisper in her ear and she turns bright red.

They look at me a bit differently, then at each other.

"What are you suggesting?" she asks.

"That you, my sweet, not go to that ashram. That's a lost path. Finish school the way you planned, and quit doing what you're doing here! This is not what you should be doing, none of it."

"And you, you idiot," pointing to him, "Get your butt in gear, dump that crazy psycho girlfriend of yours. I know she's great in the sack. There will be others, trust me. She's an absolute destroyer, due to the abuse heaped upon her by her parents. You didn't know that did you? That's what's behind that part of her that appears so out of place, that anger you witnessed."

He nods.

She looks at me, "Ashram, how did you know about that?"

"I told you where I was from. Hello! Look, I'm waiting for some people I knew to show up. I have a few things to settle. I know they come here every day. You two just happen to be here. I know who you both are. To reiterate, I'm not the cops!"

"Okay," he says. "I'm going to lock the door for a bit. Why don't we go into the back and talk. I want to know more of what's going on."

She is a bit frightened. She notices my 9mm .

"If you're not a cop what's with the gun?" She squeeks.

He stops in his tracks, "GUN?"

"Yes, I always carry. We are allowed where I come from."

"Maybe you should leave. I think you are a cop. We just work here, and."

"Yes I know," I interrupt. I do something I thought I wouldn't. I pull my licence out of my wallet and present it.

They both look at it, me, and the licence, again.

"Look at the DATE! The NAME! Do you have any other proof?" He asks. He is shaking.

I pull my gun out, drop the magazine, lock the slide back and empty the chamber. The gun is now empty and I hand it to him, muzzle pointing at me. "You ever hear of this type of gun? It's made of plastic. Here is my interstate weapons permit too." I hand both of them my other photo ID.

Mean time there is a knock on the front door. We all ignore it. They keep knocking, hard, for a while, and then leave. In that time I tell them all I know about them and what they will be doing if they do not turn their lives around.

I ask, "Would you please re-open this store. I really am waiting for one person in particular. I owe him something. I've done my good deed for today," as I off handely point in their general direction. They both look at me as I reload, and chamber a new hollow point without even looking down.

"If I don't meet him soon, I have to return without accomplishing my goal. I will be most upset."

"Who are you supposed to meet?" She asks.

"Tony, Tony Di Martino. I owe him big time for something he did."

"You know that knock on the door?" He asks.

"Yeah…?" and I don't finish.

"That was him."

"Damn it… I win this trip back. I can straighten a few little things out… No major changes they say. And what? I blow it… talking to you two."

"Yes I have an appointment with doctor Johanson about the new Temporal Entanglement machinery." Gerome said to the Secretary.

"Yes, may I see some I.D.?" She replied quickly and disinterestedly.

He showed it to her and after running in through the computer system she handed it back saying

"Go ahead inside Mr. Teer."

Leading his daughter he walked through the doorway to the left and into the institute. He had known Johanson for years and though he worked on the faculty in a different branch of the University they still made it over to each others offices regularly. Today was special though. Although he had some notion of what Johanson was working on he had not heard the full details until a few days ago when the professor had come to him with a proposal to cure his son's condition. Surprised as he was about this, he eagerly ate up the details of the plan.

"You see not only do particles interact over incredible distances in the three dimensions we are normally accustomed to, but they also interact over the fourth dimension and do so omnidirectionally. Now it is theoretically possible to use this constant interaction over timespace to manipulate the particles existing at the other end. If we know what we have and where or when it exists on the other end it can be very precise. I propose that we change the genetic material of your daughter at the time of conception, thus preventing any symptoms of her condition ever developing."

He had not been able to resist the temptation. Though it was meddling deeply with those he loved he strode with her into the laboratory resolved to see it through. Johanson was already tinkering with various elements of the machine via a computer interface. It was a moment before he was noticed.

"Ahh Gerome good to see you made it and Emily also. I know it was a difficult decision for you both" the Dr. greeted.

"Good to see you too Tom. I just hope it works as well as you say it has in the past."

"Yes, yes we've been experimenting with it for some time with quite positive results. I believe we cured a cancer just the other day."

"Yeah I know but side effects are always hard to tell especially when dealing with the human mind and something as varied as transgenderism of her wishing she was a male." He said.

The Doctor nodded "It will be fine. It will improve your daughter's life significantly to be free of this burden. All right" He said "Lets go ahead and get it done with. Emily how are feeling? "

"I'm scared" the girl replied.

"Yes I can understand that. Do you understand what we are going to try and do?" She nodded affirmatively. "And are you ready?" Johanson asked. She shook her head. "You can sit with your father if you would like."

"Yes" She replied and hugged him.

"All right then. Here we go..."

The process turned out to be remarkably simple at least for his part. He provided the bit of genetic material he had gleaned from his daughter for the process and they worked out the targeting solution for the system and what needed to be changed. A few keystrokes and his mind whirled. It was as if two worlds now existed in the same slot in his mind and he could see a ripple huddled next to him where his daughter had been and suddenly it stopped.

"So apparently it worked" Johanson said.

"What makes you say that?" Gerome replied.

"I mostly just infer it from the fact that I no longer remember most of the particulars of what we just did. A common side effect of the timeline manipulation. Since the facts have changed so have our minds and memories at least to some extent."

"Well there is only one way to be sure I suppose" Gerome said and turning to his son he asked. "Are you happier now?" The response nearly broke his heart.

"Not really," said his son. "I still wish I was a girl."

It is early morning on the first of May, my 29th birthday. Twenty nine, and the world at my feet! My wife's rhythmic breathing indicates that she is still asleep; the silent house tells me that the children are too.

My birthday is a time of ritual for me, I always rise early; take a walk down to the suburban post boxes to fetch letters (it is always great fun to get a birthday card on your birthday) and then the crazy thing!

It is my birthday after all, so why not? Every year I choose to do something new – and a little crazy, just for fun, just because it is my birthday! Last year I had climbed the 50 m climbing wall at the University. Today I will….

But no, not yet, let me keep my secret a little longer.

The early morning air is refreshing as I stroll down to the post-boxes. Three letters only, one from Mom, it has a card inside, a card too from my eldest sister, and a bulky letter. A bit odd this letter, it was posted locally four days ago. The writing is strangely familiar; everything is printed, just like I always do. I am halfway home before I decide to open it. Inside there is a short note and a second envelope. The note says that it will turn out particularly hot today. It says that I am not physically ready for my birthday challenge and I won't enjoy it! That I should carry on anyway and open the inner envelope this evening when I am feeling a little low! It is signed by me!

This is crazy; I did not send a letter! Should I open the other envelope? No, no I like crazy things for my birthday, so I will play along with this charlatan just for today.

Everyone is up when I get home and the kids are all over me with "Happy Birthdays" and big home-made cards. Everyone wants to know what I will be doing today. I ask Mary to get a picnic lunch ready and make sure lots of cold water is packed. I put the cards up on the piano, and go and potter in the garden for a couple of hours.

At 10, I announce that we must all get ready to go out since I will be involved in "an event" at 12h30. The kids are excited, what will "Crazy Dad" get up to today?

All is made clear when we arrive at a cross-country event, just in time for me to warm up before the open race at 12h30. Warm up!! It may make more sense to cool down before the event – what happened to winter?

I have never run cross country, even though I have run marathons – but this is different. Immediately the gun goes I am left in a cloud of dust as everyone else sprints off like a bunch of hares! I imagine myself as the hound trying to catch them. I am coughing from all the dust, the ground is so uneven, I slip and fall, grazing my knees and hands on the gritty surface. A few minutes later and there is a shallow stream to run through – Ah my new shoes! But worse, I slip again on the slime and fall with my right side in the muddy water. The course is 2 km long; in the open category I run 12 km, which means repeating the course 6 times.

Just as I am limping through the 8 km mark the leader comes sprinting past me! The family cheers for me anyhow. I may be making a fool of myself, but at least I am their hero!

I finish in 47 minutes, tired bleeding from three falls on loose gravel and muddy from the fall in the river! Crazy, certainly! Again, never!

Feeling rather sore, both physically and mentally (imagine being lapped!) I open the inner letter in my study after supper. It simply says that I should not feel so bad and assures me that I will be brilliant at cross country with correct training – what IS going on here? It includes a training programme, and says that I will never look back, if I follow it. It says that a future me has had all the tests and that if I don't do this I will be forever sorry. It insists that I must tell no-one, and that I must keep the training programme entirely confidential.

I wake up early on the 2nd of May feeling rather stiff. I get up and put on my running things to go on a loosening-up run. Mary mumbles that she thought I had decided to never run again. I say that I have turned over a new leaf.[/align]

It is the 1st of May, all I can see is a hazy purple light. My whole life flashes before me – is this death? I remember my crazy plan to be the first to go into the past in a time machine, the "Timex" invented by my son, just before my mind is flooded by new memory. The light moves through the rainbow colours and finally settles on red. I open my eyes. I am home.

I step out of the "Timer". My son wants to know all about it. I tell him that all I did was buy a stamp and post a letter.

"But did anything change dad?"

I point to the morning newspaper on the table. Headlines on the sport page – "BRANDT BREAKS ANOTHER AGE GROUP CROSS-COUNTRY RECORD".

He does not remember! Am I the only person with a double memory?

I need to get down to the sports centre and speak to the doctor who did the tests, surely his records would show my visit to him last month.

I notice myself reflected in the mirror, slim, athletic, I hope Mary likes the new me – but does she remember the old?[/align]