The 95th Floor Read online

  “Look, can you just tell me how much I owe so I can get back to my car?” She said with obvious irritation.

  “Come on, I haven’t seen you in ages, and this is how you react? Isn’t time supposed to heal all wounds?”

  “You treated me like shit. I loved you. I gave you something I can never get back, and you called me a whore, plus you accused me of doing things I would never do in a million years. When I told you I never wanted to talk to you again, I meant it.” She said with tears already welling up in her eyes.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry! Okay? I’ve been sorry every day since then. My life has been hell since that very day. Look at me! I’m thirty-four years old and I work at a fucking gas station. I have nothing. No family, no friends. My only companions are goddamn books. I have a goddamn tumor in my head that doesn’t kill me, it just makes me wish I was dead. How much more do you want me to go through before you forgive me? For fuck’s sake, we were teenagers. People change.” I said raising my voice louder with nearly every word.

  “Just leave me alone, Stan” She screamed as she ran out of the store and rushed to her car to speed away. She left what she was going to purchase on the counter for me to put away, but I would have none of it.

  “Fine, then fucking leave. And take your shit, I don’t care if you pay or not.” As I said that I picked up the bottle she set on the counter, ran outside and threw it at her as hard as I could, missing her car and hitting the gas pump her car was parked next to.

  As she sped off in her car, I walked back in the store and completely lost my cool, flying into a blackout rage. My mind was a swirling mess of memories of Alexis. The only thing at this point that could calm me down was destroying something. First went the rack of potato chips, then the display for cheap sunglasses. Then I felt the blood dripping down my face. If I was going to pass out again, I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it here. After seeing the mess I had caused in the store, I was well aware that I would most likely not have a job in the morning.

  I ran out the door and took off down the single block towards my house. With each step I jogged a splatter of blood would hit the ground, leaving a trail towards my home. When I got to my front door, I fumbled my keys until I finally found the right one and unlocked the door. And that is when the pain hit like it never had before. My skull felt like it was being pried open from the inside, splitting it in two. My right ear began crackling and the pressure built up until I could see stars in my eyes. I stumbled through the front door, slamming it in my whirlwind of agony. I sat down on the living room couch, clutching my head trying to keep it intact even though it wasn’t truly splitting open. With the crackling in my ear growing louder and louder, it was accompanied by a distant ringing that also was being amplified exponentially until it was all I could hear.

  The only thing on my mind at this point was the one time I was truly happy and loved life. That Christmas with Alexis. The calming thoughts of her made everything else seem like background noise, even the splitting pain in my skull.

  The stars in my eyes began to blend together until all I could see was white that resembled the snowy picture on an old television. The last thing I remember was nearly choking on all the blood running down my face and the ringing and pain returning in full force and climaxing until my ear finally gave a deafening pop, and everything went black.

  When I finally awoke, I felt my face to find that there was no wet or dry blood anywhere. I opened my eyes to a familiar sight, but it was not the sight I remember seeing before I passed out. I recognized everything but couldn’t quite name where from. I was clearly in my own house, but the furniture and decor were different. Everything had a vintage feel to it. And a faint scent of cinnamon.

  Thinking was proving difficult as I knew I lost a lot of blood last night. I got up and walked to the bathroom to wash my face off. The mirror was proof there was no blood anywhere on me. What the hell happened last night? After rinsing my face off in an attempt to finish waking up and to clear my head, I walked back into the living room and looked around again.

  There was a Christmas tree in the living room next to the couch. It isn’t Christmas. When did I put a tree up? Then I looked at the wall. Family pictures. A picture of my parents and me when I was only 13 years old. That hasn’t been up since my parents died.

  Everything was starting to become clearer now, but it made absolutely no sense. This was definitely my house, but everything looks like it did twenty years ago when my parents were still alive.

  What the fuck is going on?

  I ran out the front door and to the store that I thought I had just trashed only moments earlier. When I stopped just outside the front door, I noticed it was still night time. That means I must not have been passed out for very long. I continued running to the store which was still there but looked much newer. I peeked inside and noticed everything was in perfect order. No tipped over chip stands, and no broken sunglasses strung across the floor. There was even another person at the front counter; someone I had never met before.

  Then in typical movie cliché fashion, I decided to find the coin-operated newspaper dispenser and look at the front page for the date.

  “December 25, 1998.” I read out loud.

  Chapter 3

  That night I slept in a homeless shelter. I don’t remember how I got there or when. My only guess is my brain had finally overloaded from the events that took place in the last 24 hours; the MRI results, the confrontation with Alexis, waking up twenty years in my own past. I think it would be just a bit much even for the most tenacious person to handle.

  The shelter in Canyon was an old baptist church that had been converted to a shelter after a larger, more glamorous church was built on the other side of town. Sleeping in an old wooden pew was not the most satisfying place to bunk, but there are far worse things to complain about. It is also difficult to sleep when your mind is racing, trying to piece together and comprehend the jigsaw that was yesterday. Once the shock of my situation had finally assuaged to a level that I could formulate my next move, I thought about what to do.

  My only proof of the present date was the newspaper from the previous night. Surely it must have been a joke someone was playing on me. But how could they have gone through the trouble of not only planting a twenty-year-old newspaper in the bin but also rearranging my house to look exactly how it did in 1998? Not only that but who? And why the hell would I be sleeping in a homeless shelter? The idea seemed just a little too far-fetched. I had decided that I would walk to the place that I worked—well, in 2018—and keep with the movie cliché by checking out that day’s paper.

  December in Idaho typically has a mind of its own. It can either be somewhat brisk, or it can be bone-chilling cold.

  Luckily, the winter of ‘98 was a pretty mild one. I grabbed the thin blanket I had on me while I slept in the pew and left the shelter. The mile walk in the clear weather felt great on my lungs. The 50-degree air was as breathable as it could get and it works wonders on clearing one’s mind. During the walk, I had thought about what else I would do, especially if I found I really had ended up in 1998.

  When I arrived at the gas station, I looked inside to see a perfectly clean store. The attendant at the register looked like someone from the late 90s would: short spiked hair that had been frosted with blond hair dye to the point it was almost white, Hemp necklace, and black jelly wristbands. I remember the era well. Just for good measure, I looked at the paper and was not surprised to read that it was December 26, 1998.

  “Okay, well this is just great,” I said to myself under my breath.

  There was no point in going in the store as I had no money—none that would work anyways. I hadn’t carried cash around in years and debit cards in 2018 used encryption chips which didn’t exist in this era. Even if I could swipe the magnetic strip, I doubt any account in my name would show up. I would have to devise some way of procuring money in this time period.

  As frustration began to creep up in me, I sat down on
the bench next to the pay phone at the gas station. I took a deep breath and thought about what to do. I had the proof I needed to confirm my situation. From what I knew, time travel had been deemed impossible, at least backward time travel was. There were theories in physics that said forward time travel was theoretically possible in certain extreme circumstances, but that was irrelevant right now. I was more worried about things like paradoxes. Were any of them true? Were they even possible? What would happen if I bumped into my other self?

  Questions began running through my head at a million miles per hour. After pondering the various questions in my head, I decided to first confirm that my younger self did still exist. The house was only a block away.

  I walked to the house and first noticed that both of my parent’s cars were in the driveway. This immediately made me mournful, but that was quickly overtaken by a rush of joy as I realized that in this time, my parents were still alive. I rushed to the living room window to peek inside through the blinds, being careful to remain unseen. As I glanced through the window I could see the kitchen area. Standing at the kitchen counter were both of my parents, talking to one another. This caused a rush of emotion that nearly put me on my ass. My parents were fifteen feet away from me, alive. I am not ashamed to say that I bawled like a baby.

  I probably sat with my back to the wall of the house for five minutes just emptying all the bottled up emotion that was overwhelming me at the moment. I didn’t want to do anything rash without thinking since for all I knew I was the sole component keeping everything in existence. I had no idea what my intervention would do if anything.

  As I regained my composure, I took another look at my parents for good measure then crept over to the window that was part of my old bedroom. The blinds were closed—I always kept my bedroom dark, even now. I knocked on the window and hid out of sight where I could still see the window for any movement. Sure enough, a few seconds later, my younger self peeked through the blinds and gave me confirmation that I now existed as two separate entities. I decided to leave them be and not risk interfering in any way until I thought further about what I was going to do.

  I had no obligations or responsibilities now since technically my present form didn’t really exist as far as anyone else knew. I could do whatever I pleased, however, I had to make sure nothing I did had any large long-term effects. This would require careful planning.

  I concluded that I would walk around the town taking in the sights of the 90s once again. If nothing else, it would satisfy the nostalgia that one could only get by physically infiltrating their own past. I walked at a slow pace, taking in everything that had previously only been a memory; things that no longer existed in the time I belonged to. Blockbuster and Hollywood Video, bookstores other than Barnes & Noble, cassette tapes, CDs, Surge soda. Oh man, I truly felt like a teenager again.

  Then the idea of procuring money came up again to break me from my nostalgia trip. I needed a method that had a minimal effect on my surroundings as I still didn’t know if my actions had any devastating effects or not. I didn’t want to find out the hard way either.

  Concocting a money making scheme that didn’t involve interaction with other people proved to be more difficult than I had initially thought. Applying for or getting any type of job required speaking to people and possibly preventing another person from getting a job that might have turned out to have quite an effect on the world later on. I scratched off that idea. I had no goods to sell other than the clothes I was wearing. Obviously, that was not going to work either. That limited my options quickly.

  As I was walking past an old grocery store that would sometime in the next twenty years be torn down to make way for a new Hilton hotel, I saw an old aluminum recycling machine that was used to get quick cash for old soda and beer cans. And lined up next to it were a few disheveled men in filthy clothing pushing stolen shopping carts full of aluminum cans. I could fish through some dumpsters for cans and at least get enough money to feed myself. I didn’t have too much pride to subject myself to a little bit of dumpster diving. You never know what treasures you will find.

  I decided that later in the evening when the sun was setting, I would find some grocery bags and fill them with whatever cans I could fish out of the trash around town. I figured it would be better to do it at night, so fewer people saw me. I was lucky enough to find a slew of old plastic grocery bags in the shelter I was in. Apparently, I wasn’t as clever as I thought with my recycling idea since most of the people in the shelter did the same thing, only during the daytime. This meant I should have plenty of fresh loot to plunder from the waste of others.

  As the sun began to set, I grabbed a handful of plastic bags and set out for the alleys around town. I decided to try the less affluent parts of the city since the chances were higher of finding a mountain of empty beer cans. Trailer parks would prove to be quite handy for this venture.

  After eventually filling as many bags as I could hold, I made my way to the recycling machine. I hoped with as late as it was I wouldn’t be disturbing anybody by using it. After emptying all of the cans into the receptacle and patiently waiting for it to crush and dispose of the usable metal, it spit out two dollars and some change. This was not going to do. This was enough for a single meal off of a dollar menu. I had to think of a more efficient way of getting money.

  Discouraged, I walked into a nearby fast food restaurant and ordered a couple chicken sandwiches that I hoped would tie me over until morning. I was hungry to the point of being ravenous. I had my trusty thin blanket wrapped around me for warmth and covered my head with it in an attempt to hide any recognizable features. I didn’t know who I might run into or who might recognize me even though I was aged by two decades. I didn’t want to take any chances. I determined that I would need to also purchase some shades or other items to causally disguise myself.

  After I finished eating my measly dinner, I walked back to the shelter hoping most of the others in the old church would be asleep by this point. If I couldn’t think of another means of acquiring money soon, I would have to venture out in search of cans in the morning as I will need something to eat. I preferred to dine alone rather than risk falling into a conversation with another of the homeless residents. It began to look like I would be eating a lot of chicken sandwiches in the days to come. I didn’t want to worry about that right now though.

  When I arrived at the old church building, I quietly found an empty pew and laid down to fall asleep nearly instantaneously. Any worries I had at that point would have to wait until tomorrow.

  Sleeping in a wooden pew more than likely advanced any creeping back problems I might have been developing by at least ten years. Church pews were uncomfortable enough just to sit on through a sleep-inducing sermon. Getting a full night of refreshing sleep is damn near impossible. The result is a substantial amount of tossing and turning. I woke up quite early, largely due to my racing thoughts and dreams about Alexis. That was when my stomach reminded me that it had been neglected over the past couple of days. I would have to go fish around in some more garbage for chicken sandwich funds. Most of the other folks around me were still sleeping. This would be my chance to get some cans before anyone else woke up.

  I should have guessed that the neighborhoods I looted last night would be picked clean; I was the one who picked it. It couldn’t hurt to check some of the more upper-class areas. Who knows, I might get lucky and find something to pawn. I was feeling nervous doing my trash picking during the daylight. I was probably overreacting, but with something as serious as what I found myself thrust into, I only wanted to play it safe. The stakes were high, and I wasn’t one who liked to play with matches.

  The nicer neighborhoods proved just as fruitless. Most upper-class families throw out wasted food which by the time I got to it was either mixed with other trash or was spoiled. I hadn’t gotten to the point where rotting garbage looked appetizing…yet. I left it there for some other more miserable person to take. With barely one bag wit
h cans in it, I began to get irritated. Everything else was regular trash; egg cartons, empty milk jugs, and junk mail which included ripped up credit card offers. Not everybody was careful enough to rip up or shred sensitive mail contents though. I briefly thought about applying for one of the mailers that hadn’t been torn up but had a eureka moment instead. Why not apply for a credit card using my own name and social? In this time period I have no bad credit. My parents were kind enough to help me establish a little bit of credit at a young age by putting me as an authorized user on their accounts. I should at least get approved for some low limit card. Then I could withdraw the cash, max the remainder of the card, and by the time someone finds out, they can simply call it in as fraud and have it wiped clean from my younger self’s record.

  I couldn’t see any flaws with this idea. I could simply apply on the Internet at a library and have it mailed to my house since I already knew all the information I would need by heart. The rest I could make up if I needed. I would just check the mail until it came and get the card without anyone knowing. I had no better ideas so I settled on this one and rushed to the library as quickly as I could.

  The walk to the Library would be a long one as it was located on the opposite end of the city from where I was. Though, I didn’t mind. It gave me yet another chance to view parts of the city that had changed drastically between now and the time I was supposed to be. I even passed by an old skateboard shop that I would frequent as a teenager. Unfortunately, skateboarding would lose its popular appeal over the next couple of decades. Even I lost interest after a while, though, that was mostly due to the events that had yet to take place in this time. I wanted to take a look inside but realized that someone inside the store might recognize me even in my advanced age. Instead, I kept walking.

  The Library, it turns out, had changed very little over the years, if at all. In addition to the skateboard shop I passed on my way, the Library was another of my frequented establishments. History and reading are two hobbies that I had always possessed, not results of traumatic events. This place was large enough that I should be able to remain isolated and not recognized by anybody.