Chapter 17: Why Would I Make This Stuff Up? Part 1

I tossed and turned for most of the night. Finding out about Bill seemed to make things worse. Two years he had been stuck in the past. I hadn't considered that I would have to relive my life. Could I live with my mom until I graduated and went off to college? I didn't think so—not unless I could get her to believe that I wasn't her sixteen-year-old daughter but a woman who was even older than she was now.

Saturday was bright and sunny and I got dressed in shorts a T-shirt that had DYNO-MITE written across the front with an image of a grinning Jimmy "J. J." Walker from the television show Good Times. I pulled on my Chucks, wondering why I didn't have any shoes that felt this comfortable, as if they had been made just for my feet. Then I made myself a bowl of cereal and waited for my mother to complete her plans to take me in for a drug test. I was actually looking forward to it. Then she would know that I wasn't like Kush, and the silent accusations would have to end.

My sister was sprawled out on the living room floor watching Saturday morning cartoons, and when the commercials came on I sat more enthralled by them than by the show. I saw the "new" Atari game system, He-Man and Star Wars action figures, and tabletop arcade games featuring Pac Man.

Mama came into the room looking hip in a pair of tight-fitting jeans and an African print blouse that hugged her shapely torso. She was so pretty, mostly because she felt it and it therefore showed. It had taken me years to learn that little secret.

"Kenya and I have to run some errands, but we'll be back before long. You are to stay in this house, Nubia, and no visitors. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," my sister replied while barely turning from the television set. I figured that she would be cool with staying in as long as she had her endless supply of cartoons to fortify her. I wasn't surprised that mama didn't tell Nubia what we were really up to. After all, she didn't want to put ideas into her head.

When we got into the car, Mama turned to me. "You look good in those shorts. I told you that you weren't too big to wear shorts. You ought to get stylin' more, Kenya. You are such a pretty girl. Stop hiding your beauty."

I smiled. "I want to start dressing like a sixteen-year-old and not like I'm twelve."

She grinned as she drove. "Why? You got a boyfriend that you haven't told me about?"

"No," I said flatly. "I just want to be better, Mom."

"Mom? Where did that come from? You've been watching too much Brady Bunch."

Yeah, she was right about the slip in calling her Mom. I hadn't started calling her that until after I'd gone away for college and using the word "mama" made me feel like I was still under her roof.

"Kenya. You know that you can talk to me about things, right?"

I turned in my seat to look at her fully. "You mean about me coming from the future?"

Her lip twisted, she shook her head, and she turned up the radio angrily. She thought I was just messing with her.

Mama took me to a free clinic. I guess she was too ashamed to take me to our family doctor because this was all so ludicrous. I peed in a cup, and within the hour the results came back clean. Completely clean.

As we returned to the car Mama gave me a confused look. Finally she asked what had obviously been eating at her. "What do you mean that you're from the future?"

With relief I stopped walking and looked at her with as much sincerity as I could muster. "I'm fifty-one years old. It's the year 2016 and I'm an accountant with two grown kids. One day I went to work and found a strange letter on my keyboard. On it was written September seventh, 1982."

My mother seemed to be listening intently.

"I went to bed that night, and when I woke up it was September seventh, 1982. Remember when I asked you the date?"

My mother shook her head in confusion. "Kenya, what you're saying is insane. You do realize that, don't you?"

"I know it sounds crazy, Mom—Mama, but it's the truth. I just want to go back to my own time! I don't know how—"

"Where's the letter, the one with the date?" she interrupted.

"I don't have it. It's in my purse…back in 2016."

"2016? Why that date?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I just know that I need to go back." I feel as if I'm leaving important things undone. Who is taking care of my mom and the reports need to be done at work? But if I'm not there, does that mean time has stopped? I'm here, but there was no sixteen-year-old Kenya waiting for me. My head ached thinking about this. I was no dummy, but I had never been into the whole Star Trek, Star Wars, space-time continuum. Hell, I got confused watching Back To The Future.

"So am I still alive in this future?" she asked.

"Yes, and so is Kush and Nubia. Nubia has kids but she moved to Atlanta."

My mother shook her head and rubbed her face. "Do they have flying cars in the future? Do we read minds instead of talking?"

My eyebrows lifted. "No, none of that. We have cell phones, though."

"Cell phones?"

"They're portable telephones, and people don't really use them to talk on. People use them to text or for social media."

"They…text?"

"They type messages, yes."

"What?" Her eyes narrowed. "They type instead of talk?"

I shook my head slightly. "Yes. It's one way to say something you don't want to say without having to look someone in the eye. It's complicated." My eyebrows shot up quickly. "Oh! We have a black president!"

Mama put her hands on her hips. "Now I know you're a damn lie!"

"Why?" I asked in confusion. "You've been saying forever that we're going to have a black president."

"Because if we had a black president, you would have told me that before anything else! You know how I feel about blacks and politics! The first thing you would have done is said, 'I'm from the future and we have a black president.' In fact, you would have said 'We're going to have a black president' and then said you were from the future." She turned and began walking. "Come on, let's go!"

When we got to the car I tried once again. "Mama. Why would I make this stuff up?"

She looked at me. "Because you need to speak to a psychiatrist, that's why."

Oh my God. Bill was right. She wouldn't believe that I was from the future, only that I had lost my mind.