Darren Johnson - Arnesto Modesto - The World's Most Ineffectual Time Traveler

“He hit a girl!”

“Well, you make a good point. But still, this is not the place. You’ll get suspended,” Arnesto said, hoping to reinforce his point through repetition.

“Teacher,” one of the jocks said as Mrs. Gonzalez approached.

“Fag,” another jock whispered as he bumped into Arnesto’s shoulder.

“Fagesto,” the first jock said.

“Heh, Fagesto,” the second jock repeated. They chortled back and forth at their hilarious new insult.

They did it. They actually found a way to make my name worse.

“Thanks, Arnesto,” Nicholas said with a smile as they watched the jocks leave for their respective homerooms.

“Guess they’re not fans of gender equality,” Arnesto said, rubbing his shoulder where the jock had bumped him. Nicholas left for his homeroom as Arnesto and Pete walked into theirs.

“That was brave,” Pete said after he and Arnesto took their seats. “What would have happened if you hadn’t stepped in?”

“Nothing.” Arnesto put his A-period books on his desk then resumed rubbing his shoulder. “Seriously, there would have been a minor scuffle, then they both would have gotten suspended for a week. That’s it.”

“Oh.” Pete sounded disappointed. “Then why did you intervene?”

“Nicholas is a friend of mine. I always regretted not backing him up.”

“Well, you made up for it. How do you feel?”

“Kind of good. I hope I didn’t make it worse somehow.”

As their sophomore year dragged toward its final days, Pete started to enjoy coming to school in the morning. Arnesto’s memories were coming in faster than ever before, and Pete never knew which of Arnesto’s faces would greet him. Usually there was neutral-face, which meant no new memories. Sometimes there was giddy-face, which meant Arnesto remembered something interesting, though usually not useful. Finally, there was concerned-face, which meant Arnesto remembered something negative.

But this time, Arnesto was wearing a new expression which made concerned-face look paltry by comparison. Arnesto stood motionless, staring blankly with his head leaning into his closed locker. He had bags under his eyes. Pete looked around the area to verify the coast was clear.

“Rough night?” he asked. Arnesto replied with a weak nod. “I can tell. You look like shit. You remember something?” Another nod. “What? What did you remember?” Arnesto stood up, turned, and lifted his heavy eyes toward his friend. He muttered a single word.

“Everything.”

Morgan Residence

Saturday, June 25, 1988

Late Evening

The bullfrog left the pool skimmer and went flying over the chain link fence into the woods behind Pete’s house. Arnesto was impressed. “Good distance.”

Pete wore a satisfied grin. “That might be the winner. Here, you get the last one while I get the snacks.” He handed the long pole to Arnesto who walked toward the deep end of the pool as Pete disappeared into the kitchen. Pete reemerged as Arnesto raised the final trespasser out of the water. The deal was they could only use the hot tub if they cleared out all the bullfrogs first.

Arnesto took slow strides around the pool toward the fence as he balanced the amphibian at the other end of the skimmer. “For the championship,” he proclaimed as he brought the skimmer end back before swinging it forward. However, the bullfrog slipped off the end too soon and only landed about ten feet behind the fence. “Damn it, I still don’t have the touch.” He put the skimmer down by the pool and stepped into the hot tub where Pete was already waiting. Pete handed him a root beer popsicle. “Thanks, I needed this,” Arnesto said, taking a bite.

“So let me get this straight,” Pete said. “You have the memories of an old man — excuse me, an older version of you — thanks to a brain procedure involving some Star Trek shit that you came up with that also kills you.”

“That’s correct,” Arnesto said, taking another bite of his popsicle. “Well, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure it killed me. My final moments wouldn’t have made it out of my hypothalamus into long-term memory. Believe me, at that age, I was ready to die.”

“I have so many questions.”

“I grant thee three.”

“Hell no! You come into my hot tub eating my popsicles and lay this shit on me. I’m asking you everything, ” Pete barked. Arnesto laughed so hard he almost choked on his popsicle.

“Okay! Ask away,” Arnesto said, once he regained his composure.

Pete sighed. “At least you’re getting your sense of humor back.” He thought for a few moments then smiled. “O wise oracle, when do we get laid?”

Arnesto quickly turned to Pete. “What, together?! Never , you sick fuck!” he said, feigning disgust.

“You know what I mean!”

“Let me think. Senior year. Well, yours is toward the end of senior year. Mine is soon after.”

“Damn, that’s two years away. Is it… with Sylvia?” Pete asked anxiously. Unlike Arnesto, who crushed on a great many girls, Pete spent most of high school fixated on one unknowing Sylvia Bowers.

“No, you haven’t met your first yet. You meet her at work. That reminds me, have you applied for that hospital kitchen job yet?”

“I… was working on it,” Pete said. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you knew I was applying. This is going to take some getting used to. So nothing ever happens between me and Sylvia?”

Arnesto sensed Pete’s pain. “No, sorry. Well, you didn’t make anything happen before, but that doesn’t mean you can’t this time.”

“Nah, I can’t talk to her. She makes me too nervous. Let’s change the subject. Ooh, what’s the greatest invention of the next century or so? After your time-traveling memory thing, of course.”

“Good question.” Arnesto had to think about this one for a bit, then he smiled. “Yoga pants. They’re like tights, except women wear them everywhere , even to work.”

“The future sounds awesome! Who wins the election?”

“Bush.”

“Who wins the next election? Bush again?”

“No, he loses to Bill Clinton, from Arkansas. I should probably warn him against sleeping with his interns.”

“I won’t ask. Are there aliens?”

“From space? No.” They both looked disappointed. “But there are planets. Like metric shit-tons of planets. They find so many that most scientists believe it’s highly likely that there’s life out there. Space travel’s still a bitch, though. Hey, do you want to know how you die?”

“ Hell no! Please, I don’t ever want—”

“Autoerotic asphyxiation. Pretty impressive for a man of your years. Don’t worry, I’ll erase your browser history.”

“I don’t know what a browser is, and I don’t care. Please stop being a dick, and promise me you won’t tell me anything about my future. If you do, I’m going to fret about it until it happens.”

“Okay, I promise,” Arnesto said.

“Thank you. So… why now? Why did your memories all come back at once?”

“My best guess is that it was some sort of feedback loop. The more electrical impulses phased in, the more my brain became a grounding station — a focal point — until it reached a critical mass. Then it was done. I was complete.”

“A complete tool ,” Pete corrected. “Well, at least now we know why it all happened. But dang, I’m still sad about Sylvia.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m 99% sure the Celtics never invite me to a tryout.”

“Their loss.” They sat melancholy for a bit. Pete suddenly chimed in. “How do they do without you warming the bench?”