almost never used, I remembered—and in a little tray was a Long Island Railroad token with a dashing commuter stamped on its face: a souvenir from the 1964 New York World’s Fair, the only time my family ever went on vacation together. The token had gone missing in the ‘80s.
And it seemed as if other things were missing as well. I restlessly scanned the room for clues until my eyes stopped with a jolt at the telephone on the wall. The big black box with its old-fashioned dial and awkward receiver would look ludicrous clipped to my belt in place of my cell phone. Missing from my desk was the computer monitor, mouse, and printer, and underneath on the book shelf, the CPU. And missing from my dresser was the DVD player and flat screen TV. But since these technologies hadn’t been invented yet, I really was missing nothing, because in 1971, we humans were still in control of our technology, not the other way around.
I went to the janitorial closet in the hall and found a mop, a bucket, and cans of floor soap and wax. I drew some water from the shower and cleaned the rest of the room.
By 11:00 that morning, a photographer from the Daily Egyptian, SIU’s student newspaper, could have taken a Kodachrome slide of 108 Bailey for the “Best Dorm Room of the Quarter” contest. The only flaw in the perfect room was a teaspoon-sized spill of pipe tobacco on Harry’s desk.
Time to call Catherine.
With a shaking finger, I dialed the number. I waited a few seconds and heard clicking noises, a funny bleeping tone, and then a recording that said that the number was no longer in service. I called Information, but the operator told me that there was no record of a Mancini residence in Murphysboro. Miserably disappointed, I sat down on my neatly-made bed and flipped through the phone book again. The Mancini number was there, and I had no memory of them moving.
Maybe I’ve gone back to a different past.
I sat on my bed and spent a half hour staring down at my dull leather boots in a futile attempt to ignore the 20th century. Finally the knob to the hall door twisted, and Harry slumped into the room with a subtle nod.
He didn’t have his usual four or five books under his arm; instead there was a single box. I remembered that my roommate was a person of rigid habits, so this change intrigued me. He sat down at his desk, opened the box as if it contained, say, a vase from the Ming Dynasty that he had stolen from some museum, and pulled out a shiny new gooseneck lamp.
He plugged it in and twisted the switch on top of the shade. The lamp flooded the desk with a strong warm light.
“Hey, this is really cock, Federson…” he said. “Look, man, it has three settings….soft…”
Click.
“…medium...”
Click.
“...and high.”
Click.
Harry moved the lamp from one position to another on his desk, twisting around the gooseneck, and putting it through its paces by repeatedly switching it from low to medium to high.
I remember this!
I remembered Harry buying a new lamp. Come to think of it, I remembered a lot of things from the ‘70s now.
“Nixon is going to resign in ‘74!” I muttered.
“What did you say, Federson?” Harry mumbled into a book.
“I said…nice lamp, and…”
I pushed hard on that 38-year-long block to my memory, until something finally trickled out.
“Harry, wear your seatbelt.”
“What? What about a seatbelt, Federson?” Harry looked up.
“You’re going to be in a traffic accident soon. A squirrel or something darts in front of you and if you don’t wear your seatbelt you’ll wind up in the emergency room with a concussion and a big lump on your forehead. The right side, I think.”
Harry looked at me in shock.
“Federson, now you’re getting spooky.” He reached for his pipe.
“Harry, promise me. Promise me, that you’ll wear the damned seatbelt.”
“OK, Federson, I will.”
But I didn’t believe him.
With a bemused expression, Harry settled on a medium setting for his lamp, lit his pipe, went back to work, and apparently didn’t notice the shiny new coat of wax on the floor.
I had a clear idea of the history of the future until 2009, but the farther I went back, the hazier world events became. Within my reach was the maroon mechanical pencil the soldier had given to me on the train. I picked it up; it seemed to fit my hand perfectly. Without thinking, I wrote in neat cursive script, something I had not done for decades.
1. Nixon resigns in August of 1974 because of his role in the cover-up of the Watergate breakin.
2. Gerald Ford becomes president. He’s followed by Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, George Bush the Elder, Bill Clinton, George W. Bush the Younger, and Barack Obama.
3. Inflation will go to double digits in the ‘70s.
4. In 1975, One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest wins Best Picture.
5. The space shuttle Challenger will blow up shortly after launch in 1984. (I think)
6. The PC will be invented in the ‘70s and will be used on a massive scale, as will the Internet, by the ‘90s.
7. The Cold War will end in 1991.
8. 9/11
8. The White Sox will win the World Series in 2005, for the first time in 88 years.
10. The “Great Recession” will start in 2007.
11. Barack Obama, the first black president, will be elected in 2008.
12. In May 2009, an inland hurricane will sweep through Southern Illinois, creating widespread destruction.
13. In October 2009, Peter Federson will be yanked back in time to 1971.
I found a red magic marker in my desk and printed over the top of this list:
WHAT I KNOW.
And I taped the paper to my wall next to my desk.
Soon, Harry closed his book and placed it on the shelf, and got up to leave.
“Going to lunch, Federson?”
“Naw, I got some things to do.” I wasn’t hungry, anyway.
Clouds filled the sky, the air smelled of rain, and the gremlins, who thrived on gloomy weather, were standing by to pluck a nerve. I knew what was coming.
Don’t think… function!
I slid open the blond wood accordion door to the closet, and felt that
