His question scared me. Do I get to keep my memories? “I have no idea. It’s not like I’ve done this before.”
“Maybe you should try and send yourself a message so you know what’s going on? Wait, I’ve got an idea,” Brandt continued. “You’re a computer geek, right?”
“I’d like to think I’m not an actual geek, but yeah, go on.”
“Do you remember your email address when you were a teenager?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. I used a goofy name that Cooper and I made up for one another.”
“Get this, dude. I know its fucking nuts but listen. What if you sent yourself an email to that address from your current address?” he suggested.
“That won’t work because of the time differential. We can’t email the past . . . I . . . don’t . . . think,” I answered, my mind reeling.
“Could you manipulate the internal time on your computer? Maybe convince it that you’re emailing from before a particular date?” he asked. “You write code, buddy. It has to be possible.”
“Who the fuck knows but I could try,” I said. “To my knowledge, maybe it’s been tried, but no one has gone back to receive an email from the future, have they?” I asked.
“Oh and wait a second,” he urged, full of excitement at a possible new idea. “You need the email to include a picture of you holding a newspaper with today’s date or some kind of proof.”
“Jesus, Brandt. You’re practically a wizard at time travel,” I stated.
“I sawBack To The Future, dude. I took notes and shit,” he bragged, laughing at our sixth-grade-boy plotting. “And should I bring this shit up to the Mike that remains in my world?” he asked.
“He might think you’re nuts,” I responded.
We discussed the craziness of the conversation but he encouraged me not to chicken out. “A promise is a promise, Mike, and this promise was made to your mom,” he’d concluded right before we ended the call.
The idea about an email to the past with some kind of proof fascinated me. Was it possible? Was any of this crazy shit possible?
I was definitely going to try.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Mike
Eleven Years Ago
Around midnight, the sound of a car parking across the street pulled me from my bed. I’d been lying in the dark since ten thirty, waiting for Cooper to get home. He’d texted that since Jen and I were on a date that he was going to the drive-in with Mike Hastings. Jen canceled because of a sore throat but I didn’t tell him that so he went to seeThe Avengerswithout me. We’d talked about going together since we both loved action films, but he’d chosen to go with Hastings because I’d had plans.
I hid off to the side of my open window so I could watch them. I didn’t like the thought of Cooper kissing Hastings but it was his right to be happy like I was with Jen. Just moments after arriving, Cooper hopped out and Hastings roared off in his parents’ Honda Civic. Cooper stood under the streetlamp watching the car disappear around the corner with his shoulders slumped in sadness.
I held my cell phone flashlight under my face and waved at him from my bedroom window. He touched his chest and then pointed at me, asking permission to come over so I nodded and waited. I heard Mom and him talking at the foot of the stairs. She wasn’t surprised to see Coop in our house at odd hours of the night. The way he trudged up the stairs told me that he wasn’t in good spirits.
“Hey, buddy,” I greeted after he closed the door behind him. “How was the movie?”
“Movie was okay. Company not so much,” he admitted. Cooper kicked his sneakers off, and then pulled off his T-shirt and jeans before rolling over me to his spot closer to the wall. We had our sleeping positions ever since he’d been spookedwhen we were eleven years old and he asked me to sleep closer to the door. Even then I’d been his protector.
I had a million questions about Hastings, but waited for him to spill the beans. We lay in silence until he rolled over to face me and rested his hand on my chest.
“I hate being gay,” he muttered, snuggling closer to me even though it was hot for April. “Guys are mean sometimes.”
His announcement got my shackles up because I was concerned that Hastings had hurt him. “Did Hastings lay a hand on you?” I asked. “I swear I’ll . . .”
Cooper slid his hand to my mouth and shushed me. “Calm down, Mikey. Hastings didn’t lay a hand on me. I’d be so lucky.”
“Then what?” I grilled, ready to defend my best friend. “Did he call you names?”
“I thought he liked me that way,” Cooper said. “You know what I mean, like he asked me to the drive-in and stuff. What straight guy goes to a drive-in with another boy?” he asked. “Well, other than you,” he added, laughing.
“He tell you he didn’t like you?” I asked. “Did you ask him if he did?”
