“What do you mean?”
I exhale deeply. “My name is Alice Kelly Murphy, and I was born on April 29th, 1997. I’m from the future, Charlie.”
“Alice…” Charlie tilts his head, growing impatient as if he thinks I’m using a delaying tactic, stalling him from the truth with some outlandish story about being from the future.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m so different from anyone else? You have said it yourself. I seem so modern, not like any other woman you’ve ever met. Why do you think that is?”
He shakes his head in exasperation. “Alice, what are you saying?”
“Charlie, I mean it. I’m from the future.” The details of Dr. Conrad and Dr. McCoy’s discovery pour out of me. “I work at Chisholm University in Boston. I’m a historian there, and so is Ben. His godfather is a scientist, and he and his research partner discovered time travel. Eric and Sarah are scientists. Ben and I, as historians, were asked to come along on this project to time travel to the Titanic.”
I realize this has to be an impossible story for Charlie to comprehend. Saying it out loud makes it quite apparent how ridiculous it sounds. How could I ever expect him to believe what I’ve just said?
Charlie stares at me, confused. He can’t tell if I’m joking or if this is an elaborate ruse. I know he’ll never understand without proof.
“Alice, stop.” He raises his hand for me to stop speaking as if he needs a moment to dissect everything just thrown at him. Or perhaps he raises his hand to me, fed up with what he likely believes is the continued fabrication of something not at all plausible.
“I can show you, Charlie,” I whisper.
I walk over to my trunk and pull out the small locked box. I press my fingerprint to it and it opens. The advanced technology widens Charlie’s eyes enough to be intrigued. He follows me over toward the trunk, eyebrows raised, curious but suspicious. I pull out a small stack of evidence—the photos I had packed.
I hold them in my hand for a moment, debating whether to continue. I want him to understand and believe me. But I also know I’m about to shatter his world. I just don’t want to lie to him anymore. There’s no going back now. I’m past the point of no return. I hand a few of the photos to Charlie to look through.
Charlie stares at the first glossy photo. I’m posing with Ben in front of a Christmas tree at last year's university Christmas gala. Ben is in a modern, dark green three-piece suit and black tie with his arm around my waist. We were allowed plus ones but opted to attend together. I’m wearing a crimson red sequined fitted midi dress with a scoop neck and spaghetti straps. It’s a far cry from the layers of silks I’m currently wearing. Charlie’s eyes flicker with interest; however, I can’t tell if it’s the clear technicolor photo or the sight of so much bare skin.
He looks back at me, struggling to understand, and flips to the next photo. I’m moving into my college dorm, standing in blue jeans and a cropped Pink Floyd tee shirt next to my packed Jeep. I remember that day vividly because it was one of the few times Dad ever showed emotion. He acted all nonchalant the entire day, like me going off to college and leaving him for the first time was no big deal. Yale was only two hours from home anyway, and I’d travel back to Boston frequently. But we hadn’t spent more than a few nights apart my entire life, aside from soccer camp a few summers during high school. He helped me unpack, bought me beer and groceries, and then we went to dinner. When he said goodbye, he acted like he’d see me the next day, but I watched out the window from my dorm as he cried on the way to his car. He couldn’t show me his emotions, but he felt them.
The third photo is of Dad and me in 2011 at game six of the Stanley Cup Finals. We had just watched our beloved Bruins force a tie-breaking game seven, after scoring four quick goals in less than five minutes in the first period, the fastest ever tallied by one team in the finals. Dad’s friends had seats behind us and took the photo. Late in the third period, as we waited for the final whistle to blow, Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I put mine around his back. You can’t see either of our faces, but somehow the pure joy is so clear.
“Alice, how…” He loses his words as he flips to the next photo. In the most revealing photo in the stack, I’m standing on a large rock formation in front of the shoreline in Cape Cod wearing sunglasses, a Bruins cap, and a black bikini. Ben took the photo when we were in the Cape over the summer, capturing me during the golden hour with a bright smile and a hand on one hip.
He looks flustered, and he drops the photos as he tries to compose himself and form a sentence. “I’m sorry,” he says nervously as he picks them up off the floor. I remain focused on the task at hand and wait for him to wrap his brain around what he’s been told.
He sits down in a chair and leans forward with the photos still in hand. He’s leaning so far forward that his elbows are resting on his knees.
“Tell me everything.”
“Well… my name really is Alice. Most people call me Ali.”
I sit down on my bed and tell him everything. It all just starts flooding out. It’s like one of those buckets at a water park that builds and builds until it tips over, flooding everywhere. Everything pours out of me. “Ben isn’t my brother. He’s my best friend and we work together as historians at Chisholm University in Boston. I really have lost my parents. My mother left us when I was a child. My father raised me, but he passed away four years ago.”
I watch his face as he takes in everything I’m telling him, looking for some indication of where his head is at.
“You… you lied to me, Alice. How could you?”
“I didn’t have a choice, Charlie. I swore never to tell anyone. We all signed a contract. I never thought I’d meet you, that I’d…” My voice trails off, unable to complete the sentence. I’m not even sure what I was about to say. My emotions are running at a completely different pace than my brain. “I promise you, I’m the same person as before. But there is something else I should tell you.”
Charlie places the photos gently on the table and stands. “How could there possibly be more?”
“Charlie….”
“Go on then.” His tone is flat, and I can hardly blame him for it.
“That woman you saw me with earlier. Do you remember?” He nods, unsure of where I’m going with this. “She is my great-great-grandmother.”
“Did you know that before you arrived? That she was here?”
I look down at the floor. I can’t bring myself to keep his gaze. His eyes, which normally shine when he smiles, are now full of hurt. It’s a pain that I have inflicted on him, and I don’t know how I’ll ever live with it.
