Cassettes Are a Thing of the Past… And So Am I

Tanner makes a move to hug a passing waitress, but she swerves out of harm’s way.

“Hands off, Tanner Tripp! That’s sexual harassment. If your girlfriend sees you making a pass at me, you’re liable to lose that hand.”

Tanner laughs as he leans against the bar and reaches for his drink.

His smile fades as he turns to see Sophie standing nearby, her hands on her hips, her blue eyes laced with anger.

Tanner and Sophie Wessex have been dating for six months. Blonde-haired and athletic-looking with a ready smile, twenty-four-year-old Tanner radiates happy-go-lucky charm. Sophie sports big hair and even bigger dreams, hoping she can push Tanner out of his going-nowhere job as a landscaper. Sophie’s desire for stability and Tanner’s instability continue to strain their relationship.

“I can’t wait around any longer for you to get off work,” Tanner says. “It’s nearly two a.m. I’m too tired.”

“You mean too drunk.”

Ned Tobolowski, the bar’s manager and the pair’s former classmate, passes by, injecting himself into the conversation.

“Look at you, Tanner, your eyes are at half-mast. You’ve been overserved.”

“And with that dead caterpillar you call a mustache and those oversized glasses, you look like a four-eyed fright mask.”

“I don’t know what you see in this slacker, Sophie.”

“He can be very sweet when he tries to be.”

“He’s obviously not going anywhere in life,” Ned snaps.

“Oh yeah? Well, I’ll be holding Sophie in my arms soon. What’ll you be holding, nerd, a pencil? Have you ever even kissed a girl?”

Ned huffs as he speeds away.

“You should be nice to him. He just gave me a raise.”

Tanner scowls. “It’s a bribe. So, if you’re the teacher’s pet, you should be able to leave now… With me.”

“The way you're acting, I’m not sure I want to. This is 1983, Tanner. You’re not the popular jock in high school anymore.”

“Fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Maybe you should lose my number.”

“Have it your way, Mrs. Tobolowski.”

Tanner storms out of the bar, wishing his life weren’t so frustrating.

Getting behind the wheel of his souped-up Camaro, he fumbles around in his tape box.

“There you are,” he says, kissing the cassette.

Tanner pushes the Camero to seventy on the highway straightaway.

Michael Jackson’s song, “Billie Jean,” bursts from the cassette deck.

The Camero reaches seventy-five.

Despite the cacophony, fatigue takes over, and Tanner’s head droops.

He sees a line of cars parked underneath the highway’s overpass.

Eighty.

Michael Jackson sings, “Hee…hee…hee…,” as if he’s mocking Tanner.

Tanner’s eyes close.

The Camero slams into the back of the nearest parked car, spinning sideways.

Tanner finds himself standing outside the car. He watches his head go through the windshield and sees his body bouncing from the driver’s seat into the passenger seat.

Then time stops.

He remains staring at the car, unable to move, for three minutes and forty-four seconds.

When time snaps back into place, the car spins in a circle, coming to rest in a crescendo of smoke, squealing tires, and broken glass.

Tanner regains his senses in the passenger seat.

Moments later, a light shines in the car.

“You okay?” a voice calls out.

A pair of strong hands helps him out of the car.

Tanner’s eyes focus on the man’s blue uniform and his nameplate – Reason. Officer Rex Reason has a strong, broad build and wears his dark hair in a crew cut, but has friendly, caring eyes.

“Man, are you lucky, kid. The steering wheel went right through the driver’s seat. I always tell people to wear their seat belt, but if you had been wearing yours, you’d be dead.”

“Funny. I don’t feel lucky.”

“I already called for a tow and filled out the paperwork. As for the cause of the accident…The brakes failed, right?”

“Works for me.”

“Let me take you home. You’ve had a rough night.”

Tanner reaches into the car, grabbing the tape from the cassette deck.

***

“What’s that you have?” Officer Reason asks.

“Nothing. Just my favorite homemade tape.”

“Oh yeah? What’s on it?”

“I was listening to ‘Billie Jean’ when I crashed.”

“Cool. I love that song. Go ahead and play it.”

Officer Reason taps his finger against the cruiser’s steering wheel to the song’s beat.

Michael Jackson wails, “Hee…hee…hee.”

The police car, Officer Reason, and the world surrounding Tanner freeze in place.

Tanner stares at the paralyzed officer for three minutes and forty-four seconds.

***

When the world jerks back into motion, Tanner is standing at the door of his parents’ house, holding the cassette in his hand. He slips it into his pocket.

“Man, my folks are going to fry me for coming home so late.”

He looks at his watch. It reads 10:05 p.m.

He tries to rationalize how he’s gone back in time.

Tanner looks around the yard, noticing a new picket fence, a flower bed, and that the garage’s white exterior is now green.

He ponders why his surroundings look so different.

He knocks on the door, wondering where the doorbell has gone.

A frazzled young couple comes to the door, the bullish man frowning as he opens it.

“What do you want, kid?”

“Why are you in my parents’ house? Are you visiting?”

“It’s you who’s visiting, kid. And I’m not in the mood for socializing.”

“I don’t like the look in his eyes, Tom. I’m going to call my uncle.”

“That’s a good idea, dear.”

Moments later, a man walks up the sidewalk toward Tanner. Tanner sees he’s packing a gun.

He looks familiar.

His dark crew cut is gone, replaced by grey, thinning hair. His stocky build had shrunk, befitting a healthy but older man.

“Officer Reason?”

Rex is taken aback at being recognized.

“Do I know you?”

“It’s me, Tanner Tripp. You were the cop at my accident.”

“You were in an accident?”

“Yeah, less than an hour ago, and you drove me home. You drove me here.”

“Must have been someone else. I’ve been in bed since nine thirty. I retired seven years ago, and the police haven’t been allowed to drive people around in their cars since I was a rookie. You say you were in an accident? Maybe you have a concussion.”

“No, this is where I live. I can prove it.”

Tanner pulls out his wallet, showing Rex his license.

“It says you live on McClain Street. This is West Street. McClain is on the other side of town, but maybe you shouldn’t be traveling around if you’re confused. It’s against my better judgment, but I’ll give you a ride.”

***

Sophie answers the door. She stares at the blonde-haired man in shock.

“Tanner?”

“You know this man?” Rex asks.

“Yes… Yes, I do. He’s my husband.”

Rex surveys Sophie, noting her silver hair and freckled skin make her look twice her supposed husband’s age.

“And who are you?” Sophie asks.

“Rex Reason. I was a police officer in town for over thirty years. This fellow was in a car accident and went to his old house by mistake. He’s a little shook up, maybe concussed. I want to make sure he’s safe, and you feel safe enough to let him in. Maybe I should hang around.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Reason. He’s harmless.”

Tanner follows Sophie inside.

The radio is on. Sophie moves to turn it down.

The first thing he notices is their wedding picture hanging on the wall.

Sophie circles him. “You’re the same height, same weight as Tanner when he was in his twenties. And that hair, blonde and silky, just like his. My Tanner would love to have that much hair now. If you’re a phony, you’re a good one.”

“It’s really me, Sophie. We met when we worked at Sears & Roebuck’s.”

“That’s right. I think I need a drink. Come into the kitchen.”

She mixes up two vodka tonics, still examining Tanner as she hands him his glass.

“You were sixty-seven when you went to the store to get some popcorn. We were going to watch “Tombstone” together for the twentieth time. The blonde mass of hair of yours was grey, cut shorter. You limped out of the door because of a recent knee replacement. And now you’ve come back without the popcorn, and you’re forty years younger.”

Tanner blushes. “Helluva road trip.”

“It really is you. I can tell by that sly smile of yours.”

“I couldn’t help but notice the pictures on your wall in the living room.”

“We have two kids. Our son, Granger, owns his own trucking business. Lisa, our daughter, decided to follow in her father's footsteps. She’s a photographer.”

“I’m a photographer?”

“We went to an exhibition of rock star photos at the Hudson River Museum in 1984, and that lit the spark.”

So, we’ve had a good life together?” Tanner asks hopefully.

“There were a few bumps along the way, especially in the beginning, when you still wanted to sow your wild oats, but we always loved each other…. I’m going to say something you probably don’t want to hear. You don’t belong here… Maybe you were leading a parallel life somewhere, and you somehow got swept up and sent here, or I’m having a very weird dream. But you should go back to wherever you were…Would you like to use the phone?”

“The first person I’d call is you.”

“Why don’t you call yourself?” Sophie asks.

“What?

“Call yourself on the phone. It’ll prove you’re not supposed to be here. That might inspire you to go home… Your real home.”

Sophie hands him her cell phone.

Tanner looks at her questioningly.

“You don’t know how to use it, do you? Further proof you’re out of your time period.”

He hands her back the phone, and Sophie punches in her husband’s phone number.

Tanner answers.

“Hi, hon. As long as you’re out, why don’t you pick up some ice cream too?”

Sophie holds up the phone so Tanner can hear the voice on the other end say, “Yeah, how about mint chocolate chip?”

“That’ll be great. Love you.”

“That’s my favorite flavor,” Tanner says.

Sophie shakes her head, still stupefied at what she is seeing.

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t know. I was having doubts, wishing I could change my life. Then I had the accident. Time stopped, and when it started again, I was here in the future.”

Sophie flashes a bemused smile. “Do you think you can make me young again, too?”

“I don’t know. But I swear, once I figure out how this works, I’ll come back for you.”

“You’re leaving so soon?”

“Yeah, the me you married will be home soon unless you sent me to Alaska for ice cream.”

“I guess you’re right. I read somewhere that if you meet your doppelganger, one of you has to die,” Sophie replies.

She follows Tanner into the living room.

The radio announcer warbles, “Here’s a favorite from ‘Thriller,’ one of the biggest-selling albums of all time. Remember Michael Jackson moonwalking to this song? Here’s ‘Billie Jean’…”

“Ha. One of your favorite songs. I haven’t heard it in years.”

Michael Jackson sings, “Hee…hee…hee…”

Tanner kisses Sophie on the cheek.

She freezes with her eyes closed and a broad smile on her face.

Sophie is still smiling when Tanner comes home with the popcorn and ice cream three minutes and forty-five seconds later.

***

Tanner surveys his surroundings. It was night when the song started playing. Now he’s wandering around in the daylight. Thankfully, he’s still in his hometown of Mount Kisco, but judging by the cars passing by, it’s no longer 1983.

A Honda Accord zips by, driven by a cute brunette with feathered bangs.

“…Looks like I’ve landed in the nineties…”

A trip to the corner newsstand confirms that Tanner reappeared on March 24, 1993.

He fumbles with the cassette.

“How the heck am I going to get out of here if I can’t play this thing?”

Tanner ponders his situation, absent-mindedly passing by a Radio Shack store.

Retracting his steps, he heads inside, approaching a teenage, redheaded sales associate with runaway acne.

“I need a portable cassette player with headphones.”

The teen snickers. “I might have a Sony Walkman gathering dust in the back. But CDs are where it's at, man. Cassettes are a thing of the past.”

“So am I. Get it.”

After paying for the Walkman, Tanner realizes he’s in another dilemma. He has plenty of credit cards he can’t use and only twenty-three dollars in cash.

He scans the street.

The Manhattan Savings Bank is at the end of the block.

***

Tanner enters the bank, playing “Billie Jean” at peak volume.

“Turn that thing down, kid,” a pot-bellied security guard barks. “This is a bank, not a disco.”

Tanner smiles slyly.

Michael Jackson’s “Hee… hee…hee…” is his reply.

The tellers, customers, and the grouchy security guard freeze.

“You’ve got three minutes and forty-four seconds,” Tanner says to himself.

Tanner bounces between the teller’s stations, emptying their registers.

***

Tanner looks around. “I’m still in Mount Kisco.”

He heads toward the newspaper stand to try to figure out what the date is. A Dunkin’ Donuts has replaced the newspaper stand. Heading inside, he buys a latte and checks the receipt. It’s marked March 24, 2025.

“Always March 24, and it’s always Mount Kisco. I can live with that.”

He checks into the local motel, counting his cash.

“…Nearly fifteen thousand. Not bad…Maybe I’ll go back tomorrow or hit a bank a few towns away. In the meantime…”

***

Salesman Kenny Carr gives Tanner an accommodating grin, counting the cash.

“Ten thousand.”

“I’ll bring the rest next week,” Tanner replies.

“You don’t have to. Most of our customers pay in installments.”

“I like settling my debts quickly.”

“No problem. Let me run this by my father and the credit manager and get you the keys.”

***

Karl Carr, the founder of Carr’s Cars, and Kenny Carr wave at Tanner as he drives off in a used Toyota Crown.

“Something’s been gnawing at me ever since I signed off on this deal, and it just hit me,” Karl says, rubbing his finger across his pencil-thin mustache.

“Yeah. All that cash usually means a drug dealer or some felon,” Kenny replies.

“It’s not just that. It was the bills themselves. They were all crisp, unused.”

“As in fresh from a bank?”

***

Tanner takes off his headphones and bites into his sirloin steak. He is enjoying his dinner in the hotel restaurant when two officers yank him out of his chair, stuff him in a patrol car, and drive him to the police station, where he stews inside an interrogation room for half an hour. The officers allow him to keep his Walkman, which is still attached to his belt.

Detective Garrett Goodman enters the room. The beefy, bald, Black detective frowns at Tanner, throwing a stack of money on the table.

“Recognize those bills?”

“No.”

“That’s the money you used to put a down payment on a car at Carr’s Cars. There’s a slight problem with your money. These bills are brand new and from a bank robbery that happened 30 years ago. Do you want to explain to me how they came to be in your possession?”

Tanner shrugs his shoulders.

“The good news for you is we ran your name. Just a few speeding tickets from way back in 1983. But you don’t look a day over thirty. Who knows? Maybe you’ve found the fountain of youth. So, I’m going to give you a few minutes to come up with an explanation as to who you really are and where you got the money.”

Detective Goodman stares Tanner down, exiting the room with a harsh grunt.

Tanner puts his headphones on and turns on the music.

Detective Goodman and his partner, Detective Fred Farina, stare at Tanner through the one-way mirror.

“Looks like we’ve got our own version of D.B. Cooper on our hands,” Farina comments.

“He’s too young to be a criminal mastermind. Look at him, cool and collected. Listening to music while his future hangs in the balance.”

Goodman and Farina remain frozen at the window as Tanner walks past them, past a pair of officers in the hallway, and past the sergeant at the front desk.

Three minutes and forty-four seconds later, Goodman and Farina rub their eyes, looking into the empty interrogation room.

***

Tanner drives to the house that his other self shares with Sophie. The two-story white colonial is now a green ranch-style home. Two Asian American children frolic in the yard as their proud parents watch over them.

Tanner sighs. “It’s changed again. Looks like I don’t have to run…Not as long as I’ve Billie Jean.”

***

He drives to the local park. Leonard Park had been his sanctuary as a teenager, a place where he could play the fool with his friends and exhale.

He watches a large family enjoying a picnic. Children play tag as parents and grandparents trade stories and barbecue.

One of the women is Sophie.

A man with glasses and a bushy grey mustache puts his arm around Sophie, pulling her close. He’s older, slightly bent, but it’s Ned Tobolowski.

“…Well, you wanted to change your life… Too bad you succeeded.”

Tanner takes the cassette player out of his pocket, putting on the headphones.

“…Hee…hee…hee...”

***

Officer Rex Reason looks inside the smashed Camaro as a pair of EMS technicians try to save the driver’s life.

“Billie Jean” blasts through the car’s speakers.

Rex notices a cassette on the ground near the driver’s door.

“I’m afraid he’s dead,” one of the EMS techs says. “Crushed by the steering wheel. I’m calling it at 3:44 a.m. on March 24, 1983. Do you know who he is?”

“A local kid. Tanner Tripp,” Rex replies, tossing the cassette aside.