The Unwritten Past

Mark walked up the cobblestone driveway. It was a slight incline and harder than it used to be. It was a nice house. Back home, it has far surpassed a million dollars; though everything is inflated now. To Mark, however, it had always been a million dollar house. At the very least, it was better than anything he grew up with.

This was the day, he told himself. There was nothing special about it. It was, simply, a day - a normal Sunday in the world. It was only the day because Mark decided so.

"He'll be here any minute," And by he, he meant himself. When he was in his twenties, almost all of Mark's Sundays were spent at his grandparents home by the river.

In these years, his grandpa got sick, but nobody knew it. It was slow. Nobody, not even his grandpa, could tell that it was there. By the time they found it and cured it, the damage the disease had caused was devastating. The fight to return to health - the rehabilitation - had been the final straw. And Grandpa died in the night.

There wasn't anything left unsaid between grandfather and grandson. Both of them knew the love they shared. They said it plenty. But Mark was young, and young men hold back. Mark had said what he wanted, but it never came out the way he wanted. The two of them were the same, however, so his grandpa knew what Mark meant.

Just because they understood the depth of each other's love didn't mean they were done. The thought plagued Mark for days that turned into weeks, and then months. The feeling dissipated as months became years, but when it showed the pain still felt like Day One without one of his closest friends. There were stories to tell. There were words Mark wanted to get down, so he would never forget. They could laugh and hug - which didn't seem like much at the time. But twenty years is a long time to go without seeing the most foundational people of your life.

So, Mark stood at the step of the dark brick home. He still remembered where he could sit without being seen through window or doorway. He crouched low behind a bannister and waited. He checked his phone. One thing that hadn't changed: he could still place his phone on Airplane Mode; he decided it was the safest thing to do. Hell, he didn't know how this would work. It was only his first time. He wasn't an expert! Bringing a phone of the '40s back into the '20s could fry the software. Or the power could rebound and wipe out Wifi networks. He didn't know. So - back in the year 2025 - his brand new phone was nothing more than a small clock with pictures.

He looked at the phone and tried to compare it's time from back home with what now appeared on his watch; the same way he sat in airports, looked at the phone, and tried to figure out what time it was for his wife back in Tennessee. Comparing it with the Time Watch, it seemed to be accurate. But the Time Watch was built for something larger than minutes and hours.

Staring at the lock screen forced Mark to see the picture of himself with his grandfathers on the night of his college graduation. He had three grandfathers, which was a miracle disguised as a gift. It was so rare to have three grandfathers. And to have them all well into his adulthood was something even more rare. He lost the last of them just two years ago. Mark's son was devastated.

By that point, there was truly nothing left unsaid between Mark and his grandfathers. Instead of a good time, or even a great time - which he often had with them - each moment was regarded as a special time. Every menial day became etched somewhere in his memory; and Mark made sure his son, Billy, kept that feeling inside him as well.

Yet, the only thing Grandpa Garrett could pass down to Billy were the stories told to him by Mark and others. Mark couldn't share Grandpa's laugh, however, or the way he told stories. Mark could only tell Billy what it was like to experience Grandpa Garrett tell stories. And even some of those faded from Mark's memory after twenty years.

This is why he came back - to change history. He would give himself the knowledge to stop what was coming. He and Grandpa Garrett were best friends. If he listened to anyone, it would be Mark. And, of course, Mark would listen to himself. He'd understand himself. Hell, he was a sci-fi geek. If anyone understood what he was doing, it would be him!

He had always been a sci-fi geek - something he shared with his other two grandfathers, but not so much with Grandpa Garrett. It made Mark laugh now, at the irony of it all. And then he smiled. After this, his grandpa would live to see him become that famous writer. Garrett could watch his grandson sit atop the Science Fiction genre.

Though - he put together slowly - the only reason Mark had moved to Nashville was to escape the sadness of Grandpa Garrett's death. The allure was untouched by his heartbreak. It felt like a place where stuff was happening. But it also felt safe, American, a little bit like whatever was missing in his heart.

It did heal his heart, too. Especially when he met Eleanora - the most beautiful woman either side of the Mississippi and a genius literary mind. By God's grace, Mark found she also had a huge heart, and would become a fantastic mother. Boy, Grandpa Garrett would love meeting her.

Then Mark started to wonder how that would work. Will his memories change on the spot? Did the movies get it right, and the two lives will live together in his head? Is he going to evaporate then and there and be back home with Eleanora in Nashville?

But if Grandpa Garrett didn't die, there would be no pain to escape. There would be no Nashville for Mark. Then there would be no career. No Eleanora. No Samantha and no Billy.

Of course, there was a good chance he would do it again just by fate. It was almost providence for him to be atop the genre. He's Mark Halverson! He had to have the amazing wife and the great kids. Everything that happened in his life - he began to realize - took him to where he was now.

No, he decided. He had come this far. He would not let some backward scientific theory stop him now. No one knew how this would work out. It was like life and death, itself. He wouldn't know until he'd done it. And there was a chance he wouldn't know after he'd done it. He looked at the time, again, on his phone.

There was that damn picture again. His Grandfathers were actually looking back at him now. Mark looked at it for a long time. If he didn't know - if he didn't remember - how would he know to write down the stories Grandpa Garrett had to share? How would he know to record the laugh? Would he ever realize just how precious the time was with the other two and acknowledge it with more reverence than a young man does with his best friends?

He had memories with Grandpa Garrett he cherished. He had memories with Grandpas Jack and Alex, as well. And Mark's memories with them extended well beyond the years with Garrett. It was very possible, those memories would now cease to exist. The precious moments never happened. There would be no lessons to pass down to a son, daughter, or wife that he may not have in the first place.

When it became clear what he had to do, Mark squirmed his body against the stone stairs to slide his phone back into it's holster. But when he tried to get up, his mind wouldn't let him; the feeling was too great. His bottom lip protruded, and Mark had no choice but to hang his head and sob. He covered his eyes as he wept. He cried for Grandpa Garrett. Then he wept for the memories of Grandpa Jack and Grandpa Alex, and the possibility of losing what they had. And, of course, he wept for the wife and children he risked for a dream that was futile from the beginning.

Mark could hear a car whip onto the street from several blocks away - the careless way a young man drives. So, he composed himself. With an ache and a moan - which had never happened to him on these steps - he rose and stared at the house. Suddenly, and without warning, his grandpa's great laugh rose from the back of the house, into family room, and even seemed to shake the windows.

Mark's face reddened. He wanted to cry again. But this time, he was happy. That was enough. He remembered the time on the phone, so he could come back to this moment whenever he wanted. He kept staring at the house and saw all the good times he and Grandpa Garrett had. Meanwhile, his hand strolled across the opposite wrist. It turned the dial back and forth, three times. His thumb pressed down, and he faded home as the tires rolled over the lip. Mark walked up the cobblestone driveway.