Me, As I Was

The lobby had old-fashioned wooden chairs and tables, flowery wallpaper, and antique light fixtures.

"What the hell is going on?" I muttered.

I noticed a few people in the lobby dressed in clothes that I could only attribute to the early 2000s. Some of the fashion was also common in the middle of the 2020s, but the furniture and decorations were definitely from at least the 1990s.

I stood there for a moment, trying to process everything that had happened.

The falling elevator, the encounter with the woman and the inexplicable feeling of displacement.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

I approached the front desk, where an older man in a crisp suit was busy writing something in a ledger. He looked up at me and smiled politely.

"Good evening, sir. How may I assist you?"

I hesitated for a moment, "Where am I?" I asked.

"Sir, you are at the Bank of America Center. Is everything alright?"

I nodded slowly, trying to make sense of it all.

"Yeah, I just... everything looks different."

"We strive to maintain a classic ambiance here. Is there anything specific you need assistance with?"

"No, I just need a moment to gather my thoughts."

The man behind the desk tilted his head slightly with a concerned look on his face.

"Orlando is a big city. Did you get lost, perhaps? Should I call someone?"

"No, that's not necessary." I answered.

The man nodded, still looking slightly worried.

"Very well. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

I thanked the man and turned away.

Why would he think that I got lost? I'm not a child anymore.

Wait... don't tell me.

I remembered the woman in the elevator referring to me as a "young man."

Sure, I've always looked a bit younger than my age, and I'm not about to deny that I'm handsome, but I'm 49!

I'm no young man.

But then my eyes landed on the mirror on the other side of the lobby.

I almost dropped to my knees.

I quickly rushed to the window and slowly put my hand on my face.

The reflection staring back at me was startling.

The young man in the mirror had a youthful face with lush blonde hair neatly combed, framing his features. His body was slim yet athletic, and his shoulders squared confidently.

His eyes were a piercing blue, wide with surprise and confusion.

I blinked, trying to reconcile the image with my own self-perception. It was like looking at someone else entirely.

Yet, strictly speaking, the young man in the mirror was me. I, as I was many years ago. Someone who wasn't ravished by the stress and hardships of life.

"I had made a leap in time," I muttered to myself, staring at the reflection in disbelief.

The evidence was undeniable—I had gone back in time, at least 30 years into the past.

But how was that possible?

My mind raced through possible explanations.

How had this happened?

I turned around to look at the damn elevator that started it all. I approached it and reached for the card in my pocket to call the elevator. 

I patted down my jeans—shit... jeans!

I was struck dumb by the realization that the version of me from this time period wouldn't have access to that card. 

I cursed under my breath. This was no dream or prank. I had somehow been transported to the past, and now I was stuck without a way back.

I found a nearby table and slumped into a chair, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

But then it hit me.

Why was I so focused on going back?

Wasn't this a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity rather than a punishment?

As I leaned back in my chair, I thought about what might be possible. Is this fate's way of giving me another chance?

Questions began to flood my mind. What year was it? What was I doing at the time? And more importantly, how did I end up in Orlando in the first place?

I collected my thoughts, calmed my nerves and thought about what to do next. 

Feeling around in my pockets, my fingers brushed against something. Pulling it out, I was stunned to find a phone—a Nokia 5210.

I was immediately swept away by nostalgia.

It was a sleek grey model. Something my father, Derek, had bought me back in high school. 

It was rugged, with a sturdy build and distinctive rubberized casing that made it easy to grip. It was a cherished possession from my youth. 

I almost shed a tear. Back then, life seemed simpler.

Not everyone had a phone back then; some still used pagers, but the cool kids played Snake during boring classes, and I guess I was one of them.

Well... maybe without the cool part.

I managed to turn on the phone, though it had been a while since I held one in my hands. As it powered up, I saw there were two missed calls in the last 20 minutes from someone named Jacob McCoy.

McCoy...

I remember that name!

He was my friend in high school, if I could even call him that. After graduation, we exchanged messages for a few weeks before going our separate ways. I never heard from him again after that.

Why would he call me right now? Just don't tell me that I disappeared right in front of his eyes or something like that.

I called him back.

As soon as the phone rang, he picked up.

"Dude! Where the hell are you?"

"I'm... at the Bank of America."

"Shut the front door. The teachers are freaking out looking for you. You better bounce back here fast."

"Back where?"

"At Eola Park, duh! We were supposed to go, but they couldn't find you. Get your ass over here."

"Alright," I answered, then disconnected the call.

I stood up and headed for the exit door.

As I walked, a thought crossed my mind. In the next few years, this building will undergo a major renovation. The claim about maintaining a classic ambiance was just another way of saying they didn't have the money to renovate right now.

Stepping outside, the sight of the past greeted me.

Cars with boxy, unpolished designs lined the streets. Toyota Camry, Ford F250, Ford Taurus.

In the early 2030s, flowing, water-like designs gained popularity, along with a trend toward simplicity and minimalism.

The buildings, too, were unrenovated and looked aged, not how I remembered them.

At least now I knew what time this was.

This was the tour of Orlando I did back in my senior year of high school.

Judging by the weather, this must have been done later in the school year. That means the year is undoubtedly 2002.

The year of my high school graduation.

I quickly turned right on the pavement outside the Bank of America and headed for Eola Park. Thankfully, I knew all the twists and turns of this city, and the park wasn't far away.

It's not that I wanted to continue this school trip, but I wasn't even an adult at this time. I was barely 17, and escaping would get me into big trouble.

As I walked, I thought back to my late high school years. I had a very interesting teacher in physics, Mr. Roosevelt. He taught all the things in the books but often went off topic about less accepted and unproven theories like transcendental meditation, string theory, and quantum physics.

He would talk about how in college he would try different things where his mind would feel like it was moving away from his body, either physically or morally, and how his mind would stray when he was dreaming.

He talked about parallel universes or timelines, that were out there for him to follow.

Back then, I thought he must have been taking drugs and was a sick person with nothing else to do in his life.

But now, I don't know anymore.

Jacob called me once again on the way. The teachers told him to make sure that I could find my way to the park.

A minute later, I came to the parking lot of the park, where two school buses were parked and teens waited inside and outside, forming groups.

There were two teachers waiting around, and soon enough, one of them noticed me.

Mrs. Sacker. She had short brown hair flipped on the ends and was wearing a dress with a floral print with spaghetti straps and a pair of sandals.

She ran over quickly, and her face showed a mix of relief and frustration. Her wrinkles betrayed her age.

"Jack Somnus! Where were you?!"

"At the Bank of America," I answered.

There was a look of bewilderment on her face.

"Why?!"

"I wanted to visit it," I said. There was no other reason I could make up.

"I'm responsible for you. Why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm really sorry," I said genuinely. I didn't want to get this lady into any trouble. I remembered her as a good teacher.

She paused and then said, "I will not make trouble for you, as there is only a month left until graduation, but you should know better as someone who is about to be an adult."

I nodded. "I understand. It won't happen again."

She sighed, her anger softening a bit.

"Just get back with the group."

I walked past Mrs. Sacker, and as I got closer to the buses, feelings of unreality washed over me yet again. I was seeing people I hadn't seen in years. But I was seeing them as they were then, not as my mind was telling me they should look now.

"Everyone, get on the buses!" a teacher yelled.

Everyone, boys and girls, walked up to the buses in groups of three, four, or even six.

I saw Mark Johnson (no, not THE Johnson), who would join the Navy after graduation and be killed in a ship accident.

I saw Emma Thompson, a skinny, nerdy, friendless girl who would go to dental school and work as an orthodontist. As her body filled out in college, she also became more attractive and would go on to marry a famous lawyer.

I saw Julie Carter, one of the best-looking girls in the school, giggling with some of the other elite. Julie, I knew, would marry a guy who turned out to be a deadbeat and have four kids before divorcing him.

During that period, she would get overweight and lose all those good looks.

Eventually, she would end up living in a small apartment with another guy who wasn't much better.

I saw lots of others I hadn't thought of in years and others whose faces I recognized but whose names I could not come up with.

As I passed by Julie Carter and her group, one of her friends glanced in my direction and muttered something to the others, causing the others to giggle.

I had been shy back in high school, a phase I'd gotten over later in life. But as a result of this shyness, I was being picked on a little, although because of my good looks, it wasn't as bad as some of the other guys.

However, there was one regret that I had when it came to my younger years. I didn't manage to get myself laid until the late years at the university.

But I wasn't shy now, was I?

Although I intended to do as much good with the gift I had been given-there were so many things I could change or prevent now that I had pre-knowledge of it—it certainly wouldn't hurt to have a little fun, would it? Of course not.

I would be lying if I said that my attention wasn't distracted by the girls. Yet, something in my mind stopped me. Some of them were barely adults, if even that.

And from another perspective, I was a teenager again...

But was this really something I should be doing with this gift?

It was tempting to let loose, to relive those moments of youthful excitement, but controlling my hormones seemed the wiser choice.

At least at the moment, there were bigger things to focus on, changes to make, and events to prevent, if possible.

Jacob McCoy approached me with an easygoing grin. It was good to see this guy again.

His jet-black hair was meticulously styled with gel. He was a tall guy. I was already quite tall, around 6'2'' (1.86m) , but this guy was still two or three inches taller than me.

"Yo, you done and fucked up, dude. What did the teacher say?" he said, flashing a quick grin.

"Nothing much. I said sorry and she let me go."

Jacob nodded, slapping me on the shoulder as we headed towards the buses. "Smooth move, bro. Let's find a spot up front."

We made our way to the front of the bus, passing by groups of students who were already settled in. The popular kids had claimed the back seats, of course. 

We found a pair of empty seats and sat down.

Anyway, I got the information I needed. Mrs. Sacker said it's a month before graduation, so this must be the beginning of May or the end of April in 2002.

Fortunately, I won't need to retake the SAT exam I took in August 2001 at the beginning of my senior year.

But why am I even worrying about this?

With my background in economics and analysis, there should be no problem in retaking it.

On the other hand, I've forgotten so much from my high school days...

I must have also already applied to the economics department at the University of Florida a few months ago, so I will probably continue on that route.

I could just completely change my future and abandon everything I've done in my previous timeline, but I would be kicking myself for the rest of my life if I did that.

Let's see... May 2002...

I felt a smile beginning to form on my face. My whole life, I studied the markets, but now, I realized I wouldn't need to predict market movements anymore. I already knew them.

With the condition that I avoid making significant changes to the future through my actions, there are virtually no limits to what I could accomplish.

I could even become the earth's richest man if I so desired.