Oliver (6): Time travel remote (6)

The Great Re-Do

I missed him the first time. I was supposed to go to the convention, to stand in line with hundreds of others to get my favorite issue of Spider Man signed, but everything got in the way. First it was my sister, who needed a ride to school, and then I realized I didn't feel well. I was stuck in the restroom while hundreds of others piled past him.

My best friend was one of them. Best wishes, Stan Lee got thrown in my face over and over and over those next few days. He couldn't stop telling me the story of how it happened, a story that got more and more exaggerated the more he told it. I was there for each telling, like for the one where he said the legend behind some of the world's most prized superheroes chose him to be the next one.

"You'll be the next star, the next Chosen One. I can see it now—"

Stan Lee apparently said that, but I knew the truth. My friend stood in line with all the others, got his signature, and choked out a thank you if they could (but most of them couldn't). If I wasn't trapped on the porcelain throne, I would've been the same way back then.

But I'm not nineteen anymore. I'm getting old, way too old to be doing conventions, not that I'd have the chance anyway. Stan Lee passed away years ago, succumbing to old age the way we all will one day, and I never got to meet him. He never came anywhere near Metropolis again, and then he stopped doing conventions all together aside from some panel discussions. It was a sad day when he passed, but I knew what I could do.

Time travel technology really changed the world, so much so that governments swooped in and started controlling it from day one. As soon as the permits went live, the server crashed and took fifteen days to start back up. They issued lotteries after that: Win a slot, fill out your permit, and then you wait your turn. It was a special program, one that the rich took full advantage of. I wasn't rich, however, so I knew to wait my turn.

Laverne studied me in the living room one morning as I waited for the next announcement to go live. She sighed as she sat down in her chair, "So, what did you put down on your permit?"

"What?" I asked, taken aback by the question. We'd filled those permits out years ago at this point, but she'd never asked me what I put down before now.

She asked again, "What did you put down on your permit paperwork?"

"Well what did you put down?" I countered, knowing she'd probably think my answer was stupid. Laverne hated comic books. In fact, when the girls were growing up, she banned them from the house for a few years. I might've gotten Frankie hooked if she would've let me.

Laverne grinned and shook her head, "I'm not telling you. You'll think it's stupid."

"You'll think mine is stupid," I argued.

"Try me!"

"I want to meet Stan Lee," I replied, putting down my tablet and looking her in the eye, "I never got to meet him, and I just have to, okay? I just have to."

"You can't get anything signed—"

"I don't intend to. I just want to go up to him and shake his hand," I interrupted, standing up, "I want to thank him for being there for me when I was a scared boy dodging bullies on the streets. If it weren't for his comics, you never would've met me. Some jock would've crammed me in a gutter, but no, he taught me to believe in myself."

"See? Mine is stupid compared to yours," Laverne sighed, curling up in her chair.

"Well what is it then? You asked me and I told you, so what about yours?" I asked.

She grinned, "I want to see my childhood cat again, Whiskers. He was so—"

Well she wasn't wrong.

The announcements were given as a long written bulletin, and finding your name wasn't easy. For one, the site didn't allow any funny business. Frankie taught me long ago to pull things up on the laptop and use ctrl+f to find things. That didn't work here, not on a poorly done government website.

But my name was among those picked, so when I eventually found it, I celebrated. I hugged Laverne and jumped around like a little kid, but then I got down to business. I called the hotline number, and soon I was assigned a case manager, a date, and a time. I wrote down the appointment before programming it into my phone with about fifty different reminders. I was not missing this appointment.

The day of, I wore my best suit. I arrived and made my way to the case manager's office. Well, it was a cubicle the size of a bathroom stall, but it was still an office. She shook my hand and went over the rules:

Time travelers were not allowed, not under any circumstances, to do anything outside of the script. The case manager would travel with us and follow us through every moment. If you tried to escape from the case manager, you would be terminated (I decided not to ask what that meant).

Time travelers could not bring or take anything on their trip. Not one single thing could be taken to the time you picked, nor could anything be brought back. In my case, she would take a picture on a decoy camera that would be considered accurate for the time period, then we'd leave as soon as we found privacy.

Time travelers couldn't try to change history. If I were meeting an old politician or anything like that, I would only be able to view them from afar. I could not attend any historic event and actually be part of it—none of these things applied to me, but she had to read them anyway.

With that out of the way, I had to sign a lengthy contract in multiple places. I also had to give them permission to do a physical, which took place that afternoon. Once everything was in order, I was allowed to return home.

"We'll call you when it's time," the case manager assured me, so I went home and hoped it would be a short wait.

When the day came, I reported to the time travelers bureau and received my briefing. I was given an outfit of clothes to wear, which was all items that could be found in that time period, and I was given very strict instructions on what to do, how to act, and how I shouldn't behave. With everything complete, my case manager and I reported to a room. After a flash, we arrived at the Metropolis Superdome, home of the Metropolis Comic Convention.

We already had badges for the event, so the case manager led me to the line. Three people ahead of me, I recognized my friend from years ago. He was jumping up and down as he waited for his turn. I sat back and said nothing, but there was a silly grin on my face. I would finally learn what happened that fateful day.

The line moved slowly as people did more things. Some just wanted him to sign something from a franchise he'd made, but others wanted signatures and photographs. Signs displayed around the area named the costs for everything, but the case manager was in charge of that—money was on the list of contraband items, but if we needed to do anything that required money, the bureau would provide it.

As we inched along, I kept an eye on my friend. He was getting more and more antsy, but he had always been a little hyperactive. It was a tic of his that only got worse the more nervous he was, and this was no exception.

When he finally reached Stan Lee in all his glory, he sputtered out words so fast that Stan Lee clearly didn't hear him. He nodded and shook his hand like any good celebrity, but I knew that signature was just his go-to for guys like him. He handed the comic back to him and nodded, signaling the next person to go.

My friend walked away in shock, staring down at the comic. He was staring and walking at the same time, not a good combination at an event like this. He instantly ran headlong into a huge guy in a Hulk costume, and apparently Hulk was his spirit animal. The guy tossed my friend to the side, and I had to put my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out with laughter. It took security a long time to pull them apart—

—and then it was my turn. I stepped up and shook Stan Lee's hand.

"Do you mind if I get a photo with you?" I asked.

"Not at all. Did you have a good trip?" he asked right as the camera flashed.

"I beg your pardon?" I whispered, looking as he smiled.

Stan Lee laughed, "You're not the first. I'm glad you thought of me however many years it took. It's good to know no one ever forgot."

"How—?"

But my time was up. My case manager pulled me along, and in the privacy between two booths, we returned to my current timeline. The photograph was destroyed on the return trip, but I didn't care. I finally got to meet the legendary Stan Lee, and somehow that man knew. Somehow that man knew everything.

~End

A/N: Piece 35 of 100 for my 10x10 Challenge. For more info, see my profile.

So it's the end of an era. I'll be honest with you guys and admit that comic books were never really my thing. I'd seen certain movies growing up, but it just never stuck out to me. I know some of you live and breathe comics, and I tried to learn about them so I could bond with you guys.

Well I met Stan Lee during that time of learning. The guy was a legend. Honestly, with all these upcoming cameos we have to look forward to, he will still be a legend until the last image of him emerges before our eyes. He did that for us, I think. He knew it was important to make himself known.

I feel like he'd know somehow if we ever did get the technology to travel back in time. Something about people would jump out at him, and he'd realize someone came back in time just to see him, and I think it would make him smile. I don't think he set out to change the world when he started, but he did anyway and he embraced his role. On this sad day, I think he did his best to leave us in good hands. RIP, Stan Lee. You'll always be close to us in our hearts.