1993

"What's a groove thing," Simon asked, "and how do you shake it?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, but I'm glad I wasn't born till the end of the Seventies. It's a fashion disaster down there. My dad does not look good in polyester."

"Do you think in twenty years, we'll have Nineties parties?"

"God, I hope not," said Dash. "If I ever do anything that looks like that, shoot me. I mean it. I'd rather die than embarrass myself like that."

"Ah, they're just having fun," I said.

We were sitting at the top of the stairs, watching my parents and their friends disco-dancing the night away. It was pretty embarrassing, all right, but they didn't seem to mind.

"Maybe nostalgia's not such a bad thing," I added. "Although if we ever do have a party like this, at least we could pick a decade with better fashion sense."

"Yeah, whatever." Dash stood up. "I'm done watching Saturday Night Fever, The Senior Years. You coming, or do I have to watch Buckaroo Banzai save the universe all by myself?"

Simon and I looked at each other and shrugged. "Okay," I said.

"I meant what I said, by the way. I am never, ever, doing anything that undignified. Not if my life depended on it."

Present Day

"Do you think the posters are too much?" Sylvie asked me.

I looked around. "I don't even know what half these movies are."

"I asked the man at the shop for everything from the Eighties. This is what he gave me. I don't know what they are, either, but I think they help set the tone. Or should we have more streamers?"

"Where did you find neon streamers?"

"At the party shop. They have them in all colors."

"I should have guessed."

"I've got the cake!" Simon came rushing in, carrying a rectangular white box. "Where should I put it?"

"Let me see it first," I said.

He brought it over and opened the box. Written across the bright green frosting was HAPPY SORT OF BIRTHDAY DASH! 38?

"Sort of birthday?" Sylvie frowned at the inscription.

"Well, see," I explained, "we don't know when Dash's actual birthday is, or how old he is. So he picked a date at random. One that wasn't too close to the holidays, didn't have anything else going on, and wouldn't interfere with anyone else's birthday. We think he's a year older than me, but we can't be sure."

"It seems strange to celebrate on a date that may be the wrong day," she observed.

"Better than him having no birthday at all."

"That is true."

The doorbell rang, signaling the first of our many guests. Most of them were dressed in something resembling Eighties fashion-neon, spandex, parachute pants, shoulder pads, and the ever-popular Members Only jackets. Eerie's vintage clothes shop, Throwback, must have done a booming business all week long.

"Is this a surprise party?" Melanie asked. She and her husband were done up as Sean Penn and Madonna.

"Not really," I said. "Since the theme was his idea and all."

"I thought he hated nostalgia."

"Only the dumb stuff. Sixties is kind of cool, Seventies is embarrassing, but Eighties rocks!"

"What kind of nostalgia parties will our kids have, do you think?"

"I don't know. I think the best decades ended with the twentieth century. But who am I to judge?"

The party was supposed to start at eight, and everyone was there by ten past. Dash, in his characteristic style, didn't show up till eight-thirty; he likes to make a big entrance.

"Hey, hey, awesome people!" He was all dressed up in 80's metal style, leather pants, chains, scarves, and all. On anyone else it would have looked silly, but he made it look really cool. Still, I was glad I had gone with something a bit more conventional.

Dana was hanging on his arm, her hair teased up as big as she could get it, her neon jelly bracelets dancing. "This looks great," she said. "Just like my sister's parties back in the day."

We cranked the music up as loud as the neighbors would allow us, and danced the night away. Or at least, danced until eleven o'clock came and we had to get back to our kids. It was a very nice party; it was great to see everyone, and no one made a spectacle of themselves or drank too much and got rowdy.

It was when everyone got their coats and started out the door that things got weird.

"Good night," I said to each of my friends as I ushered them out the door. "Thanks for coming. Great seeing you, Brian."

"Hey, where's my car?" He peered past me, keys in hand.

"It should be right where you left it, shouldn't-?" I looked out the door at the empty driveway. Not even our own car was there.

But that wasn't the worst thing.

"Forget the car," said Emily Montclair, who lived across the street. "Where's my house?"

A state of panic had descended over the remains of what had not too long ago been a lively birthday party.

"My kids!" Andrea was frantically dialing her phone and getting only an out-of-service tone in response. "Why can't I get a signal?"

"Go check the Wi-Fi," Sylvie advised me.

So I went into my office to check the computer, and . . . it wouldn't turn on. The power was fine; the lights came on when I flipped the switch. But there were no lights on the router, and the desktop wouldn't boot up at all.

I tried my smartphone; it showed no bars at all, and the little symbol for Wi-Fi connection was missing. Something was up.

I came back out and said, "Our router appears to be down. You can use the house phone if you need to make a call."

"That's not all that's down." Melanie's husband (I'd been introduced earlier but had completely forgotten his name) was flipping around channels on the TV. More than half of them were static. "I can't get anything but the basic channels."

"Wait-go back," Simon said suddenly. "Wow, I haven't seen that show in a long time!"

"Yeah, no wonder," said Melanie's husband. (Brad? Brent? I'd remember eventually.) "Look at the logo in the corner. Channel 42."

"Didn't they get bought out by WB?" asked Todd. "Like, fifteen years ago?"

"Maybe it's some kind of retrospective," I mused. "Or a documentary. This has to be old footage."

That's what we thought, until the commercial came on-a commercial for the 1987 Honda Civic. And it didn't look like archive footage that someone had dug up. It looked brand new. After that came a toy commercial, for a doll with streaks in her hair and a rap-rock boombox. I remembered Syndi having one of those when we were kids.

"What is going on here?" I went and looked out the door again, hoping that we'd been seeing things the first time and everything would be normal again.

No such luck. Instead of Emily's house, with its white picket fence and two-car garage, there was only an empty field. Our house was the only one on the whole street.

Our guests were approaching a state of panic, worrying about getting back to their kids, their pets, their lives. What could I do? What could I tell them when I didn't really understand what was going on myself?

"Everybody shut up!" Simon shouted. He picked up the phone and dialed the number for the current time and date. Nobody had bothered with it in years, since our phones always told us the day and time. But right now, our phones were no help.

He listened for a minute, and then he hit the button for the speaker phone. At least that was still working.

"Today is Friday, September nineteenth, nineteen eighty-six. At the tone, the time will be eleven-oh-seven."

He hung up. The room was dead silent.

Someone had to say something. So I broke the silence by saying, "Listen, everybody!"

Their eyes turned to me.

"I don't know how it happened, but it seems we've gone back in time. The house seems to be intact, but everything around it has changed. Somehow we were moved backwards in time, and if we can figure out how it happened, maybe we can reverse the process. I know you're all worried about your families and your homes. Let's assume for now that 2016 is still there, still waiting for us, up ahead. Everyone there is safe. We need to find a way to get us back there as soon as possible."

"I know someone who can help us," Dash said. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Who do we know who's around now and knows all about time warps and weird space stuff?"

"William Shatner?" Simon guessed.

Dash gave him a frustrated look. "I think you left your brain in 2016," he said. "Marshall, you come with me. He likes you."

"He doesn't even know me!"

"He will. Come on."

I knew where we were going, although I'd only been there once, back when we were kids. The Loyal Order of Corn was still in the same place, exactly where it had been since 1908.

"You sure he'll be here?"

"Positive," Dash assured me. "He's got a room in the back where he keeps all his stuff. Doesn't sleep much, I guess."

"And you know this how?"

"He gave me the tour when he hired me."

"Six years from now. Hey, wouldn't it be amazing if you ran into yourself here?"

"Not this time of night. I'd be in bed by now." He approached the service door and knocked on it.

The door was opened almost immediately. Ned gave us the once-over and said, "We're closed!"

"Ned, come on. We need your help."

"I have no idea who you are . . . or why you're dressed like that. Did you get lost on your way to a Head and the Bangers concert?"

"We're lost, all right," I said. "In time. Let us in and we'll explain everything."

"Oh, dear," he said. "I was afraid of this. Well, come on in. We don't have a lot of time, so talk fast."

Dash went straight to the bar and poured himself a stiff drink. "Aah," he sighed. "The good stuff. Only the best for the members, right, Ned?"

"I still don't know who you are or what you're doing here."

"Maybe this will help." Dash put down the glass and slowly removed his fingerless black leather gloves. He held up his hands and turned them around so the backs were showing. "Recognize these?"

Ned saw the mathematical symbols and went pale. "Where did you get those tattoos? And why?"

"I don't know. See, I don't think they're tattoos. I think they're brands. Someone or something burned these into my hands so that they could find me again. And I know you have the same marks. No matter what you told me before, I think we're connected. So you have to help us. We just want to go home."

Ned looked serious. "If what you're saying is true, young man, then it's more important than ever that I help you. Come with me."

I knew where we were going. I'd been there before, but only by accident. This time, I was determined not to touch anything.

The Inner Sanctum, or Control Center, or whatever it was, was exactly as I remembered it. The screen was there, but it was dark. I wasn't about to try and turn it on.

Quickly I explained to Ned what had happened to us. Dash confirmed everything I told him. "You think I dress like this all the time?" he quipped.

"I was running an experiment earlier this evening," Ned explained, "using tachyons. You know what those are?"

I nodded. "Particles that travel in time."

"My hypothesis is this: the tachyons I was manipulating somehow crossed with the vibrations from your music, and dragged you back here. Now, I think I can reverse the effect, but I'll need your help. If you can provide the proper vibrations, I'll come through with the tachyons. But we don't have a lot of time."

He pointed to the clock on the wall. It was twenty past eleven. "The experiment will be carried out at precisely midnight. I can't wait any longer than that. If you and your friends can keep up the music-music from your era-long enough, I can get you back. But you must be in place by midnight!"

"We've got time," I said. "Thanks, Ned. See you in about six years."

"I just have one question." Dash looked the older man straight in the eye. "Am I . . . you? I mean, do I grow up to be you?"

Ned just smiled and shook his head. "A simple explanation, but sadly, incorrect. I'm sorry, my boy. I'm sure you'll find out who you really are soon enough. Now hurry home and start making some vibrations!"

When we got home, Dana met us at the door and told us we had a problem.

"Andrea left," she said.

"What do you mean, left?" Dash asked her.

"She said something about her kids and took off running."

"Great," I muttered. I glanced at my watch: eleven-thirty. "We'll never catch her on foot. She medaled in track all through high school."

"If only we had a car."

Simon came up to us, grinning from ear to ear. "I know where we can get a car," he said.

I knew where we were going as soon as he told us. After all, I'd lived next door for years. Even though I knew we wouldn't move into the house for years, I still glanced over at the second-floor window that had been/would be my room and wondered if my own kids were okay.

"My dad was always leaving his keys in the car," Simon explained as he groped around in the bushes. "So my mom hid an extra set of keys out here . . . somewhere . . . got 'em!" He emerged clutching a shiny set of keys with a fob advertising Donato Ford, which had closed down in 2002.

"Gimme those." Dash reached for the keys, but I took them instead.

"No way. I'm driving."

"You drive like an old lady! You heard what Ned said-we don't have a lot of time!"

"I know that! Now get in the car."

He went around to the passenger side, but Simon got there first. "I've never in my life ridden in the front seat of this car," he said. "Please?"

Dash sighed, like it was a big imposition for him to change seats. "Fine. How're we gonna get the car back?"

"We don't have to. When I was a little kid, our car got stolen. It turned up on the other side of town the next morning. The cops said someone must have gone for a joyride. We just leave the car, and they'll find it in the morning. The perfect crime."

I tried to insert the key into the ignition, but it was the wrong one. "Wow, they had different keys for the door locks and the ignition? Weird."

"After the car got stolen, Dad kept the two keys on different keyrings. That way, if someone tried to steal the car, they could get in but they couldn't start the car. Or vice-versa."

"Which way is Andrea's house?" I asked.

"Two blocks south of Nichols Street," Simon directed me.

"Can we cut down Champion and cut her off?"

"Only if you want to drive through an open field," said Dash. "They haven't built Champion Street yet. Stick to the main roads."

I was struck by how quiet everything was. Even though it was late at night, there was usually some traffic on the roads, coming home from somewhere. The streets were as empty as a ghost town.

"Hey, there she is!" Simon spotted Andrea, running along the side of the road with her spike heels clutched in one hand.

"She's gonna ruin her stockings that way," I said. I pulled alongside her and rolled the window down. "Andrea!" I said. "Get in!"

She stopped and looked at me in utter astonishment. "Marshall? Where'd you get the car?"

"We, um, borrowed it. Come on, we have to get back to my house before midnight!"

"I have to go check on my kids!"

"Your kids are fine, up the time stream. I promise you, I'll get you back to your kids, but you have to come with us now. We have to be back by midnight or it won't work."

"What won't?"

"I'll explain later." I reached for the door lock button, but there weren't any. "How do I unlock the door?"

"Like this, genius." Dash reached over and pulled up the button.

"Thanks, man. Move over so Andrea can get in."

"But there's a baby seat here!"

"There's room! You'll fit! Move!"

Grumbling, Dash slid over and made room. He was stuck with his feet on the hump and his knees up around his ears, but he put up with it on the short ride home.

We left the car at the end of the street and ran back. Hopefully no one else had abandoned ship while we were gone.

"Everyone!" I called out as soon as we were through the door. "I know how to get us back, but I need your help." I outlined the basics of our situation and Ned's plan. "We need some music from our era. Anyone have some new tunes on their phones? I'll hook you up." Thankfully I'd used a docking speaker instead of Bluetooth, a technology that hadn't been invented yet.

"I've got a playlist my kids made me," Andrea said, unlocking her phone and handing it over. "Are you sure we'll get back?"

"Positive." The list looked good; I didn't recognize half the artists, but hopefully the songs would have some good vibrations. I docked it and hit Play.

"Pull the blinds down!" I called to Sylvie and Melanie, who were near the front windows. "I have a feeling that whenever whatever it is happens, we won't want to see it."

They looked at me strangely, but closed the blinds anyway. Why take chances?

I looked at the clock on the cable box: 11:59. "Okay, hit it!"

And the music played. Some of us danced. Some just waited for whatever it was to happen.

"I'll tell you one thing," said Dash, as Dana leaned on his arm. "This is one birthday I'll never forget."

I didn't feel any sense of movement, but then, I hadn't when we traveled back, either. The playlist was fourteen minutes long. When the music shut off, another sound shrilled into our ears.

The trill of a ringtone.

It was followed by various beeps and chirps of text messages and online alerts. Distantly, I heard the whirr of the Wi-Fi booting up again.

"Open the blinds," I said, afraid to look myself. Maybe we'd gone too far and there would be flying cars and killer robots. Maybe we'd somehow gone further back and would all be devoured by a rampaging T-Rex. I wouldn't know till I looked.

Sylvie let out a sigh of relief. "It's back," she said. "It's all back. The cars, the houses . . . all of it. We're home."

I glanced up for a second. Though I knew he couldn't hear me, having gone back to his home planet a long time ago, I said, "Thanks, Ned."

Nostalgia is fun, but you wouldn't want to really live in the past. Enjoy the here and now. As Billy Joel once said, "The good old days weren't always good, and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems."