3

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels
I look around for the friends that I used to turn to to pull me through
Looking into their eyes I see them running too
(Jackson Browne)

Kyle must have been watching for him through the window because he opened his front door a moment before Stan's knuckles would have rapped on it, stepping halfway outside and blocking him from coming in. "Since when do you knock, Stan? You always just walk in…you know that." Kyle spotted the guitar Stan was failing to hide behind him. "And why did you bring that over here?"

Stan lowered the hand he had been about to knock with. "Kyle…" Stan shook his head and looked at their feet. "I really need to talk to you."

Kyle's eyes narrowed, taking in Stan's obvious nervousness. He looked over his shoulder into his house, then stepped back through the door, ushering Stan inside. "All right…come on."

Stan followed him into the house, and they hurried up the stairs; he could hear Kyle's parents talking in the kitchen, but they ignored them as they climbed the steps and walked down the hall and into his room. Stan couldn't help but look around in wonder at Kyle's childhood bedroom as he closed the door behind them. It was much as he remembered it, yet there were things he'd forgotten as well: The small TV on the dresser (replaced in a few years with a much larger one); the Terrance and Phillip posters; and Kyle's desk was smaller than he remembered. Most notably, there was no computer on it.

"Okay Stan." Kyle sat down on his bed. "Talk to me. What's going on…and why did you bring your guitar over here?"

Stan was still trying to figure out where he wanted to sit, given the choices between next to Kyle on his bed, cross-legged on the floor, or in the chair in front of the desk. He thought at one time he would have chosen the bed. He finally sat down on the floor, holding the guitar in his lap like he would a large puppy. Kyle was waiting for an answer, and he dreaded having to explain this in his still-unfamiliar voice.

"Dude…" Stan winced at the sound of his own voice. "I don't know how to tell you this, except…something really big's happened to me." He looked up and met Kyle's eyes looking back at him, and looked down again; one of Kyle's shoe laces was untied. "Kyle… I don't think you'll believe me if I just tell you…" His breath hitched. Why can't I just fucking talk to him? This should be easy; he'd wanted this, dreamed of it, for years, to be back here again. Everything was supposed to feel right, but it felt completely wrong instead. He already hated how this conversation was going. And why is his goddam shoelace untied? "But I really need you to believe me right now, because I'm kind of scared, and I don't know…" He clutched his guitar tighter.

Kyle leaned forward, now obviously worried. "Stan…it's just us in here. You're acting like you're scared to talk to me. You can tell me anything, you know. You said something happened to you this morning?"

"Yeah. Um…something happened, just before you woke up."

Kyle waited for him to continue, and when he didn't he sighed. "Okay, dude…look." Kyle scooted forward and stood, leaving his bed to sit down on the carpet next to Stan, close enough that their knees were inches apart. Thank God. "Stan… whatever this is, I can tell it's serious. Do you want to talk to one of my parents or something?"

"No!" Stan said loudly, then repeated in a whisper: "No." That idea was unthinkable. Except for during breakfast this morning, he hadn't seen Sheila in over a decade; the Gerald from this morning was unrecognizable from the one he barely knew anymore in that other life. He would have no idea how to talk to either of them. "Kyle…what happened isn't really bad…but it's something huge, and it's really fucking with me right now, okay? And…I need to talk to you, Kyle. And I, ah…I'm going to need your help."

"You know I'll do anything I can, Stan."

That one sentence made Stan breathe easier.

"Kyle, look… I don't know exactly how this happened. It's something I wanted, but I didn't think it could ever really happen. Except it did…and I don't think you'll believe me if I just tell you, but…I'm gonna try and prove it, all right?"

He lifted the guitar into playing position and set his fingertips over the frets. "Uh…when was the last time I played this for you?" He strummed a simple C chord. Strangely, the frets felt as if they were the perfect distance apart; it was his hand that was a little too small, but the strings rang out perfectly. He reminded himself that this was something he could do. More importantly, this was Kyle sitting on the floor in front of him, the Kyle who had once been more like a brother to him than just a best friend, not the depressed and apathetic shell of that person he had eventually become.

"Uh…" Kyle replied immediately, not even having to think about the question. "It was like five days ago, dude. Remember? We were over at your house, and we were making fun of the time Towelie tried to play 'Stairway To Heaven'. You picked up your guitar and tried to play it." He smiled. "You didn't sound a whole lot better!" He leaned forward, looking concerned again as he set his elbows on his knees. "You don't remember that?"

Stan did, barely. Only to him it had been over a decade ago and something he hadn't thought about since the day it happened. "Okay, yeah, I do. And so…I really sucked, huh?"

Kyle laughed. "Dude…you could barely put three notes together!"

Stan nodded, leaned over the guitar and put his fingers into place on the slightly too-far apart frets, grateful to be doing something he felt confident about. "'Stairway To Heaven', huh?" he asked, and slowly began to fingerpick the beginning of the Led Zeppelin classic. His eyes darted back and forth from his right hand as they plucked individual strings to his left as he fingered individual notes.

"Holy shit," Kyle whispered; his hands rose to his lips and covered them as he watched Stan play. Stan smirked, looking up at Kyle for a moment and back down at his fingers, delighted at how well this was going. His performance was nearly perfect.

After he'd played for almost a minute, he shook his head. "Kyle…" He looked up at his eleven year old friend and smiled. "This is way too easy." He stopped playing, thought for a moment, and then began to fingerpick 'Hotel California' by the Eagles. It was the first song he could think of that the Kyle of this time and the Kyle that he knew in his old life would both be familiar with. It was also a much more difficult piece, and Stan fumbled a few notes near the beginning, but quickly recovered as his left hand grew ever more accustomed to the spacing of the frets. Kyle was watching Stan play in awe; after half a minute, Stan straightened his right leg out in front of him and began tapping the bass line of the song against the bed post with the side of his sneaker as he continued to play, and Kyle couldn't help but begin tapping his fingertips against his cheeks in time as well.

Stan smiled, knowing he had Kyle's full attention now, and that Kyle was figuring out that, even if he had practiced 24 hours a day for the last five days, there was no way he could have become this good.

Stan played all the way until the first line of the song and began to sing: "On a dark desert highway…" He stopped playing and burst into laughter, all of his anxiety about talking to Kyle suddenly gone. He never really could sing (even in the future), and the fact that the Kyle he once knew was here right now while he attempted to made him laugh even harder. He tried to gather himself up to sing one more line, strummed a chord and gasped "cool wind in my…" and broke down again in helpless laughter. He felt great…and for the first time since he had found himself in Kyle's backyard this morning, he knew everything was going to be all right.

He tried to back up and again sing "cool wind…" and couldn't because he was laughing too hard.

"Dude! Just stop!" Kyle finally cried, starting to laugh as well, while at the same time obviously trying to understand what he was witnessing. Stan clutched his guitar and laughed helplessly, giving up trying to play it. He finally willed himself to stop and looked up again. Kyle was staring back at him in awe.

"What the fuck, Stan?" Kyle looked like he had just remembered how to breathe. "What… when did you learn to play like that?"

Stan strummed all six strings once more and then muted them. "That's what I need to talk to you about." He began playing a simplified version of 'Three Blind Mice' without having to look at either hand, and just before he played the notes for 'they all ran after the farmer's wife…', he stopped playing again. "I, ah…" Here we go. "…Learned to play like that when I was sixteen, Kyle,"

Kyle's eyes narrowed. Stan could feel his heart beating faster, blood rushing in his ears.

"What…exactly do you mean by that, Stan?"

"I mean that…" He started tapping his sneaker against the bedpost. "Kyle…I grew up. We all grew up…and got older, and became adults. And…we went off and got jobs, and had our adult lives." And some of us died. He bit that down, suddenly thinking more about Butters than Sheila and Ike. What happened to those two would be easy to prevent, and what happened to Butters was nearly a decade away.

"Wait…what?" Kyle was shaking his head doubtfully.

"I…guess I figured that it would be easier to show you what knowing how to play guitar for over a decade now sounds like, than it would be trying to tell you that I traveled back in time here from the future with all my memories intact, into my twelve year old body, and back into this life. And I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, or how to act…"

"Okay…wait. You…learned to play guitar when you were sixteen Stan? And we grew up…"

"Yeah, Kyle…" Their eyes were locked together, and Stan could tell Kyle was at least listening with an open mind. "And then one night years from now…only it seems like just last night to me…I had the chance to come back here, to this time again." He couldn't think of any more to say for a moment. He finally added, "And so I did. And…that's it, I guess."

Kyle leaned away, resting his back against the bed. "Um, no, that's not it, Stan. I mean…how? How did you 'come back'?" His concerned look was giving way to an angry one "Hey, look. You seem really sincere about this, but…you better not be setting me up for a prank! I mean, if you suddenly go 'na na na na nah na! I, ah…" Kyle laughed, and lamely finished: "…made you think I'm from the future…"

Stan laughed hard at that remark, and Kyle joined him for a moment, and then they both stopped at the same time, Stan once again staring at Kyle's untied shoelace.

"Kyle…I'm not making this up. I swear to you…" He looked up suddenly. "And I can prove it another way, only not for two more days; but I really need you to believe me now, and if my guitar playing isn't enough to convince you—"

"Okay, yeah… you really sucked at guitar five days ago. But you could be on stage, dude! So, all right. I sort of believe you, okay? I mean…" He shrugged. "There's no fucking way you could have gotten that good in five days, unless…" He trailed off.

Stan smiled. "Unless Occam's razor?" He clearly remembered Mr. Garrison talking about that term when they were in fourth grade, and hoped Kyle remembered it as well.

Kyle looked up sharply. "Yeah. Sure. When everything else has been eliminated…"

"The simplest explanation, no matter how unlikely, is the correct one."

Kyle was obviously still trying to process what he had just been told. "Well, that had to have been pretty cool," he said slowly. "Growing up and becoming a man? I mean—"

"No! It sucked, Kyle!" Stan replied, and added hopefully, "And…you believe me?"

"Let's just say I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt…for now. What do you mean 'it sucked', or that you could prove it another way in two days?"

Stan nodded, relieved that at least Kyle didn't outright disbelieve him; that would have to do. "Thanks, Kyle. I'm going to need your help while I get used to this again. You think I was nervous around you before? Jesus Christ, I have to go to school tomorrow, and I have no idea how to act, or where any of my classes are, or…"

"Okay, okay…Stan I can help you with that. Goddamnit, you better not be making this up though."

"I swear I'm not! And like I said, I can prove it to you, beyond all doubt, in two days."

Kyle cocked his head. "How?"

"Kyle…do you think you can pretend to be sick and stay home from school this Tuesday? And get your mother to let me come over so she can watch me, because I'm really going to be sick, and my mom has to work?"

Kyle considered the question for a moment. "Yeah, probably. Why?"

"Because something really big is going to happen in two days. It was one…or, is going to be one, I guess?" He blinked. "One of the biggest events of our lives. And the first time it happened, I was home sick, and you were in school. And I, ah…I want to be with you when it happens again."

"All right," Kyle said slowly. "What's going to happen?"

"The space shuttle is supposed to go up tomorrow morning, isn't it?"

Kyle nodded. Stan's inability to remember things like this seemed almost normal now. "Well, yeah. It's a really big deal, what with the 'Teacher in Space' thing they're doing. The school's having an assembly tomorrow to watch it get launched."

"It's not going to," Stan said simply. "It's going to be delayed…again. It's been postponed a couple times already, hasn't it?"

Kyle nodded, and Stan went on: "It's finally going to be launched on Tuesday. And…a little over a minute after it takes off—" Stan looked down at his guitar. "It's going to blow up, and all seven astronauts are going to be killed."

"Wait…really? The shuttle's going to blow up?"

Stan nodded. "Dude, it was a huge national tragedy! President Reagan cancelled his State of the Union speech because of it. It was like one of the biggest news stories of our lives."

"Wait," Kyle repeated. "Do you think maybe we should…try to stop it or something?"

Stan sighed. "I thought about that when I was walking over here. And then I realized: What do you think would happen if a couple of kids from Colorado called NASA and told them that?" He shook his head. "No one would believe us. They'll launch it anyway, and…the FBI will probably come and talk to us. It would probably bring down a huge shitstorm on us. And even if we called anonymously...they wouldn't stop it."

Kyle grimaced. "You know…as much as I hate to say this, you're probably right." He ran his fingertips through his auburn curls, thinking. "Damn…okay, so…we'll stay here on Tuesday and—and watch that happen; and then…" He shook his head. "Continue with the rest of our lives, I guess. Only you know everything that's going to happen in the future…wow."

Stan nodded and then chuckled. "Well, I don't remember everything that happens! But yeah…I know a few more big historical events that are coming. Oh! And I know what companies we should buy stock in over the next few years, and when to sell them all before the market crashes. Dude…if we buy as many shares of just a few stocks as we can, and sell everything by the end of 1999, we'll be millionaires by the time we're thirty!"

Kyle was visibly excited by this idea. "So, our lives are going to be pretty cool, because you know what's going to happen! What are some of these stocks we should buy?"

Stan thought for a moment about all the high-flying companies of the 1990s that he'd missed the opportunity to buy into. Not this time. "Companies like Microsoft Corporation." Kyle snickered at the name. "And Apple Computer." He realized he had years to remember them all. "A company called Qualcomm did really good. Um, another one called Yahoo…"

Kyle scoffed. "There's going to be a company named 'Yahoo'?"

Stan smiled. "Yeah…it was spelled with an exclamation point at the end. Dude…people who put a few thousand dollars into these stocks ended up becoming millionaires. And, oh yeah: When I was 28? I missed winning fifty million dollars in the lottery by one fucking number! But now I know what numbers to play that day…"

"Holy shit, Stan! We really could be rich someday! Hey, maybe we should look some of those stocks up? We can look through the business section of my dad's newspaper, or go to the library. And I could talk to my dad about getting a brokerage account at A.G. Edwards in Denver, where he has one."

"Dude, we can just—" Stan had been about to say buy them online…when something occurred to him that was so obvious he didn't know how he'd missed it. "Wait…you don't even have the internet yet, do you?"

Kyle's puzzled look was the only answer Stan needed. "What the hell is 'the internet', Stan?"

"Oh my God, Kyle! The internet is…" How to explain that? "In my time, just about everyone has a computer; even kids like us! And…the internet is what people use to connect computers from all over the world together. You can 'go online'—that what going on the internet with your computer is called—and research things, or see the news, or…you can send e-mail to your friends." Kyle looked even more confused. "E-mail means 'electronic mail'. You can write a letter to someone, and e-mail it to them, and they'll have it instantly, even if they're all the way on the other side of the world. A lot of those companies I told you about were involved in developing personal computers and the internet. It's like one of the biggest things that ever happens to the world; and we're in time to get in on the ground floor of it. Kyle…we're going to be so rich someday."

"Jesus, dude…so you like know just about everything that's going to happen for the next fifteen years or so…"

"Yeah!" Stan was shaking with excitement. Talking to his super best friend was starting to feel natural to him again. Everything was going to be all right. "Like I said, I don't remember everything that's going to happen. But I know a lot of important stuff…"

They talked late into the afternoon. Stan told him about as many future events as he could remember—the fall of the U.S.S.R., the Exxon-Valdez oil spill, the 1993 bombing of the world trade center… Kyle kept asking him questions about future technology; at one point Stan spent three minutes explaining (and demonstrating with his right hand curled around one of Kyle's wadded up socks) how a mouse worked, and the difference between right clicking and double clicking.

By the time the sun was shining in the west window, talking with Kyle was second nature again. Stan completely avoided the topic about what was going to happen to his mom and Ike. They had left that Thursday morning at their usual time—7:30 a.m.—and been killed less than two miles from home. All Stan and Kyle would need to do is delay their departure by five minutes and they wouldn't be at that intersection where they were hit until after it was supposed to happen.

That was still four days away; there was plenty of time.

"Dude…you should probably get going," Kyle finally said. "Your mom'll be expecting you for dinner soon." He smiled at Stan's alarmed look. "Hey…you'll be fine! Just tell her you want to watch TV while you eat; and then you can just go up to your room afterwards and not talk to anyone the rest of the night. I'll meet you at your front door at 7:15 tomorrow, and we'll walk to the bus stop together."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Tomorrow's going to be fun. I don't remember where any of my classes are…"

"Well, you're in my homeroom and first class tomorrow, AP English Literature, but we're supposed to have this assembly first thing where the whole school watches the shuttle launch in the cafeteria." Stan suddenly remembered that morning; of course! "But you said…"

"Yeah!" Stan interrupted. "But it got cancelled again! And we ended up spending the whole day hanging out in the library and playground because the teachers' lesson plans got all fucked up! Tomorrow was a fun day."

"'Tomorrow was a fun day,'" Kyle echoed back, and they both laughed. "This is going to take some getting used to," Kyle said. "But you're talking to me just fine now! You'll be able to talk to your mom when you get home too; you'll see."

"And Shelly?" Stan grinned. "I know one thing: I'm not going to take any more of her shit."

Kyle laughed. "Yeah, I bet!" Kyle walked downstairs with him and told him again when they were outside that he'd be fine once he got home. Nevertheless, as Stan walked the quarter-mile to his house, he dreaded the upcoming encounter with his family. Talking to Kyle was one thing; dealing with his mom would be quite another.