Time Capsule

The Capsule

The soft spring breeze rustled the leaves as the sunlight streamed through the foliage. My teacher explained to us that we had trekked to the school's backyard for a time capsule. We were to each write a paragraph about another student and what we thought their life would be like in 30 years, with the intention of digging it up in that time. There were 20 kids in our 5th grade class and everyone was assigned a buddy to write for, and as my luck would have it, I got Bobby Finkle. Bobby was a peculiar, dark haired, boy who kept to himself and didn't really have any friends, nor did he seem to desire them. After taking the picture together that would be affixed to each of our predictions, I scribbled something about him making video games.
"Bobby Finkle," called our teacher, Mrs. Phelps, who was talking to an office messenger, "Bobby, your brother is here to pick you up." He set his pencil down, his speculative black eyes seemingly seeing right through me. Finally, his gaze broke, he handed Mrs. Phelps his paper and followed the messenger back to the office. That was the last time I had seen Bobby Finkle.
***
30 Years Later...
"I'm sorry but I think your services are best suited elsewhere, Mr. James," the interviewer said.
"thank you for your time," I said curtly, wanting to punch him. I really needed a job. After I lost my bank management job 2 years ago, I had been going to every job opening but to no avail. My savings had been used up for months, not to mention that I had to pay alimony to Elizabeth Parks, my ex-wife. I got into my beat-up jalopy and started up my mobile trash heap before merging into traffic. Suddenly my phone buzzed, it was a reminder for the time capsule extraction at six o' clock. I groaned. I didn't want to go but I had promised my best and only friend, Connor, that I would.
***
My car stalled a block from the school so I had to walk up to my classmates' cars, many of them more expensive than my apartment. I tried to look invisible as I approached the wooded clearing, seeing my former classmates who now all had jobs and spouses. I was late but I heard Angel Black, the prom queen and cheerleader captain, explaining how Mrs. Phelps had passed away 7 years earlier, and how we would each read ours and say who wrote it and how it would be really cute.
"Mine was written by Emily," she smiled at her best friend, "Angela will be a famous actress and will marry a football player." She gave Emily a hug, "Thank you, that is so cute!" She then turned to us and said, "I did some modelling 20 years ago but stopped when I got married to Keith, here, who is an accountant." The next person then stood up and read how he was foreseen to be a baseball player and now works in real estate. One by one, my classmates read predictions that had almost nothing in common with their current lives. I checked my watch for the hundredth time in a minute, wondering when I could leave, when suddenly, "Nicholas James," Angela called.
I stepped forward and took the folded paper from her outstretched, manicured, hand and turned to face my childhood friends. I thumbed the photo of Bobby and me standing next to each other wearing blue t-shirts of different shades. Mine was blank while his displayed a picture of the Grand Canyon. Eying the slip of paper that hadn't been touched in 3 decades, I began.
"This was written by Bobby Finkle," I saw people looking amongst themselves, but Bobby clearly wasn't there. "Nick," I began, "you feel inferior to your fellow classmates, and it's a shame that your job search is unsuccessful, as one would think that a management skillset such as your own would be more sought after. Additionally, I'm sorry that your marriage didn't work out, but Elizabeth was never the right one for you. Your life is a wreck, not to mention your car which is getting towed. You are a failure, but you don't have to be. You can turn your life around and become the man that you were meant to be, all you have to do is..." I turned the paper over to find the backside blank. I looked up as my eyes began to tear, seeing everyone staring at me, speechless.
"This has to be some kind of joke," I say, dumbfounded.
"No, I took it from the box and handed it to you," Angela said pityingly, "It was even locked with this key Mrs. Phelps gave me at the 20-year reunion."
I didn't know what to do, I ran. I ran through the school halls. I passed a lifetime of childhood memories as I tried to escape reality. I burst through the doors and ran down the block, the slip of paper still clutched in my sweaty grasp. I slowed as I reached the spot where my car had been parked only to see it being hooked up to a tow truck. I fell to my knees as my heart grew cold and tears found their way down my face. My life had been summarized in a paragraph by a 10-year-old, 3 decades ago. Most importantly, though, he knew how to fix it.
I suddenly realized that I had nothing here, no real friends, no family, no money, nothing keeping me here. There was only one thing that I could do, and that was to find the kid who knew the answer to my problems. The kid who had just shaken up my life but could settle it. I needed to find Bobby Finkle.
***
Days later in my scarcely furnished apartment, I slammed my laptop shut, frustrated. I had Googled every possible combination of letters involving Bobby Finkle, comparing the various faces to my picture, but it was to no avail. I studied the boy in the picture wondering how such a small being could know so much, when it occurred to me that he must have known that I would see this picture and try to find him. Suddenly, it hit me like a ton of bricks, Bobby had left me a clue as to where he was, and it was so obvious I couldn't believe I'd missed it! I quickly packed my meager possessions and what money I could gather together, ready for my trip across the country. The next day I rented a car and headed for the Grand Canyon, ready for the next chapter of my life, recreating it. Life doesn't present second chances, but mine had, and I wasn't about to waste it.

First story so I hope you all like it!
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