All In Your Head

Past-1813

"John."

What?

"John."

What is this? Whose voice is this that I hear?

"Wake up, John."

John's eyes opened. Sitting at his bedside was his wife.

"Oh. It's you, Althea."

Althea smiled down at her husband. She dipped a starched towel into the washbasin, wrung it out, and laid it out across John's forehead. Cool beads of water stood out against his skin.

"I had a nightmare," he said.

"You look it." Althea arose from the stool she had been sitting on and wiped her hands on her skirt, setting the washbasin back to its rightful place on the dresser. She stopped at the doorway on her way out, turning to face him.

"John," Althea faltered before continuing. "You've been behaving very strangely lately. Are you sure you're alright? You don't regret marrying me, do you John?"

He didn't hesitate. "No of course not, Althea. You know I love you."

She smiled, evidently pleased with his reply. "Rest," she said as she turned on her heel to go out the door. From the hallway, she called, "I'm off to the market to get some supplies. I'll make you some chicken soup when I get back, if you feel up to it!"

John listened for the sound of the front door closing, announcing her departure, and sprang out of bed.

He went to the window. A steam train, billowing clouds of smoke, advanced through the middle of the town, making the plate-glass windows quiver as it passed.

"Wow. 1813."

He stretched and moved to the washbasin, glancing down to look at his reflection in the clear water. He appeared older than thirty-five. Althea had been right. He did not look well.

Nervously, John began to pace around the room, combing his hands through his hair, until his eyes moved to a piece of parchment paper that was sticking out from beneath his mattress. 

His journal. He took it out, sat down on the bed, and began to write where he had last left off.

Day 17. From what I can recollect, it's been seventeen days since I awoke in the hospital, following the accident. I don't remember much, only that I was driving and I saw headlights coming my direction. A car had been in my lane. Next thing I knew, I was inside the hospital. Alive, thankfully. . . but they told me that I hit my head. That they needed to perform some tests, check for signs of trauma. And nothing has been quite the same ever since. . .

Each time I fall asleep, I wake up 200 years in the past. I'm not sure why it stops there, why it doesn't keep on going. Is there some significance to this date? I wish I knew why this happens at all. I was never one to believe in time travel, before now. But I can't help but wonder, if this is just all in my head. . .

The timeline is fuzzy. I don't know how long I was in the hospital before I woke up, but I know it was the present day. I know that it was in the hospital where I slept overnight. And the following morning when I woke up, I was here (wherever here is.)

Allegedly, Althea had found me lying nearby, unconscious and without a scrap of clothing on me. She took me in, and has tended to me ever since. It only seemed fitting to marry her, and I really couldn't ask for a more caring wife. She is recently widowed, and a nurse. Her late husband's clothes nearly fit me perfectly, although they will admittedly take some getting used to.

Already, I am growing more and more fond of Althea. I'm starting to love her, strange as that sounds. When she gazes in my eyes, I feel I can tell her anything. . . how I wish I could tell her about the incident. If only the circumstances were different! But I could never do that, it's laughable. Can you imagine? Telling someone, in this time period or any other, that I've come from the future. How would people take to such nonsense? The results could be very bad....

It's all just so different, and strange. . . and I'm so alone in this. I still have much to do in the present day. My son. . .

Oh yeah, and time doesn't freeze like you might expect. If only it were that simple. Never mind how it happens in the movies; it doesn't work like that in real life. Time goes on just the same no matter what period you're visiting, which means that if I'm here in the past, I'm asleep in the present, and vice-versa.

When it's daytime here in the past, it's also daytime in the present. That makes it hard to get anything done, especially since I seem to have found myself married. I know I can't feign this illness for much longer, but it's the best I've got, seeing how it's given me an excuse to sleep at all hours of the day. It's the only opportunity I have to return to the present, and see my son.

At least I know when it's time to return to the present, because Megan calls me, letting me know to pick up our son. That's a long story, too. I go back and forth like this all day, traveling across a span of 200 years.

I feel like I ought to write everything down, in case something happens again to make me lose my memory. Or, if this really is all in my head—if it's all just a dream resulting from the head trauma, which is something I've been considering—it would make for a pretty great story. I've been looking for new ideas to write about, anyway. . .

John reached for his pocket as he felt it start to vibrate. He pulled out his cell phone, which was ringing, but he had silenced it.

Megan the caller ID read. He pressed Accept and raised the phone up to his ear.

Static. It was always static, of course. Cell phones hadn't quite been invented during the time period he was in now. Once John had been able to catch a word or two over the other line, but that had only happened the one time, and it was strange. Communicating across two centuries. He wondered how that was even possible, and what other mysteries there existed in the world.

Megan was John's ex-wife. The divorce was recent, with fresh wounds, and the process had been bitter. The two of them rarely communicated these days, unless it was regarding their son, Ryan, who they shared custody of. And typically, it was Ryan on the call, using either John or Megan's phone to reach the other parent.

Ryan needed his dad. And since Althea had told John that he should rest, and he knew it would be at least another hour before she came home from the market, John couldn't think of a better time to return to the present and check up on things. With that final thought, he laid down and closed his eyelids.