Not This Time

Nina: November 29, 1983

     I picked up my telephone from the receiver on my nightstand. Ten numbers were scrawled in Matt's chicken-scratch handwriting on the sheet of paper I'd been keeping in my suitcase since I started traveling time; the paper was trying to fall apart from being crammed in there all those years. The words "For when I'm not around" were written in the same hand above the numbers.
     I smirked. The 'o's almost looked like wide 'i's and the rest of the letters looked like they each had invisible walls on either side of them between which they were squished. I shook my head and dialed the numbers. The buttons made various beeping noises as I did this.
     The other line rang once. Then twice. It rang one more time before the ringtone became something more electronic than the classic ringtone that had preceded it. The electronic ringtone also rang three times before changing once again. I shifted my weight impatiently. The last ringtone sounded like a trolley bell.
     Ding ding. Pause. Ding ding.
     The line rang twice this way and then someone picked up.
     "Nina," Matt's voice stated. "What's flying?"
     The question made me hesitate. What? What did that even mean? I shook my head and rolled my eyes. He was always saying weird things. I should have been used to it.
     "You remember how I got that gig with ZZ Top?" I asked, ignoring his question.
     There was some splashing on the other end. "Yeah," Matt said through his teeth, "What about it?" I wasn't sure what was happening on Matt's end, but part of me didn't want to know. I tried to ignore it.
     "My favorite band was opening for them," I told him excitedly, "I'd completely forgotten that it was their first show! Matt, I got to see my favorite band's first ever show together!" I bounced in place, still reeling at the thought.
     More splashes. Matt sighed. "So you called me just to tell me that?"
     I stopped bouncing, but my grin remained. "No," I said, "I called to tell you the even more exciting part."
     "Go on," Matt prompted, though he was obviously preoccupied.
     I was still ignoring my curiosity, so I did exactly as he'd said. "I spoke with their manager, Doc McGhee, and got myself a gig as their touring audio tech!" I couldn't help that the excitement in my voice caused it to rise in pitch as I finished my sentence. Hopefully Matt had understood that.
     "So you're touring with them?" Matt asked. There was more splashing on his end and he grumbled something, but I could tell it wasn't directed at me.
     "I get to tour!" I all but shrieked. I held the phone away from my ear and did a little happy dance. I could hear Matt saying something, so I brought the phone back to my ear as he said the second half.
     "...about touring with your favorite band or just touring in general?" he asked. I could tell it was a question by his tone, even though I'd missed the first bit. I calmed down a little and shook my head.
     "Oh, it's all about touring," I giggled, "The fact that it's with Bon Jovi is just an added perk."
     "Bon Jovi.." Matt muttered. I wasn't sure if he was speaking to me or not. It didn't really matter to me. I was just about to rave some more about getting to see various places around the world when, on the other side of the phone, there was a clang and a large-sounding splash. "Damnit Ziggy!" Matt shouted.
     A shrill bark sounded over the shuffling on the other end of the line. My eyebrows shot up in surprise. A dog? Now I couldn't ignore it.
     "What are you doing?" I asked in excitement.
     Matt sighed. "Oh, I'm just giving Zigbert a bath." He paused and I could hear him mutter something else under his breath. "My mom's dog. She's out picking up a genealogy sfc book for me, so I'm dog-sitting."
     I laughed, picturing Matt, with suds all over one of his weird nonsense tee shirts, sitting in front of an over turned tub of soapy water and giving a little soaked dog the death glare. The last bit of Matt's explanation popped into my head and I frowned.
     "What's a eff-ess..ses-eff," I stuttered. I paused and took a deep breath, "What is an S.F.C. Book?" I asked.
     "Sfc," Matt chuckled, "Stands for 'single function computer' and it means exactly what is says. It's a computer with just literally only one function. Technically speaking, basic versions were invented ages ago. They were called ATCs or ACMs or something."
     "ATMs?" I offered.
     "Yeah! That!" Matt confirmed, "They've been simplified further since then and were made into book form in 3312."
     I nodded, and then remembered that he couldn't hear a nod. "Right," I snickered, "So why is your mom out getting that instead of you?"
     "Because of my mom's job, it's a little simpler for her to acquire data records like that," he explained. I could hear Zigbert barking in the background. Matt made a little mocking noise, but it sounded like the bath was over.
     "Genealogy records aren't available to the public?" I challenged. What kind of government did America have in the future?
     Matt sighed on the other end. "Well they are, but only after a whole lot of paperwork."
     "And for your Mom?"
     "Slightly less paperwork," he said simply. I laughed. He was ridiculous. Whatever helped though, I guess. Matt sounded a little more preoccupied when he spoke again. "So you were saying about touring," he prompted.
     I snapped my fingers, glad he'd reminded me. "Right!" I repeated, "We're starting tour in just a few days, and we've got a small problem."
     "Stop wiggling you fluffy mutt," he mumbled. With a sigh, he asked, "What's that?"
     "People on tour will be seeing me literally every day until next November," I said. 
     "And?"
     I shrugged, shaking my head. "They're going to notice if I suddenly look six months older than I did the day before, Matt. I don't think I can jump back and forth like I've been doing," I explained.
     "So we do month to month," Matt reasoned. Zigbert barked again and Matt called out in surprise. Then he snapped, "Fine! Run off with the towel! Keep it! I'm done anyway."
     I grinned, but ignored his words to the dog. "I think they'd still see it," I sighed, shaking my head, "I told you we'd have to do something about my face sooner or later." The conversation we'd had about the RevitaLight popped into my mind, but I didn't bring it up.
     Matt made an uncertain noise and then sighed. "Well, we'll just have to recover the few months you've been there already and then we can risk letting you stay the whole year for tour," he finally said hesitantly. I was about to get excited about not having to bounce between times when Matt added, "But you should probably know about displacement."
     My smiled disappeared. "Displacement?"
     "It's.." he groaned, "Well..It's.." Matt paused.
     I chuckled a little. "Matt, what are you talking about?"
     "Theoretically," he began again, "if you spend too much time outside your natural time stream, things start jumping out of their time and into others."
     "Wait, what?" I scoffed, "Are you telling me that if I stay in the 80s too long Disneyland could end up in 1812?"
     There was another pause and then Matt answered uncertainly, "Yes..? What's Disneyland?"
     I gaped at the wall in front of me. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" I exclaimed, "This seems like the sort of thing I should have known about before I started traveling!"
     "Why do you think I made the back and forth thing a rule?" Matt argued.
     I rolled my eyes. I didn't let the word 'theoretically' slip past me, but even still, this was a surprise I was not anticipating.
     "Nina, it will be fine, I'm sure," Matt assured me, "Just follow the rules, mind your own business, don't do anything big or flashy. You should be fine." When I didn't answer, he reminded me, "And of course, I'll be there to give you a ride home before you displace too much time and upset the time stream."
     I thought about it for a minute. I couldn't stop the image of a particular German dictator popping up at child's birthday party in 2005. I frowned. The thought of Hitler giving a speech in German to a bunch of terrified four year olds kind of put me off. I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?" I argued.
     "Yes, Nina," he said, "Just follow the rules and everything will be alright."
     I made a face. This smelled like trouble. I wish I'd known about it sooner. Still, the opportunity to tour with Bon Jovi didn't happen every day. I'd probably never get another shot. He'd said all that was theoretical anyway, hadn't he? Yeah. I bit my lip, weighing my options, and after another long pause, I decided to go for it. "Alright," I agreed warily.
     "So you want to wait until the end of the year? Matt asked. 
     "No," I responded, "I really just want to get it out of the way." I took a deep breath and grinned. "Besides, I really want to be able to party on New Year's and not have to worry about being wasted when I get back to my time," I laughed.
     Matt laughed too.
     "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then," he sighed, "I've got to try and wrestle that towel back from Ziggy."
     I giggled, "See ya, Matt. Good luck."
     Matt muttered a thanks before the line went dead.
     I stared at the phone for a moment and then giggled, "Run, Ziggy, run!"