Time Goes On

         I sat patiently, waiting. I shifted in my seat a few times. Finally, a detective walked in holding a folder. He flung the contents of the folder onto the table, they spread out in almost a perfect line.

        “Explain these!” he yelled pointing to the pictures laid out.

        “Well hello to you too, Detective.”

        “Cut the crap.” He picked up the first photograph and handed it to me. “It’s from 1864.”

        I took it from him. “And?”

        “AND? Look at the women on the end. Look at this photo, right here,” he pointed to a spot on another picture. “This one is 1892.” He went through each photograph pointing out specific spots and listing their date. “1920. 1945. 1972. 1990. And last year, 2016.”

        “If you’re actually insinuating-” I was interrupted by the detective.

        “I’m insinuating nothing. All of these women are you.”

        “Ha! That’s funny and rather impossible. Unless I’m over one hundred-fifty years old. OR maybe I know this crazy old guy who turned his DeLorean DMC-12 into a time machine. I mean if Marty can do it, why not?”

        “For fuck’s sake!” He slammed his fist down on the table. “This isn't a joke.” He was gritting his teeth tightly.

        “This is impossible. I’m twenty three not one hundred-fifty.” I turned away from him. He was wreathing.

        “I can see it in your eyes. I saw it as soon as you saw those pictures, when you recognized your own face.”

        I sighed. “Even if it were actually me, which is still impossible, no one would believe you. And I don't see what any of this has to do with anything at all.”

        “No. Nobody would ever believe me. They’d say ‘It’s just a relative or something.’ But I’d know.” He sat across from me. He was much calmer now.

        “I don’t even understand why I’m here. This is preposterous.”

        “Just admit it. No one else will ever find out. Just tell me the truth.”

        “Why does this even mean anything to you? I think you need help.” I got up to leave, but the detective grabbed my arm. I looked back at him.

        “Wait. Please.” He spoke in almost a whisper. His eyes looked close to tears. I pulled my arm from his grasp and turned away.

        “I’m sorry.”

        “Please I need your help.” I looked back at him. Tears ran down his face. “I know it already. Please. She needs you.”

        “I don’t…”

        “Please. Help her.” He took out his wallet and handed it to me. There was a picture of a little girl inside with such a bright smile. She wore a hospital gown. Her hair was gone. I looked up at the detective. “She’s getting worse. The doctors say there’s nothing more they can do. Her organs have begun to fail her. Please.” His voice was raspy from crying. I looked at the girl’s picture once more. She was so beautiful. I nodded. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

        We leave the police station together and drive to the hospital. I follow him to his daughter’s room. She lie still in the bed. My heart rate increased. What if it were too late. I stood in the doorway.