Diary of a Teenage Time Traveler

Diary Entry January 11, 2067

But Mom earned some extra cool points. She didn’t try to change my mind after I plead my case with lots of supporting evidence. She did try to use that suggestive reasoning thing she does with the tone of her voice, though, and tried tossing out her “spontaneous ideas,” to which I nodded and twitched my lips at, as if I was genuinely considering her thoughts. What can I say, I can be pretty stubborn when my mind is made up, not that I'd ever admit that to Mom and Dad. I like what I like, simple as that. And I rarely make a decision without giving it a ton of thought anyway. I’m all Butterman when it comes to logical thinking.

In the waiting room, this guy kept looking at me, so I stared back at him and did that thing with my eyes that says “What the hell are you looking at?”

He just smiled, rubbed his chin. He had to be at least sixteen. Dark hair, dark skin and bright hazel eyes. Almost hypnotic.

Anyway, I was browsing the parlor’s courtesy device next to Mom when all of a sudden he was there—standing right in front of me. I almost dropped the palm-com.

“Where are you from?” he asked, a nice Down Under accent to his voice.

His teeth were incredibly white.

“Alaska,” I said, and forced a half-smile.

“Oh, very sweet. Very sweet. And you came here to get new ink? Why not back home in your native land?”

I shrugged, glancing once at Mom who was pretending not to pay attention. “Making memories, I guess. Are you from here?”

“Aye. From many ancestors past. This is your first Warrior Festival, right? I can tell these things. So how you like it?” His hazel eyes twinkled.

“It’s … magical. You must’ve been to a lot of them.”

“Aye, you could say that, but they not so outrageous anymore. Now they just lots of people and lots of noise. My friends and me like to hang out, pull pranks, yanno?”

I could tell he usually talked with his hands and was trying to control the movement by slipping them in his pockets.

Mom got up and introduced herself. “Why don’t you have a seat while I stretch my legs? What’s your name?”

“Randall, ma’am.”

Mom beamed over the ma’am part. She loves a teen with manners. “Well, Randall, very nice to meet you.” She winked at me. “I’ll just check on your dad outside.”

I nodded. I knew what she was doing. But it kinda pissed me off too. I mean, would she’ve been so encouraging back home if some random guy came up and started talking to me? I wouldn’t know because that’s never happened, but I was in a place where I might never be again—back in time, to top it off! She knew the chances of me ever seeing Randall again were pretty much zero.

Randall was really fun to talk to, though. He gave me hope that cool guys who won’t try to force their lips on me really are out there. When I told him I was getting face tats, his eyes widened.

“Not too many girls get face ink,” he said. “What you getting? A warrior stripe?”

I shook my head. “Two stars. Right here.” I pointed to my upper right cheek beside my eye.

Truth is, I’d forgotten that face tats weren’t as big of thing back in 2050, apparently even in New Zealand.

“Your Mom’s cool with that?” Randall asked, seated next to me.

I couldn’t tell him about the one-swipe technology we use in 2067, so I just nodded and changed the subject to what life in New Zealand was like. We talked for about thirty minutes, til his friend’s bicep ink was done, and then he got up to leave.

“So, Bianca, how can I get in touch with you?”

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to talk to him again. I really wanted to give him my inbox addy, and holy hell that accent was so delicious I could taste it! But I couldn’t risk a PF if he somehow found out I was from the future. Mom and Dad would’ve been totally pissed, especially after all they did to get me there.

So I asked him for his IM addy, which I knew for sure was a prime form of communication in his time string, as well as mine.

“Sweet. What chat rooms you usually visit?” he asked.

“Internationally, I’m always on Gamer Gurus, Tech-Now, and Spunker’s Ball,” I answered, feeling a little bummed since I knew he’d never ever see me on any of those, not to mention the fact Spunker’s Ball hadn’t been launched yet, or the fact I hadn’t even been born. But I had to tell him something.

And it gave me a little warm rush of adrenaline inside my chest to think of him browsing those chat rooms looking for me in a different decade.

Randall nodded and smiled, handing me a digi-card from his pocket. “Haven't heard of those. I'll have to check it out. Here’s my deets.” He shrugged. “Maybe we can do this again some time.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

I watched him wave and leave with his newly-tattooed friend, and even felt a tiny twinge of regret deep in my chest because I really would’ve liked to see him again. It was pointless to think about it.

So I crumpled Randall’s digi-card til it snapped and sparked.

Mom and Dad both walked up right at that second. “Everything okay, honey?”

My mood had already taken a major dump. “Yep. Great.”

“He seemed very nice,” Mom said, nudging me with her elbow.

“He was,” I said. “Not that it even matters or anything.”

Dad leaned in since there were no more chairs. “Bee, part of being a time traveler is accepting your role as a spectator. You have to enjoy the moment while you’re in it, and know you can bring it back with you in your heart and soul. But that’s the extent.”

“It does get easier,” Mom said.

I just nodded because once again they had no idea why I was all down. Sure, it didn't really matter with Randall, but is that all my future holds? Meeting people I can never really have a friendship or develop a relationship or have a future with because of living in different time strings? What kind of life is that?

What if all I ever have to look forward to is the buttheads of the present like Cody? I still can't believe I let him get the best of me.

By the time the tattoo artist called my number at the parlor, I was more than ready to get inked. It didn’t hurt. And the lady who inked me had the most beautiful shiny long black hair I’ve ever seen. Not just black, but the blackest of black—almost with a sheen of blue like ink itself.

I decided right then and there that I wanted it. So as soon as I got back here yesterday—to 2067 with my fresh face tats—I applied ultra jet-engine black on my hair. I gotta say, I love my new look. It’s total spunk-tastic, and it feels like the me I want to be.

Kayla hasn’t seen me yet. She keeps begging me to send or post selfies, but I’m going for full shock-effect and waiting til I see her in person.

After a nap.

Because after that six hour time trip, my body is jacked up with time-lag. That was the longest I’ve ever been out of my own time string before, and I’m starting to feel like someone just dropped a load of cement over my body. Dad says I need to stay out of the cosmos for awhile and get back to normal.

What’s normal anyway? 

Signing off.

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