taletober

oct 12

DAY 12: Start your piece with: "One day, ten years ago, I had a yard sale."

...

One day, ten years ago, I had a yard sale. I remember laying my old clothes out and sticking tape onto them with prices. I had just given my Barbie t-shirt a "$2" label when I heard my dad calling.

"Dana!"

"Uh-huh?" 

"Get out here and help this customer please!" I groaned. Not again. I was sick of selling our crap to middle school boys and self-proclaimed hipsters. Interaction with new people was tough enough for me; interactions with annoying people was pure torture.

I dragged my feet out of the garage towards my bearded father. His flannel and work boots gave him a very lumberjack-like aesthetic, but the warmth in his smile and rosy cheeks reminded me of a cozy fireplace and a cup of hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows. His good nature and social skills had sadly not been so gracefully passed on to me. "Dabby," He scolded me, using my ever-so-cringy nickname (especially so now that that awful dance move became a thing), "Be nice. This guy could be a huge buyer." He pointed to a man with his back turned to us, browsing the shelves of movies and cassettes splayed along our driveway. 

The only feature of his I could make out was a mop of grayish-white hair hanging down to his waist like a frizzy cloud. I sucked in a breath and strode toward the man, pasting on my best attempt at a kind smile and tapping the man on the shoulder. "Hello sir! Would you like some help finding some..." I paused when he turned around. My jaw dropped.

I'd seen multiple men with lumberjack beards, but this particular style was unique only to my father. His rosy cheeks looked duller, and his eyes had less of a sparkle, but when I glanced back at my dad across the yard, it couldn't not be him. I was about to scream when the man's finger shot to his mouth. "Please don't scream," He pleaded. I need to talk to you, but I can't talk to me - or - i mean - your father, because of all this "ripple in time" stuff, I really don't understand it at all but I was told not to talk to him I think-" He cut himself off when he saw my bewildered expression. "I'm sorry. I know this is crazy for you. I am from the future. I'm your father in twenty years."

"You're from the future?" I asked in an unbelieving tone. As impossible as it seemed, I knew my dad would be the type of guy to travel in time. He was nuts enough to pull a stunt like that off.

"Yes. And I have an important task for you."