“I’m not hiding anything.” I force the words out. They feel like lead in my mouth. I can feel my chest vibrating as my heart beats faster and faster.

“But you’re debating if a T stop is aboveground or underground, asking me what year it is, you’re dressed funny, and, to top it off, you don’t carry yourself like anyone I’ve ever seen before. You’re definitely hiding something.”

There could be millions of reasons why I’m seeing and experiencing what I am. Maybe I’m on the verge of death, and my neurons are firing to create one great memory.

So many maybes. But deep down, I know what I want to say; I know what I’m feeling and thinking.

“I’m either dreaming or hallucinating…but if this is real, I think I traveled back in time and ended up in my own house in nineteen sixty-nine.”

There, I think. I said it. Speaking the words feels like pressure on a dam being released at the very last minute. Sure, it sounds like nonsense, and sure, Michael’s probably going to tackle me, tie me to the couch, and call 911. Hello, Operator? Yeah, I have a stranger in my house who says he’s from the future. Sure, I’ll hold. But at least I said it.

“You asked earlier if the year was 2021. Is that when you’re from?”

That wasn’t what I expected. That wasn’t what I expected at all.

I open my mouth to answer him, and the world around me starts to blur, starting with the corners of my eyes. The ground under me feels like it’s suddenly gone, and I’m falling but also rising at the same time. It’s like what I imagine being in a black hole feels like: being yanked and turned into a thin piece of spaghetti.

And then, it all happens in reverse. My body retracts, sounds become crisp, colors return, and I feel something…wet?

The rough, sticky dampness is a familiar feeling. The stench of wet dog.

I open my eyes to see Clyde’s brown, wide ones looking up at me, his front paws on my thighs, licking at my stomach through my shirt.

I instantly jump back, like Clyde is some foreign intruder. It takes me a moment to see everything—to really see everything around me. My bed. The messy room. The papers. My cell phone.

This is my room. This is my home. Well, my home in my time. Not…then.

I gasp. “I’m back.”

Four

“Andre! Breakfast!”

I’ve been lying in bed all night, just staring at my familiar ceiling. It’s my room, all right. Down to the clothes, the smell, the books. But I have to keep double-checking and confirming. Touching the books, feeling the bed, calling Clyde over, and examining every inch of him before it sets in.