Chapter 14: Confessing Who I Am

I couldn’t put off joining the wrestling team any longer. I am in shape, and Gran has been hounding me for not keeping up my part of the bargain. She is willing to count my study group as a school activity, but I still need something else. Our study group gets pushed back a couple hours on Tuesdays, so I could go to wrestling practice, Tuesdays and Thursdays. I also started Karate in the evenings on Monday and Wednesday. My time is getting filled up fast.

Saturday came quick. The girls are anxious to see what the letter is all about, so I agreed to have them over for breakfast. I also invited Rachel. She has been with me the longest and deserves to know the truth. Rachel is kind enough to pick Carol and Dahlia up, so they all arrived at the same time. I am just finishing up in the kitchen when they arrive. Our greetings have evolved from hugs to kissing on the cheek. Of course, my sister, I hugged. She still sees me as a little kid.

As soon as we sit down, Dahlia brings out the letter and is about to open it when I stopped her, saying, “You can’t open it here. I can’t let my uncle see. It is a big enough risk showing you three. We will go for a drive after breakfast and park on top of Mt Tolmie. Then we will talk about it in the privacy of the car.” None of the girls were happy about that.

Rachel didn’t know about the letter and was confused when Dahlia brought it up. She suddenly had a bunch of questions, “What is the letter about, and why did you make me get up early on a Saturday? Better yet, why are the girls pissed that you are making them wait?”

I admit, “Since we first met, I have kept a secret from you. I couldn’t tell you because there was no way you would believe me. I am sick of never having anybody to talk to about it, so in the envelope is proof. Hopefully, it is enough that you will believe me.”

I switched the topic, and they were kind enough not to bring it up again until breakfast was over. My two sexy little maids clean up the dishes. I go to my room to get some old newspapers and stick them in Rachel’s car. The girls are impatient, so they make short work of the dishes, and before I know it, we are on the highway heading to Mt Tolmie. That isn’t good enough for the girls.

I am sitting in the front while Rachel drives. Carol and Dahlia are in the back. There is no stopping Dahlia; she opens the letter and starts reading aloud. “In a game between St Louis Blues and Buffalo Sabres on March 22nd, Malarchuk gets his throat slashed by a skate.” All that did was confuse everybody.

“I suppose I should have written it chronologically. I wrote down a series of facts; most of them haven’t happened yet.”

Rachel asks, “What is this all about?”

I tell her, “I wrote a letter and had Dahlia mail it to herself. You can see the date on the postal stamp. The letter is just what happened the last time it was 1989. I haven’t changed events enough, so everything there should come true.”

I hand the newspapers to Carol, telling her, “In the February 19th paper look up the Daytona 500. According to what I wrote in January, Darrell Waltrip gambles on his last tank of gas lasting 53 laps to win the race. Dahlia, look in the February 16th paper. Look up the Nascar twin 125 qualifiers. Ken Schrader and Terry Labonte are the two winners.”

The girls look up the races then look at the list. Dahlia stammers, “I don’t get it.”

“Keep on looking. Carol, find the January 22nd paper. Dahlia, read what I wrote about the Super Bowl.”

Dahlia grabs the letter off the seat and starts reading, “49ers over Cincinnati 20-16. With 3:10 left in the game, the score is 13-16. 34 seconds left in the game, Taylor receives a pass to score the final touchdown. Score at the end of each quarter: 1st 3-0, 2nd 3-3, 3rd 6-13, 4th 20-16.”

By now, Carol has found the page in the paper. She tells Dahlia, “Let me see that.” Then she grabs the letter from Dahlia to check it with the article. After she is finished, she proclaims,” I’ll be dammed; it is as he predicted.”

“Those aren’t predictions.”

Rachel asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t expect you to believe me, but I hope you trust me enough not to think I am crazy and do something stupid like try to get me help for a perceived mental problem.”

Dahlia states, “You are starting to scare me.”

“I’m sorry, that isn’t my intent. I am Trent Brown, but I am not the Trent Brown you think I am.”

Carol says, “You just keep making me more and more confused.”

“Rachel, pull over. I don’t want to get into an accident.”

She doesn’t argue. She just pulls over, puts the car in park and then turns to look at me. I turn to face her so all the girls can see my face as I talk. I begin, “I guess I should start at the beginning, though, depending on your perspective, that could be a few different places. Let’s start with the facts you know. I appear to be a 15-year-old boy, yet somehow, I walked into UVic, and a little over a week later, I have three masters’ degrees, all in engineering. That isn’t possible. The youngest person ever to earn a degree was a British 13-year-old girl that did it two years ago. She earns her first master’s this year. I earned three masters’ in one week, never having been to university, and I did it while I was eight months younger than her when she gets her first masters. That isn’t possible for a 15-year-old kid, no matter if he was the smartest person in the world.

“Rachel, when you came to me for help, I knew just what to do when hundreds of adults had already tried and failed to deal with Mr. Peachwood. How is a 14-year-old kid supposed to do that?”

Rachel stares at me like I have three heads or something. All the girls sit in silence, not sure what to think. I continue, “When you eliminate all the possibilities whatever is left, no matter how improbable, is the truth. It is not possible for me to be a 15-year-old boy. It is not possible for me to know the things on that paper if they haven’t happened yet. Those are two truths you will need to come to grips with.”

Carol asks, “What does that mean?”

I don’t hold back, “From what you know, the only possible explanation is, I am from the future, and I know the results of those races and games because they are my past. To be truthful, I don’t like the NFL or NASCAR, but my biological father likes NASCAR, and there are enough people that like the NFL when an extreme game like that happens everybody hears about it.”

Rachel ponders aloud, “If you are from the future, then why are you a 15-year-old boy?”

“I’m not. Don’t ask me why I’m a younger version of myself. I haven’t figured that out. I was 69 years old, travelling along in my spaceship when I hit something called a quantum singularity. Next thing I know, I wake up in my 9th-grade math class being punched in the head by Dean, the kid that sat behind me. I was able to get all three degrees in a week because I am a retired marine engineer that has the equivalent knowledge of somebody with degrees in mechanical, electrical and nuclear engineering in 2035. Writing a thesis for engineering degrees in 1989 is like you going back and writing a paper for your grade 6 science class.

“Dahlia, you know I am trained in many different martial arts, and I grew up in a village outside of Fort Grand. Rachel, do you know of any martial art schools in Fort Grand?”

“I don’t know of any.”

“There is a Tae Kwon Do school on 102 ave. and there is a Tai Chi class at the college. There is no way I could learn weapons or as many martial arts as I know living up there. There was also no place to learn ballroom dance. Heck, the reason my digital audio player didn’t sell was because I forgot that the technologies needed to support such a device will not be around until next year. How would a 15-year-old kid know how to build something that advanced using only things you would find at Radio Shack?”