I hadn't even wanted to go out that night. In fact I hadn't wanted to do much in the last year since my wife and daughter had died. I had been married to Jennifer for about 5 years when we were blessed with the most beautiful daughter in world in 1996. Her name was Amber. From the time she could take her first steps, everyone knew that she and I were going to have a special father/daughter relationship. There wasn't anyplace that we didn't go together; the ballgames, the mall, fishing, golfing. You name it and Amber wanted to do it with her Dad. About a year ago, a drunk driver changed all of that and took the two most precious things in my life from me. My friends told me that someday I would be able to put my grief behind me. I didn't argue with them. If I had, they would have insisted I talk to some shrink about my not coming to terms with their deaths.

After their deaths, I continued with my law practice but my heart was not in it. I would go to work in the morning, do as little as I could do to get by and go home and be by myself. This night was like all the others. I got home from work, I fixed myself a drink, popped a TV dinner in the microwave and went to the family room and picked up my guitar. I had only been playing for the last six months. Throughout my life, I had always wanted to learn how to play but had never had the time. After Jennifer and Amber's deaths, one of my friends bought me a used acoustic guitar because he thought it would cheer me up. It did. I needed the diversion. I needed to stop thinking of Jennifer and Amber and practicing the guitar helped me do this. Because I didn't know how to play, it took all of my concentration to play even the simplest chords. When I was playing, I didn't think of my family or how much I missed them. And that was a good thing.

As I sat down on the sofa with the guitar, the phone rang. "Steve,... It's Paul. Hey buddy, I hate to do this to you but I'm sick" Paul was my partner in our law office. He was a great guy and had helped me a lot through the loss of my family. I knew Paul had an 8:00 hearing in the morning and so I knew immediately that he wanted me to cover it for him. "Paul", I said, "Don't worry about it. I'll cover for you, but I'm going to need the file". Paul said, "That's one of the problems. I left it at work. I was planning on stopping by the office before the hearing to pick it up". Shit, I thought. Although I could make it to court in time, I would have to leave extra early to pick up the file. Also, I kind of wanted to read the motion first to see what I was going to be arguing. "Paul, don't worry. I'll run to the office and get the file". I could tell by Paul's voice he was relieved, "Thanks, buddy. I owe you one".

I grabbed my keys, jumped into my car and sped off down the road, intent on getting to the office and back as fast as I could. I turned on the radio. Instead of music, the station was broadcasting a weather alert. It had been unseasonably warm that fall and we were having periods of intense fog. As I drove down the road, I could see the fog banks in the distance. At that time, I didn't think much about them... just knew I would have to drive carefully. As I approached the fog, I was impressed with how dense it was. My headlights bounced off the front of the bank and illuminated the entire cloud in front of me. The cloud wall looked almost solid and within seconds, I was enveloped in it. I slowed to half my speed and crept along the highway. Fortunately, there did not appear to be much traffic on the road, but I was still worried about some idiot crashing into me from behind. I put my hazards on and proceeded down the road. As I was driving through it, I noticed that the fog seemed to have a slight translucent glow to it, almost as if there were fireflies adrift in the bank. But these lights were not as bright and did not pulse or beat. They simply flowed with the fog. The lights looked liked the phosphorescence seen in breaking waves at the beach on a pitch black night. I began to feel disoriented and nauseous. My muscles and bones began to ache. My head was spinning. I slowed the car and pulled it to the side of the road and stopped. I laid my head on the steering wheel and tried to collect myself. The dizziness increased and I felt myself losing consciousness. I reached for the cell phone, hoping to call someone before I passed out. I didn't make it.

"Dude, what's wrong, man. Wake up". I was slowing coming to... like waking up from a afternoon nap. I was fighting to regain consciousness. Slowly, I began to awaken. I was aware of someone pushing my arm, trying to wake me up. I was still in the driver's seat with my head on the steering wheel but something didn't seem right. The seat didn't feel the same. The steering wheel felt different. And who was the person in the car with me? I was too disoriented to be afraid, just curious. As my head began to clear, the first thing that was evident was that this was not my car. The dash was different, the steering wheel was different. Everything was different. Why would someone take me out of my car and put me in the driver's seat of another car? It didn't make sense.

I then became aware of the person sitting next to me. By this time, he must have been aware that I was coming to, as he had stopped shaking me. Now, he just sat there, kind of dumbfounded, as I slowly came to my senses. I turned to him, to try and explain what had happened, to thank him for stopping and helping me... As I turned in my seat to talk to him, I immediately froze. Holy shit! I knew this guy! I not only knew him, but he was one of my best friends from high school. "Phil, phil is that you", I managed to croak... "Yeah, its me, Phil said, "Who else would it be. What the hell's wrong with you" It was Phil, but not as he should be now; 39 years old, receding hair line, paunch belly. No, this was the same old Phil from high school, 16 years old at most, skinny as a rail and just as I remembered him.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, somehow trying to will myself to come to my senses. As I sat there, it dawned on me that not only did I know the guy sitting next to me but that the car I was sitting in was also familiar. I quickly looked around. I saw the 5 speed stick shift, the toggle switches that I had put in so I could flip off my rear lights if I was being chased. I saw the speaker system I had installed myself. I not only knew Phil, I knew this car. It was the first car I ever had, a 1977 Toyota Corolla Hatchback. By 2000 standards it was a piece of junk, but I remembered how much I loved that car when I had it. As I focused on the car, I was suddenly faced with a rush of memories. I began to remember intricate details from my childhood and teenage years that I had long forgotten. And what just yesterday had been blurry, half remembered moments from my childhood, suddenly flooded back into my memory as vivid events as though they had just happened the day before.

I instantly knew where I was. Phil and I were on our way to one of the only places in Blaine that we could drink, the Bavarian Beer Garden. Although tonight was Thursday and we had school tomorrow, Phil and I were headed over to the Garden for the Thursday Night nickel beer night. It was 7:00 pm and I had just picked Phil up at his house. That explained why Phil was here and why we were in my car. But what about me. I was still the same old me, a thirty nine year old attorney in pretty good shape with most of my hair. As I had this last thought, I absentmindedly looked in the rear view mirror. At that moment, I received the second biggest shock of the day. Staring back at me in the mirror was the familiar face of myself, or at least how I looked when I was a skinny 16 year old kid (who looked 14) with a few scattered pimples and his hair parted in the middle.

While Phil and I sat in the car, I quickly tried to gather my wits about me. I knew I had to go someplace by myself and think. Phil actually looked kind of relieved when I told him I didn't feel well and that I better go home. He even was kind of worried about me, which was unusual for Phil, and suggested I stay at his place until I felt better. I assured him I was O.K., and that I just wanted to go home and lay down. I dropped him off at his house and proceeded home. By this time, I had pretty much accepted the fact that for the moment anyway, I was back in 1976. Although I still had all of my memories from my 39 years, there was no mistaking that I had the body of my 16 year old former self. There was no mistaking Phil and there was no mistaking my car. Nope. This was 1977, at least for the moment. I drove back to my parents house. Since my birth, my family had lived on the same property on the river. In 1977, the house was a rambling ranch style house that had been added onto as my parent's family had grown. I was the youngest of 4 kids and the only one living at home right now. My room was located at the opposite end of the house from my parents. I really didn't need to see them at this moment and I just wanted to get to my room and think.

My parents must have been watching TV in their room when I got home as I was able to get inside the house and into my room without talking to them. Once inside my room, I plopped down on the bed. I had so much to think about. If this were really 1976, how could I get back. Did I want to go back?. Of course, although all of this seemed real enough, the thought did cross my mind that I may have been involved in a car wreck in 2000 and I was either in heaven or in a coma. The last thought I had before I fell asleep was whether I would still be in my old bed when I woke or would I be back in the year 2000.

I awoke the next morning to the sound of my Mom telling me to get up and asking me if I wanted breakfast. I grunted a, "No" and tried to roll myself out of bed. I had forgotten how early I had to get up for school in order to be there by 7:10 am. Well, one thing was for sure; I was still in 1976. Fortunately, my teen memories were intact so I knew what classes I had and where they were. I was even prepared for my assignments. The only difference was I now I also had benefit of my 39 years of experience and maturity to see me through it. Instead of being nervous, I was kind of looking forward to what the day might bring.

The day was Nov. 11, 1977, a Friday. From my teen memory, I knew that Homecoming was next weekend. I was a Sophomore Class representative to the Student Government and one of the people in charge of building the sophomore class float. Now even my first time around in high school, I knew that this was a pretty good gig as a lot of the sophomore girls would turn out to help build the float. I also recalled that it was during this time that Lisa K and I got together. Lisa was pretty for her time. She was short, about 5-4, with blonde hair and sky blue eyes. Her most compelling feature, however, was her chest. To this day, she had one of the nicest chests I've ever felt. Probably a 34D if not DD. You could tell from her build that later in life she might get a little heavy, but at this point she looked great. Now, mind you, she was not the best looking girl in our grade; her face was a little round and she certainly was not the most intelligent but she was a nice girl. During my first go round in high school, Lisa and I only dated for two weeks (an intense two weeks by my standards back then) but we never got further than some serious make-out sessions. In fact, although I felt her breasts up quite a bit, I never felt skin to skin nor did I ever see them. One of my best friends, Jay, had a crush on Lisa at the time she and I first got together. He was pretty upset and angry that we were together and made my life hell for the two weeks we dated. I always blamed Jay for breaking us up but the truth of the matter was that Lisa was my first semi-adult relationship, meaning I had a car to take her out on dates. Because she was my first, I smothered her with kindness and attention and I think she couldn't take it. Two weeks later, I had heard that she gave up her virginity to one of the guys on the football team who, according to rumor, was treating her like shit. Just goes to show that nice guys finish last, at least in the pussy department.

If I had it figured right, the first night Lisa and I would get together was tonight. I only remembered that from my past because it also happened to be the first night we were working on the homecoming float. Because it appeared I was going to be in 1977 for a while, I decided to see if I could change a few things around. My objective with Lisa was the same as it was in high school; that is, to screw her silly. This time, however, I was armed with the maturity, knowledge and experience of a 39 year old man. Boys, I could not fail.

It appeared that everything was falling into place for that Friday. Leslie had come to me earlier in the day and we began to discuss arrangements for building the float that night. Leslie was also on the Student Government and shared with me the responsibility of building this float. She was the type of girl most guys dream about: blonde, blue-eyed, athletic build, head cheeleader, and the most popular girl in our class. I had always had a crush on Leslie and we had become good friends over the years. However, once Leslie got into highschool she dated nothing but older guys. She and I would flirt with each other through our high school years but nothing happened. After high school I realized that Leslie's flirting with me was just a way to keep me interested so that she could feel good about herself. The guy she was dating was a real dick and probably abused the shit out of her and she needed the attention from me to keep her self-esteem up. Once I figured this out, I felt kind of sorry for her. Leslie and I did get together after high school but by then the fantasy of being with the head cheerleader was pretty much gone. It also turned out that Leslie was a pretty lousy fuck.