July 17, 2017

Less than a year later, I had full feeling in every part of my body again and I was completely healed. I acquired slight burns on my legs that eventually went away with a bit of scaring. Luckily, I didn't get any scaring on my forehead.

Lillian is of course still my best friend, and I still visit her often. She just doesn't make me try everything for her all the time anymore, which I'm okay with. She was very apologetic after I was out of the hospital. She came by everyday with chocolate and the promise that she would never try to kill me again.

On this particular summer afternoon, I was at my own house, practically dying from heatstroke. It was a boiling day, so I was wearing a pair of light weight linen shorts and a black swim top. I curled my hair earlier in the morning out of boredom, and it was already started to get tangled. I had an ice pack on the back of my neck as I listened to the radio. Sprawled out over my couch, I used my tanned arm to cover my eyes and an electrical fan was blowing in my face and glistening bare stomach. During the song breaks, the announcers would comment on the insanely hot weather then continue playing upbeat summer songs.

I got a text from Lillian, and she asked me to come over. I threw the ice pack back in the freezer, applied some sunscreen, and got dressed. I replaced my bikini top with my favorite black cotton ribbed tank top because it doesn't show any stains when I'm sweating from the intense heat, and the scooped neckline is really flattering, along with a pair of jean shorts. My younger sister was over at a friend's house, so I didn't bother to ask if she wanted to come with. My parents are at work, but later they're going out of town with Lillian's parents for a trip. I sent my mom a text saying I was going to head over to Lillian's, and I began my drive.

I listened to my own summer music playlist as I drove over to Lillian's house. I groaned when the gas light came on, so I detoured to my favorite gas station, the Grease Monkey. It's not the closest one to my house, but it's easy to get to and the gas is cheaper over there. They also have a car service garage, so I usually go there when my tires need to be filled or if my oil needs to be changed. I pulled up to one of the few pumps and turned off my car. The little white gas station still has an old gasoline sign that sticks out over the door, and the front of the building says that they've got oil and grease, and that they offer towing. Other signs by the front door say that they've got ice cold drinks, and candies inside. I stepped out of my car and put my debit card into the pump. I plugged in my PIN, and let my car drink up the gasoline.

I leaned against my car as the gas chugged into my tank. I crossed one leg over the other, and I slipped a pair of black sunglasses on my head. It was so hot, I thought I might melt on the spot. I could see the heat haze waving over the asphalt, I swear I could smell it. I need an ice cream cone or an ice bath or something.

I love this gas station, it's so cute. The pumps are old, and the owner has kept everything old-fashioned. On the weekends, there's an actual attendant out here who will pump your gas for you so you don't even have to get out of the car. They also check your tire pressure, your oil, and they'll clean your windows. One time, I got out to grab some candy from the store and when I came back I saw the guy vacuuming the inside of my car. That was a little much, but they want to keep it authentic to the 50s and 60s filling stations.

A beat up pick-up truck pulled in, and an older guy got out of the drivers seat. He was tall, and had curly dark salt-and-pepper hair with a cigarette tucked behind his ear. His nose was crooked, like it's been broken multiple times in his youth. He had a long jagged scar that shined in the sun that dragged from his temple down to his chin. He reminded me of an alley cat. His faded blue eyes locked to mine for a moment, so I flicked my sunglasses down to the bridge of my nose and crossed my arms over my chest and tried to ignore him.

He started getting his own gas pumped, and he said to me with his grating voice, "real nice."

I looked at him with wide eyes. I dipped my chin down and pulled my sunglasses down my nose enough for me to see him over the frame. "Excuse me?"

"The weather. It's real nice," he stated with a grim and bitter smile.

"Oh, yeah."

Weirdo. This is just not my day.

I glanced at the number of gallons I have paid for but I was only about halfway there. I looked back over my shoulder at the gas station's store, and decided to head in there until that guy drove off or at least until my gas tank was full. I was hungry anyway so I decided to just get some chips and look for an ice cream. I ran my fingers through my curly hair after the wind blew the strands in my face, so I walked into the gas station.

Just as I put my hand on the metal handle, the older man called out to me, "don't break too many hearts, okay?"

My entire body shuddered with disgust. It made me so uncomfortable, who says that? I shouldn't have turned around to face him, but I did. I forced a smile in acknowledgment, then I slipped into the building. A little bell chimed when I walked in. I pushed my sunglasses back up on my head, letting it naturally pull my dark hair back. There were a couple of other people in there, so I walked around aimlessly while glancing out the window to see if that guy was still there. He was, but he wasn't paying attention to me anymore.

I could barely hear the Johnny Cash song that was playing throughout the gas station because the old air conditioning unit was making so much racket. Not like it does much, it was still terribly hot in there. I headed to the back where the freezers are, and they were completely out of ice cream. I sighed, and grabbed a chilled Diet Coke instead. I walked down the isles until I found the chips, so I grabbed a small bag of normal potato chips and headed for the register.

The cashier helped out the guy in front of me, and when it was my turn I set the chips and the Diet Coke down on the counter. I grabbed a few bills from my pocket and waited for him to ring me up.

The cashier was an older guy as well. I see him every time I come in here, and he is always pretty nice to me. He's the owner. He has a full head of gray hair, and he is quite tall and lean. He has soft gray eyes, and both of his wrinkled arms were full of tattoos. There was something dark and faded on his right arm that I couldn't quite make out. I think it's a bird. He asked in a raspy voice, "that guy bothering you?"

"Who?" I asked.

He nodded toward the truck that had pulled up next to me.

"Oh, no. It's nothing." I brushed it off.

"Okay," he stated in his thick southern accent. "But if he bothers you, you tell me. All right, kiddo? He can be a real blockhead."

"I will," I promised with a soft smile. I handed him my money and asked, "you know him?"

He glanced out the window and sighed softly. "We used to run around together back in the 60s. Hoodlums, we were. We grew up on the same streets. He wasn't my friend or nothin', but we had each other's back."

He gave me back my change. "Thanks."

"Have a good day, darlin'," he said as I grabbed my chips and the soda.

"You too," I said back.

I walked briskly back to my car. I put the pump back, and I rejected the receipt because the amount I just paid for gas was like a knife in my heart. I jumped into my car and fixed my sunglasses over my eyes again just before I put on my seatbelt. I noticed the guy still standing by his truck, but he was looking at my car. I made eye contact with him through his reflection in the side mirror, and he squinted, as if he was trying to place me in his mind. I certainly didn't recognize him, and I didn't want to stick around. I started my car and pulled out of the gas station so I could begin my drive to Lillian's place.

She didn't lock her door, so I waltzed right in. She was in the kitchen, getting herself a glass of southern iced tea and she asked what took me so long. I told her that I went to get gas so I also stopped for a soda, and a bag of chips after telling her about the weird interaction I had at the pump. I washed my hands to get the gas station residue off of me and stayed at her kitchen counter while she went into her inventing room. I opened the bag of chips and started munching.

There was a brief knock at the front door. I ignored it, assuming it was a delivery but whoever it was knocked again. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping that Lillian would answer it since it's her house. She didn't come out to the living room, so I groaned as I walked to the door.

I opened it and there stood my sophomore math teacher. I haven't seen him since last school year. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

"Hi, Bri. Is Lillian there?" He asked rather nervously.

"Yeah, she's in her room. Can I help you?" I asked. Why was he here? This is very odd.

"I have to give this to her," he said and handed me an envelope. "Can you make sure she gets this, please?"

"Yeah, I will," I promised and grabbed the brittle yellow envelope from him. He thanked me, and I shut the door. I haven't spoken to him in over a year, and even though Lillian and I both had his class that didn't answer why he showed up on her doorstep in the middle of summer. I don't think he ever really liked me.

I glanced at the envelope and inspected the handwriting on the front. It looked familiar, but the writing had been smudged a bit and the paper looked worn and old. Lillian's name was written on the front, so I absentmindedly tossed it on the kitchen counter and sat at the table where my bag of potato chips were lonely.

"Bri?" She asked, coming out of her invention room. It's just a bonus room in her house with her chemistry sets, equipment, and blueprints. I've only been in there a couple times, but never for long. It is overwhelming and I don't want to accidentally break something. It's where she creates all of her inventions. She also had welding equipment and tools in there too.

"Yeah?" I was eating my chips at her kitchen counter and sipping the iced tea while looking at my phone.

"Will you help me with something?" She asked.

"Yeah, sure," I said as I licked the salt from my fingers. I set my phone down on the counter beside my little pouch for loose coins, my drivers license, debit card, and extra bills. I followed her into her invention room.

She stopped me and said, "bring your phone."

"Why?"

"Just do it," she said.

I retreated back to the counter and slipped my phone into my back pocket. I wasn't sure what her plan was, so I grabbed the pouch and put that in my pocket too. Someone might need to ID me later if this goes south.

I trotted back over to Lillian as I said, "oh, before I forget, there's a letter for you on the counter."

"A letter?" She asked.

"Yeah, Mr. Kenner came by."

"Kenner? Why?" She made a face.

"I don't know. I didn't read your mail," I chuckled.

"I'll look at it later."

I froze when I saw the same machine that sent me to the hospital in the first place, sitting peacefully on the table.

"I figured out what was wrong!" She then followed that statement with lots of science talk that I couldn't keep up with.

"Come on, man. I was at the hospital less than a year ago," I said, "I'm pretty sure getting electrocuted is a serious thing."

She begged again. Whined even. Guilted me into submitting to her madness. She promised again and again that this time it wouldn't hurt me.

I finally gave in. "Fine! But you have to pay for my hospital bills if it happens again."

"Deal." She crossed her heart. Lillian is just a teenager with only a couple of bucks to her name, I could tell she was serious.

The familiar fastening of the metal headband wrapped around my forehead, and the cold bar between my legs. The déjà vu was intense, and all I could imagine was the feeling of getting struck by lightening. My hands shook slightly out of adrenaline and fear. How was she so sure that it wasn't going to happen again? I could hear the lecture I would receive from my parents already.

The hot summer season never seemed to part from Tulsa. My jean shorts did not cover my legs enough for the metal bar, which pressed around my lightened scars. I readjusted my plain black tank top, and pushed my curly brown hair back behind my shoulder. I blew air out between my lips anxiously, just waiting to wake up in the hospital again.

Lillian flipped more switches and twisted more knobs and set the date to April 1, 1965, just like last time. I wasn't sure why April 1st was the day she chose, but I didn't care enough to ask.

"How do you know that this won't fuck me up?" I asked nervously.

"This one ain't plugged in like the other one was. If it doesn't work, nothing will happen," she promised.

"Okay," I said wearily.

"Ready?" She asked excitedly.

I couldn't tell if she genuinely believed this would work. She seemed thrilled by my acceptance of being the subject of her experiment again, but if she believed this would work wouldn't she explain to me how to use the machine so I could get back home? Did she have a system in place where it would take me back to 2017 instantly? Or did she know it wasn't going to work so she didn't bother, but just needed to test it out to see what was wrong?

"Ready." I was throughly prepared for a disaster. I was ready to see death. There was a large lever on the machine that wasn't there last year. Lillian wrapped her hand around it and hesitated for a moment before she flipped it.

I once again saw a familiar burst of white light that blinded me and a familiar ear-splitting ringing in my ears. I squeezed my hazel eyes shut and waited for it to be over, desperate for it to be quick. As soon as it started, the light disappeared with the ringing ceased as well.

I wiggled my fingers slightly, expecting to feel fabric covering my knuckles. Instead I felt the metal tube that my fingers surrounded, and it was slightly warm.

Curious, I opened my eyes and discovered that I was in a field. I had no pain, just the blinding light that left colorful dots in my vision.

"What the hell?" I asked to no one. The Time Machine was still connected to me so I ripped it off and scrambled up to my feet. I looked around, and there was nothing but a dirt road that cut through a green field with a sign up ahead.

I looked down at myself and tapped on my stomach, my chest, and my shoulders. I was still here, I was alive. At least I thought so. I clenched my jaw and my breathing got heavier the more I realized that there was a chance that maybe I might have traveled back in time. I wasn't certain, I refused to accept it, but I couldn't think of another explanation that made sense.

I snapped my head back to the Machine and shoved it behind a large rock so no one could find it again until I figured out what to do. It was too big and awkward for me to carry everywhere. My mind was still running with all sorts of solutions as to what most likely happened. Maybe Lillian knocked me out and threw me out the window in the middle of no-where. There was no way that I was in 1965. Time travel is impossible.

When I walked around, my legs were tingling as if they were trying to wake up. I could compare it to being a kid and jumping off the playground and landing on straight legs. I took my phone out and somehow found a light signal. I entered Lillian's address to look up how to get back to her house and the search came up empty. Tried again and no results were found.

"Are you kidding me?" I huffed. I looked up another address and my phone told me to take a right. I walked down the dirt road, passing the sign that said that Tulsa was only a few miles away. I hope this lonely, broken road leads me straight to where I need to be. I followed it until it reached a regular cement road with pot holes and loose gravel.

After lots of tiresome walking, I finally found the center of town. It was like a beam of light at the end of a three mile long tunnel. It did look different; the paint on the buildings were brighter, brilliantly colored canopies covered the entrances to buildings down the strip, even the bricks of some establishments lacked of any dullness or chipping. Neon signs were glowing despite the sun casting down on the warm and clear day.

I swear I could hear Mister Sandman play as I stumbled down the street, distracted by everything in this burgeoning town while exploring. I felt like I stepped into a film of technicolor hues. Colors here were so vibrant and had such a high contrast and saturation levels, I envied how lively and colorful the world used to be. I took my phone off the maps application and tried to call Lillian. Apparently that number doesn't exist.

If this was a prank, it was planned perfectly.

The same old buildings I grew up with were now well kept and clean, the street was bustling with Thursday morning activity. There was a women's boutique nearby selling some of the latest fashion trends from sixty years ago, and a car dealership was selling classic cars. I stumbled past a record store that had records and albums from The Beatles, Elvis, The Beach Boys, The Supremes, The Animals, and more 60s artists in their windows. At every corner I saw posters highlighting the upcoming mayor election for Tulsa, supporting either the election of James Hewgley Jr, or the re-election of James L. Maxwell. The movie theater had a big sign that said they were playing Dear Brigitte, starring Jimmy Stewart, Brigitte Bardot, and Fabian.

I walked right into the little town square and saw everyone dressed very retro. In vintage dresses and hairdos, and lots of boys were wearing navy blue and gold Varsity jackets and sweaters. Sweaters? What kind of school has Varsity sweaters?

It felt like everyone was staring at me. Anxious, I ran into the first place I could and asked for the phone. It was called Rusty's. They've got numerous signs all over the building that say that they provide breakfast, lunch, and dinner and that they have coffee, sandwiches, hot cakes, homemade pie, milkshakes, hamburgers, beef, and baked ham. Tuffs of dead grass and brown weeds were sprouted all around the building, baked from the unforgiving sun.

I stumbled into the soda shop and the door closed behind me. There was ketchup, mustard, sugar, and syrup at every table. The linoleum floors were of different shades of brown, which complimented yet insulted the wood panel walls. The chairs and tables were grey, but the counter top and other appliances were corn yellow or brown like the desert sand. The shades that blocked the diner from the blazing sun were a rainbow of faded pastel shades, which brought some color into the dull yellow and brown hues of the diner.

Behind the counter was a milkshake station, where they advertised malts, sundaes, cones, and floats. Napkins, salt and pepper, sugar, and straws were placed strategically across the counter for those sitting at the cafe bar. There was a jukebox against the wall, which was playing a soft honky-tonk tune.

Everyone looked like they came out of the movie Grease. They were eating burgers, fries, and shakes. It was a soda shop I didn't recognize. I think this place is now a historical restaurant, but I've never been to it.

When I asked for the phone, the soda jerk gave me a weird look and used his thick thumb to jab it over to where the bathroom sign hung. I rushed back there and I quickly dialed as many numbers as I knew. They were all non existent.

"Jesus, dammit," I grunted as I threw the receiver back down with a harsh thud.

"Don't go breaking my telephone," the soda jerk called out to me.

I stomped back out and faced him. Due to my frustration and obvious confusion I accidentally yelled, "where the hell am I?"

"Tulsa." He gawked at me.

"Oklahoma?" I asked with my eyebrows raised.

"That's right. Are you okay?" He furrowed his eyebrows while wiping the counter down with a white rag.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." My voice was shaking. How was I so close to home yet so far away?

"You look like you need something to eat. You gonna order somethin', honey?"

I stammered but shook my head. "I—uh—no, no thank you."

I stumbled out of the soda shop and turned around abruptly, nearly bumping into a mother and her son walking past on the sidewalk. I apologized and finally my eyes zoned in on a phone booth. I grabbed some change from the pouch I had in my back pocket and thumbed it into the coin slot. I tapped my thumb against the buttons as I thought of a number to dial, and ended up calling the one number that helps everyone in an emergency.

"Tulsa Police department, how may I help you?" A lady answered.

"Hi, yes, hi. Can you please tell me what day it is?"

"Pardon me, Miss?" The lady almost had that transatlantic accent you hear in the old movies, but not as thick.

"What day is it? What is today's date?" I asked sternly, yet I kept my voice low in case anyone heard me.

"It's Thursday April 1, 1965, Miss. Do you want me to call someone for you?" Her voice was calm. I hoped she didn't have the technology to track my call to send people to whisk me away to the looney bin.

"No. No. No." I chanted to myself, rubbing the back of my neck. Trying to wrap my mind around this incident. I glanced out to the street, where I saw a cherry red 1964 Chevy cruising down the street. I spun around as it drove past me, watching it drive off with my eyes wide and jaw clenched.

"Is there something wrong, Miss?" The kind operator asked.

"No. I'm fine," my voice trailed off. Then I had an idea on how I could try to communicate with Lillian. It was a way I remembered seeing on a movie once, it was probably Back to the Future.

I tried to remember some of the teachers I knew who were working at the Will Rogers High School and could have potentially been working there, at this time, or at least gone to school there. I just needed someone I knew in 2017 to be there.

"Will you tell me the number of the school district?" I asked confidently.

"Of course! Hold on." I heard the sound of papers being shifted around through the phone and she gave me the number.

"Thanks." I hung up and put in a few more coins to dial the school districts number. Then, I was transferred to the high school's front desk.

"Will Rogers High School, this is Alice," the receptionist greeted.

"Hi, can you please tell me if Mrs. Fernandaz is working at the high school?" I asked. She was the Spanish teacher at our school freshman year, right before she retired. I never took her class, but Lillian did.

"I'm sorry but I have no record of a Mrs. Fernandez employed here."

"What about Mr. Henri?" I asked, hoping that the history teacher was as old as he looked.

"No."

"Mr. Kenner?" At this point I was running out of options. He is one of the oldest teachers there. He has been saying he is going to retire since my freshman year, but he has yet to leave.

"There is a Mark Kenner at the school but he is a student."

"That's perfect!" I exclaimed a little too enthusiastically. I cleared my throat to try to bring my tone back to normal so I could ask, "will you please tell me where he lives?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot disclose that information."

"Oh, I am his father's secretary and Mark left his school bag at the office. It needs to be returned to him," I blurted. I squeezed my eyes shut, and my fist clenched around the receiver. That was the dumbest lie I have ever thought of, but I panicked.

"Oh, of course. One moment."

She gave me his exact address.

What kind of time was this?!

I hung up and typed his address into my phone and casually strolled to his house. At least I had a vague idea of what to do instead of going around aimlessly like a chicken with its head cut off. It was almost soothing to have a clear path. The air felt cleaner than in 2017 and I did my best to avoid people on the street. I kept getting gawked at by literally everyone. From teenagers, to adults, to little kids licking lollipops. Why was I sticking out like a sore thumb?

I had swiped a piece of paper and a pencil from a girls open back pack when she was walking too slow in front of me and I stopped at a bench to write exactly what has happened to me and that her invention truly worked. Lillian won't be getting it for another fifty-two years, but I didn't know how else to tell her. I honestly didn't even know how to get back to my time. She should have taught me how to work the Time Machine. I'll figure it out sometime, I hope.

I accidentally grabbed two pieces of paper, but it worked to my favor. I used the blank one to create an origami envelope, like how my mom taught me when I was young.

I did recognize the street name, so I was able to locate the house easily. There was an old car in the driveway, and the entire front of the house was built with brick. I knocked on the wooden front door and a few seconds later a nerdy teenager opened it. He looked uncanny to Mr. Kenner, which was super weird. I still wanted to believe that this was still a prank.

"Hi, are you Mark?" I asked. He wore a white and blue plaid shirt tucked into clean blue jeans. He sported an old fashioned Crew Cut.

"Yes, and you are?" He looked me up and down scornfully, clearly confused by my outfit. Maybe that's why people keep staring at me. It guess it is very scandalous here in 1965.

"My name is... Audrey," I lied and it was the first name I could think of that felt like it fit the vibes of the 1960s. I wasn't going to give him my real name, just in case. "I have a letter that I need you to give a certain person on a certain day," I blurted. I didn't know to make it subtle. How can anyone make that subtle?

"What? Why?" He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame.

"You are the only person I know who can do it. Please," I begged. I handed him the envelope that had Lillian's name and address with the exact time and date he needed to deliver it written in pencil.

"Who is Lillian Tucker?" He asked, reading the envelope.

"You'll find out."

We both have Mr. Kenner for math Sophomore year. It was July when I left, and we are supposed to be going into our senior year in the fall. Hopefully I'll be back in time for it.

"In fifty years! July 17, 2017?! This is ridiculous." He looked at me like I was psychotic.

"I really, really, really need you to do this," I pleaded.

"Why?" He asked.

"It's personal, but you will find out who she is. I even wrote her address on there for you. I need you to deliver this message at the exact date it says on there. I'm really counting on you, please."

"I think you are nuts." He laughed and tried to shove it back in my hands.

"Please. I really need you." I lifted my hands up, refusing to take back the letter.

"Prove it." He squinted.

"Prove what?"

"Prove that you need me for this outrageous task."

"How?"

"Why do you need me to give this letter to this... Lillian?"

"It's a long story. It really won't be a bother to you. It is literally less than a ten minute drive."

"I know every street name in this here town, and none of them are called... Hunter Street," he read out loud.

"Mr. Kenner. I really need you to do this for me."

"Did you just call me Mr. Kenner?"

"Oh my god. Sorry, Mark," I corrected.

"If I say yes, will you get out of my face?" He chomped on his bubble gum.

"Yes!" I clasped my hands together in hope.

"Then yes."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squealed. I pointed at the letter and said, "please be super careful with that. That letter is super important and you can't forget."

"I won't. I promise." He smiled weakly at me. Probably out of pity.

I felt satisfied with his promise and left his clean porch steps. It wasn't until I got back to the road that I heard his front door close. I glanced back at the house over my shoulder and noticed him peaking out through the blinds of his window, watching me walk away. My head immediately snapped forward so I didn't make eye contact with him and I kept walking. Maybe I should have given it to the bank or something instead.

It took everything for me not to freeze and trip over my feet in that moment. This was why he showed up at Lillian's doorstep just before I left. He gave me the letter I just wrote for Lillian. He does keep his promise.

My feet were hurting and my legs were sore from all the walking I was doing. I was going to need a car if I wanted to get around in a timely manner, because so far my morning and afternoon had been taken up by just the travel aspect of my adventure.

I came across my high school. The elaborate brick school features two towers at the front corners of the large main block of classrooms that goes up three floors. The entrance is constructed of double doors with Will Rogers High School carved above them and elaborate designs and carvings of people on the building.

Once I knew where the high school was, I figured out where I was going. I've lived in Tulsa since I was ten years old, but I was born and raised in California. I don't have the southern accent like most people around here do.

People in 1965 need to learn how to mind their own business because everyone was looking at me as if I was prancing around the town naked, or wearing a suit of aluminum. Now that I have accepted that I am the first person to travel through time, there wasn't anything separating me from the rest of them except for my clothes and hair.

Taking my prior knowledge of the 60s, and my own personal style, I went on the hunt for a new wardrobe. I found a little boutique in town that I think is a flower shop in 2017, and I bought a few things I could wear while I'm stuck here.

If the associate noticed the year on my currency and thought it was fake, I wouldn't have a penny to my name. I am far from home, I would have no money, and no way back. There is no way I am willing to ride out the next fifty years to catch up.

I changed out of my tank top and shorts and instead put on loose jeans and a soft periwinkle blue sweater. I think I went into the men's section for the jeans, because I didn't want a skirt or capris. The jeans were definitely a style I'd wear back home so I didn't care. Spring in Tulsa is unbelievably hot as it is, but the sweater was very breathable. I tried to stay away from anything too stereotypical, which included white go-go boots that were to die for but I stuck with my black converse sneakers that I was already wearing.

Using the money that was in my pocket, I paid for my new clothes and shoved my old clothes in the bag. I managed to convince the cashier to break some of my bills so I didn't have to worry about getting caught with new money. By the end of the transaction, all of my bills were made prior to 1965, and the young cashier didn't notice the date on my bills at all.

I wasn't getting the awkward stares anymore, and people paid no more negative attention towards me, which was my goal. I ran my fingers through my hair as it bounced down my back with each step. Now that my appearance was taken care of, I just needed to find a suitable way to transport myself from one place to another.

After counting my money, I took a bus to a nearby cheap car rental company. When I got to the lot, I noticed that the license plates were different than they are back home. These ones in 1965 were all black with 19 Oklahoma 65 above the plate number in white lettering. I was nervous that they would refuse to give me a car because I didn't have a valid ID, but they didn't ask for it. All I had to do was pay for it in advance, and the car was mine. It was a decent black convertible, and I rented it for a week. If I need it longer, I just need to come back and pre-pay for however long I need it. I had to fight tooth and nail for an automatic transmission, I can't drive manual.

I may have a fortune due to inflation but I still need to be careful on how I spend my money. I have a nice paying job back in 2017, and I had been saving up for a long time. I had quite a bit of extra spending money. My purchases were just in case, for the time being. Everything was so cheap, it didn't put a giant dent in my savings as it would have in 2017.