Sometimes I wish I had been making highlight videos back in the early 2000’s. There were a lot of scrubs that I’ve never heard of putting up some good performances, but not only that, today’s washed-up vets were having some monster scoring games of their own. I mean, Richard Jefferson on the Nets dropping 39 on the Knicks back in 2003? I would have been all over that. Howard Eisley dropped an 18-burger in the same game, with seven dimes. Kenyon Martin with 25? I would have been calling him a bust in the description. Jason Collins started that game.
Man. That would be so awesome. Never mind that YouTube didn’t exist back then. In fact, online video was limited to low-quality, postage-stamp-sized clips that took forever to load. I would have revolutionized the internet with full game highlights at a time when you were lucky to see a grainy clip of Shaq dunking it.
I get up from my computer with sadness, but also with determination. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.
Walking to the garage, I pull the sheet off a large metal contraption that has been sitting in the corner for the past decade. The accumulated dust of eons creates a cloud, causing me to cough. It still looks the same as I remember it, even the instrumentation itself untouched since I last used it all those years ago. The time machine.
I choke back tears as the uncontrollable stream of reminiscence again assaults me. I sit heavily on the cement floor, head cradled in my hands as the memories flow unbidden.
My one true love, trapped in a time not her own. Martha.
After that disastrous day, I swore I would never meddle with the timeline again. The past was not meant to be tampered with, and Martha’s tragic disappearance is a testament to that fact. But, my heart yearns for those forgotten NBA seasons in the early part of the millennium. I must make highlight videos.
Stepping into the transportation chamber, I carefully set the chronometer to March 28, 2003, the date of Richard Jefferson’s 39-point game. Taking one last look at my house, the house that Martha and I were supposed to build our dreams in, a tear slips down my cheek. It was never really home. Not without her.
It will be better this way.
Pulling the lever, spacetime flexes in resistance, then yields in a flash of light. I am gone.