If I could go back in time

Next to a vial of orange liquid, there was an old newspaper on his desk, the headline: Two Die in State Highway Crash

“It’s nothing to do with regret.” Old Howard stubbed out his cigarette into the much-used Ford Dealership ashtray. The sticky stench of tar wafted upwards with the last tendril of smoke. “It’s about doing the right thing. You don’t get a chance like this in life often. Well, I mean ever. I know you think I’m mad, but I’m going to do it, Andy.”

“But, but, but…” Andrew Baker, long-time employee of Howard's garage (and best friend too) raked a hardworking hand through his greasy mane of hair. He was concerned. “But what makes you think this woman is telling you the truth? Or that it’s even possible? And don’t you tell me that she’s not charging you something for this, she didn’t strike me as the altruistic type.”

Twenty-four hours ago a blonde bombshell had strutted her red high heels stuff into the garage and asked to see the boss. Some twenty minutes later she’d left again, and Howard had not been the same since.

“No, no I trust her. She knew things about me that she couldn’t have known otherwise unless she’d… ah, been back in time herself. No, this offer is straight up.”

But Andrew was right; the woman wanted 20k in exchange for a day trip back into time, to a date and time of his choosing. It was almost as if she had known that he housed deep-seated remorse and would stop at nothing to have the chance to re-live that day again. A chance to make everything right.

Howard reached for the cigarette packet again, and pulled another cancer stick out. “If I can just get back to that night, I wont go to the pub after work. Hell I won't even drive home, I’ll walk! Sheryl will be there, and if she asks me to take her to dinner, I’ll tell her that I’d rather stay in. We can eat baked beans for all I care, as long as she’s safe at my side.”

“You will still argue. You always argued.” Andrew replied dryly.

“No, you are remembering it wrong. We were pretty much a perfect match, and if I’d not come home reeking of grog that night, she might not have stormed off. Took my car. Did a burnout in the driveway even." There was a hint of pride in Howard's voice at his Sheryl's spunk. Although it hadn't ended well, at all.

“She’d been drinking too, remember.” As the voice of reason, Andrew spoke quietly.

Howard's hand was shaking as he tried to light his next cigarette, the zippo flame just wouldn’t keep lit. “Barely. She might have had one sherry. The cops had no right to ruin a person's memory with accusations like that. My Sheryl was not drunk. And if that other car hadn’t pulled out when it did...”

Andrew sighed, “What I’d like to know is why that chick who came in here thought to target you?”

“She’s not targeting me, she’s trying to help me.”

“Ok then, I’d like to know why she is trying to 'help' you then.” Andrew reached across the table and picked up the old paper. “I don’t know why you even kept this.” The article was dated 1998, he and Howard had been just 19 back then.

“Well. There is one more thing I haven’t told you yet.” Howard spoke slowly, reaching for the vial, “But that young lady, the one who came in yesterday. It was her mother who was in the other car.”

In a swift movement, he uncorked and upended the golden liquid down his throat, “I’m going to right things!”

The potion acted quickly. Howard fell to the floor his body going into convulsions, the never-lit cigarette rolled under the desk, while his mind… In his mind he was looking for Sheryl, his beautiful and feisty Sheryl, he was telling her how he loved her, and to stay. He was setting things to right.

Thirty miles away, peeling off fake eyelashes and throwing the wig in a bin, the woman in heels wondered if Howard would go through with it. Her revenge for his part in her mother’s death 25 years ago, was complete, and with some small remuneration for her grief.


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