Thanksgiving has come and gone. Coma-inducing quantities of food and three days of inebriated family members created some nice memories. I dominated the annual touch football game, leading my team to a crushing victory over my little cousins. I was the hero of the day when I managed to pop little Tristan’s arm back into place. Granted, I was the one who broke it with a vicious horse-collar tackle from behind, but hey, you play to win the game. The best part of it all was knowing we’re going to get back together in a month and do it all again for Christmas. When I look back on the holiday, my most cherished memory will be that of a thirty-something year-old homeless-looking man with a bad back. It turned out (much to the chagrin of the rest of my family) that my future self was visiting the past on his turkey day for the second consecutive year. What follows is our brief conversation. He quickly ran off to what he affectionately called “Chuck E. Cheese’s for grownups” with a large wad of singles. Oh, and don’t doubt the logic behind this story. Just don’t do it. Me: Hey man, it’s been a while. Glad you’ve returned from the future. Him: Yeah, definitely, some crazy stuff happened between then and now if I remember correctly. You had your front teeth punched out yet? Me: No. Him: Well, bob and weave kid. Me: So what’s going on with my life? Anything looking up? Him: Well I got bumped from a bartending shift. And I met someone! Me: Really? That’s great. What’s her name? Or…should I have to ask, his name? Him: Oh, God no, that phase ended years ago. Her name’s Melinda. And I think it’s love. Me: Wow, so can I see the girl of my dreams? You got a picture? Him: Of course. Me: Sweet Columbus, that woman is well over seventy! Him: So? Me: What do you mean ‘so?’ That’s disgusting! You guys haven’t consecrated anything, have you? Him: What? Oh, why, yes! Plenty of times. Just a moment ago, in fact. Me: I’m sorry, will you excuse me? I need to go vomit. (Moments later) Me: Are you happy? I was in there for three minutes dry heaving. I feel like I need to wash myself. Him: You want some of my Axe shower gel? It’s how very, very dirty boys get clean again. Especially if you’ve been in a back alley lately. Me: Oh dear Lord, please make it end. Him: By the way, I’ve been looking around. Listen, your cousin? I know you think she’s adopted, but she isn’t. You know what I’m saying? Me: Yeah whatever, not listening. Never mind about it, here comes my mom now. Mom: Oh, future Alex! What a mediocre surprise! (Laugh track) Him: Hello, mother. So many mixed emotions, seeing you alive again. Me: What? Him: Nothing. Mom: I have some other guests to keep entertained, so if you’ll excuse me. Me: Jeez, you are a real screw-up. Is there anything I can do to avoid becoming you? Him: Just work hard in high school. It might pay off in the long run and you can avoid the future where you drop out, attend mime school, drop out, accidentally kill your dog, and lose whatever money you might once have had. Me: Yeah, like I’m gonna take life advice from a bum like you. Look at you; you’ve made nothing of your life. Him: You’re not quite catching the whole cyclical aspect of time are you? Cause and effect? Anything? Me: Hold on… have you seen my cousin? You know she’s adopted…
