Timetable

I sit in class. The instructor walks down each aisle with swift and precise steps, as if marching in a military parade. With the same precision, she deposits slips of paper on each desk. She is careful not to leave a wrinkle. She is certain to place each slip of paper so that it aligns perfectly with each desk, about 6 inches from the short edge and 8 inches from the long edge.

I can’t turn my head. Nobody does. If we do, we’ll surely be reprimanded later. I allow my eyes to strain to the right and to the left. I see my fellow classmates sitting up straight, pencils in hand, beads of sweat forming on their brows. What will the test be this time? Will I be ready for it?

Her shoes click louder and louder as they approach my desk. Her hand places the piece of paper on my desk with robotic precision. I guess at this point, I should stop calling them desks. They are tables. Seems like we’re splitting hairs but it matters. We are sitting at tables.

I look at my slip of paper. It says:

1898
Mulberry St.
Manhattan, NY
Earth 230G

I read over the lines. The date, the location, the… other Earth. I’ve been through this a few times but I still find it hard to explain. My classmates aren’t good at explaining either. I honestly think nobody has quite figured it all out yet. We discovered that we can travel through time and space. We thought that would be the ultimate discovery. But we never considered the more important discoveries, the discoveries without which would drive you mad. Like why do we travel? Why and how can we travel? What does this mean for us? About us? Those are the questions that are driving us mad. That’s why there are hundreds and hundreds of classrooms, just like this one. Each student on a solo fact finding mission.

I focus again on my piece of paper. I circle each of the lines of text with my pencil. I center the piece of paper on my table. On my timetable.

The timetable begins to vibrate, so subtly at first that I wonder if it is just my own nerves. I feel it first inside my body, like being at a concert and being able to feel the bass in my heart, through my skeleton. I noticed my classmates beginning to rattle as well.

It’s such a violent and precise shaking, I hate it. It’s like a massage that hurts too much. Like one of those stupid massage guns that is really just a mini jackhammer. The thing I hate most about this process though, is when I fully recover on the other side.

When I get to Mulberry St in 1898 in this other version of Earth, I won’t remember much at first. I always fear this. It’s like stepping into a dream. You never question what happened before, what led you to this. Your consciousness is in a totally and completely different reality. Likewise, when you wake up normally in the morning, you never question how you got there or if you went to sleep the previous night.

The shaking intensifies. My vision blurs and goes to black. I think I vomit, but I’m not sure…

The street is bustling. I jump off the cobblestone and hug a building just in time to miss a runaway carriage. I’m on my way to the factory for another hard day of work.