BY KANWAR P. S. PLAHA
Copyright is held by the author.
AI WAS going to rampage human employment, or so they had told me. I didn’t believe the hype and laughed it off as fake news.
Then, a few days ago, I was made redundant and it all turned real. Although my employer did compensate by offering a severance pay that had enough zeroes to make me smile, it was near impossible to find another job at my age, at least not one that would match the same perks or title. So, I took it as a sign to switch to a slower track. Retirement seemed opportune and after thrashing this around with my better half, Prakriti, I decided to hang up my metaphorical work boots, at least for the foreseeable future.
As a reward from the payout, I upgraded my car to an electric one and, over the Easter long weekend, we thought it was the perfect time to take the shiny new toy for a spin.
“Prak, I’m all strapped in and ready to go!” I yelled at Prakriti as the car window lowered with a hum, and I jiggled my bum to settle in the driver’s seat.
“What’s the hurry?” She yelled back. “It’s not like we’re going to work, or anywhere too far, are we?”
“OK, O-K!” I chuckled with raised palms, enjoying our banter, “I’m just excited, you know. Other poor sods may dread the end of the weekend while, for us, it’s party time, baby!”
“You should settle down and not jump to conclusions. That always lands us in trouble.” She said and slid into the passenger seat with her thigh-high white leather boots, shut the car door a bit too firmly, and clicked her seatbelt. “Now, how do I look?” She grinned, staring at me above her oversized rose-coloured goggles.
“Just like Agnetha from ABBA.” I winked. “I have a feeling it’s gonna be an awesome 70s-themed party, love! Oh, and by the way, it’s because of my jumping to conclusions that we’re here today. About to leap into a fun-filled afternoon!”
“You’re sure we can do it right, right? I don’t want to end up with my make-up all messed up. I haven’t even fed the cat this morning.”
“Well, let’s find out, darling. We’ll be back before the cat awakens.” I smiled and hit the stick to start the automobile with a whoosh.
Over the years, the EV brands had improved their vehicles to go from zero to eighty in 0.5 seconds but nobody had tested the claim yet. There was never enough road for it, and there were always more than enough cops, and people, around.
On that particular scorcher of a weekend, when most people found it ridiculous or plain stupid to venture outside, I decided to test the claim despite the risk of increased fines and demerit points. Taking unnecessary risk seemed like the perfect way to celebrate my newfound retirement, and I had the license from Prakriti to do so.
“Wait, wait, wait . . .” Prakriti gasped, “Is just the seatbelt enough? Shouldn’t I be holding on to something? I can see you’ve got your knuckles white on the steering wheel.”
“I’m sure it’s enough!” I said, exasperated. “But you can hold on to the handle near the roof to your left. Just remember to keep your head flat against the headrest to avoid a whiplash. Now, can we go . . . please?”
“Sure.” She drawled.
I paused long enough to allow further litany, if any. Then, I reached forward and tapped the music app on the car dashboard screen, searched for “Highway to Hell”, and turned the volume up to ludicrous. As the beat kicked in, Prakriti relaxed and her shoulders began to jiggle. “Let’s do it!” She proclaimed, punching the air.
The road was clear as far as we could see and, for once, I longed for a legacy, fossil-fuel car so I could rev the engine and feel the car throb under me. As I floored the accelerator, everything around us blurred. Our neighbourhood, including the snooty neighbours, turned into streaks of bright colours.
“Wooh!” I tried to vocalize the adrenaline rush.
When the streaking on the windows did not stop after several long seconds, I panicked and hit the brakes, a bit too hard. We lurched forward and Prakriti turned to me, her face whiter than her makeup had intended. The car bucked and bounced on an empty field that appeared to stretch forever on all sides. A plume of dust rose around us.
“Where are we?” Prakriti sounded alarmed even as the dust had barely settled, a lot of it on the car windows.
“I . . I don’t know . . .” I stammered. “Maybe, I swerved and overshot the road. Let’s continue until we reach another road of some sort, shall we?”
“Right . . .” Prakriti’s voice was feeble.
After a bumpy drive through the rough field, we came to an unmarked, unsealed road. “This is déjà vu . . .” I exclaimed, “Remember Prak, we drove through a field once, trying to take a quick shortcut?”
“Yeah, rough and bumpy like this one.” She managed to laugh. “Yet, we had so much fun. Those were the days.” Her voice trailed off.
“Hey!” Someone shouted and I jerked to a stop. “What’re you doin’ in my field?”
“Sorry, mate”. I lowered the window a crack and beamed my best smile at the bloke who had materialised outside my window, “we seem to have lost our way.”
“No shit,” he laughed but I didn’t miss the sarcasm. He then bent down and peered into the car. “Where are ya folks from anyway?”
“Er . . . from Brooksfield.” Prak interrupted, squinting at the guy.
My heart was beating faster, even as I lowered the car window all the way down. The scrawny man looked dressed in clothes I’d not seen since childhood. On the other hand, the outside air seemed a lot cleaner.
“What is this place?” Prakriti leaned across from the passenger seat and asked him.
“Well, what do you reckon, this is Brooksfield too.” The man frowned. “I shoulda known you. It’s not that big a town, eh? What street are ya on?”
“Bent Street . . .” I said and realised the audio was loud. I tried turning the music off when he said. “I love your choice of bangers. Haven’t heard this one before.”
“Why? What year is this?” My sixth sense was beginning to nag.
“Nineteen Seventy-Five.” He chortled. “What year are you living in?”
“Uh . . . you wouldn’t believe it if I told you —”
“Well, go ahead anyway.” He pressed on.
“We . . . we are from the future.”
“Sure, and I’m from the never-never.” He was enjoying this. Prak nudged me, an indication to get a move on.
I paused for a few seconds and then asked him. “Would you know if we can find a charger for our car–” I stopped mid-sentence realizing my folly and reached, instead, to tap off the music. To my horror, there was no screen anymore. It had been replaced by a very retro-styled dashboard and a cassette player.
Prakriti grabbed my forearm and her nails dug into me. I stared at her smooth skin and exclaimed. “When did you paint your nails so gaudy?” When I looked up at her, I almost screamed. “My God, you’re . . . young again!”
“So are you!” She squealed. “Like when we got married. Oh, it is 1975, isn’t it?”
Even though I was thrilled to have my 70s body back, I felt a dread forming in the pit of my stomach. We were back in our old town along with the old car we had then. That’s when we heard the man laughing.
“What’s so funny, mate?” I snapped at him.
“The future, you say? Your jalopy of a car doesn’t quite agree with you.”
“No, it’s true!” I was exasperated. “I literally retired last month and we decided to take a joyride in our brand new EV . . .”
“Eee vee? Eh, what’s that?”
I did a scout’s salute. “Never mind. We’ll get going. Have a good one, mate. See ya.”. Then, I put the car into first gear, somehow managed to balance the clutch and the accelerator, and drove away slower than I’ve ever done so. At the next junction, I took a left turn without much thought.
We drove for about 10 minutes right to our home, 50 years into the past, and up the driveway. Feeling young but restless, we stared at each other for several minutes. Neither of us wanted to state the obvious and confirm it.
“Raj, do you think this means —” Prakriti had found her voice but stopped short.
“I’m afraid so, dear. We’ve been re-tired.”
“Re-tired?”
“Yeah, like replacing the tires of a car, get it?”
“Don’t think I do, no.” She stared at the home, looming ahead.
I shook my head and muttered. “So, I guess we’ll have to work our way back to 2025 again, now won’t we?”
Prakriti turned to me and she was grinning all over her face. “Screw that!” She squealed. “I’m just stoked to be this young again!”
***
Kanwar lives in Sydney and does the write thing, at least what’s left-to-right. Along with fiction, he also writes poetry, almost always rhyming. He attempts to end his pieces with an “aha”, much like his own last name. Kanwar also shoots and hangs things, as in photography and painting. He taps a keyboard and pushes a mouse for his “day job”.
