The Future Is Cancelled

We thank you for your cooperation.

Erstwhile Canoe raged and massaged his teeth after heaving his phone straight into the ivory. He had to set alarms for his commitments since his recent algorithmic infection of Korean barbers and baby laughter. Startling volumes ensured they were undeniable. He briefly considered just one more video, for the road, but a second skull-rattler discouraged it.

The world conspired to make him late, he suspected. The keys weren’t atop the pile of bills on the trash-picked bookshelf where he thought he left them. It took a twenty minute archeological survey to uncover the skeletons slipped between the cushions of his thrifted couch. Then he was dashing out the door clenching bruised teeth to powder.

Not one toe hit the stoop before he crashed into another roadblock. A baggy, star-spangled two piece and tie held up an authoritative hand to put the brakes on him.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to stop right there.”

“Not interested. I’m late for something.” Never one to abide unsolicited sermons, Erstwhile pushed past the suit. Authoritative turned authoritarian, and he was muscled back into the doorway. He heard the ping of a ring bell. Uncivil hands like that demanded answers where he was raised, and he was raring to throw them back.

“Motherfu—“

“I’m here on official government business, sir.”

That put Erstwhile down for the count in the first round. The suit floored him with racing thoughts of incendiary online posts and ruffled feathers.

“What? Who are you?”

“Agent Prior of the Bureau for Utopic Temporal Temperament.” The suit displayed a badge that said as much.

Erstwhile leaned forward to scrutinize it, mustering all the lessons learned as Linus in a community production of “You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown” to act like he knew what he was looking for. How do you tell the difference between a fake badge and a real one? No one ever taught him that.

Seems like the name should be a giveaway. BUTT? Who would approve that? But it’s so juvenile it couldn’t possibly be on purpose. Surely that decision managed to travel up through the blindspots of a chain of increasingly functional adults. Had to be a mistake. Had to. One of those unintended consequences bureaucracy is so apt at creating.

“Okay, well, do you need something?”

The suit’s lips flattened wide, the aspiration of a smile. “I regret to inform you that the future has been cancelled.”

“What um…what?” The only possible response to a sentence so baffling it diagnoses you with an auditory processing disorder.

“I can see by your confusion that I’ll need to explain.” The suit bent down to rifle through an attache, pulled out a clipboard with a single sheet of paper attached and pointed to a frown emoji printed on it. “We are currently in the present, which is bad.”

Then to clipart of well-dressed men smoking cigars and sipping martinis. “And the past is widely agreed to be good.”

“Is it?”

The question was discarded for callously deterring a long-practiced pitch. “And since the present was once the past’s future, ipso columbo—“ The suit tapped a third image, a remarkably well-rendered depiction of a gray, ruined city littered with bodies. “The future is bad and is cancelled until such time as the present becomes the past.”

“Ipso facto.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s ipso facto. It’s Latin. Not Columbo. That’s…Peter Falk, I think.”

“Hmm, those are just the kind of factos I’ll be able to learn once the present becomes the past!” The suit erupted into an impression of laughter.

Too quick and too rehearsed. Erstwhile couldn’t tell you what the hit rate might be of a pre-planned bit of wordplay that hinged on being corrected for bad Latin, but it couldn’t be high. The massive swing of it unsettled, the irking feeling of being led against will. “That’s not how—that already—it’s happening now.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The present is becoming the past right now, every second.”

“I don’t follow.”

Erstwhile cocked his head like a spaniel. The suit watched him, unblinking, waiting for him to go on. He looked past the suit to scour the street for cameras. Seemed all clear, but cameras could probably look like anything these days. Although, if this was a TV prank, it was a boring one. No harm in setting the suit straight, he supposed.

“This is the present. Five seconds from now is the future. By the time I finish this sentence, the future will be the present. And now it’s the past.”

Erstwhile grew less and less confident as the words left his mouth. The inexorable flow of the timeline was a settled concept, he thought, but the act of illustrating something so simple was rewiring neurons to consider hidden variables so wild it established a whole new branch of bunk science.

“Ah, I see. This is a common misconception.” The suit clapped Erstwhile on the shoulder too neighborly for his liking. “What has actually occurred is that we have entered the extended present.”

“That’s not a thing.”

Erstwhile shifted on his toes. This had to be a joke, now. And if it wasn’t, he feared he was in extreme danger, because this must be one of them stab-happy crazies his parents back on the farm promised he’d run into moving to the city suburbs.

“Oh, but it is.” The suit flipped the sheet up to show its backside.

There was a single name, a Dr. Fillmore Blanks, as well as a thumbnail sized sketch in the corner of what looked to be a cereal mascot performing a lewd act. Erstwhile barely caught a glimpse of it before the suit had it hidden again.

“As you can see, top researchers at a nationally recognized think tank all agree that what sometimes seems to be the constantly encroaching future is actually the present extending to be more present.”

Past, present, and future were beginning to lose meaning. Erstwhile picked at old paint peeling from the door frame of his rented mid-century modern and couldn’t understand how it could already be so weathered. The house was just built, after all. Wasn’t it? Or maybe this was a previous paint job, and he was remembering a fresh coat applied years from now?

He was cracking. The suit got in his head. There were notes of violation here, of trespassing, but he couldn’t define them. Klaxons blared throughout his body regardless. This would go no further.

“Look, I don’t care if it’s the extended present or the former past or the pre-future or whatever. Am I being detained?”

The suit took one decisive step forward, proto-smile still bisecting its jaw. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

The undeniable now of a life’s turning point. Resist or relent. Split second to decide. Is the house holding a junk hand, or baiting you to bust? Could go all in. Bet the shirt and lose it. Fold and lose it anyway, because you lost when you let the game begin. When the sensible thing to have done was burn down the casino. Not that you could, you pyrophobe.

“So, do I just need to stand here or something?”

“Stay just like that.”

A bird alighted upon the branch of a pathetic tree in the front yard. It sang a tune to pass the time. Or time extended to contain the song. One of the two. Erstwhile couldn’t be sure any more.

“It’s sounds nice, that bird.”

“Wouldn’t know. Don’t care for music.” The suit’s shrug set him to writhing within the squirmy humiliation of small talk denied. “Eyes on me.”

Erstwhile took another crack at it. Tried to find a fellow in the fibers. Why not, at this point? If you can’t beat them and all that. “Do you like birds, at least?”

“Can’t stand the things. They shit on the statues of great men. Eyes on me.”

“I like them. My parents used to take me to the zoo, and my favorite thing was to go see the birds. All the colors and sounds.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I hated that they lived in such small cages, though. But my dad said the cages were for their own good because if they were allowed out, they’d ruin the local ecosystem.”

“That’s funny. Keep those eyes on me, sir.”

“I never knew if that was true or not. Never thought to read up on it. Maybe I’ll look into that later—“

His captor snapped to address an earpiece. Muttered confirmations into a wrist mic. Slipped back into a carnival barker persona.

“Great news, sir! We’ve done it! The present is now the past, and the future may resume.” The suit backed away towards a black sedan parked at the curb. “We at the Bureau thank you for your cooperation. You’ve done a tremendous service for your country today.” Shook prayer hands at Erstwhile and quickly got behind the wheel. The suit shouted out the open passenger window as the car sped away. “We wish you a long and happy past, Mr. Canoe!”

Erstwhile froze in place, rebooting after a crash. What was any of that? The halls of power were even more inscrutable than he realized. He’d have to take it as a sign to become more civically engaged in the future.

He moved to leave, now very late for his appointment, but made the mistake of thinking about the back door. Thinking about the door meant re-locking the door, even if he had just done it and was still looking at the lock. It was pathological.

But when he turned to pass through the living room, he dropped to his knees. His modest smattering of valuables was gone, replaced by shadows carved out of dust. Many of his sentimental items, too. A breeze rolled through the open back door. Kicked grey motes into the air and chilled his skin. The little bird flew in from the front and landed on the edge of the couch where it continued its cheerful tune.

Erstwhile enjoyed the distraction for a handful of seconds, then took out his phone and posted a video of it to his socials.

---