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He knew Luke wanted to move on. He understood, he played along. It hurt too much to think about everything they’d left behind. Remembering how it happened was even worse. It was easier to pretend it was an adventure, like they had just gotten superpowers or something. Like there’d never been more than the three of them, so really, they had more friends now. That made Alex upset, but then he started hanging out with Willie and he got over it, apparently, so now it was just Reggie that couldn’t let it go.
No, he could let it go, he could, he was totally embracing the future. It’s just what was even the point of time traveling if you avoid all of the changes? In the movies, the guy always visited the ruins of his old house; he always met somebody familiar in a ratty white wig. It’s just the genre conventions, so it’s not only allowed, it was required of him as a time traveler.
Of course, that was also the part where the guy realized everything was terrible and he had to go back and fix it, which wasn’t really an option for Reggie.
But he could totally do the first bit!
He couldn’t find a phone book, so in the spirit of the future, he was going to use the Internet. He had seen Carlos use the Google a couple times, mostly variations of “ghosts REAL??? proof caught on camera NOT FAKE”, so he felt like he got the gist.
Reggie scooted the controller around, watching the little arrow jump across Ray’s computer screen in fits and bursts. He couldn’t really stay solid long enough for smooth continuous movement, but he was just grateful he didn’t have to pick anything up. That would be annoying.
Now, to find the Internet. He read the labels underneath the little pictures, and after a moment of searching, pointed the arrow at the blue “e”.
Nothing happened. You must have to press some sort of button, or — aha!
The screen changed, but it looked different than when Carlos used it, showing the weather and news articles and a car advertisement. There was a rectangle at the top like normal, though, so it was probably fine.
He typed slowly. Why the letters weren’t in alphabetical order, he’d never know. Luke might know, his mom bought him an electric typewriter after he failed English ‘cause the teacher couldn’t read his essay.
Reggie’s beautiful handwriting had somehow become his undoing.
After hunting down the letter “b” for the third time, Reggie glanced at the screen to check his work. Nothing was even happening! He groaned and nudged the arrow over to point at the rectangle, reconsidered, and pushed it to a second, smaller rectangle that said “web search”. That sounded more promising than whatever h-t-t-p gibberish was happening in the first box, and he was quickly losing patience.
This whole deal sucked, big time. Being invisible wasn’t even that fun.
Press the button. Type the letters. Move the arrow. Press the button.
There .
Bobby Shaw was the name of a middle school in Texas, an actress known for sexy beach party movies, and an episode of some TV show from 2004.
There was also a football player named Bobby T. Shaw, but he was three years too old and born in San Francisco. Even if Bobby had gotten a major personality transplant after they died, it would be weird to lie about those little details, and even weirder to keep them mostly accurate. If he was gonna make up a whole new life, why would he only change his middle name?
Arrow. Button. “Delete” is faster than whiteout, but less fun. Hunt and peck. Try not to poke through the keyboard with intangible fingers. Typo. Delete delete delete. He should definitely remember where the “b” is by now, but he doesn’t. Arrow. Button.
One Robert Shaw was in “Jaws”, one was a conductor, and another sold switches and valves. Not who he was looking for, but good to know if he ever needed to buy valves.
Reggie remembered Robert Gould Shaw, the Civil War guy. They all went to see that movie when it came out ‘cause it had Ferris Bueller with Bobby’s name. Then somebody’s head exploded in the first five minutes, so they snuck into “Back to the Future Part II” even though they had already watched it for Reggie’s twelfth birthday.
It was a good day.
Now it was thirty years later, and his house was a bike shack, and everything was terrible and he wanted to go back.
Feeling desperate, he bashed out “Bobby Shaw Sunset Curve”.
One result: “A Hollywood Tragedy”, the same article Julie showed them.
“Bobby Shaw declined to comment.”
That was all.
You’d think that in the future, it would be easier to visit your loved ones from beyond the grave. He already did the hard part!
Reggie shoved away from the computer, suddenly furious. His footsteps didn’t make any noise, so he stomped harder. Nothing.
He jumped up and down and yelled. He wanted someone to tell him to shut up. He wanted to make the neighbors so mad they called the cops. He wanted somebody to hear.
But Julie and Luke were writing music in the studio and Alex was with Willie and nobody else even knew he existed.
If he felt like this when he was alive he could’ve hung out with Bobby, but he wasn’t, so he didn’t.
Reggie’s baby brother was older than him now, so he probably wasn’t interested in cuddles and Sesame Street anymore. It was doubtful Steve even remembered him, since the last time Reggie saw him the kid still wore training pants.
Every dog he’d ever petted was long dead, and so were his grandparents, and the Myersons next door.
They were all gone, and it was too late, because they ate some bad hot dogs.
It was just so stupid.
He kicked the stupid chair at the stupid computer, but his foot went through and he overbalanced and fell, hard.
Reggie didn’t know how long he sat there crying, but then Ray came back from the grocery store.