Of course it was Richard's idea to take Great-Uncle Warren's time machine for a joyride. "Just imagine, Kerry," he said. "We only need a few seconds to go anywhere--anytime. It's the ultimate road trip. Mike and I are all for it."

"Then why involve me in some boys-only buddy thing?"

"Because you're Great-Uncle's favorite, and he's still tweaked at me for breaking his Tesla coil at Thanksgiving. We'll never get in the door without you."

"Richard, you're asking me to steal my favorite relative's life's work."

"Only borrow it! He'll never know!"

"Yeah, providing we don't trash it. You don't even know how to use it."

"I do so! He explained it at the family reunion. I remember perfectly. I think."

I sighed and leaned back on my bed. "I can't."

Richard knelt on the floor and folded his hands. "Look, sis. I'm begging. We may never get this chance again. Besides, I'm calling in that favor from prom."

"There's a difference between escorting my dateless best friend to her junior prom and hijacking a family member's time machine to go see some stupid battle."

"I promise, it'll be something cool! You'd even get a say."

I sat up, not speaking for a moment, listening to Danny Elfman's voice belt out "Dead Man's Party" on the stereo. "I get a say," I said slowly.

"Absolutely."

"All right, Rich. I'll help you get the time machine on one condition. I get to pick where we go."

"Ah, come on, Mike and me--"

"I get to pick, or I'm out."

Richard rolled his eyes. "Fine then. But pick something good. Sleep on it and I'll talk to you in the a.m., okay?"

"I already know."

"Really? What?"

I took a deep breath and said, "Saturday, October 28, 1995. Los Angeles, California. The Universal Amphitheater. The Oingo Boingo farewell show."

I was only thirteen and living on the opposite side of the country when my favorite band played their final show. I'd never even heard of them then, and even after I started liking them it wasn't until I heard the recording of that show for the first time that I really began to kick myself. "That's ridiculous," Richard would say whenever I began to bemoan missing the concert. "You were a little kid, you didn't like the band, you lived in Boston. It wasn't meant to be." And I would invariably assure him I was joking. But all jokes have some kernel of seriousness behind them, and the more you repeat them the more you come to believe them.

I would give anything to have been there.

"Let's run through this one more time," Richard said as we rode to Great-Uncle Warren's house in Mike's rattling Chevy. "Kerry, you distract him while Mike and I sneak out to the garage and set everything up. When you're done, go out the back and we'll take off. He'll never notice a thing."

"Providing the time machine actually works," said Mike.

"It does," Richard and I said simultaneously.

Mike laughed. "What, you've used it before?"

"No, but my cousin Carl used it to watch his own birth once," I said. "Afterwards Carl was able to recount details he couldn't have known unless he was there. And Warren has tested it extensively on his own."

"If you say so," said Mike.

"Do you want to do this or not?" said Richard.

"Yeah, of course, but I'd be a little more fired up if we were going to JFK's assassination and not some stupid concert."

"It's not--" I protested.

"Shut up," said Richard. "We're there."

We walked up to the front porch and rang the bell. The door opened a crack, and a pale blue eye surrounded by wrinkles peered out. It fell on me and brightened. "Kerry! So glad to see you! Come in!" Great-Uncle Warren opened the door and swept me up in a hug surprisingly strong for a five-feet-tall, seventy-two-year-old man. "What are you doing here?"

"We were in the neighborhood and thought we'd say hi," I said.

"And Mike and I have to use your bathroom," Richard said.

"Oh, go on ahead. Sit down, Kerry. How have you been?"

"All right. How are your inventions?"

"They're coming along as well as I can expect." He lowered his voice. "I'm glad you asked. It sometimes seems you're the only one in the family who doesn't think I've gone completely bonkers."

"But your inventions work! What you did for Carl was amazing. You could make millions off the time machine alone."

"Not in my lifetime, dearie. Perhaps in yours. The world isn't ready yet."

"Are you afraid people will ruin the present by changing the past?"

"Oh, I doubt that's possible. I've had no success trying to change the outcome of Pearl Harbor. It's what people will do to themselves that I worry about."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a theory that, given the chance to change one event of the past, most people would not opt to alter the great events of history. They would want to change the small things in their lives, the tiny moments that made all the difference. The words said in anger to a friend, the deeds that led to divorce, the emotions that went undisclosed--who would want to change the distant past if he could improve his own life? I fear that people will destroy everything they worked for in the search for that small turning point. We simply don't realize how the errors of our past shape the joys of our future."

"This is fascinating," I said, "but we have an appointment to get to. Richard and his friend are waiting in the car."

"Really? I didn't see them leave."

"They must have gone out the back door."

"All right. Let me walk you to the car."

"No need."

"No, I insist."

I needed to get out. As I stood up I deliberately brushed against the fruit basket on the kitchen table and knocked it to the floor. Apples and oranges rolled all over the linoleum. "I'm sorry! Let me help!"

"Don't worry. I've got it."

As he bent down I sprinted for the garage. Mike and Richard were already sitting in the time machine. "Hurry up!" I hissed. "He's right behind me!" I climbed in and Mike closed the door behind me.

Richard flipped the "on" switch, and over the rising hum of machinery I heard Great-Uncle Warren's footsteps and his shout of, "You kids get out of there right now!" I only caught a glimpse of him entering the garage before the engine kicked in, a high-pitched whine filled my ears, and everything went black.

I felt a soft breeze tickling my skin and something hard and rough beneath me. I sat up and looked around. Mike and Richard were doing the same. "Where are we?" Mike asked.

"More importantly, when are we?" I said.

Richard glanced at the remote. "The time is right. This should be the Universal."

"Let's make sure," I said.

So we walked around the building and looked at the marquee. Then we wandered for a few blocks until we found a coffee shop with fake cobwebs and pumpkins in the window. "Is today October 28?" Mike asked as I paid for our donuts and coffee.

"Yes..." said the cashier.

"1995?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Yeah."

"Thanks." I liked L.A. already.

We sat down in a corner booth and Richard said, "Here's the plan. Kerry, you get on the phone with Ticketmaster and try for three seats. Mike and I will go around town trying out less conventional methods."

"There's no point," I said. "It was sold out ages in advance. Why didn't we think to show up a few weeks ago? It's a time machine, for crying out loud."

"You didn't specify," Mike sighed.

"Fine. I'll do what I can. I just don't see why you guys get to have all the fun while I spend all day on the phone."

"You picked the time," said Richard. "It's only fair that we get sightseeing."

"Do you have the phones?" Mike asked.

I unzipped my backpack and took out two cell phones. "Take care of these, they're Aunt Miriam's. You call me on odd hours, I call you on even hours. Synchronize your watches--let's go!"

I spent the next forty-five minutes on the phone with Ticketmaster finding out what I already knew. The Oingo Boingo show was sold out. Soon afterward Richard called, and I asked, "How's it going on your end?"

"Not too shabby."

"Where are you? I can barely hear you."

"Tourist bus to Rodeo Drive. We figured since it's a major shopping district, it oughta be a snap finding tickets."

"Have you done anything yet but ride the bus?"

"We've been asking around. Couple of fans in front of us now. They've got tickets but aren't selling them. Wait." A pause. "Do we have a million dollars?"

"No, only six hundred."

"Okay." Pause. "They say no sale then. Whoa, we're here! Talk to you later!" He hung up. With a sigh I snapped the cell phone shut and walked out of the coffee shop. I'd have to resort to pity.

I walked for awhile and found a tiny supermarket where I bought Magic Markers and a Coke. Then I snuck around back and stole an empty cardboard box. I went back to the Universal, unfolded the box, and wrote:

NEED 3 TICKETS

TO OINGO BOINGO FAREWELL SHOW

HAVE TRAVELED A VERY LONG WAY

TO SAY GOODBYE!

For the next hour I stood in front of the Universal holding my sign. A few people glanced at it, and other tossed change into my empty Coke can. But nobody even bothered to talk, much less offer me what I asked for.

At exactly eight I called Richard. "Any luck?"

"I think we picked the wrong place to find tickets. It's all clothing stores. Mike got the coolest shirt, though. You gotta see it."

"I'm sure I will. Where are you now?"

"On the move. Looking for music stores. We figure we'll find contacts there, or at least some good discs."

"If I didn't know better I'd say you cared more about shopping than this concert."

"Well, what do you have to show?"

"Three bucks in change and a really big pity-inducing sign. No tickets yet."

"What were you saying?"

"Talk to you in an hour." I hung up and went back to waving my sign.

Nine a.m., cell phone ringing. "Richard?"

"Yeah, that's my name." He sounded nervous, out of breath.

"What's up? You sound upset."

"Um, we're outside some drugstore right now...kinda laying low, I guess. Just blew ten bucks on Band-Aids and Tylenol."

"What happened?"

"We checked out record stores like we said, and at the second place we went there were these two really hot college chicks hanging around the O's. So of course we started talking to them. Man, I think the brunette wanted me! She spent the whole time--"

"Get to the point."

"Oh yeah. So we asked about tickets and they had three. They were total Boingo maniacs, you would have loved them. We offered to buy them and they said no, so we raised the price. We went back and forth for like ten minutes. They still wouldn't."

"Long story short. Did you get the tickets?"

"Well, finally they just walked out on us. So we followed them. We were practically begging. But they refused. We got so close."

"So why did you need Band-Aids and Tylenol?"

"I guess the chicks decided we were rapists or something. Ten seconds and we were on the ground. We never expected they knew tae kwon do!"

Ten a.m., another phone call.

Eight new CDs bought by Richard.

Six new CDs bought by Mike.

Four more dollars in the Coke can.

Two fans who stopped to chat.

One had tickets but wouldn't sell them; the other shared my problem.

Still no tickets found on either front.

Negative amounts of hope remaining.

"Guess where we are," Richard said to me at eleven a.m.

"Where?"

"No, guess."

"The Brown Derby."

"Nope, got reservations there for 12:30."

"The wax museum."

"Did it already. Man, you missed out."

"I give up."

"The Walk of Fame! I'm standing in Clark Gable's footprints right now."

"That's great. Did you get tickets?"

"No, and I asked everyone on the tour. These babies are hard to come by."

I wanted to say, "Maybe you'd find it easier if you actually tried," but instead I responded with, "Guess where I am."

"No clue."

"Standing in front of the Universal with a cardboard sign. The same place I've been for the past four hours." I hung up with a sigh so loud that a passerby actually turned and looked at me.

A little before noon I took a break to grab a sandwich at a nearby deli and another empty box from behind the supermarket. I used it for another sign:

IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN MY DREAM

TO ATTEND A BOINGO SHOW--

THIS IS THE LAST (AND ONLY) CHANCE I GET.

PLEASE HELP!

I HAVE COME HERE AT GREAT RISK

AND WANT TO MAKE MY GAMBLE PAY OFF.

People glanced at me a little more frequently, and my Coke can collected five more dollars in under an hour. But nobody filled it with tickets.

I also spent half an hour trying to reach Richard, but the line was always busy.

It was well after 1:30 by the time the phone rang again. I picked up halfway through the first ring and demanded, "Where have you been?"

"Shhh. Keep it down Kerry." The voice wasn't Richard's.

"Who is this?"

"Mike."

"Where's Richard?"

"It's not safe for him to be on the phone. They might be listening."

"Who?"

"The cops."

"What did you do?!"

"So we were in this souvenir kiosk on Sunset Boulevard, right? And they had the radio on, and Richard heard the DJ say they were giving away Oingo Boingo tickets to the ninth caller. We tried calling in but we missed it. They told Richard they'd be giving away a few more in a little while. Well, you know Richard: he gets competitive. So he just kept calling in even after they told him to stop. I guess they must have traced the phone or something, 'cause then the cops showed up."

"Tell me you're not in jail."

"No. We ran and lost them. So we're gonna hide out for awhile."

"Where are you now?"

"Denny's. We never made it to the Brown Derby, and I'm starving to death. Don't bother calling at two, okay? We'll catch you at three." I hung up. Leave it to my brother to get the law involved.

By 2:15 I was desperate. My Coke can was full of change, but I still had no tickets. So I went back to the supermarket for a bigger can and a third cardboard box. It was time to do something outrageous: tell the truth.

This is what my third sign said:

I AM A TIME TRAVELER FROM THE FUTURE.

I HAVE COME TO DOCUMENT

THE OINGO BOINGO CONCERT--

BUT ONLY IF I GET TICKETS!

PLEASE MAKE MY TRIP WORTHWHILE!

I stood there with my three signs as my Coke can filled with change and chattering tourists gawked and snapped my picture. Still no tickets. No matter what you do it just isn't enough for some people.

"Trouble with the law, Richard?" I asked when the phone rang at three.

"Give it up. That's all behind me." He sounded happier than he had all day.

"You sound cheery."

"Mike and I had a breakthrough. There's no point in screwing around the way we have been--asking random people and hoping something pans out. We're running out of time, so we may as well go right to the source."

"Terrific! Where are you now?"

"In a cab, driving around the suburbs."

"How will that help you get tickets?"

"I told you, we're going to the source! We're looking for Danny Elfman's house."

"What?!"

"We're not afraid. We're gonna ring his doorbell, explain it all, and see what we can work out."

"What makes you think he'll be able to get us tickets."

"If he can't, who can? Besides, we can be plenty threatening if need be."

"No. Absolutely not."

"Come on! It's our last chance!"

"You are not going to stalk my favorite musician. All you'll get doing that is a restraining order. Turn the cab around and go shopping or something. In other words, continue doing what you've been doing all day. I'll take care of the hard part."

"All right. But you just lost Oingo Boingo tickets."

"Maybe so. But I'm still out on the sidewalk, and it's not showtime yet."

I sounded confident on the phone, but at four when I called Richard and Mike (who had just left The Sharper Image) I had nothing to show but three more dollars in change. I barely had a chance to hang up before I heard a voice behind me saying, "I take it you want Oingo Boingo tickets?"

I turned around and saw a man dressed entirely in black, his blonde hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. My face reflected in his mirrorshades. "Yes, obviously! Do you have any?"

"I have three tickets for sale," he said. "They're excellent seats--fifth row."

"How much?"

"Normally I'd charge three, four hundred dollars. But I like your style. That time traveler thing is one of the better lines I've heard in awhile. Hilarious. So I'll cut you a deal. Two fifty apiece."

I sighed. "All I've got is six hundred." I lowered my head to the ground--and noticed the Coke can, brimming with quarters and dimes. "Wait a minute!" I dropped the signs, knelt down, and emptied the money to the sidewalk. "Looks like thirty bucks."

"No good. I need a hundred more."

"Come on! There's no way tickets cost that much normally."

"Don't blame me. I'm just out to make some money like everyone else. I have to eat, you know."

"Yeah. Look, let me call my brother. He might have the rest."

I hit redial. "Richard?"

"Right here."

"I've got a line on some tickets--finally."

"Great!"

"But here's the deal. I need a hundred more dollars."

"That's way too much, Kerry."

"I know, but it's my only chance."

"I suppose you expect me to chip in?"

"I'll pay you back."

"Hang on. Let me check my wallet." He set down the phone and I heard nothing for long minutes. My stomach had twisted itself into knots. Finally he picked up again and said, "I looked..."

"And?"

"Kerry, I'm so sorry. All we could come up with was twenty bucks."

I turned back to the scalper and said, "Will you settle for six fifty?" He shook his head. "Look, I can only get two. What if just you and me went?"

"And leave Mike out? Never."

"Mike and me, then."

"Ha. I doubt it."

"Fine. Then I'll just go. You keep on sightseeing, and I'll have a fifth-row seat."

"No way! We didn't come all this way to stand around while you have fun."

"You don't have to!"

"Kerry, you dragged us into this. Now we're all in it together. Either we all go to the concert, or none of us do. I insist."

"You know how much this means to me."

"You know how much this means to me."

"You don't even like Boingo."

"You never wanted to do time travel."

"Come back here. You've done enough shopping, and we'd better get home."

Walking away from those tickets was the hardest thing I ever had to do.

I stood around waving my sign half-heartedly for the next half-hour until a cab pulled up and I saw Richard and Mike get out, each carrying several shopping bags. Then the driver got out and opened the trunks, and the three of them started unloading a veritable avalanche of packages onto the curb. I marched over to them, and Richard waved at me. "Hey, Kerry! Give us a hand with these, will you?"

"You bastards!" I shouted. "We came for the concert and you spent all your money on crap! If you'd saved any we could've had those tickets!"

"I dunno," said Mike, "some of this stuff is pretty cool. You might change--"

"Oh, give it up, Mike!" I snapped.

"Calm down, Kerry," said Richard. "I have a plan."

"May I remind you how this plan turned out?"

"Do you want to see this concert?"

"Of course."

"Then follow me."

I handed the signs to Mike, and Richard led me to a door in back of the theatre. He pressed his ear against it, and I did the same. I heard music from within, familiar melodies sung by a muffled voice I knew too well. Sound check, Richard mouthed.

The door opened when he pushed on it. The music sounded much louder and clearer, but it was too dim to see much. I could have stayed there forever, but only moments later Richard slammed the door shut. "Security guard!"

"Are you suggesting that we sneak in?" I said.

"Yeah, if we don't get tickets. Hang out on the sidewalk for awhile, okay? Mike and I will bring you some hot chocolate."

When Richard and Mike left again I suddenly realized how tired I was. I couldn't even stand up anymore; I huddled behind my sign, cold and exhausted and utterly disappointed, as other fans filtered into the Universal, taking their fortune for granted. I also realized that I was crying.

"This is stupid," said Mike. "We're going to get caught."

"I have the remote," said Richard. "We can leave on a moment's notice."

"It'd be easier if you guys didn't have a million shopping bags," I said.

"Are we going to argue," asked Richard, "or are we going to do this?"

"Let's do it," I said.

We stood at the back door of the Universal and listened to the applause swell inside. "It's started," I whispered. "Let's go."

Richard tugged at the door handle again, but it wouldn't budge. "Locked!"

"Try again," I said.

Now Richard and Mike both pulled at the door. The opening strains of "Insanity" oozed out into the night air. I started yanking as well. "Come on!" Finally it opened a crack. "All right! Let's--"

An unfamiliar voice from within said, "Who is that?" Of course none of us answered. Another voice said something I couldn't make out. "I know," replied the first, "I'm checking it out anyway."

We stared at one another in terror. Richard pulled out the remote. "Not yet!" said Mike. "Your uncle's gonna kill us!" But the door opened farther and a shadow darkened the pavement. Richard pushed the button and I couldn't see anything anymore.

"--there right now!" Great-Uncle Warren's voice echoed in my ears. It took me a moment to understand that we were back in the time machine, in the garage, in the present. I opened the door, and the three of us (along with numerous shopping bags) tumbled to the floor.

Great-Uncle Warren was there before I had a chance to get up. He looked at us, shaking his head slightly, as we stared at the ground. "Oh, my," he sighed. "You've been there and back again already, haven't you?" No one replied. "I thought so. Well, at least tell me about it."

Haltingly we poured out the whole story--the concert, our plan, the scalper, the shopping, the sightseeing, the security guard. When we were finished, Great-Uncle Warren said, "It sounds like you had quite a ride. Now go into the house and wait for me. In a few minutes I'll speak to all of you."

He led us into the living room, where we sat sullenly in separate chairs. A few times one of us tried to speak ("What were you--", "How could you--", "I told you so--") and failed. So we scowled in silence, right back where we started. The tears came again before I knew it.

When Great-Uncle Warren came back we all began to apologize at once, but he silenced us with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, kids. I built the time machine for myself and my family, so I can't be too angry at my own relatives for using it. But I do wish you would have asked first."

"We're sorry," said Richard. "How can we make it up to you?"

"I'm getting to that. Richard and Mike--it seems to me that you got what you wanted out of this trip." He indicated the packages. "Your fun is done. That's why you get to help me clean my workshop." They groaned.

"What about Kerry?" said Mike.

"Ah, poor Kerry. Doing all the work while you boys go jaunting around the past, and then not even getting to what she set out to. Since you two are going to work for the rest of the day, I think she should get to have some fun. So I'm sending her back."

My heart caught in my throat. "Back to the concert?"

"Oh, my, no. The three of you have contaminated that section of the timeline with your presence. It would create catastrophic paradoxes if you went back there. But I think I've found something you'll enjoy equally well."

"What could ever compare to that?"

"Kerry, you're so young. You work so hard to make your dreams come true that you don't realize the beauty of the reality we live in. Trust me. I know you'll like this."

I followed Great-Uncle Warren into the garage, and he buckled me into the time machine. "Come back whenever you're ready," he said, pressing the remote into my hand. "And no matter what, don't take a moment of it for granted..."

And then I blinked, and found myself standing in front of a red door. It took me a second to remember what I was doing. I looked at the remote: Saturday, October 28, 1995. Boston, Massachusetts. Eight p.m. "That's just cruel," I said to myself.

The door opened, and I saw a woman wearing a medieval gown. A look of puzzlement crossed her face, and she said, "Who are you?"

"Um...Warren sent me," I stammered.

A slow, broad smile spread across her face. "Welcome!"

I followed her into a room full of happy, talkative people in Halloween costumes. Someone offered me a seat. In the center of everything a stereo played Oingo Boingo songs nonstop, and people with guitars and keyboards and tambourines and saxophones gathered around it, playing and singing along. I turned to the guy next to me and asked, "Is everyone here a Boingo fan?"

"You better believe it," he said. "None of us could make it to the farewell show, so we're saying goodbye like this."

The night moved too quickly. I stood by the stereo and made music and danced until my feet ached. After awhile I forgot that it was all on tape and the whole thing wasn't how I'd planned on spending this evening. And around eleven when certain guitar notes caught our ears, we screamed like we were hearing it live and sang as though the words were our own:

At that moment I looked around at faces shining bright and joyful and contented as they surrounded me and knew what they were thinking. The thought was the same inside all of their minds--and in mine.

We were thinking, What's to see in there? What's on the outside is all I need.

So Richard and Mike got their ride in the time machine and California sun, shopping, and sightseeing to boot. Great-Uncle Warren got our thanks for a great invention and a workshop cleaner than it had ever been. And even though I never made it to the Oingo Boingo farewell concert, the things I saw and heard were just as good: the celebration of a crazy patchwork quilt of people, making do with what they had and making something beautiful with it in the only way they knew how. And all the while it was happening right next to me and I didn't even notice it until it was over and I could never go back.

I would give anything to be there again.

Copyright (c) 2000 by Beth Kinderman. This is my original work, so please respect it.