An Ultimate Self-Care Fantasy
There was a memory that came rushing back to me a few years ago. I wrote about it in April 2018, as part of a post about how I was able to make friends despite a truly lonely childhood. The memory was when my parents would go to visit friends of theirs when I was eleven or twelve. They would talk and drink in the backyard and I would sit alone in a strange living room and watch a shitty TV. Plus, I looked forward to going.
I’m done thinking about all the problems that got me there and how that impacted me. I know who was at fault, I know why, I know what happened to me and the people around me. It’s been analyzed to death. It’s over. It’s history.
The only thing left is for me to just find a way to comfort that kid. That kid, in that strange room, probably didn’t even realize how fucked up that was and how fucked up things were going to get. He was just a kid. There weren’t any adults around that were going to help him out, so I have to do it. I’m almost 49, my kids are in their 20’s, and I need to make sure that kid is okay.
And this is where I get to combine time travel and mental illness.
The first thing I’d do is travel to 1983 Orlando and drive over to that house. I’d just walk in the front door. No one would hear me anyway. The eleven-year-old me would take a second to know what was going on, but once he got a look at my googly eye and my hairline he’d understand who I was. It would be a sci-fi dream come true. And this is before Back to the Future.
I’d rent a cool car and put him in the front seat and remind him to buckle his seat belt, something that he’d never done before.
I’d say: “You wanna do something fun?”
He’d say: “Yeah.”
Because he was anxious and shy as hell, I wouldn’t ask what he wanted because I would already know. I’d take him to an old school 80’s-style arcade. I’d have a pile of quarters, and I’d tell him to play until he got sick of playing Dragon’s Lair, Centipede, Crystal Castles, Berserk, Gyruss, Galaga, Tempest, and every other game he had to watch other people play when he ran out of quarters. I’d let him win a game of air hockey and buy him a vanilla soft serve ice cream cone, because I knew it was boring but it was his favorite.
I’d take him to a movie. Maybe catch WarGames again, or something he wanted to see but his parents wouldn’t take him to. He could have a popcorn if he wanted, but if they had M & M’s, he’d slam them down in minutes. Maybe hit a toy store, or the mall just to soak up the air conditioning because we fucking hate the heat.
There would be a ride back to the house, and he’d be bummed that he had to go back after having so much fun. I’m sure he would ask me about the future, because even then he was a smart little shit who was into time travel. I would make up something about the knowledge altering the future, and that could be dangerous. Maybe give him a couple stock tips after explaining what stocks were. Then, I would say this:
“It’s gonna get bad. I’m sorry. Things will be shittier than ever. You have to understand that you are on your own. No one is coming to help you. You have potential and you have a lot going for you, but no one will back it up. You have to just trust me. Believing me means believing in yourself, and that sounds corny, but it has power. You get to have love in your life and that is worth a lot. Everything else can work out if you understand that you won’t have anyone watching and applauding. If you approve of yourself and what you do as you go on, it’ll be much easier than waiting for the approval of others. And try not to be an asshole.”
I’d say goodbye and he’d march back into the house. I’d probably cry like a baby about the whole thing. I would catch my breath and understand that he would make it because I made it. It doesn’t go as planned because there was no plan. The point was not to change the events, but to reassure myself that I would be okay.
Then, I’d call him back and get him to memorize the next twenty-five Super Bowls so he could bet on the winners.