When I woke up, it was the year 2000.
Now, that was unusual for one simple reason. I fell asleep in the year 2018. And when I say fell asleep, I mean, got clipped by a bus at ten miles-per-hour and hit my head on a nearby car bonnet. It was a very strange day I was having.
A wander through my ever-glib hometown of Burton-on-Trent, I went into Cooper’s Square shopping centre to find both Woolworths and the Early Learning Centre were still open. I discovered the Blockbuster store—car park packed, queues out of the door—advertising the latest films on VHS. It wasn’t until I saw the Safeway supermarket—yet to be replaced by Asda—that I realised what had happened. I’d gone back in time.
As I entered the soon-to-be Asda carpark, I passed Trolley Ted. A scruffy, elderly man who looked like Santa; he would return trollies left in the streets to their supermarket homes. I remember the local papers publishing an article when he died about ten years back (from a present-day perspective, that is).
A car thumped out one of that era’s number one hits, Shanks & Bigfoots’ Sweet like Chocolate. I loved that song as a kid. And in that moment of nostalgia, I wondered. Was I here, right now? Younger me. Had I crossed my own timeline? I’d watched enough Doctor Who – which, my three-year-old self was yet to discover his love for – to know that meeting my past-self was a very bad idea.
But, surely, a peek wouldn’t hurt.
Perhaps, following that morning’s bus incident, I was in a coma, experiencing the most vivid dream imaginable. Or maybe I wasn’t dreaming. What if I was dying? What if this was my life flashing before my eyes? No, surely not! The world around me felt real enough, so I must’ve been alive. If that was the case, though, was I stuck here? Maybe someone heard me when I once said I was born in the wrong era. I always felt I never quite fit into the modern world.
I visited my first home. It was a couple of months before we moved into my late grandmother’s house. Her death wasn’t something I understood at the time. I have one memory, although my mum tells me it didn’t happen, so maybe it was a dream.
I remember asking to go see grandma, believing she was still ill in hospital; my mum drove me down there, took me to the ward she was last in, and when we came to her bed, only then did I realised she wasn’t coming back.
‘See,’ my mum said, ‘she’s not here anymore.’
It’s strange, because I can’t even remember being upset or seeing my mum sad in the weeks that followed; I’m sure we both were, but it’s so distant a memory, it might as well have been a dream.
That said, I’ve always done well hiding my sadness behind a smile.
I must have learnt it from somewhere.
I went into my old neighbour’s garden (they were rarely in from what I remember ) and peeked over the fence into my garden. I found myself. Literally. It was a day I can hardly remember, but this was me. I’d seen enough pictures of that face. The old me. Funny that. I was sat in the garden, playing with my dinosaur toys, watched closely by my two grey Norwegian Forest cats, Misty and Milly. They were my protectors. Misty was always the grumpy one, so as a child, Milly was my favourite, the one who tolerated me picking her up the most.
I miss those days. Stress was a missing toy or losing my mum in the supermarket. It was temporary and the tears were just for show. These days, I’m stressing over friends, dissertations, and writing essays two days before they’re due. Oh, yeah, this just became a metanarrative.
‘Tea’s ready,’ my mum called.
I could see her through the kitchen window, rattling around. She really hadn’t aged much in the eighteen years since. Everyone always said she didn’t look her age.
My younger self rushed inside, Milly on my tail. Still at the fence, I glanced over at Misty. She was looking at me. And oddly enough, I think she recognised me. She glanced over at the three-year-old, then back to me. I smiled at her, but she was never big on hellos. She moved along, followed younger me and her sister inside. It’d been a really long time since I’d seen either of those cats.
I looked up at my old bedroom window. I remember it being the size of a field, but the whole house was smaller than the current one. I suppose I was just smaller and everything looked bigger. That’s what my mum said once. It wasn’t until now, that I finally believed it could be true.
My eyelids felt heavy, so I blinked hard.
And, like that, I had moved. Through space and time, it seemed.
Suddenly, I was stood opposite Christchurch Infant School. It was a year later, after I’d moved to the new house and recently started school. I could hear a Destiny’s Child song playing from a nearby window. Not only that, it simply smelled like 2001. I can’t really explain it, but it was one of those smells that just takes you back there—but, of course, I was actually there. I guess it was something to do with the nearby scrapyard.
It’s quite odd how much I remember of my first years at school: doing funny voices when the teacher called our names in registration, seemingly sharing a girlfriend with my cousin, dancing around those maypoles on May Day. I remember returning a friend’s confiscated necklace chain to him during break-time, as a kind gesture, then being low-key told off by the teacher for it. It was an innocent, kind-hearted act, so she couldn’t stay mad for long.
On this day, I saw myself trying to maul people with three outstretched fingers on each hand. The first X-Men film had just come out, I realised. I could see I was taking my role very seriously too. I picked up a cigarette-end that had been thrown over the playground wall and pretended to smoke it, just like the character in the film, although I could take pride knowing it never touched my lips.
Another thing about being four is you were never really aware of the dangers outside of the playground. Yeah, we were told not to talk to strangers, but “paedophiles” didn’t exist until I was at least ten. It certainly wasn’t a word I would’ve understood.
‘Hello, sir, can I help?’ One of the teachers approached me. I cannot for the life of me remember her name, but I’m sure she had a reputation for being the strict one.
Only then did I become aware I was a fully-grown man staring into a playground of children, with a look of astonishment on my face. This probably looked bad.
‘Oh, no, sorry.’ I pointed to myself. ‘That’s my… nephew. I was just…’
The teacher turned away, called younger me over, hoping to quiz him. Now, I like to think that when she turned back, I had seemingly vanished into thin air. However, something told me she would’ve seen me sprinting down that road. Perhaps I was wrong about everything looking bigger as a kid, maybe this road had always been really fucking long.
By the time I came to the end of that road, I was somewhere else. Some-when else.
I was starting to think all of this time travelling stuff was hell, and I’d gone to live out my life on loop. From what I remember, it starts to go downhill from here anyway. If this really was my life flashing before my eyes, though, why was it so easy to interact with my surroundings? What would happen if I did change something? Maybe there’s a point in my life where I would. But for now, I thought I would just enjoy the ride. Maybe there’s a deity at the end of it. I always said I’d love to meet Jesus.
I was now outside my primary school. It was break-time and kids were running around on the concrete, others playing football with the hardest balls imaginable. The amount of times that bastard-thing got kicked into my face was ridiculous. Bloody arms and knees were a regular sight too.
I moved over to the opposite side of the road, not wanting to seem creepy this time, and I waited until I could see myself. A few moments later, I found him. This was the day my cousin’s friend showed me a pornographic video on his phone.
Now, I’d never seen anything of the sort prior to that, and at this point, I was still uncertain about what you even called a vagina. So, I was quite surprised to see one fire out ping-pong balls. I hadn’t even see that much of it, but I ran out of the boy’s toilets, repulsed. My so-called friends trailed behind, laughing their heads off. Admittedly, that was probably an overreaction.
‘That’s disgusting, why do you have that on your phone,’ I yelled.
‘You’d better not tell anyone,’ one of the boys said.
Funny to think I wouldn’t bat an eyelid at that sort of thing these days.
My younger self sat on a wall close to the gate. He glanced back and he saw me. He saw him. I saw him. I saw me.
It was a strange moment.
It’s not like the movies where, at best, you cast an actor’s son to play their younger self – this was my face and those were my eyes, just everything was the right way round.
He looked away, still disgusted with the porn to entertain the idea that he’d seen himself. That said, I do remember this moment—from his perspective—and he did at least wonder. I continued down the street, knowing he did look back to check.
As I turned my head to see if he did, my surroundings changed. Now, I was on Burton Road, outside my secondary school. I couldn’t stand this place. Adjusting was tough enough, but it only ever went downhill from here. Wait, I’ve said that already, haven’t I? Yeah, this must be some kind of hell.
I wouldn’t say it was necessarily the school that puts a bad taste in my mouth, so much as the people. All anyone ever seemed to do was judge each other, talk behind each other’s back, and I swear, having any kind of hobby outside of football or pornography was looked down on.
It was home time and I saw myself coming up the drive, amongst the herd of students. There was a scrawny kid alongside me. In my first week, I befriended the “weird kid” that everyone else hated. While I’d always sympathised with the underdog, this kid was definitely quite strange in hindsight. To be fair, saying I befriended him was probably a bit of a stretch – he was more of an acquaintance I could tolerate in class, rather than someone I hung out with at break or lunch.
Here, I had just turned down his invite to a Sunday dinner. In part because I was too socially awkward to entertain the idea of someone other than my mum making a Sunday dinner, but mostly because of the pressure put on me by the other students, actively encouraging me to join their ranks. Of course, I would never participate in the unnecessary bullying of this kid, however, the moment I could get away from him, I did. He didn’t make it too hard either. He laughed when I got offended by a racial slur. ‘I’m not using it against you,’ he said. ‘Nigger-nigger-nigger-nigger. See, just a word.’
Initiation into the other groups didn’t get any easier. While people seemed to like me, I was too nice and not at all confrontational. Everyone felt they could get away with anything and I’d just have to laugh it off or stay quiet. However, I did snap once. After another time-jump, I found myself on top of the science block, overlooking the courtyard.
It was lunchtime and my new group of friends had taken off their ties to whip each other as hard as they could. I was trying to stay out of it, but someone got me across the back of the legs. It stung. ‘PISS OFF!’ I yelled.
Everyone backed away. The quiet boy had a voice box!
‘Just leave me out of this, okay,’ I said, trying to assure everyone I was fine. That didn’t stop them from trying, but they eventually moved onto another dumb game.
‘Oi, what are you doing up here?’
I turned. It was the janitor.
‘Oh, I was –’
And, that time, I must’ve disappeared before his eyes. I think the janitor left shortly after that.
Where I arrived next smelled like sadness. A bit dramatic maybe, but this was, without a doubt, the summer of 2012.
This was the beginning of the loneliest year.
I’d never been the type of person to intentionally hurt or upset someone, and, I think, even if I did, I’d try to put it right. Up to this point, I felt the worst thing I’d ever done was accidentally reply to an orphan’s sarcastic comment with ‘your mum’. I remember thinking ‘oh fuck’ in that moment of realisation, apologised profusely and even suggested he hit me. But he simply laughed it off, told me it happened quite often and that he knew I wasn’t that type of person.
It was toward the end of year ten that my group of friends became indifferent, as if they’d grown bored of me. I was never exactly sure why, or even if I could apologise for something, but for them to turn their backs on me like that, I felt they were denying me the opportunity anyway. I spent the rest of summer and entirety of year 11 on my own. At school, I could be found sitting in computer rooms during break and lunchtimes, but no-one came looking.
On the few occasions those rooms were closed, I would just walk around the school blocks with my earphones in. I watched myself through the woods at the side of the school field, circling the humanities block. One day, I turned a corner and they were there, right in front of me – my former best friends. They had their backs to me and I remember hesitating, thinking about going in the other direction. But I didn’t. I simply sped up, walked past them.
They said nothing. I said nothing. I remember trying to hold back the tears, almost hoping they’d at least whisper something to each other.
It’s odd that this time-travel malarkey didn’t take me to the moment where I had apparently wronged them. But even if it was something I could change, I don’t think I would. I really grew up that year. On my own. I suppose I should thank them for dropping me. It gave me all the time I had to revise for my GCSEs. I did really well at those in the end.
Another time-jump took me to results day. I watched from the carpark as my 16-year-old-self left the dining room, a big smile on his face. I was getting into sixth form. And it was sixth form where I regained some of my confidence and made a few new friends.
September 2015. I was heading to the University of Derby. I suppose prior to university, I’d led quite a sheltered life. I’d never been drunk, never really had a girlfriend, and the idea of clubbing seemed frighteninge. I was hardly the socialite either. That first night of freshers ended with me sitting in a corner of the student union, tipsy on one pint of Carlings, then I left early because it got cold. That, and I felt I hadn’t bonded with anyone yet.
The following day, my flatmates—still strangers at this point—were heading to the supermarket and I tagged along. Getting a word in edgeways was hard enough, but they had all bonded over a funny thing from the night before. I missed that, of course. When we got back, I stayed in my room, listening to them in the kitchen, wondering whether university would be right for me. I teared up at a frame photograph of my sixth form friends, my cats.
I had been at university about two months when my present-self appear outside Walkabout. I looked into the nightclub window and saw myself at the edge of the dancefloor, people clearing space for me. By this point, the extroverts had adopted me and I started to find out who I was. And damn, I could move! It’s true what they say, black boy’s got rhythm. I did pull some weird faces though. Imagine the face you make when you smell something bad, but at the same time, you’re weirdly satisfied. That was my face right now. The stank face.
There were a lot of firsts in my time at university and where I ended up next, was one of the worst. Nineteen-year-old me was walking along Ashbourne Road, having just left St Christopher’s Court—one of the university’s halls. The look on his face, vacant. His eyes, I knew, were holding back tears.
This was the night of my first heartbreak.
‘I really like you,’ she had said, ‘but I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.’
I lost count of how many bottles of Budweiser I had that night, but after an emotional breakdown in my housemate’s room, vomit on my Halloween costume and clonking out the moment I hit the pillow, it was definitely too many.
I’d had always been something of a hopeless romantic. Since the first, I’d had a couple of very short-term flings, where the first date went incredibly well. Then, suddenly they’d be “too busy” to text back. The first did apologise for disappearing on me, but felt she couldn’t go forward with a relationship because of other commitments. We even stayed friends for a time. The other, I eventually discovered, was ghosted me because she’d met someone else. That one hurt.
That said, it seemed to hurt a little less every time. But that’s wasn’t to say it never willl one day. It was exhausting, but I learned something – never to chase someone who doesn’t match your energy. I hope I don’t forget that one again, because dates are expensive! You don’t even think about how much you’re spending if you think it might go somewhere. But, damn – I could really have used that £30 a few months later.
If it wasn’t indefinitely cancelled second dates making my eyes roll into the back of my head, it was my housemates. In first year, the flat divided into two half after someone didn’t getting another’s milk. To begin with, it was all petty, but it stayed as civilised as it could be. However, it was in final year, when one housemate, having recently broken up with his girlfriend, decided not to face his emotions, but take them out on everyone else. In the beginning, you allow it. They’re hurt, they get lost in the moment – it sometimes happens. I could sympathise.
However, it grew to point where he’d become the toxic male, with a bad case of entitlement. He was bullish, loved to flaunt the idea that he was the more dominant, the alpha male of the group. We generally shrugged it off, only ever calling him out on his inability to wash up or take out the bin—the simple chores that, if done enough, don’t lead to mould growing on your plates. Yes, that happened. At least twice.
A few months later, he was lazier, more inconsiderate, more arrogant. And on top of that he was making jokes like an edgy YouTuber; they were vulgar, derogatory, racist. The rest of us couldn’t hide our discomfort anymore. It had gone too far.
One time, he attempted to prevent me seeing my friend, who happened to be a housemate of his recent ex-girlfriend.
We were in the middle of the smoking area of Mosh nightclub when he called me a ‘snake’ for simply talking to my friend. He said, ‘It’s not fair. She’s my ex’s housemate, they’re best friends. She might be an informant, for all you know.’ I was already at boiling point.
And I snapped for the second time in my life and it ended with me saying, ‘she doesn’t give a shit about your relationship, so leave her out of this.’ I remember the other guys standing back, in silence, in shock – I felt it myself.
A few weeks later, when the air had cleared somewhat, I had accidentally committed to a night-out with him, alone. Oh, the horror when I discovered no-one else could make it out with us. It was difficult to have a conversation with him that didn’t turn back onto himself, or a friendly exchange that didn’t result in me feeling patronised or insulted. What excuse did he have for calling me a ‘freak’ or a ‘mong’? I felt I had to drink myself silly to resist stepping into traffic.
That was a mistake though. The drinking that is.
Upon getting back to the house, I passed out on the couch and awoke the following morning to a vomit covered floor. I was quite existential for a while. Spent a day or so, staring into space, wondering whether I could possibly have vomitted and survived based on my initial sleeping position. Even to this day, I sometimes wonder if I died and that this reality is some kind of matrix. It’s difficult to get your head around what was essentially a near-death experience—and one I don’t even remember. But… I learned my lesson. Don’t choose to live with someone who makes a mess or makes excuses, because their entitlement might just kill you!
The timelines were about to synchronise, I realised. After seeing myself throw out the vomit-filled bin liner that morning—a few weeks before the bus, I couldn’t but wonder where I’d go from here?
And I woke up.
‘Are you alright?’ The bus driver stood over me, a crowd around him.
I was back in the present, no longer an observer of my own history. I sprung to my feet, brushed myself down. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than I have. I’d better get home.’
Cries of, ‘Wait, there’s an ambulance on the way;’ ‘You might be concussed;’ ‘It’s dangerous…’ They kept spouting things out until I was out of sight, but I just wanted to go somewhere peaceful.
Was that all a dream, then? A glitch in the matrix?
Either way, it gave me a new perspective. It might not be the most spectacular or remotely cinematic of lives to tell, but it was mine. I had watched myself grow into the man I am today. A man ready for the real world.
And with that, I think I came to end of chapter one.
KYLE SIMMS 