The Breaking of Time

I pressed my ear to the floor and listened through the floor boards to make sure my aunt and uncle were sound asleep. Holding my breath, I heard my uncle snore and roll over, making their four poster bed squeak. If I was quiet, I reasoned, I would be free for the rest of the night.

I threw on an old coat over my clothes and grabbed my wool blanket. I hadn’t bothered putting on my pajamas because I knew I would have had to change back into my jeans and hoodie only a short while later. I then made my way across the creaky floor boards and prayed that my footsteps would go unnoticed. When I was at the window, I knew that the hardest part was next: pushing open the old window without making a sound.

Slipping my thin fingers underneath the nearly rotten wood I pushed first to the right, then straight up then pulled a fraction down and as fast as I could, I used all my strength to shove the frame up all the way to the trim. I held my breath.

The frame stuck, and quicker then my last window pushing maneuver, I slipped out onto the ancient farm house roof and into the bitter-cold winter night.

Finding the spot that I knew was for sure over the spare closet, I kicked away the drifts of snow that had accumulated during that days snowstorm. Once I had done that, I wrapped myself in the blanket and lay down, watching the stars that spread out across the clear, black sky.

This was my secret. During the day, I went to school, came home to an aunt and uncle who didn’t love or want me, and worked half the night away on pointless but painfully tedious chores my aunt thought would keep me out of trouble.

It had been this way for four grueling years, ever since my parents had tragically died in a freak car accident. The reports had said we had crashed our tiny car after slipping on an icy road, the metal frame then wrapping around a telephone pole. By some 'miracle' I was able to walk away with only a minor concussion and a deep wound, now scar, in my left forearm.

I never understood why I was given to my aunt and uncle. It was more like forced unwanted guardianship than adoption, and I wasn’t making this up because I didn’t like them. When the people you live with tell you everyday that they hate waking up to see your face and they cant wait until you’re old enough to start making money to support them because living with you is like living in hell, one starts to get the picture that they’re not wanted.

And I think I could have lived with the awful pair if they had just left me alone. Yes, you can tell me you hate me but then leave me alone, but they intentionally made my life miserable, keeping my every action in their control, even thinking they could control my every thought.

Basically, I no friends, no social life; nothing a normal seventeen-year-old would, no should, have. If I could only rewind time to four years ago. I wouldn’t have traded my life for anything, yet here I was, looking at the vast heavens and dreaming of the past.

There was the big dipper, and the little dipper in it’s wake. The north star lit up its little corner of the universe and I watched as a shooting star made it’s way across the Andromeda galaxy. I knew these stars, and they, if it was possible, seemed to know me. They each had a story, and they embraced my own tragic one. I had learned the fine art of star gazing from my father and he from his. It had been our little father-daughter thing.

“Are you up there Daddy?” I asked the stars, feeling a tear slide down my cheek, and I let it roll all the way down my face. One little tear, and I felt a little bit better. “I know you are,” I answered back to the stars without waiting for a reply. “I know you are.”

Suddenly, there was a sharp wind that caught at the ends of my blanket and hair and pulled at them hard. I turned my head to look behind me and gasped when I saw what was happening. I would have screamed too, but it had taken my breath away with the wind and the sight of what I was actually seeing.

Because how does one react when a man begins to materializes on one’s roof?

Time froze, and the moonlight illuminated his features and made him seem angelical. Although it was dark I could see he was well dressed and his feet were clad in out of place converse. I couldn’t also help but notice that his body was as nice as his clothes, even if he did seem a little too skinny.

His face confused me at first, because, although he had youthful and striking features, his beautiful, shining blue eyes looked ancient and wise, like they had seen things that the rest of him hadn’t. I tore my eyes away from him long enough to look at the rest of his face and my only complaint was that his nose was out of proportion and slightly crooked, but somehow it worked for him.

Before me he stood, and I wondered how my mind could have possibly conjured up someone so mysterious, so impossible, so perfect. I watched as he opened his mouth to say something, close it, then run a hand through his voluminous dark brown hair that contrasted with the rest of his light features. He furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes at me, as if he didn’t believe I was really there either.

“Funny, isn’t it?” He asked, and I gave a little yelp, surprised that he had spoken.

“Oh my gawd!” I said, all in a rush as I tried to decide if I was dreaming. “Who the hell are you?” I demanded.

“Well, I’m the man who just landed on your roof," he said, shortly, as if he were just reciting a fact.

“What does that mean?” I asked him, and he stared at me blankly, like he didn’t have to explain himself. Then, to myself I said, “this has to be a dream."

“No, you’re not dreaming, because I’m not dreaming.” The man said simply, as if it were that easy to dismiss. His words made me increasing frustrated with myself and this dream or, if it were even possibly, not dream. My thoughts were also becoming more and more muddled and confused as I continued to look at him, my mind not being able to sort itself out.

I stood up on the slippery roof to confront the man and nearly fell off the edge. In an instant the strange man who was striking and at the same time dangerously attractive had me in his arms, steadying me. He smiled at me as I steadied myself and then pushed him away. “How did you move so quickly?" I asked.

“You aren’t going to thank me for saving you?" he asked, disgusted.

“I don’t know who you are, but I’ll let you know that if I had indeed fallen that the snow below would have broken my fall. And if I’m dreaming, which I haven’t decided if I am or not yet, I would have woken up before I would have hit the ground. I’ve seen Inception, I know how dreams work.” I told him, feeling the need to defend my lack of gratitude.

“Except you’re not dreaming," he reminded me again.

“Then please explain how you materialized on my roof and are suddenly just catching me and acting like this is completely normal and not...”

He raised a perfect eyebrow. "Not what?"

"Insane, crazy, mad, you take your pick."

"I think I'll choose my own adjective and go with brilliant,” he said, giving me a slightly seductive smile that made the butterflies in my stomach go crazier, as if that were even possible. “And the materializing you can chock up to technology and a lot of brain power.”

“You made yourself land on my roof?” I asked, although I wasn’t looking for an answer, so I continued, “Why here, of all places?”

“It was an accident,” he smiled sheepishly at me, as if to apologize. How many smiles did this man have? He continued. “ See, I didn’t mean to, but somehow I obviously landed here. Actually, if you must know, I was on my was to visit the queen.”

“The Queen," I said in disbelief.

“Yeah, she was expecting me for tea, although she knows I’m always fashionably late.”

I looked at him for a long time, and he looked right back, waiting for me to continue the conversation. Seriously though, I had no intention of carrying on this madness, so I just stood there, arms crossed, face blank.

Finally, I sat back down and turned away from him. “You can go now.”

“You…sure?” he asked, because he certainly sounded like he was not sure himself.

I turned back towards him. “Listen, I’m going crazy because I’m either dreaming more vividly than I ever have in my entire life or there is a dashing man who has landed on my roof quite by accident. Either way, the longer you stay, the worse off it's going to be for me. So, I suppose the sooner you dematerialize, or whatever it is you do, the better.”

Once again I shifted so I couldn’t see him, and for a moment I thought he, regardless of whether he was a dream or real, was gone. Then, I heard a deep intake of breath and footsteps covering the short distance between us. He sat down and smiled again, although this time it was full of what I could only guess was understanding. “You really think I’m dashing?” he asked.

“Sure, although, I don’t get out much, so my opinion probably isn't a very good one," I answered, humoring him.

“And why is that?” he asked, as if he actually wanted to know.

“I think its unfair that there are so many questions about yourself that need to be answered that you cannot ask me any questions until you have answered mine. Especially," I paused for dramatic effect, "because you are one my roof."

“Okay, shoot.”

“What’s that funny accent you’ve got?”

“Of all the questions to ask!” he said in disbelief, “you would ask that one. And what’s wrong with my accent?!”

“Its funny, that’s all.”

“If you must know, it’s Scottish, and I prefer different, not funny. Or distinguished, or charming. Or why don’t you use that nice word you picked out earlier. What was it?”

I laughed, “dashing.”

“That’s the one. Dashing.”

I looked at him and memorized his face and its seemingly carved features. “Are you going to see the Queen of Scotland?” I joked, not knowing if Scotland even had a queen.

“I believe its my turn to ask a question,” he reminded me.

“Fine, go ahead.”

“Where are you your parents?” he asked simply.

“Dead,” I answered shortly, the word no longer holding any emotion.

“Oh, then, wait,” he held a perfect finger to my lips when I began to argue it was my turn for questions. “I have one more very short, very important question. And its this: would anyone miss you if you disappeared?”

I thought about it, and realized, sadly, that the question should have been insulting but wasn't to me. “No,” I answered, “not Aunt, not Uncle, and I very have few friends and no one who is close. So, no.” I started to began another question, but he cut me off.

“I lied, because I have another question, one that’s even more important than the last.” He grinned like he was getting away with something, and then he asked, “Would you like to come with me.”

“Where? To tea?”

“Oh no! that’s dull stuff. Besides, I can do that anytime I want. There’s better stuff to see, more epic things to do, and certainly better things to drink than English tea with Queen Elizabeth the first.”

“What did you just say? Because I think you’re cracked, because it seems to me that you think yourself a time traveler.”

“Oh, you’re uncannily good. But did we introduce ourselves?” he asked as my head spun. “Because I’m Ben of the 34th century, and I am a time traveler.”

“I’m Charlotte,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “And I don’t believe you.”

“What? Crazy man appears on your roof, you begin to believe he’s real, and then a small factor is thrown into the equation, and suddenly, you don’t have any faith anymore.”

“If you’re a time traveler, where’s your machine?”

“Well, see, I don’t need one. All I need is in here,” he tapped his head, “and on here,” he held up his left hand, and, right where a wedding ring should have been a blue ring with glowing green inscriptions lay. “These are the tools of my trade.”

“Prove it.” I dared him.

“Over used those words are. I would much rather hear someone, someone like you, say ‘take me with you.’”

“And what if I did say those words? Would you help me escape?”

He took a deep breath, sprang up and held out his hand to me. “Do you trust me, Charlotte? Do you trust a man you barely know with your life, your future, and your past?”

I reached for him and he pulled me up to stand next to him, his grip on my hand pulling me into another world, even though we still stood on my aunt and uncle’s roof. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I asked.

“Well, you could keep on with your dull life and never believe in fairy tales like me, although I’d venture to say you’re in too deep for that now. Because I’ve got you believing now, don’t I? With your mind, your body and your soul. And most importantly, with your heart.” His smile seemed to stretch the corners of his face. “I love a good prison break.”

“Cant argue with you there!” I agreed, nervously laughing.

"Well then, Charlotte," he said, my heart soaring as he said my name and gave my hand a squeeze, "where do you want to begin?”