The winter of 1970 in the Bay Area was not something I ever expected to experience- especially since I was born in 1990. My folks scolded me every night for sneaking into the backyard whenever there was a full moon. It wasn't my fault: grandpa planted the story about the time-well in my head and it sprouted into a maddening obsession.

My hair was now curly instead of wavy and my hands reverted into the pudgy state of toddlerhood. Who was I, in this time, and why was I only a spectator? My new parents talked about the lunar landing last summer and how they hoped uncle Joe made it back from the Vietnamese jungle. I nibbled on the french fries while in my child seat, satisfied that even decades later, McDonalds was still doing it right.

The beach surf bubbled and I giggled with glee. I forgot about my new bike and ninja toys at home. This new era was swallowing me up.

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jadetine (joined over 11 years ago)
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Karen is an avid foodie/gamer/SFF reader who, despite existing for several years, has still not decided what she wants to be when she grows up.

Actually, Karen is an aspiring writer with a mysteriously irrelevant past. She spends her days laughing at the people still stuck in law school, ruminating over her engineering degree and coughing at the dust covering her collection of art supplies and musical instruments.

A Jill of all trades, yet master of none. Except for perhaps procrastination and awkward humor.

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Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0

genres

history time travel narrative

tags

Beach history beach time travel narrative summer reminiscent babies

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