Michael D. Davis.

It is difficult to describe my day in one sentence, as it was filled with capricious plans, the occasional screaming, and a visit from the ghost of Mike future.

Okay, so I have wanted a heavy duty H-frame easel for some time, and a couple of days ago, I saw a nice one on Facebook Marketplace. The man wanted $125 for it; I countered with $50, he came back with $75, and I said, “Okay.” Now, I just had to get it. The man lived in Newton, and Ma and my dog, Dixie, agreed to come along.

So, early this afternoon, we all loaded up in my cop car, the Elwood, and set off. Ma, of course, was sitting in the backseat, as Dixie always calls shotgun. We went along, and our day started to go sideways when there was construction along the road that pushed us onto the interstate. But eventually, we made it to the guy’s house. As he had a driveway that was six inches long and vertical, I parked on the street and put my hazards on. I left Dixie and Ma in the air conditioning.

I got out and met this guy at his back door. He was at least in his late seventies and well over six feet; he had a long white beard, and he was covered in tattoos. He started things by asking, “Is your doggy gonna be alright in the car?” I said yeah since the air was on and my Ma was there. He nodded and told me to follow him.

We went into his house, where he said, “It’s down the stairs here,” as he walked into a basement. This is the point in the story where my Ma says I should have more sense than to follow a strange old man into a basement. So, I followed the strange old man into his basement down the stairs and saw walls covered in paintings and a bed in the corner. At the other end of the room were two easels and a card table covered in paints and brushes. He tried to sell me on some paint and/or some brushes, but I just wanted the easel.

During these events, I’d been having some brief musings in my head of similarities, and it occurred to me that I was looking about 40 years into the future. This old man was an artist by the name of Mike with a bunch of his own art on the walls; the resemblances were starting to add up. Then he said, “My Ma bought me this easel years ago for Christmas.” And that was the clincher; this was me in the future. I was buying an easel in the basement of future Mike.

Future Mike folded up the easel, then carried it up the stairs and out to the car like it was a piece of paper as his fluffy old dog barked. At the Elwood, I popped the back and shoved the easel in. I then jumped behind the wheel, and we set off. We wanted Burger King, but I didn’t know where that was, so after a few blocks, I pulled in front of a random house and stopped. That’s when the car started to overheat.

Ma, Dixie, and I sat for half an hour in the heat with the windows down and the car off. We called my father, the old one, to let him know the issue and say we will try our best to make it home. We then called my sister, in case we would need a ride home. Dixie sat in the front seat, panting, and slurping water out of a foam bowl we brought along.

Finally, we started up and set off again. I went straight, as I thought there’d be a turn so that I could loop around to 14 to head to Marshalltown. But no. I immediately went up and down a paved roller coaster of a road that led to gravel, which had me turning around in someone’s driveway. Back over the roller coaster, I finally get to where we know where we are, and I am heading to 14.

Three of the four windows are down, and every straw, receipt, and piece of random crap that I had in the car is blowing around. I glimpse something out of the corner of my eye, and I scream. This causes Ma to scream in the back seat. She immediately starts asking if it’s something else with the car. I say no. The problem is that I saw, quivering in the wind, a ball, the size of my fist, of white beard hair stuck to my shirt. It’s at this point in the story that my Ma says, “You hope that it was beard hair.”

I grab the ball of Future Mike’s white “beard” hair, and chuck it out the open window. A few strands remain on my shirt. The ball must have been stuck to the foot of the easel, where I pressed against it when putting it in the car.

We speed along, and I go the limit, if not a little bit over cause I wanna get somewhere familiar fast. In doing so, I blow past my turn. I go straight for a while till I see a gravel section in a field. There is a semi coming in the opposite lane. I swing my turn. I hit loose, new gravel, and we start spinning a bit, or doing what the old one calls cutting a nut. Ma, who was in the backseat on the phone with the old one, starts screaming again. I turn around, and we are back on the road.

When we got back to the familiar landscape of Marshalltown, I stopped at Burger King. The car needed to cool again, and I wasn’t ending the day without a Whopper. My father and his friend met us there to look the Elwood over and concur that it needs to go to the shop.

Dixie, who had had enough of the heat and lack of air conditioning, abandoned Ma and I, as she caught a ride with the old one and his friend. She sat on my father’s lap all the way home, letting the air conditioning blow her fur back.

So, that was today. I went into a stranger’s basement. I met my future self. I got a killer easel that Future Mike said, “shows the nuances of use.” Had my car overheat and nearly break down. Had a clump of old man “beard” hair stuck to me. Made my Ma scream at least twice. And had Dixie ride home like a queen with the old one in the cool air. I wonder what tomorrow will be like.