“That isn’t mine.”
The security guard frowned and shoved the bag at my chest. Hard.
“Kid, I work 8 hours a day at this rundown rat-infested prison. I don’t give a damn if you got a free Rolex. It was found in your items, so it’s yours. You get out of prison with a very expensive watch. I get murderers and sociopaths. Live with it.”
I had driven my father’s ATV after the biggest party of college, hosted by frat president Ivan Lee. Big deal.
Maybe while drunk.
And maybe without a license.
Okay, It was a problem.
Sort of.
I’ve been behind bars for 3 months, and I finally get released to my friends and my family. My father won’t be excited to see me, considering he’s the only person who hasn’t visited me, not to mention the fact that it’s his ATV sitting in the impound.
I walk to the bathroom and change into the clothes that I came into Iron Reformations with. They don’t fit me anymore; ever since I got in, I spent most of my time in the Gym.
I take my phone out of the bag, and it actually turns on.
With 51%.
WERE THEY USING MY PHONE?!?
227 missed calls, 349 text messages, 98 voicemails.
Is it bad that I expected more out of all of those categories?
I take my first step into the free world, and I am greeted with a swift breeze filled with leaves and the brisk feeling of immunity washed over my head.
I took the last item out of my bag; the Rolex. It appeared to be silver with a gold and diamond finish. The bezel had three crowns rather than one or two.
The guy who lost this is having a very rough day.
5:47 the watch says, but my phone says 2:29.
How can a watch be this far off? Geez.
I twist the second crown.
The sky cackles as a streak of blue light engulfs everything within a 10 yard radius of the ground, including me.
I'm no expert on being struck by lightning, but isn't it supposed to hurt? I don’t feel any pain.
Not that I'm complaining.
I look up at the foggy sky, and that's when things got even weirder.
The sky changed from the scorching sun to the bliss moon about 546 times, in a color span from Barbie pink to Onyx.
Light bursts across the night sky and suddenly it’s daytime again.
What in the world?
Correction.
Where in the world?
Another correction that appropriately fits the situation.
Where the heck am I?
I frantically scan my surroundings.
Drunk guys are seeing how far they can boogie board down Whittle Pike Road.
Frat girls are flirting with those guys, also drunk.
I could be anywhere, especially Vegas.
“Yooooo, it’s Mike! I'm surprised you're still sober. At this point of the party, you would be so drunk you would call the cops on yourself!” said a chillingly familiar voice.
Whoa.
Déjà vu. Major Déjà vu.
And what party?
The eggshell covered steps of this house look awfully familiar. The steps are covered in Red plastic cups of tequila, bottles and cans of Bud Light beer, and puke.
Lots of puke.
Wait a minute.
This can’t be possible.
I’m on the porch steps of Ivan’s house.
At the night of the party.