Life on Another Planet Ch. 28-31

"What do you see?" she asked him.

"Oh ... uhhm ... just someone I thought I recognized," he said absently.

"Who?"

He was caught now. He had to play this hand out. He pointed to the image he thought might be Kirsten.

"This girl. She looks like someone I know," he said haltingly.

Candice pulled the photograph back toward her and looked at the image.

"You mean the big blonde girl?"

Jesse nodded.

"How do you know her?" Candice didn't sound upset, but she was persistent.

"Not sure." Jesse scrambled to concoct a story. "She might have been at one of my baseball games."

"And you remember her?" Again, the persistent inquisitiveness.

He sighed. "You don't forget six-foot blondes who look like that."

"Huh," Candice said with a disdainful look. "She's a little out of your league, isn't she?"

"Now that's an interesting comment. I don't consider you out of my league. I would say you match up ... pound for pound ... with her."

Darla and Maureen were all ears as the conversation continued.

"Pound for pound? What does that mean?" Candice said, now with an edge to her voice.

Jesse was getting a little exasperated with this line of questioning. "It's just an expression. It means you don't have to take a back seat to any girl, much less a nameless blonde whom I've never even spoken to."

"Humph," was Candice's only comment.

Soon enough, the conversation went in another direction thanks to Darla, whom Jesse silently thanked for the relief. But this wasn't over; not by a long shot. He had one objective and that was to find out if the slightly out-of-focus background image in Darla's photograph was indeed, Kirsten Gustafson.

Chapter 29 Back to the Future?

Thursday, November 2, 1961 1:30pm

Something over 18,000 students registered at UBC for the 1961-62 year. Finding one single individual might turn out to be an impossible task. However, Jesse's memory recalled that by 2010, there were over 50,000 students at the expanded campus, so the task would be far less complex than if he were still in twenty-first century time. He pondered how he would go about looking for her.

The only thing that came to mind was to ask the administration office if there was a Kirsten Gustafson registered, and if so, hope that they could give him more information about her. He wondered just how much security there was when it came to information about students. He was sure that he'd never get any information in 2012. Security of records was stepped up ten-fold over earlier days.

"Good afternoon," Jesse began politely as he addressed the middle-aged woman behind the desk. "I'm Jesse Peterson, and I'm a registered student here," he said, showing his student card. "I'm trying to find out if a Miss Kirsten Gustafson is registered at UBC. Can you help me?"

The woman seemed to examine him while she decided whether to assist him. He was polite, looked quite respectable, and didn't ask for anything more than acknowledgement of a person's presence on campus.

"I really shouldn't do this, but give me a moment and I'll see what I can find," she said. "Her name was ...?"

"Kirsten Gustafson," Jesse repeated, spelling it out for her.

She nodded and headed back to a large series of wall-mounted wooden file trays. It didn't take her long and Jesse saw her extract a single file card from the drawer. She examined the card and then returned to the counter.

"Miss Gustafson is a student in second year Arts. She does not live on campus, so I assume she commutes from her home. That's really all the information I should release," she said.

"Thank you, Ma'am. That's very helpful and I appreciate your doing this for me."

For the first time, the woman smiled and nodded, "You're welcome."

Well, that was a good start. Now to find a phone book. If it was "his" Kirsten, then the phone should be listed under Tomas Gustafson, her father's name. A quick trip to the library and the big directory quickly confirmed only one T. Gustafson was listed. The address was in the nearby Kitsilano district, so it would be easy to drive by there that afternoon and see just what the home looked like.

Knowing he might want a car that afternoon, Jesse had borrowed his mother's Falcon and informed his regular car pool ride that he wouldn't be with them on Thursday. He now had the freedom to check out the residence and then plan how he might encounter Kirsten in the flesh. That was going to be a trickier problem, he knew. What would he say to her? How would he find a way to get close to her once more? He despaired that it might be impossible. Would she still have the same fears and history with males that the first Kirsten had?

He drove slowly past the address he had taken from the directory. It was an older home, but in immaculate condition he noticed. No surprise, he thought. The Gustafsons were a very disciplined and organized family. He wondered in passing what Tomas and Anika did during the day. Did they both work? Did they own a business? How could he find out? It might be an easier way to contact Kirsten rather than searching the campus for her.

Alongside the house, Jesse spotted a late model Volvo 122 in a pale blue colour. Would that be Tomas's car, or Anika's? He remembered they had two cars in his other life. Could he wait around to see if Kirsten showed up later that afternoon? What were the alternatives? He'd promised his mother he would be home before three pm, since she needed to do some shopping. Looking at his wristwatch, he sighed in frustration. He needed an alternative plan.

Jesse had plenty of time to decide how he might encounter Kirsten, either on campus or elsewhere. There was no women's hockey team yet at UBC, and there was no Vancouver NHL team either. Kirsten's family would be only an approximate duplicate if everything followed his expectations. They would all have different roles. Nonetheless, Jesse was determined to find a way to contact Kirsten. He tried to imagine what the possibilities might be.

There were some basic courses in the Arts Department that Jesse could monitor, but since Kirsten was second year, it was even less likely that he'd encounter her. It seemed the most probable opportunity would be at her home. But that meant either staking out the house, or more boldly, just knocking on the door to see if she was home. The latter was almost immediately shelved unless he could think of a plausible reason to see her.

In the back of Jesse's mind was the uneasy feeling he was missing something from these "duplicates" in this time line. The circumstances weren't identical to the twenty-first century individuals in the case of Kirsten, but they were substantially the same in the case of Candice. Why? Moreover, who else might appear in this time that had previously been in the future? There were no noticeable changes in his family and friends that he could detect. So ... why were these two women from the future appearing in the "here-and-now?" Too many questions without answers. He was getting that feeling of discomfort he felt after his jump to 2011. What was real ... and what was imaginary?

Monday, December 11, 1961 5pm

"Happy Birthday, Jesse!" his mother beamed, handing him a large gift-wrapped package.

"Thanks, Mom. Yeah ... nineteen today. One more year and I'll no longer be a teenager.

Jesse's tone lacked the enthusiasm she expected from him. In fact, over the past month or so he'd been very quiet. He was still dating Candice, so it wasn't a problem with her, she thought.

"Jesse, are you feeling okay?" she asked a few minutes later.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for the ski jacket. I'm hoping they'll open Grouse Mountain this weekend."

"Are you going with Candice if it is open?" his mother persisted.

"No, she won't have her skis until she brings them down after Christmas. Otherwise, yes, she likes to ski. Her family has a place at Kimberly."

"What about your friends ... Jack and Bob?"

"Jack is working weekends since he's low man on the totem pole, and Bob doesn't ski. I'll go on my own."

His mother looked at him carefully, but saw no signs of unhappiness ... just that he was so quiet. She shook her head in frustration. She was sure something was bothering him, but he wasn't willing to talk about it.

The traditional birthday cake was on the table that evening after his mother had prepared his favourite meal: roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. His father was all smiles as they enjoyed the birthday cake.

"I have one other thing for you, Jesse," he said, handing him a small gift-wrapped box.

Jesse wasn't expecting anything else, but accepted the box with thanks. He took his time opening the package, finding what looked like a little two-piece box, about half the size of a cigarette package. He lifted the lid and saw the contents lying on some tissue paper. It was a distinctive key, unlike any others. The VW symbol at its base caused his eyes to open wide in surprise.

"What's this?" he asked, looking at his father. He looked at his father and mother and saw two wide smiles.

"We thought it was time you had your own transportation. It's not new, Jesse, but the dealer assured me it was in perfect condition. We know you don't have a lot of money, so we thought this would be something special for you."

"I can't believe it. You bought me a car?" Jesse exclaimed, still trying to come to terms with the gift.

"The insurance, gas and repairs will be your responsibility," his father noted, "but I think you can handle that. The 'Beetle' is very inexpensive to run and very durable. Happy Birthday, Jesse."

Jesse was still in mild shock. He never in his wildest imagination expected to be given a car. He rose and went to hug his mother, then his father.

"I don't know what to say. This is amazing. I had no idea. Thank you so much. Where is it?" he finally asked.

"It's sitting in the Smith's driveway, waiting for you. Here's the other key and you'll find the registration and insurance in the glove box. I've insured it for six months in your name, after that, it's up to you."

"I don't know how to thank you for this. It's incredible. Is it okay if I go see it now?"

His father laughed. "Of course. Since you leave a little before me in the morning, you can park it in the driveway. But first, you should take it for a test drive. Get used to it ... how it steers and handles."

Jesse headed for the closet and grabbed his jacket and wallet. He was out the door, cutting across the lawn to the Smith's. The car sat in the middle of the driveway, shiny in its metallic grey-blue paint. He walked around it, looking at it from all sides. It was one of the later model VW's with the large back window and bigger tail lights. He unlocked the door, and looking up, saw his parents watching him from the living room window. He waved before getting into the car.

He didn't need to adjust the seat since he and his father were only an inch or so different in height. He sat for a few moments, just staring at the dashboard and looking about the cabin. He reached for the seatbelts before realizing there were none. Finally, he put the key in the ignition, depressed the clutch, and started the little air-cooled motor. It sprang to life instantly. He was thrilled with the idea of having his own car. He'd been saving toward one, but it was still a long way in the future and would likely not be as new or as nice as this.

The test drive took a half hour. He wanted to know everything he could about his new possession. He knew its top speed was about seventy, so it was no hot rod. But it gave him freedom. No need to borrow his mother or father's car. He couldn't imagine a better birthday than this. As he parked in his driveway, he noticed the mileage: 23,433. Not that much. The registration said it was a 1958 model. He couldn't stop himself from smiling at his good fortune.

Tuesday, December 12, 1961 12pm

"What are you grinning about?" Candice asked him as she sat down opposite him in the cafeteria.

"Yesterday was my birthday. I got a special present," he stated, still smiling.

"A special present? What was it?"

"A car. I now own a 1958 Volkswagen Beetle. It's all mine, a gift from my parents."

"Oh wow, that's great, Jesse. I know how much you wanted your own car. Problem solved, huh?" Candice smiled.

"Problem solved indeed," he said.

"I guess that makes my little token pretty insignificant," she said with a fake scowl.

"Candice, I get a nice gift from you quite often. I have no complaints. Besides, you knew I wanted some new ski gloves, so they were a very nice gift. Thank you."

"I'm glad you appreciate those 'nice gifts,' Jesse Peterson. I'd hate to think you didn't appreciate them," she said, again with a fake look of irritation.

"You know I do ... and ... I tell you so, regularly," he said with a genuine smile.

"Yeah ... you do, don't you. I'll say this for you, Jesse. You have the makings of a very nice gentleman. Some lucky woman is going to latch onto you and never let go," she smiled, this time sincerely.

"Whatever do you mean, Candice? Are you planning to break up with me?" he asked, faking concern.

"Of course not," she snapped, "but we have a lot of years ahead of us and we have different plans. What we have is temporary. I'm not kidding myself that you're my forever boyfriend. I don't think you're thinking that way either."

Jesse sighed. "You're right, of course. We are on different paths in the future. But that's the future. Right now, I'm happy the way things are. Aren't you?"

She smiled. "Of course I am. There's no rush for either of us, is there?"

"Nope," Jesse grinned. "No rush at all."

Saturday, December 16, 1961 10am

The lines to the chair lift were mercifully short that morning. Jesse assumed that the word of the mountain being open hadn't gotten around to everyone yet. Good news, he thought. He was impatient to get his skis moving down the freshly packed slopes. He snorted to himself as he saw the old, two-seat lift chairs moving slowly down the slope toward him, while waiting for his turn to slide onto the seat. He wondered what those around him would think of four-seat chairs and enclosed gondolas in the future.

He wasn't paying particular attention to his surroundings, more concentrating on timing the arrival of the chair. He had snapped on his skis and held both poles in one hand before the chair arrived. He slipped onto the inside seat at exactly the same time as another person took the outside seat. He turned to introduce himself and froze, staring at the person.

"Hello, I'm Kirsten," the vision smiled.

Speechless, wide-eyed, and surprised beyond belief, he struggled to form a coherent response. Despite his abortive plans to try and locate and meet her, he was completely unprepared to simply encounter her here and now.

"Yeah ... uhhm ... I know," he blurted. "Uh ... I'm Jesse Peterson," he managed after a struggle to regain his wits.

"You do?" she asked in surprise. "Do I know you?"

"Uhhm, I guess not," he scrambled, trying to work his way out of this awkward moment. "I ... uh ... saw you before ... at the Halloween dance."

"Oh," she said with a thoughtful look. You are a student at the university too?" Again, as with Candice, there was no hint that she recognized him or that she was being devious.

He nodded, "Yeah, first year Arts." So far, she hadn't shown curiosity about his reaction to seeing her.

"I'm in second year Arts," she smiled. "I have added some business administration courses this year. I want to be ready to help my parents with their store when I graduate."

"What business are they in?" Jesse asked, now regaining his mental balance.

"We own a sporting goods store in Vancouver. We have become very successful. Perhaps you have heard of it: Sports 365?"

"Oh, sure. That's the big store on 4th Avenue, right?" he said.

"Yes. Have you been there?"

"Ah, no ... not yet," he admitted. "I'd like to. I'll probably trade these skis in on some of the new shorter, wider ones like you have. They look a lot easier to control."

"Good idea. I have these," she said, pointing to what appeared to be a new pair of Head skis. "They are very good for turning and much lighter than my old wooden skis."

"Nice boots too," he noted.

She smiled once more, and Jesse's heart melted. It was that so familiar smile that he loved to see. Whatever the gods had decided his fate should be, they had rewarded him with at least a chance to be with Kirsten.

"What was your costume at the Halloween dance?" she asked.

"Uhhm, I was a Navy captain, and my date was a Parisian Follies dancer."

"Oh ...," she said in surprise. "Your date was certainly the most impressive of all. No wonder I didn't recognize you. She is quite a ... uhhm ... adventurous girl. That costume was the talk of the party."

"Yeah ... I know," Jesse admitted ruefully. "I don't think anyone even noticed me. I could have been dressed like a clown and been invisible."

She giggled. "Perhaps. But I remember seeing you now. You were quite handsome in that uniform."

"I was trying to copy the uniform my grandfather wore when he was in the navy," Jesse explained.

"Your grandfather must have been a handsome man," she smiled.

"Both he and my father look handsome to me," Jesse nodded.

"You can include yourself with them," she said, her Swedish accent more pronounced. In fact, her speech pattern was different. It was still ... precise, but she occasionally used contractions.

"How long have you been in Canada?" he asked.

"Since 1954 we came to Vancouver from Sweden. My father was appointed a district manager for a ski clothing manufacturer, but when the opportunity to purchase a failing sports store came, he took advantage of it ... and now that is his business ... with my mother, of course."

"Does your whole family ski?"

"Yes, but there are just the three of us. Today they are in the store, but tomorrow they will be here," she explained.

"Looks like we've arrived, Kirsten. We'd better get ready to get off," he said, swinging the safety bar aside as they approached the slope that would take them away and below the chairs. She made an easy and graceful exit along with Jesse and they skied together toward the lodge and service area.

Jesse looked around at the familiar surroundings, noting how sparse the facilities were compared to Whistler. But that was the future, and this was now. One thing about Grouse Mountain; there were only so many hills to ski, so Kirsten wouldn't disappear in the crowd as easily as she could in Whistler or Blackcomb.

"Are you skiing with someone today?" Kirsten asked.

"No, I'm on my own. Shall we ski together?" he asked in hope.

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, as long as you don't take dangerous chances," she warned.

Jesse was shaking his head. "No ... not me. I'm happy just enjoying the snow and the slopes ... and the company," he said with a smile.

"We can ski 'The Cut' first, then we can try 'Blueberry' for something different," Jesse suggested.

"Okay. It will be time for lunch then. We can eat at the lodge at the bottom of 'The Cut,' okay?"

"The Cut" was the open area below and beside the chair lift and was one of the most popular areas for skiers with some skill. "Blueberry Bowl" was steeper and off to the east of the lift, but combined a sharp slope followed by a long trail, also meeting at the bottom of the lift.

~*~

Jesse couldn't remember enjoying a morning's skiing as much as that Saturday. Kirsten was full of enthusiasm, her first day on the mountain as well. By lunch, they were both ready for a break and walked into the lodge and stood in line for the food service. Jesse stuck with soup, sandwich, and milk, just as he did at the cafeteria at UBC. Kirsten followed with the same except for tea instead of milk.