Joanne's eyelids fluttered, briefly opening before she closed them again. She drew the curtain and peaked outside. The rising sun rays found their way through the parted curtains, but she shut them out, closing the curtains. It was a morning where even the sun's invitation to play hide-and-seek behind the curtains failed to coax any enthusiasm. A year ago, she would have danced with anticipation, but this time, she gave a quiet sigh and got off the bed to get herself ready.
"Quick, Joanne! I can't wait all morning," her father called from the car, honking the horn at every minute interval.
With her school bag on her back, Joanne joined her father in the car. As he started the engine, he adjusted the rear-view mirror to catch a glimpse of her curled-up form by the back seat door.
"Baby girl, I understand you're scared because of the time machine incident, but this is the fair. You used to love it as a child," the father reassured, glancing momentarily at his daughter's face.
Joanne stayed silent during the entire ride to school. Upon arrival, her classmates and Miss Jane were already boarding the school bus. Miss Angel signaled for her to hurry, but she sauntered, causing a hint of frustration to flicker across Miss Jane's expression.
Joanne boarded the bus, greeted by her classmates' joyful faces. She sighed and shook her head before settling in behind the driver. Celia, the smallest in the class, began humming the fair song, prompting others to join in singing and clapping. Uninterested, Joanne put on her headphones, blocking out the enthusiasm around her.
At the fair, Miss Jane organized the students to disembark from the school bus in a single file. There were colorful tents offering skill and chance games, as well as game booths draped with whimsical banners that enticed children with reward promises. Joanne raised her head and looked at the ferris wheel before swiftly turning away to the sound of cheerful laughter and music coming from the carousel. Even though the air was saturated with candy and popcorn, Joanne remained uninterested.
While her classmates debated about which booth to visit first, Joanne slipped away, tiptoeing backward to distance herself from the commotion. She strolled along and saw a tent hosting a balloon-popping dart game. As she approached, she noticed a figure with auburn hair in a distinctive bob cut—an unmistakable silhouette reminiscent of Ben.
Eager anticipation bubbled within her as she followed the figure through the carnival chaos. Her calls after him were drowned by the festive uproar, labyrinth of laughter, and merry-go-round melodies. With soles moving on solid ground, she scurried at a frantic pace, head held high and gaze fixed on her mission. A throng of exuberant children spilled from the game house, forming an impenetrable barrier between her and the auburn-haired figure. She wrestled with the carnival current and successfully made her way across, only to find he had slipped from her grasp.
Joanne drew air into her lungs, released them, and buried her face in her hands, but a tap on her shoulder jolted her. Lifting her face up, she was greeted with a face concocted with rage.
"Do you want to give me heartache? We were supposed to enjoy this trip, but you disappeared, creating panic again. Now, we must all return to school before anything happens to you, and I'll have the police ask me to make a statement," Miss Jane scolded.
Dragging her, they headed back to the school bus, where other children waited with curled lips and clenched jaws. Joanne took her seat, and they drove back to school in an oppressive silence.
That evening, Joanne delved into her computer, Googling time machine mishaps over the past ten years. Her incident surfaced as the first result. She scanned through to verify the accuracy and continued reading. Stories unfolded one by one, and just as she considered giving up, she stumbled upon a picture. The auburn hair was unmistakable. Clicking on it, she discovered that he had downloaded a video game claiming to have time-travel capabilities. However, an upgrade occurred after he played, trapping him in an era without internet and preventing him from returning to the present.
She grabbed a pen and jotted down Ben's address. Grateful for the upcoming Saturday, she went to bed with high hopes of searching for him the next day since the address revealed that he lived in the same city as her. The following morning, Joanne woke up with anticipation, hurried through her Saturday chores, and dashed out of the house in an eager search of Ben.
She arrived at the house and double-checked the number to ensure she was at the right place. As she approached, her heartbeat quickened, her hand grew sweaty, and she rubbed it on her pants. Throughout last night, a myriad of thoughts about whether Ben would recognize her or remember their adventure flooded her mind. Closing her eyes, she raised her hand to knock on the door, but it creaked open, leaving her hand hanging. She opened her eyes to find Ben standing before her. His physical appearance was the same, though he looked older and more mature.
Joanne's heart raced as their gazes met, a mix of confusion and curiosity in his eyes.
Joanne?" he asked, eyebrows arched.
"Yes!" Joanne squealed. "You remember. You remember me. Oh my goodness".
She jumped on him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Ben placed his arms around her and planted a kiss on her cheek.
"I am so happy you came looking for me. I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me again, so I didn't bother looking for you. It's so great to see you."
Ben unwrapped her arms from around his neck and looked at her. Joanne's face was flushed pink, a smile plastered on her lips. He extended an invitation for her to come inside, and she followed him. He seemed to be the only one who truly understood what she had been through, and perhaps, now that they were together, he could help her overcome the trauma associated with machines.
This is a continuation of the story on the prompt on time machine. So many people wanted to know what happened to Ben so I decided to solve the mystery with the fair prompt