A Brighter Tomorrow: My Journey with Julie

I decide I might as well explore the strange world beyond this bedroom. Like the girl’s room, the rest of the house is just like our new San Francisco home, except Mom’s sleek, modern furniture has been replaced by cool, retro stuff. In the kitchen, a clock shaped like a cat ticks its tail and eyes back and forth with every tock. The living room has beaded lampshades, ceramic pots, and knotted rope plant hangers. As I go from room to room, I feel like Goldilocks exploring the three bears’ house.

I realize that if someone came home right now, I’d have no way to explain how I got here. I should get out before that happens.

I step onto the sidewalk and notice a van parked nearby with “FLOWER POWER” painted on the side in colorful, swirly letters. A teenage boy in a tie-dyed shirt leans against it, bouncing a beanbag off his shoe. A woman in a velvet cap, a leather vest, and a long skirt passes me and holds up a peace sign. Apparently it wasn’t just my room that changed when I put on the ring. It was the whole neighborhood.

I look up at the apartment building. It is the same one on the corner of Redbud and Frederick that we just moved into, with the same street signs. The coffee shop below is gone, though. Instead, there’s a little boutique with a sign that says “Gladrags.”

The bell jingles as I go into the shop, a vintage thrift store with retro clothes on the racks and purses made out of old blue jeans. Wooden bowls on the counter hold rings and bracelets made out of silver forks and spoons. A boombox on the shelf plays an oldies song I remember Dad liking.

A woman about Mom’s age gives me a warm smile, and I realize she’s the woman in the framed photo on the dresser upstairs. She welcomes me into the store. I pretend to study a display of night lights as I try to figure out what’s going on. How did I get here?

Just then, a girl with long blonde hair pops up behind the counter with a big smile and a basketball under her arm. It’s the girl from the photos on the dresser. She introduces herself as Julie Albright. Apparently this is her mother’s shop.

I tell her that I’m just browsing, but what I’m really looking for is a clue to where I am and what’s going on. Julie mentions she has a rainbow ribbon just like the one in my hair. She used to have two, but she lost one.

I am about to ask whether it might be in her window seat when I notice a calendar pinned to the wall. It says September, 1975.

Have I traveled back in time? I look down at the mood ring in amazement. It didn’t take me to a different place, but to a different time.

Julie interrupts my thoughts to say she likes my mood ring. She has one like it in her room, too.

Of course. It all makes sense. My room was her room in 1975. So could I be wearing Julie’s mood ring from the 1970s?

I swallow hard and tell her that my ring is gray. What does that mean?

Julie raises an eyebrow and says gray means I’m nervous. No surprise there. She tosses her ball into the air and asks if I play basketball. In spite of my confusion, my face lights up and I tell her that I love basketball.

Julie suggests we head to the park and shoot hoops once I’m done shopping. Chloe and I used to love playing HORSE in her driveway back in Ohio, so I tell her that sounds fun.

Making friends is easy in 1975. So why is it so hard back in my own time?

Julie shows me around the store, pointing out apple seed bracelets, fuzzy foot-shaped rugs, and flower-power necklace charms. I buy one of the charms with the Kennedy half dollar in my pocket and get back a 1966 quarter, which isn’t quite as cool but is still almost fifty years old.

As Julie and I head to the door, her mom reminds her that her dad is coming to pick her up at five tonight. Julie winces. Is Tracy coming? Her mom shrugs and says you never know with her sister. Julie sighs and shoves the door open. I ask if she’s okay, and she admits that if she had a mood ring on right now, it would be amber. Anxious Amber.

Julie bounces her ball against the wall and says she doesn’t understand her sister. Teenagers can be moody, sure, but they only get to see their dad on weekends now that her parents are divorced. She almost whispers the D word. Tracy refused to see him last weekend, and she might not come again this week. I don’t know what to say. I can hardly even talk to my own brother about these things.

Julie walks up to a newspaper in a self-service kiosk on the sidewalk. It reports on a littered beach that might close soon, with a black-and-white photo of sunbathing teenagers surrounded by pop cans and trash.

Julie throws her hands up in the air. She says this beach is her favorite, and she asks if I ever feel like things are just spiraling out of control. I tell her that I do.

Is it possible there’s a reason I arrived in Julie’s life at this exact moment? I might not be able to help my brother, but maybe I can help a new friend. My first thought is to distract her with the funny puppy video Dad emailed me, but there’s no internet in 1975. Julie likes basketball, so maybe we can just play a game of HORSE. But what if I could find another way to help with the things that are troubling her?