Vanilla chai latte, how I love but hate you.

If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in this mess. If it weren't for whirling around with you in my hand, brushing against her delicate fingers, losing control of the contents of the cup that held you, and dumping your vanilla-y goodness on my shirt and tie, none of this would have happened. I might never have known that Sarah existed.

Thanks for nothing, latte.

Let me explain. I, Dr. Edgin Daily, have one claim to fame. At age seventeen, I invented the PortaChron2812, a fully-functional time machine. Creating a time machine was the sort of thing that should've made me rich and famous. But in my case, it only made me famous. That's because while PortaChron2812 was a feat of engineering genius, I've only been able to make one.

I must admit that a bit of luck played an important part in my success. Genius that I am, I could never have invented my time machine without the help of my father--gambler and space cowboy that he was. Sadly, when I was not much more than a toddler, he took a left turn herding asteroids when he should've gone right. So, I hardly got to know the man. But before he was vaporized, he gave me the rarest of gifts.

I still remember him handing me the tiny springy coil of an iron-like metal.

"Here ya' go, Edgin," he had said.

"What's that?" I had asked.

"A precious metal from a distant galaxy. Somethin' called "anachrony." Won it in a card game. Previous owner called it 'magic.'"

Turns out, Dad was right. That piece of anachrony was magic. It became the secret ingredient that powered my time machine. After testing the properties of that sliver of metal, I realized it somehow warped time and space. By magnifying its properties, I was able to manipulate the temporal continuum. I could travel through time.

My speck of anachrony, then, was the key to my machine. Without it, the Portachron2812 wouldn't function. And there's the rub. To this day, my father's gift has been the only piece of the alien substance I've been able to find. It's been thirteen years since I invented the PortaChron. But without more anachrony, I've been unable to replicate my time machine.

And, of course, the moment news leaked that I had invented a time machine, buyers were pounding on the door to my lab. They were looking to make me wildly wealthy in exchange for the plans to the PortaChron. But until I located more anachrony, I knew that there'd be no deal for my machine. What's more, the rarity of anachrony was a detail I didn't dare let potential buyers know. So instead, I told the world that time travel was still flawed and dangerous. I hoped to buy time while I scoured the universe for my secret ingredient.

That was also the reason I decided to speak at GreenichCon thirteen years ago--to add credence to the idea that time travel was risky. It was a great speech, believable. And, when I finished my lecture, a woman's voice, as sweet as a leap into light speed, called to me from behind.

"Dr. Daily?" she asked. That's when I spun around and introduced my shirt to my tea. But, in the sliver of time during which the cup had left my hands but had yet to shatter on the floor, I also saw who had called to me.

I recognized her immediately. She was Dr. Sarah Cera --Ph.D., astrophysicist, nineteen, and a prodigy like me. My dream match. Well, she would've been except for the latte incident. After my mishap with my mug, I shuffled off stage with my speech clutched to my chest, convinced that Sarah could never love a klutz like me.

After that day, I pulled away from society and focused on my work. My statements at GreenichCon about the PortaChron being dangerous were mostly lies, of course. In fact, I started using the PortaChron daily to search for my precious anachrony.

I grew convinced that I was not the first to discover time travel. I theorized my father had to have played poker with another time traveler. So I moved through history to spy on others who seemed connected to the ideas of time travel. For example, the PortaChron let me peak at the papers and belongings of H.G. Wells, Albert Einstein, Gilda Rawlings and Justin Thymely. Sadly, none of these thinkers possessed any real knowledge of time travel, let alone a piece of anachrony in their drawers.

I did, however, discover vanilla chai latte in New York City circa 1992 while attempting to spy on a physicists' convention on "The Arrow of Time." Like my ill-fated father, though, I took a wrong turn. But instead of slamming into an asteroid, I stumbled into the 7-Eleven on 8th Avenue. That's where I discovered the joy of latte machines and the amazingness of the Twinkie--gustatory passions that would prove to be my undoing.

My need to find more anachrony consumed me. My obsession pushed happy thoughts like Sarah, friends and healthy eating to the dusty corners of my mind. For thirteen years after that conference, my sole purpose was to locate more anachrony--except for an occasional jaunt to my favorite 7-Eleven. But such singular focus took a toll on me. I was stretched thin, hot-tempered, and suffered immeasurably from an irritable bowel.

Finally, my mom intervened. We were having our usual Sunday pot roast at her place. She examined me and said, "What's wrong with you? You look like death."

"Yeesh, thanks, mom."

"No, really, you gotta take better care of yourself. Science, science, and more science won't make you happy. You shouldn't be alone. You need a woman. Or a man. Don't you know someone? Anyone? I've never see you with a date."

I was defensive at first. "I've dated lots, Mom," I lied. "But no one's right for me."

"Lots, Edgie? Seriously? How many have you introduced to me? Don't lie to me, young man."

I begrudgingly realized she was right. I had let myself go. "Well, there was one girl. Years ago. But I messed up our first meeting. Still, mom, she could've been the girl for me."

"Why 'could've' Edgie? What gives? Aren't you the boy that invented a time machine? What good's a time machine if it can't find true love? More potatoes?"

My mother's advice haunted me for days. Finally, I decided to go back and rectify my meeting with Sarah.

To be honest, time travel via PortaChron was less than perfect. My speech at GreenichCon wasn't a complete lie. And, because I'd used the PortaChron frequently, I had personal experience with each of its flaws.

Eventually, I discovered that I had a one-minute window to go back in time without experiencing complications. At that point, I either had to stay in the new time stream or get out and return to the present. I had learned the hard way that remaining in the past longer than a minute did harmful things to the human mind and body.

I'd given each of these time travel maladies a name:

"Chronking" was the strange effect that time travel had on the brain. For reasons unbeknownst to me, too much time travel caused the brain to use archaic forms of words. If nothing else, chronking seemed to provide evidence of the long-argued, but never proven, archetypal attributes of the mind.

Too much time travel also did weird things to the body. Take "time-lapsing," for instance. I learned the hard way that if I stayed too long in the past, the interstitial spaces of my body temporarily increased in size. Time-lapsing increased the gaps between my parts. I'd be stretched, noticeably taller and wider, and my clothes would be ridiculously small.

Another annoyance of time-travel was "premature aging." This was the cumulative effect of making too many trips to the past. Even though I went back in time, I continued to age. But I also kept returning to a time in the present that had yet to move ahead. So I began to age relative to the world around me. Time travel was fun; I had made many trips in thirteen years. As a result, at age thirty I looked closer to forty. I had crow's feet, gray hair, and a receding hairline.

Then there was the most uncomfortable and embarrassing side effect of time travel. What I called "gassing." This happened when the barometric pressure between the past and present were different. This variance in pressure caused the gastrointestinal tract to swell with air with an awkward and painful amount of air.

Finally, there was one other temporary but extremely dangerous side-effect, which I called "scorching." I discovered this side effect after leaving my Twinkies behind on a chai run to 1992. I popped back in the PortaChron to retrieve my snack but almost burned my favorite store down. That's when I learned that a cooling off period of twelve hours was necessary between trips to the past. Using the time-machine in rapid succession hyper-accelerated the atoms of my body. This side effect raised my body's core temperature well over a hundred degrees when I was relaxed. And when I contracted my muscles? Well, I super-heated the objects I touched. Strangely, scorching did no damage to me, but I managed to melt my Twinkies when I returned with them.

These were the same problems I'd mentioned at GreenichCon before spilling my chai latte and drowning my love life. My singular fix for these glitches was an escape switch I carried with me on my time travels. It would beep at the one minute mark. At that point, I either pressed the button on the switch and returned home or stayed in the past and the new time stream I had created.

The key to the escape switch, though, was that it held my single strand of anachrony. Things were safest this way. If I ever got stuck in the past, I'd still have the key ingredient to time travel. As long as I had my anachrony, I'd always build another time machine.

Of course, I'd always pressed the button and returned to the present. My goal this time, though, was to change the events of that ill-fated evening. I hoped to turn towards Sarah without spilling my chai and charmingly say, "Hello." In fact, I spent thirty minutes practicing spinning and saying, "Hello," in an extra deep a voice.

I had also formulated a plan. Once I returned to GreenichCon2813, I'd finish my speech as before. Then, when I heard Sarah's voice, I'd force myself to say, "One moment please." This would create enough delay to let me turn without bumping into Sarah's hand. Then I'd be able to say, "Hello," and change my life forever.

Prepared and confident, I fired up the PortaChron and entered my destination. I went to my closet and found clothes that were more appropriate for thirteen years ago. Then I clipped the escape switch to my belt, stepped into the PortaChron and left for 7.28.2813/16:29.

The time travel itself was typical. Everything went black, and for a moment, it felt like I was in an anti-gravity chamber. But then I felt the weight of my body return. My elbows rested atop something metallic. Polite applause filled my ears. I opened my eyes and was blinded by stage lights. And, in that strange moment when my past life integrated with my future life, I heard myself say, "Thank you."

My timing was perfect. My speech had just ended. I readied my notepad with my left hand and clutched my latte with my right. I took a deep breath and waited.

"Dr. Daily?" Dr. Sarah Cera's voice wafted over my shoulder and into my ear like the delicious smell of deep-fried Twinkies. She'd come to escort me off stage. This time I'd let her. My moment of redemption had come.

As rehearsed, I said, "One moment please."

Then I spun.

But I never got to say, "Hello." I hadn't considered that Sarah might come closer to me in the moment's delay provided by "one moment please." But, of course, that's what occurred. So, instead of my cup grazing her hand and dropping to the floor, it smashed into her breathtaking, blond-covered head. The clothes-staining contents exploded out of the cup and splattered her hair, face, and blouse. Fortunately, the chai had long cooled, or I would've scalded and scarred her.

Even so, she screamed at me while I looked at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. What had I done? Panic surged through my veins. I didn't even try to assist Sarah in any way. I just reached to my belt and activated the escape switch.

Once I returned to the present, I knew I had to go back immediately. I had to fix what I had made so much worse. Knowing that Sarah would be nearer to me after I said, "One moment please," allowed me to reassess things. I'd go back and do everything as before except for one thing. I'd turn around cautiously and finally say, "Hello."

I hopped into the PortaChron and zipped back to 2813. The crowd applauded. I blinked. Grabbed my latte. Sarah said, "Dr. Daily?"

And I answered, "Anon."

Anon? What the hell was "anon"? I couldn't believe it. I was freakin' chronking. Who said "anon" in 2813? They didn't even say that in the 1990's, an ancient era with which I was supremely familiar.

"Anon?" Sarah said, understandably confused.

I couldn't turn around until I knew what to say. Completely off script, I began sweating. The words "a nonlinear equation" came to mind, but I didn't know how to slip them into casual conversation.

That's when she touched my arm, and I learned I was gassing. Startled by her touch, a long, loud amount of flatulence escaped me. Embarrassed, I started to spin to her yet again. This time I never actually turned around, though. My latte caught the edge of the podium; cold chai covered me once more. A quick press of the escape switch and I was back to the future a second time.

The second I got home, I stripped out of my clothes and searched for a new suit. As I pulled up my pants, I realized they were tight and far too short.

Great, I thought, now I'm stretched due time-lapsing.

None of my clothes would fit in my enlarged state, so I finished dressing in the suit I had chosen. I knew I looked ridiculous in clothes that two sizes too small, but what could I do? I had no choice. I had to go back and fix this mess as soon as possible.

I didn't even try to conjure up a new plan. What good had planning done? I hopped into the PortaChron determined to make things right. Moments later, I heard clapping. I was back in 2813.

But something new was wrong. I was glazed with sweat. I had to be scorching. Maybe even super-scorching. After all, I had made three successive trips to the past without a cooldown period. I squeezed my latte cup to test my theory out. Sure enough, steam rose above the previously tepid tea.

This was beyond problematic. If I wasn't careful, I could scar Sarah or even burn GreenichCon to the ground. What could I do? I had less than a minute to try to make this work. Otherwise, I would have to go back and wait until the adverse effects of time travel wore off. Something told me if that happened, I would never come back here again.

When I was younger, my mother told me that I needed to learn that the best way was the honest, straight-from-the-heart-way. That I tried too hard to make everything work according to a grand plan. That, she said, was good for science, but not for people.

Remembering this, I cleared my throat and said into the microphone, "Dr. Sarah Cera. I know you are behind me. Please stop. Stop and listen.

"As I've already said to this esteemed gathering, time travel is far from flawless. Look at me. I am living proof of this. It alters the mind, body, and soul if used too much. And I've traveled through time far too much. This mess I've become is living proof. I was once shorter, thinner, younger, more handsome, and even much more stable at an atomic level than the man you see here. But I've done this to myself for one reason...to tell you, Sarah Cera, that you are the woman of my dreams. I love you."

There was some awkward clapping from the audience as I finished, and then Sarah spoke to me yet again. "Dr. Daily?" she asked.

I released my latte and turned around. Finally, I was able to gaze at Sarah without anything going wrong. She was as stunning as I had remembered.

"Hello," I said.

"Wow," she said. "For a brilliant scientist, you're a complete ignoramus when it comes to love. Not to mention, way too old and way too bald for me." Then she turned her back to me and stomped away.

As she stepped off stage, my escape switch started beeping, telling me my minute in the past was over. Frustrated, I yanked the device from my belt. But, scorching as I was, the switch melted in my hands as I squeezed it. My tiny piece of anachrony vaporized inside the useless device. I had trapped myself in this time stream and lost my time machine forever.