I'm sleeping in my room when all of a sudden I'm awoken by the sound of my closet door creaking.

My eyes widen immediately, though my sisters snooze on. I dig out my phone from its charging area in between my mattress and bed frame and turn on its flashlight, directing the stream of light towards the far side of my room. What I see freezes all the blood in my body.

My closet door is slowly opening.

I'd run if my legs had any feeling, but then again, where would I run to? My closet is right beside my bedroom door. I could open the window, pop out the screen, and run through the flower bushes to my backyard, but the amount of snakes and angry squirrels back there don't exactly make it a better option. Also, y'know, my legs are dead.

A figure steps out from the closet and shuts the door behind himself. He looks confused, curious, and especially tired. Then he turns towards me, and I get a good look at him. I drop my phone.

It's Bob Dylan.

In dropping my phone, the flashlight blinds me and I hiss, grabbing the stupid thing to direct it back at Bob, but by the time I do he's right in front of me. I practically jump thirty feet. "Dude!" I whisper-scold.

"Sorry, girl," he whispers back in his raspy way. My breath catches in my throat and I cough awkwardly, sitting there in my Mickey Mouse nightgown. "Do you by any chance have any idea where I am?"

"Yeah," I say quietly. "You're in Florida."

"Florida?"

"Yeah...how did you get here?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he says softly, raising his eyebrows over his blue eyes. "One minute, I'm walking backstage after a concert in New York, and then zoing - I'm here." He points at my phone. "Can you stop shining that weirdo flashlight of yours in my face, please? It's kinda making it hard to see."

"Oh yeah..." I say sheepishly. "Sorry."

"What kind of flashlight is that, anyway?"

"This?" I say, and then it hits me - this isn't just Bob Dylan...this is young Bob Dylan. Bob Dylan from 1964, give or take a little while, judging by the size of his hair.

I must be really tired if I didn't notice that immediately.

"This is...uh....." Should I tell him? Would it freak him out? Change the future?? "Let me tell you outside...I don't want to wake up my sisters." He nods and I shuffle out of bed, pulling on some knee-high Tardis socks and a West Side Story sweatshirt that were resting on the carpet.

I lead Bob quietly down the hall and out the back door. The sun isn't up yet; it's about 5 in the morning. We walk into the Florida room and I open some windows. Bob takes a seat at the round table where I usually paint, and I stay standing, nervously tugging at my sleeves.

"So what is it?" he asks.

"It's...a phone."

He looks at me, confused. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"No," I say, sitting next to him. I show him the tiny device. "This is my cell phone. It's got loads of stuff on it - music, movies, Internet - "

"Inter-what?"

"Uh...never mind," I chuckle. "Anyway, I just push this button, and.." I tap the home button and the screen lights up. Bob jumps slightly.

"Where'd you get it?" he asks, completely amazed.

"From the store...." my voice trails off. "Listen, I don't know how to tell you this, but...."

"What?"

I sigh. "You're in the future."

"The future?" he laughs, full of skepticism. "C'mon, now. Who put you up to this? Was it Joan?"

"No, look - I'm not kidding, man. It's 2016."

"...2016?" He tests out the year on his lips and shakes his head. "Nah, I can't believe this..."

"You're gonna have to," I reply.

"Prove it," he says.

"What?"

"Prove it. Prove it's the future."

I sniff. "Fine," I say, turning on my phone again. I open the music app and start playing "Corrina, Corrina", and his face goes pale.

And then he faints.