"If you could go in and out of time, and could change one thing in your lifetime to make your life better, would you? That requires some thought, people." The professor drummed his fingers on the desk. He was a tall thin man with a full head of black hair, and a dark beard going white. His piercing green eyes were startling in his olive complexed face, set off by full lips under a dark moustache. His hands were long and graceful, pianist's hands. Cross Grizzly Adams and the Rifleman, and you'd have a good representation of him.

His name was Paul Jenson, and he had a PHD in Logical Thinking. Where he got such a degree was a mystery, but the certification for such hung on his wall big as life.

He taught a class on Probabilities (Probabilities 101) at a local Detroit, MI, university. His present class had 15 students in it. They were of all ages and diverse cultures. He addressed the class.

"Seriously, class, you have to really think about what you would want to change, and what would be the outcome or the circumstances. Everything has consequences. If you changed something, what would change because of it?" He stood up and faced the blackboard. Picking up a piece of chalk, he started to draw circles and arrows on the board.

"As an example - say you met someone at a party and had sex with them." The class whispered. "It happens. Let's say on the off chance that there was issue from such an encounter, which also happens by the way." He drew a few arrows coming out from the circle representing the incident on the board. "If your one thing to change was that meeting - what would happen to the child? Would there still be a child but from someone else? Maybe not the same year but one later or so? What would your life be like without that child in it? What else would change? What decisions did you make based on having that child rely on you?" He put the chalk in the holder and crossed to his desk, turning his back on the board. Sitting down, he said, "What else would change?"

"This is your assignment. Think about one thing you would change if you could go out of time and change if you could. Think about all the repercussions that could/would change. People you wouldn't meet, jobs you wouldn't take, schools you wouldn't attend, the college you would have attended if not for that one incident, everything that one thing touched in your life that made a difference." He ticked off the things off on his fingers. "Make sure you included the things you decided to do because of that one thing. Good or bad." He swung his feet up on the desk. "This requires a lot of thought - that question. Results are inevitable. No going back. No recycling, no returns. It's all or nothing. You would have to think about what you have and how you got here. What events led up to it/finding it/having it. How did you meet that event? Who introduced you to it/them? How did you come by the catalyst? If you could change the meeting, what would ripple out from it? Finally, after all your lists are done and all your reasons are thought out, write about it. I want at least 2000 words on the subject. You have until the end of next week to sort it out and hand it in."

The class groaned in unison, and whispered amongst themselves. Paul grinned. He knew they hated writing assignments. Yet he found that you never really knew how someone's mind worked until you read something they had written. He didn't assign such things often, but when he did they had a psychological angle.

He wanted to know how they thought. Their style of writing, the genre they wrote in, even if they were good writers or bad made no difference. It wasn't how they wrote but what they said that made the grade, so to speak.

Every once in a while, he ran across a true artisan, someone who painted pictures with their pen and wrote a good story. Someone who could really write - a true artist.

Those he lived to teach, for they could really appreciate and learn from him. Most of his students were just that - students - there to either earn credits for taking the class or using it for their degree. Now and then he got someone who took the class to learn perspective - and that is truly what he taught.

Probabilities and perspective. He was grateful if even one of his students looked at life differently because of him. One the whole, that wasn't too much to ask, was it?

Ultimately, in his personal opinion, he thought that time travel was too dangerous to mess with. He preferred to leave the past in the past because he liked who he was.

He didn't think anyone had the right to play God, not even within their own lives. Most people did not look at it that way. They didn't look beyond their own lives. They didn't take into account what one change in their lives would do to others.

And that's where the evil lay. To change your own life was one thing. To change everyone else's was another. Yes, there were people in the world evil enough to rewrite the world to suit themselves. As if they were the only beings that mattered - that the other zillions of lifeforms wouldn't care or think that their everything had changed in an instant. If they even realized it.

The perpetrators of such crimes would console themselves by saying the afflicted wouldn't KNOW the changes - wouldn't remember what they once had - and lost - through no doings of their own.

The whim of the Gods That Be. The fates of the unfortunate matter not; only the will of the Powers That Be matter in that world.

There would be those who want to keep their lives the way they are, despite hardships, because that's where humanity lies - not in the struggles themselves, but in the memories of such. Memories that contain touchstones to people's identities, loved ones who sleep, passed on and now live in those memories in all their glories - would be washed away like erasing a chalkboard. No pictures, please.

To some, such actions would be cruel. To some, erasing painful memories would be kind. To some - they would want to pick and choose - keep the good, scrap the bad. Others - wipe the slate clean and start fresh.

It was too easy to fall into grandiose ways of thinking if time travel were possible. Thank God it wasn't! God knew what he was doing when he made man linear and only able to change the future. The past was not changeable.

Paul was grateful for that. He wasn't sure he wanted to live in a world where people could choose to live out of time. He wondered what his students would come up with and couldn't wait to find out.

He grinned, whispering, "Class dismissed."

There it was. Propped up on her breakfast plate like a sign from above, A good sign or a bad sign? That remained to be seen.

He was a funny little guy - that man of hers. Not small in stature by any means, but small in other ways. For example, he was small (clinical definition) in arguments; i.e., he didn't argue at all. He rarely said he didn't like something, and he was generous to a fault.

He was not 'small' is his affections - he often left small trinkets for her to find: a rosebud, an earring (one alone, not a pair), sometimes a pretty rick from the garden. Like she said, a funny guy.

He made her laugh out loud on many occasions. She had her effect on him too. She was positive there was love there. He acted like he cared, although he'd never said he loved her, or anyone, really. They had never talked about their feelings. She'd just taken for granted that he loved her.

She did not take advantage of him at all. She was only careful to be fair and square, for that' s what SHE wanted. She wanted a 50/50 relationship; one where both sides of the road were well traveled, so to speak.

In light of his tendency to leave tiny gifts, she, too, began to leave small things for him to find, but hers were of a practical nature. She made heart-shaped pancakes for breakfast for him, baked molasses cookies for him once she discovered he liked them. Not all the time, but as a special treat.

She planned day trips for them - the zoo, picnics, the movies. More often than not, the things planned rarely had dollar signs on them outside of the movies and the zoo. The local attractions had no admission costs, the local aquarium also had no admission fee.

The State Parks had an admission fee, but if you bought a license plate with a pass they didn't. The local beaches had no fees either.

There were a lot of places to visit without spending a lot of money. She chose a lot of them. Memories

Her heart thumped as she looked at the letter on the plate. For some reason, it felt different.

The whole DAY just felt off. She couldn't put her finger on it, but today was not ordinary.

She shrugged her shoulders, hoping it would dispel the mood, but it didn't. Things still felt strange.

"Gabriel? Are you home?" She called, even though she knew he was not there. He'd told her he had an appointment this morning, early, and he would not be there when she woke up.

On Valentine's Day, too.

Darn it.

Of all days they would be apart, it would be today. She felt the unrest in her heart, and suddenly the letter began to look menacing. Like it was waiting for that moment to come to ruin the day.

The pink hearts on the envelope above her name seemed suddenly to mock her. Apprehension snuck in and made her palms sweat.

Rapidly, the events of the last few days ran through her mind. Nothing stood out as dangerous or damaging, so she breathed a high sign of relief. No red flags, no curve balls - nothing to indicate there was anything wrong. Looked like smooth sailing.

An old adage jumped into her hand - "If it seems too good to be true, it probably is." She dwelled on it for a microsecond, then poopooed it.

She sat at the table, but not at the place with the envelope. Instead, she sat next to it, rigid, her hands folded on the table, her eyes glued to the envelope. Although she sat perfectly still, her mind was anything but.

Her imagination took away and ran off - it was a Dear John letter - no it was an ordinary Valentine's Card - it was an invitation to a party - no, it was one of those kiddie valentines to make her laugh.

She sighed. Maybe she should just open it and end the agony. She reached and stopped, her fingers almost touching it.

Maybe she wouldn't. Spare herself the bad news. As log as the contents undisturbed, she could continue to live the life she had now. No interruptions. No sad times allowed.

She could always believe he would come home. When Jesus returned, so would Gabriel. Until then, she would wait. And so would his last letter to her.

Unopened.