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“Man, if I could just go back,” Link said, wrapping up the podcast. During the recording of Ear Biscuits, Link and Rhett had talked about what they would tell their younger selves if they could, and how they would let themselves know how to prevent future injuries. Link described how his shoulder pain had developed from years of sleeping the wrong way on his arm. Rhett explained how his weightlifiting method in high school injured his back.
Feldman signalled to Rhett and Link that they had stopped recording. Rhett nodded and took off his headphones, placing them on the table in front of him. He turned to Link, who was pulling his iPhone from his pocket to check the time. “So,” Rhett said, “about going back in time and changing one thing?”
Link looked up from his phone and looked at his friend. His headphones had muffled Rhett’s voice.
“Hmm?” He pulled the earpad from his right ear and cocked his head towards Rhett.
Rhett smiled, repeating his question, “The one about going back and making one change?”
“What about it?” Link placed his headphones on the table and leaned forward a little.
“What would you really change?” Rhett questioned.
Link furrowed his brows and looked down, running his fingertips along the headphone cable. “What do ya’ mean?” he asked.
“The show is over, man,” Rhett said, “I want to know what you would really do if you could go back in time and change one thing.”
Link glanced back up and shrugged. “My shoulder,” he said noncommittally, his voice trailing off. He lifted the cable and began to twist the black cord between his fingers.
“Nah,” Rhett raised his eyebrows and looked intently at Link’s face. “What else?”
“Oh, well, maybe,” Link paused, turning his head to peer behind the camera that captured their podcast. The small Ear Biscuit crew had moved away from the controls, out of earshot. “Maybe something from when we were younger,” he shrugged, looking intently at the black cord he was winding around his fingers. Rhett nodded, urging him on. “I think about it sometimes…” he trailed off again. Rhett’s eyes widened slightly. Link looked up at him. “The oath. Our oath,” he clarified.
Rhett released the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “Oh.”
Link nodded, “I wish I could go back and not lose it. Not lose the paper.” He dropped his eyes back down, to his restless fingers entwining the cable.
Rhett was quiet. He placed his hand over Link’s right hand, stilling his movement. “I know. But that’s on both of us—I lost my copy too,” Rhett smiled, raising his brows encouragingly.
Link looked up and sniffed, “Yeah. But. We knew that was going to happen,” he chuckled.
Rhett laughed softly, “Yeah.”
“It was up to me to keep it safe, to make sure we didn’t--”
Rhett interrupted, squeezing Link’s hand. “We did ok without it,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” Link grinned, “we did”.
“The piece of paper doesn’t matter,” Rhett said.
Link tilted his head, opening his mouth to protest.
Rhett interjected, “The oath is what’s important. That we didn’t forget it. That we kept our word.” Rhett lifted his hand from Link’s to punctuate his words.
Link smiled and dropped his head down, “Yeah. That’s true, I know. We’ve talked about this before.”
Rhett’s hand returned to the top of Links and he squeezed. Link was quiet for a moment, his mood lifted, a soft smile on his lips. He looked up at Rhett, whose eyes were focused on their hands. “So?” he asked, “What about you? Just no deadlifts in high school? What else would you change about the past?”
Rhett glanced up for a second, then resumed looking at their hands. “Uh, I dunno, man.”
Link shook his head, “You must’ve had something in mind, then?” He leaned his head closer, “To ask me about it?”
Rhett shrugged slightly. “Well,” he paused.
“C’mon!” Link laughed. He urged Rhett to speak by tapping his fingers up to meet the underside of Rhett’s fingers. “Spill it!”
A wave of melancholy passed over Rhett, he dropped his grin for a second, then forced himself to smile. There was more than one thing he wanted to change, moments of quiet he wished he had filled, words left unsaid, paths not explored. He pulled his hand away and touched his own headphones in front of him.
A moment passed. He needed to say something. “Film school,” he said finally, “I think sometimes—what if we had gone for it—for real. Instead of engineering.” Link looked into his eyes. Rhett continued, “I guess we wouldn’t be here right now, though.” Link nodded but stayed quiet. “Maybe we’d have a few movies under our belts by now,” Rhett muttered.
Link elbowed Rhett’s arm, “But—” he prompted.
“But,” Rhett continued, “we wouldn’t have what we do have. Mythical, GMM, the Tour, the book…”
“That’s right!” Link said, bumping his arm again. “C’mon man! You sound like me! 'Would’ve, could’ve.' I suppose I should tell you that in an alternate universe we did go to film school.”
Rhett smiled softly, turning his head to meet Links eyes. “Ha ha,” he agreed, “you’re right. An alternate universe.”
“We’re getting there, man,” Link said encouragingly, “We’re taking our own path.”
Rhett thought for a moment about paths taken, and forks in the road. “Yeah, the Rhett and Link path.”
“That’s right! You know it. We can’t change the past, we can only—"
“—Change the future” they said in unison. Rhett gave a short laugh.
“See?” Link said, standing up. “Let’s change the future.” He put two fingers up to each temple, rubbing them in small circles and closing his eyes. “Hmmm, I see lunch in our future… burritos…beans… guac.” Rhett laughed and pushed himself from the table and stood.
He mimicked Link, placing his fingers at his temples. “I see that guac...” he paused dramatically, “is extra.”
Link chuckled, and he started moving towards their office. “Mmm, yes,” he continued the bit, “and I see gas in our future,” he giggled, turning away.
“You see gas?” Rhett asked incredulously. Link walked ahead to the hallway, laughing.
Rhett paused, his smile waning slightly. He let Link move further away. 'Maybe someday,' he thought, 'Someday I'll change the future.' He followed Link.