"Uh, they're the same thing," I tell them. "Who are you?"

"Yes!" the being with the tablet exclaims.

One of the other researchers groans. "No! My thesis...months of writing wasted..." One of the others comforts them.

"Now, what is this object for?" The first researcher holds up a discolored, dinged-up plastic object. It's clearly been buried in the ground for quite some time, but the two holes and the scuffed plastic window are distinctive.

"That's a cassette tape. You record music with it."

"Interesting, interesting." The being enters something on the tablet.

"How are you speaking English?"

"Sophisticated translation technology," one of the researchers confides. "We are students of your society. From the future."

"What does this pictogram represent?" The researcher with the tablet turns it around so that the screen faces me.

It's the eggplant emoji.

"Sex," I say. "Why do you need to ask me this if you can time travel or whatever? Can't you just go wherever you want to go and look around and see how these things are being used?"

The beings shift guiltily and look at each other. "Technically, travel to times and places prior the advent of time travel is strictly prohibited. Paradoxes, you know."

"Oh."

"We must get back before our advisor returns to the lab. Just don't tell anyone you saw us, alright? The space-time continuity depends on it. Can you do that?"

"Uh, sure, I guess?"

One of them pats me on the head. "And don't go to Mars."

"Okay. Wait, why? Is it dangerous?"

"No. Just not worth it."

The group disappears in a shimmering light.

The cassette clatters to the sidewalk behind them.

Out of befuddlement, mainly, I pick it up. It's clearly old, discolored and scuffed, but it still has tape in it.

I carry the tape around in my pocket for a while. The curiosity builds. I want to know what's on that tape. I don't have a cassette player anymore, so I go to Goodwill and pick up the first one I can find, praying that it still works. I plug it in. It turns on.

I slide the tape inside. It's dirty, but it still seems to be in decent shape. I snap the player closed and hit play. The wheels begin to turn. I hold my breath.

A familiar tune starts up. A wobbly voice comes out of the machine.

the miracle of being here

when you follow the strange trails, they will take you who knows where

Isaac did not forgive his father When they returned home he saw In the sidelong glances of his father’s eyes That everything had changed Under the cold knife That kissed his skin on the mountain He knew they could never Be the same again “You were my father,” He wanted to say “So why couldn’t you be my father?”

Stamp Seal with a Toadstool Base. Manufactured in the 2nd half of the 19th century, presumed Russian origin. Materials are vermeil (silver gilded with gold), enamel paint and shell. From the Musée d'Art et d'Histoire, Geneva, inventory number: 018080.