We found a time capsule dated 1975, but the items inside were from 2025. 

“It’s obviously a joke,” I said to Manny. 

With hands on his hips, he was as doubtful as I was. The sound of the heavy excavating machinery in the distance was competing with this new Lauper girl screeching about having fun on our portable, but to me at this moment, it was all background noise. The items inside the capsule were extremely strange for being from 1975 which was etched on the cover, however, the newspaper showing an old Donald Trump as the president of the United States just HAD to obviously be a gag.  I mean to think a 1985 real estate guy could be president was enough to dismiss the capsule as bogus. The newspaper page was dated March 10, 2025, but that could be faked easily enough. There was a little flat rectangular thing (device?) that was about 2 inches long, which I had no idea its use. There was a pretty strange looking t-shirt with a print of a cat drowning in water with the word “Flow” on it. Under the shirt was a picture of some young handsome guy smiling in front of that TV show Wheel Of Fortune’s game board. But what shocked the living hell out of me was the severed finger still fresh as last night’s hamburger Becca made for dinner. Who the hell would put a damn finger inside a time capsule even as a sick joke? And then going further down the rabbit hole, who the hell actually lost that finger? That middle digit was just staring up at me like a true “Fuck you” to whomever dug it up. Contrary to the larger than life image of construction workers, I was in danger of losing my breakfast not to be the first time that day.

Manny bent over my shoulder as I turned away disgusted. “Bummer for the guy who lost that one, huh? Now he can only flip off one person at a time.” He laughed at his own tasteless joke as I tried to keep down the donut and coffee I had just downed. “Don’t touch it,” I said. “I’m gonna go get Stan.”

“Touch it?” Manny asked? “I’m already figuring out how to sell it.” He laughed again as I went to find my foreman.

The vision of that finger didn’t leave me for weeks. It went over it in my mind many times. It was definitely a man’s, about the size of my own, but older, wrinkled with age. But the biggest mystery was how did it not decompose even if the thing was a joke box? Being it was still intact, the police were called in who probably bagged and tagged it, and probably filed it away. Maybe they could find the victim through a print on the finger or using some other Hills Street Bluesy tactics.   The sordid scene faded from a crisp print to a hazy shade of gray and finally to nothing more than an anecdotal moment in time. But that didn’t last long.

A month passed and the construction of the senior center was humming along as these projects usually do. What was unusual was Stan coming up to me with two men in suits following close behind.

“Leo, we need you for a few minutes in the office.”

“Sure thing,” I said, sizing up the no-nonsense guys. This was definitely not business as usual.

Being there were only two chairs in the office, one being for Stan, there was a moment where it was a tossup on who would take the remaining seat. Stan motioned to me to take it. My eyes were fixed on the two men who were very comfortable exerting whatever perceived authority they felt they possessed, showing they had every intention of standing up throughout this meeting. I may be a construction worker, but I am no idiot to see they enjoyed the dominant position over my subservient seated one.

“This is agent, uh what was it again?”

“Marshall, said the first man pulling out a wallet complete with badge. I studied it for a good ten seconds.

“I’m Agent Amwell. Nice to meet you Mr. Miller.” He too had a badge. These guys were legit or at least stellar imposters.

“Ditto,” I responded extending my hand for shakes with both of them.

Stan continued, “They have some questions about that box you found a few weeks ago.” The anecdotal memory came back into very sharp focus.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Mr. Friesen said you found the capsule while excavating the area.” Agent Marshall said. His partner began writing on a pad pulled from his jacket pocket. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did anything seem odd about it.”

“Yeah, the goddamn finger you could say was pretty fucking odd!” I was annoyed at having to remember the grim discovery.

“Easy,” Stan said.

“Sorry Stan.”

“Anything else?”

“I got to thinking afterward it was a pretty good faked capsule. But I didn’t find it odd per se.”

“Well we found something pretty odd.” I looked to Stan. He looked away knowing what the next thing was.

“We ran the print off the finger that you found.” He reached for a folder that was on top of a stack of manila ones. “We found a match.”

“Well that’s good news. I hope the rest of his body is one piece.”

“How did you know it was a man?”

“Unless that finger came from a German female gymnast, I think I can place a pretty beefy finger as a man’s.”

The men stood silent as they awaited for something that was not coming. I finally broke the stalemate. “And? What?”

Marshall opened the file and showed me the documents inside. On the first page, there was the print lifted from the finger. The second page was a photo of the finger itself which made my stomach turn again. The third is what turned me white.

“Wait, why do you have my record in here?” This is from 15 years ago. I swear Stan, it wasn’t a felony. They lowered the charge to a misdemeanor cuz it was a first offense I didn’t have to declare-“

“Easy,” Stan said again with no emotion in it at all. “You’re not in trouble. With me anyway.”

“I’m in trouble? For what?”

“The match was your print. It’s your finger.”

That took more than a few moments to register. My eyes darted around the room looking for answers to questions that were coming at a furious rate. I said, the first logical thing that would have come out of anyone’s mouth.

“That’s impossible. Look!” I raised my hands, wiggled my fingers, shook my hands, pulled each of my fingers in turn. “All there. Nothing missing. It has to be a mistake on your guys’ part.” Agent Amwell was writing furiously, like a court stenographer just doing his job.

“You obviously have an identical twin,” said Agent Marshall sizing me up at this comment.

“I don’t have a twin,” I said totally exasperated. “Is this a joke? Stan, are you in on this? This isn’t funny. Can I just get back to work?”

“We even did a DNA match test with this guy Jeffreys who has this new process and he confirmed a match.” Agent Marshall continued. “We need to figure this out.”

“YOU need to figure this out. I can’t give you anything else.”

“Look, off the record, me and Agent Amwell have been over this in every way possible. Those items in that box were legit 2025 as far as our tests could tell. Personally, it doesn’t make sense to us on a personal level either. But the higher ups think there must be an explanation, like you have an identical and you or he put his finger in that box. We both think this is one of those mysteries that will only be solved 40 years from now.” Agent Amwell nodded in agreement. Stan was stone still absorbing everything.   “We’ll be keeping this file open until we find something more.”

“You guys are NUTS!” I said raising my voice.

“Easy,” Stan said again.

“No, I’m not going easy! This is crazy talk. I don’t have a brother that I know of. And I would guess you guys aren’t idiots and have researched birth records to see only one kid was born to my mom.”

“We have and it’s true. Your mom only had you.”

“So what the fuck is going on?” This time Stan did not step in.

“Honestly, we don’t know. We were hoping you could supply some information, but that seems to be a dead end also. Thank you for your time, Mr. Miller.”

I exited the office, shaken to the core. How the hell could MY finger be in that box in 2025 and show up in 1985? The only reassuring thing was that I had at the very least 40 years of life left in me. But the only other thing is that I will be living the next 40 years with this ever gnawing reality of knowing somewhere in early 2025, I will be losing the ability to flip off two people at once.