Page 2 of Reverse

Nate Butler

Subject: Oversight

June 8, 2005, 11:13 a.m.

It occurred to me that you may not be receiving these emails, but I think we both know, Miss Emerson, that is not the case. And since I have no proof of this, I have no choice but to believe you remain steadfast in your decision not to mix business with research, however disconcerting that may be due to the nature of your profession. But for the sake of office morale, I may be so inclined to have a beer at our place around 6:00 p.m. this evening to discuss this issue.

Nate Butler

Editor in Chief, Austin Speak

Sent via Blackberry

“Geez, Dad, laying it on thick,” I whisper with a budding grin, popping up once more from behind my screen before zeroing in.

Stella Emerson

Subject: Deadlines

June 10, 2005, 9:42 p.m.

Dear Mr. Butler,

I am flattered by your correspondence and excited about the chance of working with you. Due to my current situation, I am unable to receive emails in a timely manner because of connection issues. I will be remedying this situation within the coming weeks. While all invitations are appreciated, I prefer to do my research alone. I am happy to report that things are rapidly progressing with my articles, and they will be delivered to you in two months’ time.

Best Wishes,

Stella Emerson

Future Entertainment Columnist, Austin Speak

Sent via The Plate Bar

“Ewww, best wishes?” I wince. “Burn. You struck out hard.” I can’t help my laugh at her witty, dry humor, especially in her email signature ‘sent via The Plate Bar.’ The web wasn’t nearly as accessible back then as it is now. Thirty years ago, the world was just on the precipice of the digital age. I recently did a story about advanced technology versus the gadgets of the eighties, nineties, and even the early 2000s. Most born past the millennium—including me—couldn’t identify what many of them were, let alone figure out how to use them. At this stage, I can’t imagine what little to no access life was like.

These thirty-year-old emails are proof of just how advanced we’ve become. That life existed without one-touch convenience.

Fascinated but hesitant, I briefly battle the churning in my gut, a sure sign that what I’m doing is wrong in more ways than one. Unease bubbling, I consider closing out the window and returning to the task my father charged me with.

I’m supposed to be searching the paper’s archives for excerpts from articles for Speak’s thirtieth anniversary edition printing this fall. Years ago, Dad hired a tech team to transfer everything Austin Speak to our current mainframe, including every article circulated. Apparently, the transfer also extracted everything from his dinosaur laptop—including ancient Austin Speak email chains. He didn’t oversee the project himself. His priority was the stories oftodayrather than yesteryear. I’m not sure he’s aware his email chains were included in the transfer, tucked away in a marked file in the archives. A file I stumbled into minutes ago and haven’t been able to click out of, while morally warring with myself to move on. But it’s the subject line of the following email that has me prying further—an email dating back to November, twenty-nine years ago.

Nate Butler

Subject: Trick? or Treat?

November 1, 2005, 10:00 a.m.

Miss Emerson,

Did I dream last night? Images keep flitting through my mind of a dark-haired, curvy temptress rolling around my office to “Xanadu” in white roller skates.

Nate Butler

Editor in Chief, Austin Speak

I pause, a dangerous inkling coursing through me while a bold line comes into clear view in my mind. Just as I acknowledge it, my curiosity blurs it, and I step over, unable to stop myself.

Stella Emerson

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