Prologue
  I can’t think of any way to explain my experiences other than by writing them down. It sounds crazy. It is crazy. I just need to let it out, I have to share my encounter, I can’t keep it to my self anymore. Friends, my Friends, they were there too. They couldn't comprehend it either, they just thought  it was some freak incident, a dream, a dream that could hurt you. The damages, we all came back with them. We were all damaged. The scar from the glass on Flynn, the fractures from the baton on Quinn's arm, and the damage to me that could only be repaired by therapy. Dad, i’ll never know you, but the time I spent with you was enough to know you for a lifetime, my lifetime.

I was in my room typing a debate paper on my laptop,  when Quinn came in and wanted to get something to eat. I was far enough along that I decided to take a break, and besides, I was hungry. I went to get my keys in the living room, where Flynn was watching Modern Family.
“Where are you headed?” He inquired.
“Sottini’s subs,  did you want anything?”
“Sure, i’ll go with you guys.”

We walked out of the apartment. Outside it was a pretty gloomy night. It was supposed to be a full moon tonight, but the clouds were so thick they blocked the bright white circle in the sky. As we got into the car, I heard Quinn complain about it being so cold. Indeed,it was pretty cold, but something else had been bothering me tonight. A phone call from my mother earlier that day was still roaming my thoughts. She had told me about my father, whom i had never met. She had told me about how he had been a political activist during the 1970s.  He been killed in a riot shortly before i was born. This was puzzling to me, because i knew my father had died, and i wasn't real sure why she had brought this up.
We drove downtown and got our sandwiches.  On our way back Quinn was expressing his disappointment with the Lions game. How they should have made that field goal, but gave it away and lost 10 to 6. "Miserable excuse for a game" he said. At this point  we were pulling into the parking lot and I began to become irritated with Quinn's whining, at which point I was about to release this irritation in  the form of a heated comment. Something stopped me mid comment though. What was that sound? It was a loud vibration, and I could feel it.  My pocket!
A few weeks ago,  my mother came by and gave me a chest of artifacts that used to belong to my father.  One of the items in particular had caught my eye though.  It was a gold pin that said "Actions,  not words" in Spanish.  I had began to carry the pin around in my pocket when I left the apartment.  It gave me something to do, something to keep my thoughts occupied.  I think made me wonder where my father had gotten it from, who gave it to him, and what it's purpose was.
I reached into my pocket and felt the pin vibrating.  It was warm and getting warmer. The vibration was getting louder. 
"What is that? Your pin is making that noise?" Flynn exclaimed
Suddenly the car began to vibrate and the vibrations turned into something else entirely that began to shake the car.
"What's happening?!" Flynn and Quinn said in unison.
"I don't know!" I said panickingly. I truly did not have any idea.
I panicked and tried to open the door, but the familiar surroundings of the parking lot and the apartment complex faded. Things began to become foggy.  I look at Quinn then over at Flynn and then things went black.
When I came to, I was still in the driver  seat. However, the apartment complex  outside had undergone a drastic change. The building was in the same location, but had had a retro 70 look to it. The cars in the parking lot also had a distinguishable difference to my 06’ Mazda 3.
“What the….i need to lay off the happy juice” Flynn said.
“Did what i think happened just happen? Did we just...time travel?” Said Quinn.
The pin! Somehow it must be connected. I remember seeing a movie about something like this. In the movie  the main character time traveled when he thought about his past and had a certain object in his possession. Once he time traveled, he had to complete a certain objective in order to return to his time. It began to make sense, when i thought about my father it would initiate some invisible force. When i had the pin with me, it would begin this unsettling, mysterious time travel anomaly.  If this was the case, then i knew what i had to do. I had to somehow rescue my previously deceased father, who was now alive in 1970- i had no idea what year it was. How was i going to save him when i didn't even know what year it was?
“ What’s the plan?”  Flynn said
“WHAT PLAN?! We are stuck in freakin 1975 or whatever! Do you think we have a plan?” I could tell Quinn wasn't happy.
As he and Flynn bickered back and forth, i turned on the radio. “Its looking to be another beautiful June afternoon here in the wonderful city of Ann arbor. Today’s date is June 17, 1979, the time is now a quarter to 2:00 folks. This is WJLK radio news network, stay tuned for the latest news.” Huh, 1979. The date was later than i had originally thought. Now i had to find my father. My mother had said that he was a political activist working for civil rights among Hispanic Americans. This was Ann Arbor, in the 70s, so civil rights were a hot topic. I listened to the radio further.
“ ...Thanks Dan. Now on to important events happening today. The downtown Farmers market, along with the  United Farm Workers union, are proud and excited to have famed and renowned civil rights leader Cesar Chavez along with guest speakers Joseph Dewitt(Yes! My dad would be there) speak at today’s union rally at 2:30. However, recent controversy against unions and Hispanic Americans have prompted strong opposition to today's rally. The Ann Arbor police department will be on standby in the likely event of civil unrest.”
Cesar Chavez? My dad? I didn't know that they had worked together, let alone for the Rights of Hispanic American farmers. I’ not sure what bothered me more, that there was a dislike of Hispanic Americans, or the fact that there was a potential and likely riot going to happen. At this point Quinn and Flynn had settled down and i assumed that they had heard the news.
“That was your dad right? So...we have to save him or something?” Quinn asked
“ I would assume so, i mean it will probably alter history and cause a lot of change in my life, hopefully for the best.” I responded.
“ Well hurry up then, lets go! The radio said that the thing happens at 2:30.” Flynn said
It was now 2:15. I had pulled out of the parking lot and began our hopefully successful (and short) journey to save my father.
There was a lot of activity as we neared the farmers market. Police in riot gear were on every corner. Their sinister blue helmets and glossy black holstered batons sent a clear message: start something, and it will end badly.  It was 2:37, 7 minutes over the original start time. The suspense was deadly (no pun intended). Then a Middle age Hispanic man walk on to stage. the crowd cheered. Then, i saw him, i just knew it had to be him, my father.
Chavez spoke for about 15 minutes on thing about unionizing farming, giving more rights and equalities to not only Hispanic Americans, but other minorities as well. My dad sat silently in a chair listening to Chavez’s speech. All i had to do was make sure nothing happened to him, then Quinn, Flynn, and i could go home. Easier said than done.
Chavez wrapped up his spiel and my father began to stand up. Then, suddenly, a gun went off.
Everyone ran in different directions, but more gun shots sounded. I watch in horror as 3 people in front of me fell to the ground, bleeding out, the same scene happening around the plaza we were in. The police had now taken action and were storming into the plaza from the opposite entrance and were beating down people without distinction for who they were. People were now fighting with the police officers, throwing rocks, bottles, anything they could to keep them back. Then, the worst happened. Flynn was trying to help an injured man to his feet when a glass bottle shattered in his face. i watch in horror as he fell to his knees, with his face bleeding. As i turned around, i saw Quinn fighting with police officer. He hit Quinn in the side with his baton, and as Quinn put his arm up to stop the next blow, the officer hit him again. There was a sickening crackling noise. As i raced to help him, i trip over a unconscious body. It was my dad! I grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him to a nearby dumpster. It may not been the best place, but it would offer protection from the violence outside . I ran back to drag Flynn over to where Quinn laid. Suddenly and abruptly, there was a sharp pain in my thigh. I was bleeding, I had been shot. I had a bleeding Flynn in one arm, and an unconscious Quinn in the other. Now, as i began to blackout, my vision became blurry, and i could faintly hear a familiar vibrating sound.
I woke up in the hospital two days after we had originally time traveled. Quinn was sleeping in the bed next to mine and Flynn was taking to a doctor. We had did it, I had did it. I completed my “objective”. my father was safe, at least i assumed, since a surprisingly familiar tall, dark haired man with olive skin sat by my bed holding my arm and called me “son”.
THE END