Rev...

Reversatron!

Let's clear the air; the Reversatron is not designed for time travel. I first thought about this while grilling steaks on the flat rocks in the baking sun of the high desert for a stranger, a traveler of sands:

“Careful, don't burn the T-bones.” This sand hobo warns me while handing over a heat-browned silver spatula. I had forgotten to pack my own spatula, which is why our temporary partnership is necessary.

This man, who survives his time on this endless beach and no water in sight by slurping on cacti juices and munching on the occasional scorpion, is whining about the possibility of an overcooked steak.

“Well, I can always uncook the steaks too,” I snap.

I lay down his spatula and look him in the eyes while the steaks sizzle and finally burn. The sand hobo is a broken man, a tumbleweed who's been sandblasted for decades, but when he raises himself to his full height and squares his shoulders, I remember that I'm alone with him in the desert, so I pull out my Reversatron from my shirt pocket.

My Reversatron is ergonomically designed to look like a fat, crooked, sawdust-brown pencil with a green, slightly smudged eraser – it really doesn't take that much to change what's already there. I tap each section of burnt meat with the Reversatron's green tip and...

Our sizzled steaks are pink and juicy once more!

But time keeps pressing on. I merely changed what was already there.

The sand hobo tells me about a lost love while he tears into his T-bone. His lost love was a famous contortionist who died in a tragic position.

He shows me a disastrously done tattoo of the contortionist on his chest. From the the looks of it, she was also a clown-wigged mummy with advanced scoliosis. He asks if I can reverse the lost love's death. I tell him that I can't, that death can't be thrown backwards into life because there is nothing left to work with there – you can chide and push around that Big Zero all you like, but it's never going to be anything other than what it always has been.

“So you're saying that I need a better model to bring her back?” he asks. I shrug – maybe there will be a turnaround-reverse-backwards gizmo out next year that will be able do just that.

“Listen, I can erase that tattoo if you want.” I try to keep my tone neutral. The sand hobo accepts my offer, and we watch as the Reversatron drains the ink from his skin. I could re-apply the tattoo if I so desired, but I wouldn't be able to change the artwork.

Another disclaimer – if you've lost a part of yourself, this is also not covered under your Reversatron owner agreement– believe me, I've tried. It's like rewinding on VHS – you can replay the same story as many times as you wish, but there has to be a continuous story there, nothing changes, and you're still going to age while you tell it.

So now that I'm out of the desert, I've been thinking about marketing the Reversatron to barbers everywhere. From now on, when you go to get your hair cut, they'll start by shaving you bald. They'll then run the reverse-razor over different portions of your head and regrow your hair in stylish patches until you say when.

But why stop there? I can restore the Mona Lisa or any idolized piece of art back to its original, pristine state – careful, that paint's still wet.

Yes, with a single Reversatron stroke, I can banish unsightly stains, unwanted blemishes, and accidental appearances.

And yes, with the even newer models, I see a whole score of turnaround towns on the horizon. Nothing will be static there – processes will be carefully controlled - you will always be looking for that perfect state to hit pause. When you tire of that perfect moment, you'll move along effortlessly. By that time we'll also have invented the Movealongatron; it allows you to fast forward through any boring or distasteful or painful moments in your life, since they're pretty much going to happen anyway.

And then one day, since you can't escape matters of time, you will get the bright idea to use a Reversatron on another Reversatron, and the Universe, its stars, our scattered sands of light will wink in and out of existence because - what the hell is the point when mistakes can be erased and miracles repeated?