"Okay, we're here," you say. "This is 1995. I was 3 years old. Should I... uh... unfreeze everything?"
Brooke thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "Maybe it's a better idea to have a look around first. As long as time is still stopped, nobody's going to realize we're here. If your family's upstairs, it might be sort of awkward if you just suddenly appeared in their house as a grown man."
"Yeah, good point," you say. "And it might even alter the past. I mean, I'm pretty sure my childhood memories don't include two strange people popping out of thin air and one of them claiming to be me from the future. It's probably best to keep it that way."
You go upstairs, with Brooke following close behind you. When you open the cellar door and step out, a strange feeling stirs inside you. The house-- it's different than you left it in 2015. Walls are different colors, with different artwork hanging in different places. The furniture is all different. Some of the appliances in the kitchen are different, as is the telephone on the wall-- the sleek black cordless one your family has in 2015 is gone, replaced by a retro-looking beige corded one with brown buttons. In the living room, the large 40" flatscreen LED TV has vanished, and instead you find a 30" tube TV on a wooden cabinet, hooked up to a VCR. And yet, despite everything being so different now-- it isn't, really. You know this. You remember your house looking like this, when you were a child. To see it like this once more brings back a flood of old memories.
"I don't see anybody," says Brooke, snapping you out of your nostalgic stupor. "You DO live here now, right?"
"Yeah, of course," you answer. "I remember all of this."
"Well, where are you and your parents?"
"How should I know?" you ask. "You don't really expect me to remember where I was at a specific time on a specific date when I was 3, do you?" You rack your brain trying to remember something that might give you a clue. "I guess we could check the bedrooms."
You look in your room first. This is the most drastically different room in the entire house. Your queen-sized adult bed, your desk, your posters, every last trace that indicated the presence of a young man in his early 20s-- all of it has disappeared. The room is now very visibly a child's room, with your old bed in the corner, and zoo animal wallpaper, and playthings littering the floor. You actually sort of feel a bit embarrassed that Brooke is present to see this, because this is a side of yourself you never expected her to see. The awkward feeling is only emphasized when you hear Brooke giggle, "Hehe. You know you really ought to pick up your toys. Someone's gonna get a time out for not cleaning his room."
"Okay, no one's in here. Let's check the other bedroom," you say, rushing Brooke out of your room.
Sensing your discomfort, Brooke gives you a hug and tries to console you. "Aww, I'm sorry, hon. I didn't mean anything by it. Wait until you see my room when I first moved here. Everything was pink and Disney princesses."
You and Brooke approach the other bedroom together-- the one belonging to your parents. As you open the door and enter, you find...