Last Ride On The Time Machine
The time machine is sitting unguarded in the lawn.
The trees behind the compound and to the west are thick with vines and brush. I cannot see the six-foot chain link fences behind the trees, but I can feel them.
I know that if I can reach the time machine undetected I can escape. I walk slowly towards it, careful to look nonchalant. I am looking past the machine so that if anyone sees me they will think I am going to walk past it. I am going to pass by on the left side. The starter rope side!
With slow deliberateness, I put my left foot on the rail; grab the starter rope with my right hand, and pull. I can feel my arm give. Pain is shooting from my shoulder down towards my elbow in rhythmic spurts. My fingers are still strong, but my shoulder refuses to heal. This is going to be harder than I'd thought.
Using both hands, I pull again. Nothing happens. In my haste to get away, I've forgotten to turn the time machine on! I give a quick glance around. Only the old lady has noticed me. She is still sitting beside my chair like a duchess. She is wearing her great white hat with little green flowers that match her green eyes. I can see the dark red freckles on her arms. She is looking around at the others and she is smiling like a cat.
I see the key is still in the switch on the time machine. I turn the key and this time I push the throttle into 'choke' position. On the third pull it starts loudly with frustrated sputterings that shatter the late afternoon stillness. I quickly put the throttle off choke. There is a picture of a turtle and a picture of a bunny. I put the throttle in full bunny. I step up onto the base of the machine and sit down hard on the seat. I push in the clutch with my left foot while I reach to the right side and move the lever into 1st gear. I take off, steering with the handlebars.
I can immediately feel the years peeling back. I reach down and push the handle between my legs starting the blade. I use my right foot to hold down the pedal that keeps the blade engaged. I am suddenly in my sixties. I push the clutch and move the lever into 3rd gear. I am in my fifties. I am tearing past the trees on the beautifully half mowed lawn. It's been months since I was on a time machine; you forget how good it feels.
The compound is well landscaped in it's own way. There are several mini-gardens. Some have miniature yellow roses. Some have live oak trees in the middle surrounded by different kinds of flowers. I know a few of their names. The old lady knows all the names. When she starts telling me about them I can feel my eyes starting to glaze over. I like the flowers but there are too many names. Some of the mini-gardens have words spelled out with what I believe are marigolds. All of them have pine bark mulch to keep back the grass, and they are raised up several inches above the surrounding ground. They spare no expense in keeping the relatives of the prisoners happy. The little mini-gardens even have some sort of plastic trim that holds in the pine bark. I am driving the time machine past one that says, "Welcome to Restful Pines Home" spelled out with flowers.
The time machine jumps me back to four weeks ago. It is midnight. Ace Randall and I are sneaking out to the lawn. We are changing the flowers to spell out "Welcome to Deathful Pines". It is a still night and the work is hard because we have no tools and it is hard to see what we are doing, but we have a full moon. In the old days in Texas this was called an Apache moon. It was the time of the month that the Apache's would attack settlers at night. We are wheezing and sweating and trying not to laugh. I start coughing that old hacking kind of cough. That gross gummy stuff comes up into my mouth.
From the time machine I see the next morning. Jose Gonzales, the gardener, is fixing the garden back the way it was. He is not telling anyone and no one seems to have noticed. He looks over at me, frowning and shaking his index finger, but I can tell that he is not angry. Maybe he is remembering the cowboy hat the old lady and I got for him last Christmas. No one is angry. I got dirt on my pajamas in the middle of the night for nothing! Ace Randall is not around. I noticed that he didn't come down for breakfast. What I want to know is how Gonzales knew it was me.
I run one side of the time machine up into the flowerbed and take out two or three flowers. The time machine is on two wheels for an instant. I almost lose my balance. The pine bark mulch flies out the right side - some chunks fly out fifteen feet.
I am smiling.
I look back at the old lady. She has her little freckled hand over her smiling mouth. She is still looking around to see who's noticed. Hornsby and Phillip, "The Gnat", Barnes are playing checkers by the pool. They don't even look up. I can see "The Gnat's" huge gut going up and down as he breathes in and out. His shirt is trying to cover him, but every button is straining. There is a shuffleboard game going on twenty feet to the right of the chairs. Two old men are engrossed in their game. They are Baxter and Chevrolet. Baxter is most likely getting a lesson in humility. No one has beaten Chevrolet since I played him two months ago. Chevrolet is almost completely deaf. He hasn't noticed the time machine or me. Baxter probably noticed, but he hates the guards. He wouldn't call a guard even if the swimming pool was on fire again.
And it wasn't really my fault that it caught fire. It was a freak accident. Someone had just filled up the gas tank on the time machine without putting the lid on it. When I took off on the time machine I went way up in the clouds and while I was driving up there somehow the time machine fell in the swimming pool. Everything would have been alright if Jimmy Flanders hadn't been smoking a cigar so close to the pool and if the gasoline hadn't floated up to the surface of the pool. It was a freak accident. It wasn't my fault at all.
I am looking at the flowers spelling out, "Welcome to Restful Pines Home". There is not a pine tree on the whole 92 acres. Is this hypocrisy or what?
Hypocrisy. I am using the time machine to take me back to the country club outside town. I am fifteen years old. Coach Dancer has gotten me a job at the bar. I am too young to serve alcohol. He is explaining that when a customer orders a beer, I should only put the beer on the counter – not hand it to them. When the customer pays, he must put the money on the counter, not in my hand. Then I can pick up the money and put it in the cash register and he can pick up the beer. If I have to make change, I just put the change on the bar – not in his hand. That way I didn't really serve him the beer. I just put beer on the bar. He didn't really pay me. He just put money on the bar. He is asking me if I understand. I am telling him, "Yes, sir. I understand".
And I did understand. But wishing you had pine trees is not hypocrisy.
I am behind the bar at the country club. I see Mr. McNamara walking in. The McNamaras no longer live across the street from us. They live in what my mother calls "a nice part of town". The little red headed girl is going to a private school. McNamara is sweaty after playing golf in the summer heat. His face is hot and his orange hair is cut short. He looks different without a tie. He is walking toward the bar in his golf cleats. He is not suppose to wear cleats into the bar area, but I'm not going to be the one to tell John McNamara to take off his cleats! In fact, since he hasn't seen me, I decide to take my 15-minute break right now. I am grabbing my putter and a new golf ball and ducking out the back, walking to the putting green adjacent to the clubhouse. That is where I almost faint because that is where I see the little red headed girl. She must have come with him.
What was she doing the whole time he was playing golf?
When I see the little red headed girl, I want to run away. But my feet are walking me straight to her. I cannot stop my feet from doing this. There is probably a name for this trance-like stupidity. I would call it the "walking to your own funeral" syndrome.
I see myself walking out to the putting green with a huge coffin on my back. It is shiny black. It has my name on the side in large gold letters. I am staggering under the load and limping on my left leg, which is all messed up despite four surgeries back when I was seven and eight years old.
The little red headed girl is wearing a brand new golf "outfit". It is all white. She is crazy beautiful. She is left-handed but she has a right-handed putter. She is trying to putt cross-handed. As soon as she sees me she waves a big wave and my heart starts racing like sixty.
"Hi. I heard you were working here. Hey, everyone says you're turning into a pro-golfer".
She is referring to the fact that I won a little tournament earlier this year. I am trying to think of something to say but my brain is stuck.
"Do you like working here? What are you doing outside the bar?" She continues.
"I don't know...uh…taking a break." (How did she know I worked at the bar?)
"Oh. Can you show me how to use this thing?" She is referring to the putter.
Suddenly all the live oak trees around the putting green are full of loud speakers. The speakers are all making that sound you hear in Navy movies when the submarine starts to submerge:
WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP –
CAUTION CAUTION CAUTION.
DANGEROUS SHIP APPROACHING…
The little red headed girl cannot hear the loud speakers. They are for me.
The submarine noise is distracting me. What did she just say? Can I show her how to use the putter? My goodness, of course I WANT to show you how to hold the putter! I WANT to stand behind you and put my arms around you like the country club's golf pro would do. I WANT to put my hands over your little hands and put my cheek close to yours and gently guide your little freckled arms for the perfect putt. In fact, I WANT to hold you in that position until I die.
And judging from my racing pulse, my death could come sooner than you'd think. But instead I hear myself lying,
"You're doing ok."
WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP –
CAUTION CAUTION CAUTION.
HE'S LYING. HE'S LYING. HE'S LYING…
The little red headed girl frowns and sticks out her tongue at me. "Well, come over here and watch".
I walk over much closer. Too close - but I can't help myself. I can smell perfume that has an expensive sounding name. My eyes are telling her eyes little secrets.
WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP
DANGER DANGER DANGER.
HE'S MOVING IN…HE'S MOVING IN….
I hear myself suggesting that she get a left-handed putter.
"You remember?!" She sounds pleased. Her bright green eyes are sparkling at my brown eyes."How on earth did you remember I am left-handed?"
How could I answer that one? Could I say, "Well, I remembered everything about you since we were little kids?" or "I think about you every time I lay down?" or "Your green eyes are in my dreams every night?"
No. That won't do!
How I've yearned to talk with the little red headed girl. And now that I have the chance, my mouth feels like it is full of cotton. I am trying to swallow but there's nothing to swallow! My voice sounds like a frog croaking!
I hear words talking to her and all of a sudden I realize it's my mouth! I am listening to my mouth anwering without going through my brain. My brain is starting to panic. My brain is used to being in the loop. If only I was sophisticated like Mike. He'd know what to say! I can't just say, "I love you little red headed girl! Come away with me little red headed girl. Marry me and I will make you fabulously happy." For heaven's sake – I'm only fifteen years old!
Suddenly Mr. McNamara is coming out of the country club. He is walking fast and he looks angry. His has his cleat shoestrings tied together hanging on his shoulder so that one shoe is bouncing on his chest and the other one is on his back. He is holding a beer.
"WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP –
RED ALERT. RED ALERT. RED ALERT.
ENEMY SIGHTED. . ENEMY SIGHTED. . ENEMY SIGHTED..
I am stepping away from the little red headed girl a little too fast - even though I wasn't doing anything wrong. Mr. McNamara says one word,
"So!"
"WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP –
TORPEDO ATTACK – TORPEDO ATTACK – TORPEDO ATTACK
ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATION
That one word would have been enough, but he follows it by, "Well, I believe its time for you to get in the car", and then looking at me, "I believe it's time for you to get back to work". He says the word "YOU" too loudly.
"Yes, Sir."
"WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP –
SINKING SINKING SINKING
ALL HANDS ABANDON SHIP- ABANDON SHIP- ABANDON SHIP
As I walk back to the clubhouse my head is playing that little game that goes like this:
"When he said…
I should have said…
He has no right to…
What business is it of yours that I am on my break?
I wasn't doing anything wrong..."
And as I'm playing that little game a question is turning over and over in my head. "Why would she ride all the way out here just to practice putting when she obviously doesn't care one thing about it?" And then again I smell the perfume and finally, after all these years, I realize what the time machine is telling me. I finally get it. She must have wanted to see me too.
……………
On the time machine, I dodge past a red oak, then I brush by a rose bush with yellow roses. My left arm is bleeding just below my elbow. The blood is very red and very warm and very beautiful. Grass is flying. I have the blade too low. I reach over to the left side of the time machine and pull the bar that raises the blade. I nearly fall off the left side of the time machine. My right leg goes up into the air and my right foot comes off the pedal that keeps the blade engaged.
The old lady is out of her chair. She is calling me, "You know you're too old for that thing! You'll get lost again!" But her eyes are laughing.
Then I almost run the time machine into a crepe myrtle bush. It is in full bloom. I dodge the bush by leaning and turning the handlebars quickly to the left. My right arm hits a limb and gets red bloom all over me. Crepe myrtle blossoms sort of crumble that way. I use the time machine to look back again at the crepe myrtle bushes along the driveway at the house where I grew up. My mother is talking with Mrs. McNamara who has just moved into the house across the street. I had forgotten, until the time machine reminded me, that they were once good friends. They are standing on our driveway. Little Mrs. McNamara is telling my mother,
"Get fertilizer with a high middle number. That will get those bushes blooming. Get 15 30 15".
The first number is for nitrogen. I don't know about the other numbers. I think one of them is potassium. Whatever they are, it is the middle number that makes bushes bloom. Janet McNamara knows her fertilizer. There is a little girl standing beside Mrs. McNamara. She has flaming red hair. It is frizzy curly. She has freckles on her nose and freckles on her cheeks and freckles on her arms. I suppose she has freckles on her skinny little legs, but I cannot see them under her long white dress. When our eyes see each other my heart starts racing like sixty.
……………
The time machine jumps me forward. I am seven years old. It is the first and only day I ever rode a go-cart. It is the day the go-cart ran into the barbed wire fence and destroyed my left leg. I am riding in the go-cart with the little red headed girl. I am steering and she is sitting to my right. She is not supposed to be playing with us, but there she is. Mike Muldoon is standing watching and waiting his turn. It is his older brother Robby's go-cart. We are obviously way too young to be using it. But Mike says that even if Robby finds out, he won't be mad. I am not so sure, but who's going to turn down a ride on a go-cart?
We are driving toward my parents' house down our 200-foot crushed rock driveway. There are crepe myrtle bushes to the right and a barbed wire fence to the left. The crepe myrtle bushes are full of red blooms because my mother has been fussing over them with fertilizer with a high middle number. Before the day is over there is a lot of red on the driveway too!
I do not know how I got so close to the fence, but from the time machine, I can see it all happening again - in slow motion. I have been here lots of times at night. I have awoken in a sweat sitting bolt upright in bed. I see each of the little barbs tearing the flesh of my left leg starting just above my foot. I am trying to dive off the go-cart. The little red headed girl is screaming and trying to jump off too.
I can see the left wheel of the go-cart finally hitting a T-Post. I see us spinning violently around with the T-Post keeping the left front wheel in one place. When we finally stop the go-cart is facing the fence and my leg torn pretty much wide open. I am not screaming. I am just looking at my leg. It is like looking at a horror movie. It is sort of interesting. Then I start screaming. Loud.
Everything goes into slow motion. My mother is running down the driveway in slow motion. I can study every step. She has on blue jeans and tennis shoes and a white blouse. She is very fast for a woman. Mike Muldoon and I are wearing blue jean shorts without shirts. There is nothing to wrap my leg in. I am watching my mother ripping off her blouse in slow motion. She is wrapping it around my leg to slow the bleeding. Her eyes are set hard with fear. I can see me asking my mother if I am going to die. My mother is screaming "NO" at me. I can see from the time machine that she is not mad at me like I used to think. She is only scared.
I am watching my mother telling Mike Muldoon to hold the blouse tight while she gets the pickup truck. Mike is just standing like a statue with his mouth open. I see my mother slap him hard in the face to jump-start his brain so he can help. I am screaming, but more out of fear than pain. Because I am in shock, there isn't as much pain as you might think. That comes later.
My mother is running back toward the house to get the pickup truck. There is blood on her bra.
In the mean time the little red headed girl has knelt down, unwrapped the blouse and put the rest of my leg in it. She is rewrapping it tighter. Her face is white and her little hands are shaking, but she is not crying. Mike is snapping out of his trance and is helping her now. He even starts talking to me and saying that I will be all right. He is a great liar, and actually he is pretty good in emergencies if you slap him.
Later Mike became a medic in WWII. He saw action in France and Germany. He came back with some sort of metal, but he would never talk about it.
I can see my mother driving the old Ford pickup down the driveway and hauling Mike and I into it. She is telling the little red headed girl to get Mrs. McNamara to call the hospital and tell them we are coming. Then I see Mrs. McNamara walking out of her house looking at us. My mother has grabbed one of my father's T-shirt from off the clothesline and is putting it on while she is driving. From the time machine it looks very dangerous. I see me almost passing out on the seat. My head is in my mother's lap and Mike is holding the blouse-tourniquet tightly around my left leg. There is blood everywhere. You wouldn't think a little seven-year-old kid could hold so much blood!
The little red headed girl has blood all over her overalls. She is running toward Mrs. McNamara.
Two and a half months later the McNamaras moved.
………………….
On the time machine I am in my twenties. My neck is not hurting. My knee is not hurting. Even my back is not hurting. Only my shoulder has that same dull ache that finally ruined my golf game forever.
I am darting between the trees. The guards will be after me soon. I need a plan, but I'm not much of a planner.
Finally, I am in "the zone". I can feel the blood rushing and my lungs pumping as I breathe deep. I am young! I am young! I made it! The rush is indescribable. It is the joy of youth without the baggage! I can see very clearly. I am in 4th gear, but the time machine has slowed everything to a crawl. I see the sun hanging by a cloud low in the sky. The sky is red and orange and yellow with purple. I take the time machine way up into the clouds and drive around in circles. It has been a long time since I drove around in the clouds. I start skywriting,
"I AM NOT STUCK IN TIME!"
The exclamation point is hard to make.
Far to the west some of the clouds are dark blue. It is raining out there. The air smells clover sweet and there is grass on my sweating arms. My senses are so sharp I can taste the grass. I can hear the cicadas and the tree frogs in the trees, and the crickets from wherever little crickets hide. They are rubbing their little legs together saying what crickets always say,
"We're alive, we're alive, we're alive!
I hear a crow saying what crows always say:
"I am here. I am here. I am here".
I hear a dog, a long way off, saying what dogs always say,
"HEY HEY! HEY HEY! HEY HEY!"
I see the tiny purple flowers of vetch. It is a good vetch year. Even in this cultivated lawn with a full time gardener, they cannot keep out all the vetch in a good vetch year. It grows in the ditches on the roads from the seeds the trucks spill. And some of the seeds blow into the compound. I read somewhere that every 5th year is a good vetch year. It might be so. After all, I read it right on the page in black and white.
I am using the time machine to look way back. I just had a birthday. I am four years old. It is three months after the McNamara's moved across the street. My Dad and I are planting vetch in the back pasture. I am sitting on top of some railroad ties. The little red headed girl is sitting on my left side. The railroad ties are on top of the disc behind Dad's tractor. The railroad ties have a chain wrapped around them to keep them on the disc. They are old railroad ties and the creosote is faded. It is not burning us. I am sitting with a gunnysack of vetch seed throwing handfuls of the seed out the back as my Dad drives the tractor. I have wedged my left tennis shoe between one of the railroad ties and the chain to keep from falling off. The little red headed girl has one hand on the chain and one hand is holding tightly to my left arm. She is wearing her little overalls. She begged to come along and help, only she isn't helping. I am too busy throwing vetch seed out to notice that her face is white with fear.
"Vetch is good for the soil," Dad is saying. I can just hear him over the sound of the tractor. "Vetch will rebuild this pasture."
I am looking at the pasture. I am thinking, "Vetch must be magic cause Mom says nothing could make this pasture any good." I am throwing out handfuls of the tiny black seeds as fast as I can. I am scooping the seed backhanded with my right hand, holding the sack open with my left hand. There are vetch seeds all over the railroad ties and vetch seed on the overalls of the little red headed girl. It is sticky because Dad mixed the black inoculant powder into the seed using Coca-Cola to make it stick to the seed. My hands are black from the mixture. My neck is black where I have scratched it. On a dare, I sneaked a lick of the inoculant to see if the Coca-Cola made it taste good. The little red headed girl laughed when she saw my face. Do not try it. You will be disappointed.
Suddenly I see something white tearing out of our little wood frame house. It is my Mother and she is running faster than I thought a woman could run. She has on a long white dress with high heels. She is dressed up for Mary O'Brien's baby shower. I am thinking that she wants to tell us "goodbye" before she goes. She must be late. She is running through the tomato garden with one hand holding her white hat to keep it on her head. She is running through the beans. She is running right through the corn! When she comes to the barbed wire fence I see her run sideways, grab one of the T-Posts with her left hand, and leap over the fence. It is a spectacular leap that I never appreciated until the time machine showed it to me. Only the very tail end of her dress got left on the fence. My mother falls and rolls on the other side of the fence but she is quickly up on her feet again. I realize for the first time that it was from my mother that I got my athletic ability! I can see her mouth moving but she is too far away to hear the words. She does not look happy. I see my mother almost fall down, losing her stride, then regaining her balance she continues again. I am thinking that she could go even faster without those high heel shoes on.
My dad has stopped the tractor. He is staring at my mother running at us. "Grandpa O'Brien must have died," he is saying to us in a very sober voice. My mother comes up out of breath. She has only one shoe now. On her shoeless foot I see her fancy hose with the black line down the back. There is mud on her white dress. Her white hat is crushed hard on her head.
"David, are you trying to kill the babies?" She is saying.
My Dad is getting off the tractor. He looks confused and embarrassed.
"What if they fall off that contraption into the disc blades?" Mother is saying.
My Dad is looking back at me and the little red headed girl on the railroad ties. He is taking his hat off. He is looking down at his hat. It is a straw cowboy hat from Sears and Roebucks. The front rim is broken down. When he wears that hat he looks sort of like Willie Nelson except without the ponytail.
There is a long silence. I can hear my mother panting loudly, out of breath.
"We're helping Dad plant vetch," I tell my mother. "I am a big boy. I'm not a baby. I am four years old!" I do not know why but this starts my mother to crying. The little red headed girl is pointing back in the pasture to my mother's heel that broke off her shoe. I don't think my mother is crying because of the broken heel.
"Vetch is good for the soil," I tell my mother.
My mother starts laughing, but she is still crying. My father is walking up to my mother. He is hugging my mother. My mother is trying to pull away, but my father won't let go. He is laughing and hugging her. My father is kissing my mother. They trip and fall down in the pasture. My father is on top of my mother kissing her into submission. They are both laughing and finally they are laughing so much that they are crying. My mother is saying, "What am I going to do with you men", meaning my father and me.
My father is saying, "Well, whatever it is you'd better make it quick or you'll be late for the baby shower."
For the rest of my life when someone spills something or falls down my father says, "Vetch is good for the soil" and everyone starts laughing. It has become a family tradition. I had forgotten where that line came from. A time machine can come in handy.
Suddenly Mr. McNamara is there. He is mad but I don't understand why. He is grabbing the little red headed girl and walking off with her. I can hear him muttering, "…right in front of the children." I can hear the little red headed girl crying, "Daddy, you're hurting my arm".
The next day I hear my mother telling my father, "I ran into Mrs. McNamara today".
"Oh, what did she have to say?"
"No. You don't understand. I RAN INTO Mrs. McNamara. Our car hit her car in the A&P parking lot!"
"Oh!"
And that was the last time I got to play with the little red headed girl until the go-cart accident. Each time I went over to her house, Mrs. McNamara said that she could not come out. But I saw her out in the yard sometimes. Finally as I understood enough grown-up code, I realized that Mrs. McNamara didn't mean that the little red headed girl couldn't come out and play. Mrs. McNamara meant that her daughter couldn't play with ME.
On the time machine, I am heading for the big field away from the buildings, leaving an obvious trail. I duck and put my head low over the handlebars, as I shoot past rows of bushes. I get too close to a bush that has some insects in it. They chase me for a few seconds but I am unstoppable. I think they are some kind of wasps. They are not yellow jackets. Yellow jackets do not give up so quickly.
I use the time machine to go back. Mike Muldoon and I are throwing a football at a big yellow jacket nest up in the gable of his parent's roof. We are eleven years old and should know better, which makes it even more fun. The football is just the right shape so that if you miss, it will still skid into the apex of the gable. I finally hit the nest. It is falling down. We are laughing. We are running. Only I am not very fast. I have to sort of hop because of my bad leg. I hear Mike yelling "Run, Jimmy, run!" Suddenly fire and brimstone are shooting out of my right ear. I am swatting a volcano of yellow jackets, but there are too many.
I see Mike's mother putting salve on my ear. I am not crying because I cannot have Mike's mother see me cry. Some tears leak out anyway. Mrs. Muldoon does not notice. It is hard not to notice, but she is good at it. She is about the nicest lady in the whole world. Mrs. Muldoon looks blurry as I smile at her. She is not lecturing us.
Mike Muldoon is from Texarkana. When they moved into the place down the road, he told us about Texarkana. Texarkana has big buildings. It has a zoo. Texarkana is partly Texas and partly Arkansas. It is a wonderful big city that anyone would want to live in. The trees there are bigger than the trees around here. They have nice parks with playgrounds and baseball diamonds with real pitcher mounds on red dirt. Everyone has a great time going to the picture show. They have three drive-in theaters in Texarkana. We learned everything about Texarkana because he told us about it. Every day.
When I was in the other room, I heard my mother telling my father that if she heard one more word about Texarkana that she was going to spit up. The next day Mike Muldoon told us that he had once seen Johnny Cash in Texarkana, but Johnny Cash doesn't live there. My mother said, "Well I don't blame him," and walked into the kitchen. I followed her to see if she would throw up, but she was just laughing to herself.
I am turning the time machine in a wide arc. I see the little red headed girl. She is coming toward me. She is saying. "Don't you think you ought to stop now? Come inside and get some lemonade!" She is walking slowly like an old person. She is wearing a big white hat with tiny green flowers.
The little red headed girl is crazy about me. I never have figured out why. I am caught by her beauty like a bug around a porch light. Even now she takes my breath away. I want to tell her, "I love you little red headed girl."
From the time machine I just stare at her instead.
I see a man come around the main building. He startles when he sees me. I see him stop and stare. He smiles. It was not an evil smile, and of course that makes me furious. He is Mike Muldoon from Texarkana. He has graying blond hair and veins in his cheeks. His skin is thin and his nose is red. I can see revenge in his eyes when he sees me beside the little red headed girl.
The time machine takes me back to San Marcos, Texas. I see Mike Muldoon with the little red headed girl. We are all in college. (I actually got a scholarship to play golf!) Mike and the little red headed girl are walking together and arguing. I see me come walking up. I see the little red headed girl wave and smile. Mike is saying something to me, but I cannot turn to face him because my eyes are trapped by the eyes of the little red headed girl. She is all grown up and all curvy. She is asking me about the golf tournament next Saturday. She is going to come and watch me. I am trying to answer, but my head is on fire and boiling gray matter is leaking out of my ears. My cheeks are turning beet red. I am beaming like a lighthouse. I am talking like a complete moron, but my eyes are telling her eyes lots of little secret things.
I see some weeks go by.
I see me and the little red headed girl walking across the campus to her dorm. Just by chance, I walked by when she was getting out of chemistry class. "Just by chance" took me a week to figure out exactly where she would be today so that I could causally walk up just as she was getting out of Chemistry 101 and "just by chance I was going the same direction" and would she care to get a coke since we are going the same direction just by chance and can you believe it I was going to Walgreen's which is just past your dorm anyway so …
We are laughing. We are about to cross Lookout Lane. It is deserted, but I am looking both ways for traffic. I am taking her little left hand in my right hand "for safety". We are walking across the street holding hands for safety. I am sorry when we are "safely" across the street, but she is giving my right hand a little squeeze and continuing to hold it.
We are interlocking fingers!
After all the operations I can walk pretty well now. I just can't run. And now I am actually walking down the sidewalk holding hands with the little red headed girl! The sidewalk is disappearing and we are walking on clouds. I have never walked on clouds before. They are fluffy and bouncy. It is taking all my concentration no to trip. Left right left right… It is hard to concentrate on anything but the little hand I am holding. I am in excellent condition, but my legs feel weak and my breathing is strained. A jet liner goes by our cloud and some of the people look out and see us walking. It is silver and says "Greyhound" beside the picture of a running dog.
I see Mike Muldoon coming out of the big dorm across the street. He is not supposed to be there. That is not in my "just by chance" plan. He is supposed to be in history 201 across campus in Barnes Hall. Mike and the little red headed girl have decided to start seeing other people, but that obviously didn't mean me! As soon as Mike sees us he starts shooting bolts of lightning out of his eyes. He has knocked us off the cloud and back to the sidewalk, but his lightning bolts are not hurting me. I can see Mike Muldoon pull out a sub-machine gun. He is firing at me. All the bullets are bouncing harmlessly off. I see Mike Muldoon driving a Nazi Sherman tank firing huge missiles at me from across the street. They are bouncing off me and blowing up cars in the street. Nothing can hurt me today because, of course, I am holding hands with the little red headed girl.
Suddenly the little red headed girl sees Mike and says, "Oh, there's Mike Muldoon" (as if she didn't even see the shrapnel flying by). Then much louder she says, "Hi, Mike!" and waves with her right hand. She is a big waver.
Mike Muldoon is blown into a million pieces, but there is no blood. I see all the pieces of Mike Muldoon vaporize into the atmosphere. He is gone for a full second. It is like Scotty beamed him up to the Spaceship Enterprise. Then all the pieces come back and Mike Muldoon is put back together, but he will never, never, be the same. I see him trying to smile as he waves back. Mike Muldoon is one brave fellow. The little red headed girl finishes her wave and her right and comes down on my right arm. I can feel billions and thousands of little goose bumps on my arm.
"Are you cold?" she asks.
I look at her, and her green eyes are laughing. They are telling my eyes little secrets. They are telling my eyes that this is a magic moment that our eyes will remember forever and ever.
The time machine jumps me back to the present. I look at the guard. He is not Mike Muldoon from Texarkana. Mike Muldoon died four years ago. I was a pallbearer at his funeral. Mike Muldoon married Eve Watson. I was in his wedding. Eve Watson was as good a wife as you could want. She was not really ugly at all, but it's unfair to compare her to the little red headed girl! Eve used to make us all coffee and carrot cake. Mike bought the Cadillac dealership on Moore Street at the top of the hill. He made a lot of money. I think he was probably happy some of the time. This guard is definitely not Mike Muldoon. This guard is a "nurse" and I am a "guest" and we both know what that means.
The "nurse" is Terry Robins from Lubbock, Texas. His eyes are set wide apart like they set them out there in Lubbock. His hair is sandy colored and cut too short. I am his guest and I am in trouble because Terry Robins from Lubbock, Texas is, for once, completely sober.
Terry Robins from Lubbock, Texas is going to take the time machine away from me. I see it in his wide set eyes. I see it as he reaches for his radio. I see it as he punches buttons on the front of his radio.
I put the time machine into 5th gear. I attempt to open the throttle more, but I accidentally push it past bunny into choke. I am wasting time. I decide on a bold strategy. I will attack. I will drive Terry Robins back with the machine. I will mow him down. He will run into the buildings with the old people. He will leave us alone. I will escape with the little red headed girl.
We will move out of this prison and back into our house at 721 Stop And Look Lane. We will be free again. We will be happy. I will fix the back fence where it is falling down. I will paint the front porch. I will repair the roof and it will not leak in the attic anymore. I will prune and spray the Belle of Georgia peach trees and they will produce again. We will put up stewed tomatoes. We will preserve peaches and make peach butter. The little red headed girl will make her wonderful sweet rolls again. She will sit in front of her sewing room closet with her little freckled hands going like sixty making long white dresses with lacy collars. She will make me blue flannel shirts for winter. On Sunday afternoons Joe and Mary will bring the grandchildren to see us. They will tell us all about the Internet and this time we will understand it. We will make hand cranked ice cream and sit on the porch eating it. We will be home.
There's something in my eyes. My throat is aching. Sometimes a time machine can hurt you.
On the time machine I turn to go towards Terry Robins to mow him back, but instantly realize he is too quick for this to work. He's a kid. He couldn't be over forty-five years old. I turn and head for the corner of the building instead. I see Terry Robins talking on his radio. He is laughing. I hate him like everything. I hear him say the words "Yes, sir… Yes, again."
The little red headed girl is no longer smiling. She is looking thoughtful and older. I see her turn and walk towards Terry Robins from Lubbock, Texas. I am losing sight of them as the time machine and I are turning around the corner of the building.
Why is my little red headed girl talking to our captors?
I am behind the big red brick building with the tall pillars. I am driving back and forth the way you do with a time machine. I am trying to think - but nothing. This seems to happen a lot lately. I am a little bit dizzy and the air doesn't feel so good in my lungs. The clouds are still thick in the sky but now I can't get the time machine to go up there again. You can just see the last few letters that I wrote earlier. It says "IME!"
The young red headed woman is walking out towards the time machine and me. I see two security guards standing with Terry Robins from Lubbock, Texas. Terry Robins from Lubbock, Texas is looking down at the ground. He was laughing earlier, but now he just looks tired and sad. He is a good guard as nurses go; only right now I hate his guts. He is not letting the security guards come get me, but I hate him anyway.
I have to slow the machine down to talk to the middle aged red headed woman. I put it in 2nd gear. I think for one brief instant that she can get on the machine with me. Then we could make a run for the fence. I have a paper clip in my pocket. I could pick the lock at the back gate, then we could hide out in the woods. We could camp out like we did at Lake Texoma. We could catch fish from the lake and cook them on campfires…
But then I see the futility of this plan. For one thing, the time machine, after all, is a one seater. For another thing, I am pretty sure she has her own time machine. It is in the closet. She opens the closet door and sits down in front of it. She loads it with cloth and thread and drives it with a foot feed. It makes whirling noises and clothes come out.
I push in the clutch and turn off the time machine's switch, but it doesn't stop. Instead it starts choking and missing. The time machine needs a tune up. I know I could tune it up if they would only let me. But they don't let me use the tools anymore. Finally the time machine backfires twice and dies. It is like bullets in my heart. I am stuck in the present with finality.
I hear a mocking bird. It is going through its entire repertoire mocking jays and whip-poor-wills, meadowlarks and lots of birds I do not recognize. Maybe it is making up birds to mock. Who would know? You forget how much noise a time machine is making until you turn it off.
I am a little unsteady on my feet having gone so far on the time machine.
The old lady is beside me. Her face is not very wrinkly. She is talking slowly and methodically. She is being soothing and practical. She's very good at it. She has tiny droplets of perspiration on her freckled face and arms. Her face is really not very wrinkly. She has taken off her big white hat with the little green flowers. I can see just the hint of red in her gray hair. She is very beautiful and not too wrinkly, not really. But talking that slow, soothing, practical way is not becoming.
I am looking down into her green eyes. I am saying, "I noticed some vetch out there. You know, vetch is really good for the soil."
The old lady is slowly shaking her head back and forth. She has a glass of lemonade in her hand. Her eyes are telling my eyes that she's worried about me. My eyes are reminding her eyes of a magic moment a long time ago that we will remember forever and ever.