Chapter 37
The ceiling above me glowed softly with spackled stars, moons and planets as I lay in my bed. Outside the two large windows, it was still dark and the starscape that Dad had spackled on my ceiling two years ago was both comforting and disconcerting as a war raged in my mind. Two distinct personalities struggled against each other, seeking an all or nothing answer to the problem they faced. We occupied the same body, and both wanted control now.
The letter one had written to the other was still sitting on the desk against the far wall, amidst the calligraphy magazines, and samples of painstakingly drawn fancy letters. Some were biblical passages, done up like so many bibles had been in the middle ages, albeit with slightly less skill and a few mistakes. Others were more contemporary works from political philosophers. <This is my room, the way it should be.>
[This wasn’t my room.] I’d never learned calligraphy, never bothered going beyond making my handwriting semi-legible. Most certainly I’d never read or copied so much of the bible or other biblical works, except maybe as an adult, which I wasn’t. At least I wasn’t an adult yet. That was yet to be.
My father had spackled the ceiling of my large, comfortable room when I’d mentioned how I’d love to sleep under the stars after watching Star Trek: The Motion Picture. He’d done it on a long weekend, when the Legislature wasn’t in session and he didn’t have any fundraising meetings, or district meetings, or coffees with old ladies just wanting to feel important by having their elected Assemblyman spend some time with them.
Dad was supposed to be a struggling preacher, trying to find a church that could pay him enough for him to make a living doing what he dreamed: preaching. He wasn’t supposed to have the money, or want to give the time it took to do something like this.
<He’s not like that.> The thought wafted through my head along with a surge of memories. Many of them included things I knew I’d never really done. Little League game after Little League game, with Dad being there for almost every game streamed through my mind and I shuddered at the empty wringing of my stomach as I realized he was there, cheering at every game whether I was pitching or playing first base, or sitting on the bench (which had almost never happened). A vague memory of that season between second and third grade filled both minds, but the thoughts only continued from one of them through several more years and being on the championship team every year after that first.
A memory of walking off a field on the first day of practice surfaced, but was hazy and indistinct compared to the new memories. The feelings of frustration, anger, and inadequacy that went with that memory were also faded, more like the petulant behavior of a boy neither of the fighting presences would own up to being. That memory faded out and was lost amidst the jumble of being lifted up on the shoulders of teammates several games in a row.
Both were filled with memories of an endless number of church services, but those were as different as anything else between the two. In one, the father often stood at the pulpit thundering out sermon after sermon, occasionally chiding his children when they got too noisy or disruptive during the service. In the other, he sat there, soaking up the words of the minister in the children’s church while the parents attended the main services at the huge auditorium of
The other one had memories of Wednesday nights as church nights, and a pain in the rear. He’d have rather been home reading a good book or doing something else. All a bible study did was give Dad a chance to poke at him with some hidden meaning or another.
<Dad wasn’t like that;> the retort came swiftly and fiercely.
[He was, he could have been again, and he could be when he finds out things about us.] This response wasn’t swift or fierce, but rather slow and regretful, as well as slightly hopeful as well as very guarded.
<What things?> The question was sharp, and almost fearful.
[Things like Brian.] Those words hung in the void that existed between them, or didn’t exist as they still occupied the same space, the same body, the same brain.
<Who?> The younger self asked with confusion. <I don’t know anyone named Brian.>
[The batter.] An image came with that, of an eight year old Brian swinging and missing at a pitch.
<I remember him, I think.> The younger self responded after a long moment. <He said I’d be on that team the next year, and I was, but he was on a different team.>
[That’s because he played football in the later summer and only played baseball in the early leagues.] The older self responded.
<Just how do you know that?>
[Because he told me about it…] The answer came along with images of two teenagers, sitting in a hayloft, lying on a blanket. Their nude bodies were entwined together, their practice uniforms lay in piles around the blanket, and the one with the dark, thick eyebrows was running his hand lazily down the chest of the other while they spoke of their childhoods, and how one filled his summers with baseball and football.
<That’s not me!> The younger voice was a strident shout and retreated as far as it could away from the other, but there was no retreating when there was no physical distance to move.
[You know it is.]
<It’s evil! It’s a sin! I could never be that way! Dad wouldn’t like it! It’d embarrass him!>
[We’ve been through this before.] The older voice said with a great deal of sympathy. He understood the thoughts of the younger voice, the fear, the anger, and the desire to run away. He poured more memories between them, memories not just of one lifetime, but of three lifetimes. [It takes time, but we learn that it’s not evil, that what is sin for one person isn’t sin for another. That’s why our country was founded on a principal of pluralism, because the founders knew that in order for us to coexist as a country we’d need to be tolerant of other ways of life, other points of view.]
<This isn’t something they were thinking of!> The younger voice was almost panicking now. <I won’t be this way! I won’t! I’ll pray it away!>
[Like this?] With those two words a flood of images formed between the two of them. The memories were of that first lifetime, the first time through puberty and the changes it brought. The guilty feelings every time he rubbed that part of his body and felt a tingling, that first time on the floor of Nanny’s living room when he’d touched another boy’s private parts like he’d been dreaming of doing, the images flittered between and in them both, along with the feelings that had filled him at those moments. An answering image of the beginnings of those feelings came from the younger version of the boy for a brief moment, a small acknowledgement of that commonality between them.
They changed then, to show the original boy, with less muscles and more fat, kneeling beside his bed, praying to God to take away these desires for other boys. The prayers went unanswered though, and more images showed more fumbling with a cousin, this time in a waterbed in his own room, and the pain, followed by pleasure of that first penetration. That night was followed with more nights of praying on his knees, and those prayers going unanswered as the desire for more sex grew. The desire was filled with other boys, friends, and mostly that contact was fleeting, a few moments here, a few there and never spoken of again. There was no love, just pure physical pleasure, and that set a pattern that lasted through life as more and more partners came and went.
It wasn’t until one night with a young man while he was in his third year of service in the Navy that things began to change. It started with a small conversation, the first he could remember after the nasty need had been satisfied. More conversations followed, and eventually love. He let himself believe for the first time that being this way could mean more than meaningless sex, desire and satisfaction, and there was a sense of loss in that realization.
He’d lost so much time just satisfying his physical desires instead of trying to focus on his real desires, his real need to love and to be loved. Bitterness filled him at that realization and he pulled away from the family he’d loved and suffered so much with over the years. They drifted apart, dying one by one and he never found the love he sought so desperately in those years before he ran across a mad scientist.
<See!> The younger self crowed exultantly, feeling his point proven. <That way of life leads to nothing but sadness and death!>
[True, but only to a point.] The older version said with sadness and a strong hint of irony. [But sometimes, God does answer prayers, and even more rarely he gives some people second chances.]
<How?> The younger version was anxious for an answer to that. He got it as he experienced reawakening as an adult in a child’s body. The awakening was still in the future, but it wasn’t so far away and strange as the memories of being an adult had been. Before he’d adjusted to the new viewpoint, the now familiar figure of a blond-haired boy with dark eyebrows appeared, bumping into him on the way to school. The budding friendship, followed soon enough by the beginnings of love.
Through trials, tribulations, and painful memories of a splitting family (an image the younger self tried to ignore, but couldn’t), the romance grew, becoming stronger and stronger. A love, abiding and deep, and oh so pure filled them both and the younger self let out a sigh of longing. There was pain that followed, but there was also joy and warmth, companionship, love, and all those things that straight culture idolized as being part of a good relationship.
[If we let ourselves be who we are, this is the result.] The older self pointed out and waited as the younger self absorbed everything.
<He could react that way again.> Was the eventual response, and there was no need for the younger consciousness to explain which ‘he’ was being referenced.
[Or he could be like this.] The older self drew out more memories, this of the last timeline, of a caring, protective father who while he didn’t’ necessarily approve, at least loved enough to tolerate and love his son.
<I’m scared.> The younger soul whispered in their head and the older self gave off a sense of nodding. <Why me? Why us? What makes us so important? Why do you have to be here? Why can’t I just live this new life without you?>
[We still have a mission to perform, a duty.] The older self said, drawing up images of all three timelines. The war in the
Years later, there was the much shorter war with China, the great loss of life in the first few days, the scary minutes when missiles were inbound and the nearly successful torpedo attack on his flagship. All that was nothing compared to the high-altitude jump into
Then those memories followed with more, of a timeline where no matter how it maneuvered, the
<What can we do to stop this?> The younger soul cried out, horrified by all the images, especially the last that included pictures seen in a bunker, pictures of shocked survivors of the nuclear bombs, dying from radiation poisoning. Pictures that also showed the blasted cities that were all that remained of a once-proud civilization.
[You know some of what we can do, now, with the changes I made four years ago.]
<Uncle Ron.>
[He’ll be President soon.]
<But he’ll make us work for the government and you showed me how bad that can be>
[There’s a way.] The older self stated as they moved closer together. The edges of the consciousness were merging now, the difference disappearing. Even as he spoke those last words the older self was inundated with four years of happy memories. New habits roiled against old habits, new ways of thinking merged and roiled against old ways until they settled down, both changed slightly and neither independent of the other. They were one now.
“Davey, you awake yet?” Mom’s voice from the doorway was almost fortuitous timing. I’d laid there for only a few minutes, running my fingers over my bare chest, feeling how different and yet familiar it was, and my hand had just reached the waistband of my pajama bottoms when I’d heard the door open. A pang of guilt moved my hand away from my pants and I cleared my throat.
“Yeah, I’m awake Mom.” I said softly.
“Good, Papa’ll be here in twenty minutes.” She said in the darkness of pre-dawn. She was up early anyway, I knew because she had a big party today. It wasn’t a fundraiser like she normally did, but more like a ‘thank-you’ from some of the politicians who had gotten elected in the latest cycle. Her and Dad would be leaving soon after Papa and I to head to
“I’ll be ready.” I told her, waiting out of modesty for her to close the door before I threw back the covers and moved to the closet to grab some clothes for after my shower. For a moment, I stopped short as two distinct habits warred with each other. What was wrong with just stripping down here and wrapping a towel around my waist? I had a body that was damn nice for a twelve-year old, why should I be embarrassed about anyone seeing it?
Modesty won out this time for two good reasons. Suddenly changing behaviors was never a good idea in times like this, and this was my parents’ house, not mine. Dad was certainly different than other timelines, but he wasn’t going to smile on half-naked children walking around the hallway at four-thirty in the morning. He had a hard enough time with the regular swimsuit I wore in the back-yard pool.
It would be cold out there on the lake, I knew from experience, so after my shower I dressed in long johns, a pair of jeans, a short sleeve shirt over my long john shirt, and a flannel shirt over that. Before leaving my room, I made up my bed, straightened up the mess of papers on my desk, tucking the letter that had caused me a long night and brought me to the point I was now at inside the desk’s bottom drawer, and I grabbed a sock hat and a warm pair of gloves.
My fishing poles and bait box were right where I’d left them the night before, sitting inside the front hall closet downstairs, near the front door. Mom met me there with a smile on her face and a brown paper bag that she handed to me as I stood in front of the door, fishing pole in one hand and bait box in the other.
“Thanks, mom.” I said with a smile as I juggled the fishing pole slightly so I could grasp the bag with two fingers. She smiled and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. I was as tall as her now, something we were both trying to get use to experiencing.
“You have a good time and try to stay warm.” She admonished me as Papa’s new van pulled into the driveway. This one was beige instead of brown, but still made by Ford, and while the boat it was towing was only a year old, it closely resembled Papa’s old aluminum boat except it was a little bigger. He had the good grace not to honk the horn, but he didn’t get out either. Papa was always eager on these trips to hurry up and get out of town.
“See ya tonight, Mom.” I said with another smile. She ruffled my hair on the way out, and I cursed the fact that I let it grow out so long yet again. I wasn’t a little kid anymore!
“Hi Papa!” I said as I opened the sliding door on the van and put my gear inside the back before closing the door and opening the passenger door.
“You’re on time.” Papa said with an approving nod as I buckled myself in and shut the door.
“Mom woke me up to make sure.” I told him and held out the paper bag I had kept in my hand. “She made some breakfast.”
“Share.” Papa ordered as he pulled out of the driveway and headed east on
The end result of course would be his being the new Minority Leader in the Assembly (the Democrats had held onto the Assembly by a very narrow margin), and in two years when he decided what office he’d move up to, no Republican Party supported candidate would challenge him. Unless of course he decided to take the position of Secretary of Health and Human Services position that was being offered by President-Elect Ronald Reagan. We’d talked about that as a family last night, and the consensus had been that none of us really wanted to move to
Sure, Dad had played a fairly large role in helping our family friend, the man I called ‘Uncle Ron’ (not to be confused with Aunt Bev’s husband, Ron) get elected to our nation’s highest office, and we’d be leaving in a few days to attend his inauguration, but the new President would do just fine without Dad at his side in Washington.
“Here ya go.” I said as I took out the homemade sausage biscuits mom had put in the bag and handed one to Papa. There were also two bananas in the bag, which I’d share a little later.
“Thanks.” Papa replied as he bit into the sausage. While he chewed, he motioned to the two coffee cups in the middle dash’s cup holders. I smiled at him and nodded gratefully while chewing my own mouthful of sausage and biscuit. He knew I loved coffee, and he knew Mom wouldn’t let me have any. This was one of those dirty little secrets we shared, just like the six pack of beer he’d bring along and cool by tying a rope to it and putting it over the side of the boat into whatever lake we were fishing from.
It was almost two hours later that we were putting the boat into the water. The sun was just over the horizon and I got the boat and gear ready while Papa parked the van. It wasn’t exactly legal for us to be fishing this early in the year, but then Papa had an ‘understanding’ with the local rangers. Even if we caught a fish, we’d put it back in the water and they wouldn’t bother us except maybe to stop and say hello.
The silence between us was one of those pleasant ones where people could just enjoy being in each others company without having to fill it with words. When we’d reached one of Papa’s favorite spots, a secluded inlet about twenty minutes from the dock, we dropped anchor and began getting ready to cast our lines. It was after our second cast that I felt Papa’s eyes studying me closely. When it began to become uncomfortable, I cocked my head to the side and gave him an inquisitive look.
“You’re back.” Papa said and my fishing pole slipped into the water from hands that were suddenly numb. Papa cursed loudly and grabbed the net to bring my pole back into the boat while I stared at him with a wide-open mouth. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly instead of a fish.”
“What… how?” I stammered and he snorted.
“Davey Jones, if you think your grandfather is that stupid I ought to throw you in the lake.” Papa said with derision and I shook my head to clear it of the cobwebs I felt around my brain.
“I…I…” My mouth tried for words that my brain couldn’t quite think of what to say to him. It was obvious I wouldn’t be able to lie myself out of this.
“If you think I don’t see my grandson enough to know when he suddenly changes, you obviously don’t know me well enough.” Papa snorted with more derision and he studied me closely. “I just want to know who you really are right now.”
“I’m your grandson.” I answered honestly and my thoughts cleared enough for me to start thinking again. There was a part of me that was smirking at the other part as if to say ‘See, you don’t know everything’. There was something I’d entrusted to him, and I’d been thinking of how to bring it up again, and this was the perfect opportunity. It’d also change the topic for a little bit.
“If I didn’t think you were still my grandson, I’d have dropped you off at a mental hospital.” Papa said with disgust.
“The box…” I began and faltered as he frowned.
“I did what you wanted.” He told me. “I’ve sent twelve of those letters over the last four years. Mighty interesting reading, and they pretty much answered a lot of my questions.”
“You opened them?” I asked in surprise.
“You’re damn right, I did.” Papa responded with a slap of his knee. He picked his pole back up from the bottom of the boat and jiggled the line a little. “A little steam opened them up for me and I figured out how you knew what you were writing.”
“You’ve opened all of them?” I pushed and he looked at me for a long moment before shaking his head.
“No, not the ones addressed to ‘President Ronald Reagan’ or the one addressed to your little friend.” Papa said quietly, looking back out over the lake. “Those… I just had a feeling I didn’t want to know what was in them.”
“You don’t.” I assured him and for a long moment we sat there in silence. He wasn’t pushing and while the letters he had opened had probably given him some idea of the answers he wanted, I knew he wouldn’t settle for anything less than a good explanation.
“What do I want to know?” Papa asked as the silence grew too heavy. He was looking at me again, appraising me in that hard way he had. “I deserve to know something, at least. I’ve sent your letters; I’ve kept it secret even from your Nanny. She doesn’t even know I’m keeping a secret about you. If she did, she’d divorce me if I didn’t tell her what it was.”
“I…um…twenty-four years from now…” I began with several pauses and he put his pole down in the bottom of the boat to give me his full attention. It wasn’t easy, but I met his eyes. “Actually it’s twenty-three years and nine months from now, a man invents a time machine. I was the first test subject and ended up back in time, in my younger body.”
“That was in 1976?” He asked me and I shook my head.
“The first time was 1981, August of this year.” I told him and his eyes widened slightly in surprise and then he frowned.
“How many times have you done this?” He asked me in a shaky voice.
“This is the third time.” I told him and he whistled softly.
“So you came back to 1981 the first time, then 1976 and now you’re back again?” He asked and I shook my head.
“No, I’ve gone back to August of ’81, March of ’81, and now, January, 1976.” I clarified and he got a slightly confused look.
“You haven’t been behind those eyes of my grandson’s for the past four years.” He said with indignation, as if he thought I was trying to fool him. “You just come back for a bit, do whatever it is you need to and then go back to the future, right?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Papa.” I said sadly, remembering that what he’d just said was how I had been told it was going to work the very first time.
“Then how does it work?” He asked and I let out a sigh.
“When the person is sent back in time, the younger brain is overwritten with the memories of the older person.” I explained, trying to put it in terms someone who’d never even seen a computer might understand. “It’s like erasing a page of writing and then filling it up again, except with more stuff.”
“Like deleting a half-full disk and putting a full program on it?” He asked me and I dropped my pole again. He started laughing again, slapping his knee.
“My grandson would know I’ve had one of them Apple Computers for two years now.” Papa smirked. “We bought enough of their damn stock I was going to see what they were about.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember that.” I said meekly as the memory did indeed bubble up in my head. “It’s one of the originals, an Apple I.”
“How do you know that if you’re supposed to have overwritten my grandson’s mind?”
“It’s complicated, Papa.” I told him and he frowned. “Okay, long story short, when I came back in 1976, several things had gone wrong. First off, as near as I could figure, a nuke had gone off at the same time I was being sent back and it messed up the targeting. I got sent back to 1976 instead of January 1981, instead of now. The time machine can’t overwrite the memory of someone whose already traveled back in time, so if you go back more than once, you have to go back earlier in time than the last trip. The problem with that is that a kid’s brain isn’t really finished growing until after he hits puberty. At least once puberty has started, the brain’s mostly complete, at least complete enough to handle the memories. It’s earlier that the brain can’t handle things and we theorized it would begin to shut down.”
“Your headaches and the coma.” Papa said with a nod as answers clicked into place for him. “What about when you woke up afterwards?”
“I…my brain had shut down everything that didn’t fit with being a normal eight-year old kid.” I told him. “My memories, my thoughts, anything that was ‘adult’ or would bring up ‘adult’ memories was blocked off until the brain could handle them again.
“So the grandson I’ve come to love over the last few years is gone?” Papa asked and I shook my head.
“Last night, I opened a letter I’d written to myself, and like I planned, it caused my memories to break through.” I explained. “It’s hard to explain, but the grandson you’ve known for the last few years, he and I kind of had a talk. We’re both here. I remember the last few years, and all the other timelines I lived in as well.”
“How many years is that?” Papa asked and I realized that while I could still remember things, the memories didn’t have the crystal clarity of before. They were more like normal memories now.
“Um, like around seventy-four I think.” I told him and he whistled.
“You’re older than I am.” He said with a shake of his head.
“I have more memories than you, Papa, but I’m still twelve.” I answered him. My birthday had been last week.
“Still, that accounts for something.” He told me and then gave me another of his deeply penetrating looks. “So what is so damn important that you’d want to make sure you woke up now?”
“I’m not the only time traveler.” I told him and he studied me in silence for several more minutes.
“You mentioned a nuke going off.” He thought out loud and then gave me a questioning look. “The russkies?”
“Them and the Chinese.” I nodded my head carefully. “They both have time travelers and I know how we can… eliminate them before they become a threat to our country.”
“Then what?” Papa asked me. “You may call the President ‘Uncle’, but that don’t mean he won’t have you locked away somewhere until you answer every question they have about the future. Even if he doesn’t, you know other people in the government will force him to, if they can.”
“I’m feeling another headache coming on already.” I said, putting a hand to my temple and wincing at the pain.
“Oh, so this ain’t permanent, you waking up?” He said and I shook my head.
“The memories are fading already.” I answered honestly. “My brain, it just wasn’t developed enough to handle everything. I might last a few weeks, a few months, maybe even a year, but at the end of that it’ll be over. My memories will be gone again and this time they won’t be coming back.”
“Then what happens?” Papa asked me with concern in his voice. “You go into a coma for two months like last time?”
“Probably.” I said with a shrug. “I’ll wake up eventually, not remembering anything about time travel or being an adult, or the other timelines.”
“You weren’t the same after you woke up last time.” Papa said and I listened intently, interested in hearing the perspective from someone who’d seen it on the outside. “You were still more mature, but not quite as mature as before. Your dad was lucky you left that note. He almost dropped out of the race. Every day he visited you in the hospital, and he left that note there one day. Some nurse leaked it to the press and after that he didn’t dare back out. The other guy got stupid and attacked him for sticking in the race when his son was in a coma. David won that election by ten points because of that. The docs never did explain what went wrong.”
“They won’t be able to this time, either, but Dad will know.” I said with a shrug.
“You’re gonna tell him?” Papa asked me with an intent look.
“I’m going to have to.” I said. “Dad’s going to see the President after the ceremonies, alone. I’ll beg him to take me with him and that’s when I’ll tell the President everything. He needs to know so he can kill the other time travelers.”
“What about the man who invents the time machine?” Papa asked with a tilt of his head.
“Him too.” I said with coldness. “Papa, time travel just fucks everything up. It needs to be ended.”
“Watch your language young man.” Papa said sternly, and for a moment I feared a spanking. When he said nothing past that, I nodded.
“Sorry about that.” I told him and he nodded back.
“You’re still a kid, at least your body is and I expect you to behave.” He told me and I nodded in agreement.
“You’re right, Papa.” I told him. “Anyway, I’ll tell the President, and once these headaches do what they did before, no one will be alive who knows enough to make a time machine. The world will be safe again.”
“What about your friend, Sean?” Papa asked and I stared at him once again in surprise. It was getting to be an altogether far too common an experience.
“What do you mean?” I asked him and he snorted.
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m no fool, boy?” Papa asked me and I forced my mouth closed. “You left two letters in the bottom of that box. One was to the President. It’s easy enough to figure out it was telling him everything he needed to know in order to eliminate those bad guys. The other was to your friend, Sean. You didn’t leave a note for me, or for your father, or anyone else about what happened. That means one thing as I see it: Your friend Sean will come back in time sometime soon.”
“In 1984.” I admitted to Papa. The next words were going to be a lie, but I had to risk it for Sean’s sake. “He doesn’t know much about time travel, just that it exists. He came back in time at one point to warn me about a bad guy I didn’t know about. Sean’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut if he knows I already know about it. It’s complicated, Papa. He comes back from the second timeline, and will think it’s the third timeline, not the fourth. I’ve already received the warning he intends to give. There’s no reason anyone needs to know he’s from the future.”
“I’ll give him the letter.” Papa said with a nod. “Don’t worry about that. He’s a good kid. I like him.”
“Thanks.” I told my grandfather with a great deal of gratitude. I felt guilty for lying to him, but if he didn’t know the truth, he couldn’t accidentally reveal it to anyone.
“You’re family.” Papa said as in explanation, and it really was. Family came first, and family helped family, no matter what. He started up the boat’s engine at that, drawing in the fishing line and motioning for me to pull up the anchor. “Let’s get back to shore. I’ve got that damn meeting and you’ve got things to do.”
“Sounds good, Papa.” I said with a genuine smile. Even with knowing the future, every time line had its own surprises, and this one had so far given me mostly pleasant surprises.
Now it was time to complete Phase Two of the plan I’d first come up with in the last timeline.
As with all my stories, E provides immeasurable input, grammar checking, and all those other lovely editing thingies that make the story so much better!
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