1

February 17, 2020: This is a journal of a journey. The journey begins hundreds of years from now. I write as I remember it, not in any kind of chronological order. Some of it I remember clearly without confusion and doubt, but much of it I remember without really remembering it. That’s the tricky part and that’s why I feel a need to write about it. I remember something but I just don’t know exactly what it is. Maybe writing about it will trigger clearer and more concise memories.

I woke up in comfortable surroundings, not too hot or too cold. I was sitting in a lounge chair looking out a large window. The scene outside was somewhat bare. Some concrete buildings were in the distance. I got the feeling I was in a desert environment. It was a bright, sunny day. Strangely enough, I didn’t feel disoriented. It was almost as if I knew my way around. I got up and walked over to a window. Beyond the buildings I saw a flying craft of some kind headed upward. I guess it was an airplane, but it looked more like a craft that could fly in space. I don’t know why I thought that but as it turned out, I was right.

I heard a door behind me open. I looked around and there were two people, a man and woman walking toward me. Somehow, I knew that they were no threat to me.

I don’t remember dying but I do remember not feeling well. It was the summer of the year 2030. It was early in the morning and I was walking on a sidewalk not far from where I lived. I started getting very dizzy and I had to sit down on the grass beside the sidewalk.  I managed one glance at the sky above and then all went black.

They designated me 21NAM (this was their nomenclature for 21st Century North American Man). I’m guessing there were many more like me who came from various time periods, so many in fact, common names were not practical. I didn’t feel bad about being labeled in such a way. Once again, it seemed right somehow.

“We won’t ask how you’re doing because we know you’re doing well.”

“How do you know?”

“Because we’re the ones who made the necessary repairs and alterations. Take a look in the mirror.”

I walked over to a mirror in the corner of the room. It took a while for what I saw to sink in. The person that I saw bore a strong resemblance to someone I once knew. That person was me. Only I looked about 40 years younger than the last time I looked in a mirror.

“What happened?”

“You’ll learn what happened but only gradually over time. Just call it an adjustment period.”

Beside the mirror on the wall was a fragment of a quote. Was it from the Bible? “By doing this they store up a treasure for themselves that is a good foundation for the future, so that they can keep their hold on the life that is real.”

In the fall of 2018, there was a nighttime raid on a coastal city. I was about a mile or two south of the downtown area. I was standing on the beach with a few other people. Several tall buildings, situated near the shore, were attacked by flying craft which had the ability to hover over the ocean and fire laser like beams into the buildings. We saw it from where we stood but all we saw were stationary lights and flashes of light in a background of otherwise total darkness. We never really knew what happened because when we departed the beach we went in the opposite direction.

We drove for miles on a hard surface with granules of sand blowing across it. After ten minutes or so I asked to be let off, and then I started walking beside the road. At some point I rested in a grove of trees adjacent to the highway. It was still night and I was surrounded by silence. I looked up into the sky in the direction of the place that we had been and I saw a bevy of blinking lights moving out to sea. They were moving quickly and soon disappeared. It had been a long night and I fell asleep on the ground.

The man asked me, “Would you like something to eat?” I suddenly realize I was very hungry. That made sense since I probably hadn’t had anything to eat for hundreds (or was it thousands?) of years. “Absolutely!” I replied with genuine enthusiasm.

The food was quite good. No conversation took place while I was eating. I think they knew I could only handle one thing at a time.

After the meal, they encouraged me to take a walk around the grounds. “Just don’t stray too far. Sandstorms can erupt almost instantaneously.”

The sun was high in the sky when I woke up. Sleeping on the ground wasn’t as hard on my body as I might have thought. I got up thinking a hot cup of coffee sure would be nice. I immediately starting walking beside the road hoping that a convenience store of some kind would pop up on the horizon.

I did run into such a store after about thirty minutes of walking. They had some new coffee machines that grounded the coffee beans before pouring it into the cup. I asked the clerk if I was near any kind of town.

“Yea, about a mile or so you’ll reach a village.”

“How big is it?”

“Last time I heard there were 490 people living there.”

When I started walking around the grounds, I noticed everything in my field of vision was very clear and sharp in focus. I wasn’t wearing glasses and if I was wearing contacts, I didn’t remember putting them on. Was my new clarity of natural vision one of those necessary repairs?

All the concrete buildings were no more than one story in height with opaque windows and locked doors. There were about twenty of them. An airstrip, about a mile in length, started at the building farthest away from the building where I had first awaken. Looking down the length of the airstrip I could see snow covered mountains in the distance. The sky above was cloudless and was a cobalt blue. Even though I was in a desert environment and even though it appeared to be around noon, the temperature was pleasant. There was a softness in the air along with a profound silence.

When I made it back to the original building, there was one question paramount in my mind.

“What’s happened to me?”

“You’ve been reintegrated.” The man spoke first.

“Also enhanced.” The woman followed.

“For what purpose?”

“We’re sending you on a journey through your dreams.”

That sounded intriguing and implausible at the same time. But what could be more implausible than what I was experiencing right now?

The village apparently had no name or just didn’t advertise one. There was no city limits or welcome sign. Just a grove of pecan trees on the left and a cow pasture on the right before a few decrepit buildings on either side of the main and perhaps only street; didn’t appear too likely a car rental place would be in business here. I saw a man sitting on a bench in front of what looked to be a hardware store.

“Good morning, sir. Does a bus service run through here?”

“That’s a good question, young fella.”

I was thinking, is there a good answer?

“Why not ask Mack inside? He keeps up with the news of the world.”

I walked inside the store. It had old wooden floor and the shelves were full of things that were probably useful in one way or another, but a lot of the stuff looked like it had been doing nothing but accumulating dust for decades.

Another old guy, bearded and wearing overalls, was standing behind the counter.

“Are you Mack?”

“I am. How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if this town had bus service?”

“Afraid not, young fella. We’re so far off the beaten track there’s no need for any kind of transportation service here.”

“I noticed a good many empty buildings. Was this place bigger at one time?”

“It sure was.”

“What happened?”

“I think it was Thomas Wolfe who said it was of time and a river. He also you couldn’t go home again and they must have believed him.”

It dawned on me I had reached a dead end so I purchased a can of Vienna sausages and a small package of saltine crackers. I washed them down with a diet coke. I said goodbye, pushed open the rickety screen door and looked both right and left. I had come to town from the right. so I started walking left.

“Why is the temperature so pleasant outside? It looks to me we’re middle of the desert just after high noon.”

“We control the weather.”
"What about the sudden sandstorms?"
"We control that too."

Simple as that, I thought? Wonder what else they control? Are their powers unlimited?

“Any chance you’ll tell me why I’m where? And why you’ve gone to the trouble of reintegrating and enhancing me? I don’t remember placing such an order back in the 21^st Century,”

“We’re sending you on an assignment using the contents of your mind as a map. We can’t tell you exactly where you’ll be going and what you’ll be doing because even our technology is not advanced enough to figure that out. The last frontier is the inner recesses of the human mind. We work mostly with externals and then extrapolate from your actions.”

It was now around the middle of the day and the sky was beginning to darken. I was walking along a road that had seen better days. Medium tall trees lined the road on both sides. The depth of the trees was only one or two rows. Fallow fields lay behind the trees. How long had they been fallow, I wondered? One thing though; walking was easy because the land was mostly flat with a few hills jutting out here and there. Should I even call them hills? Maybe in years not too far past bulldozers had pushed up dirt just to relieve the flatness of the landscape.

It started drizzling. A structure of some kind was only a few hundred feet away. When I got to it, I found it had been a tractor shed. How did I know that? An old, rusted out tractor had been abandoned there. But no matter; I was content enough to stay there until the rain stopped. The rain made quite a racket on the tin roof of the shed. But I stayed dry.

“Will I remember being here?”

“Only in a sense.”

“But how will I record accurately what’s happening to me?”

“When you're writing about the experience of time travel in 2020, you'll discover a digital recording of what you did on what you euphemistically call a smart phone. You won’t believe it at first but then circumstances and experiences will convince you that it’s true.”

The slow, drizzling rain had finally stopped. To be honest, I don’t know exactly when it stopped because I had fallen asleep. I didn’t dream. But I wondered. If I did dream, would I be dreaming a dream inside a dream?

When I first died, I had been in my late seventies, and fortunately I was still able to get around pretty good, but the aches and pains had been accumulating over the prior years, and thus I certainly couldn’t say I was as spry and agile as a spring chicken, but now I found I had no aches or pains. Everything seemed to be working at a high level. Knowing this didn’t make me immediately happy, even though I felt good. Because it meant I needed to be this way to face some tough challenges ahead. By ahead, I didn’t mean the future, because as best I could tell, I was going into the past.

2

It appears that the universe may go on infinitely even though the universe itself is not infinite. No single thing can be infinite and still be a single thing. Reality on the other hand is finite. It depends on only one criterion and that is consciousness. But only one consciousness is necessary for reality to exist. Are all other consciousnesses superfluous?

The day has turned nice and warm. The recent rains have hastened the greening of the countryside and the green background contrasted with the now blue sky makes my walking much more palatable.

As I meander down the road, I find the traffic to be almost non-existent. By the styles of the extremely few vehicles I do see, it looks like I’m somewhere in the late 1940’s. World War II is not long-ended and Harry Truman is president of the United States. The country is enjoying a post war boom but from the looks of things the boom has not extended to the area I’m now in.

Around mid-afternoon I come to a crossroads. One lone cement block building stood in the northwest corner of the crossroads. A high tower was juxtaposed to the building. A couple of cars were also next to the building. I decided to see what was going on.

It’s easy to say that the message is more important than the messenger but it’s a good bet we won’t listen to the message if we don’t like the messenger. Sometimes I think part of the reason messengers don’t have the impact they should is because they don’t like the message they’re supposedly trying to communicate. A series of circumstances have led them to the position of messenger. These circumstances are predicated upon a past life of following the path of least resistance. But if the messenger doesn’t really believe what he’s saying then the question is: what’s the point?

I do what the sign on the door says: ‘Welcome! Come On In!’ I immediately realize I’m in what is undoubtedly a radio station. The call letters on the wall are WRJ. There’s a glass enclosure and a red-faced, balding, rotund man sitting in front of a microphone talking away at what seems like the speed of light. The glass must be soundproof because I can’t make out anything he’s saying. The front room is empty so the engineer is probably in the room just behind the front room. I take a seat and wait. For some reason, I feel the need to talk to the guy behind the microphone.

In the year 2020, astronomers speculate that the giant star, Betelgeuse has blown up (this happened long ago) but because of the lag in space time they were just discovering it. Wonder how many stars in our galaxy and others have suffered the same fate? What will the sky look like if the light of more than one of them hits us at the same time?

A young guy walks out of the back room. He’s medium height with tousled, brown hair. He notices I’m staring at his overalls.

“I came straight from plowing. Uncle Junior was scheduled for noon and he needed me to help get set up for his show. I brought my lunch. Care for a piece of fried chicken?”

“No thanks. You say his name is Uncle Junior?”

“That’s what our family calls him. His real name is Thornberry Jackson Smithville. Friends and parishioners call him Pastor TJ.”

“So he’s a preacher?”

“Among other things. He also sells land, cuts lumber, and has the best still in the county.”

“Sounds like an interesting fellow.”

“I’ll say. Look here I need to go back to the board in case Uncle Junior needs something. Do you want to talk to him?”

I said yes.

“He should be through in about ten minutes. He has trouble winding down but he also doesn’t like to pay overtime.”

I said thanks and let him know I didn’t mind waiting.

Man made it back to the moon in 2026 with plans of going to Mars in 2032. I sure had asked about the Mars expedition when I had the chance.

In what was more like fifteen minutes, Pastor TJ finished his talk and walked into the room where I was sitting. He was sweating profusely and wiping his forehead with a flowery handkerchief. He didn’t seem startled to see me

I introduced myself and asked, “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Sure, what are you interested in: 40 acres, oak or pine, moonshine or salvation? Or all the above?”

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t me telling me where you were last night?”

“I was at a poker game until 11 pm."

The Re-integrators were right. I now seemed to possess the ability to make strangers feel at ease and readily answer questions.

“When it was over and you walked outside, do you happen to glance at the night sky?”

Pastor TJ’s eyes suddenly expanded, “Well, damn, I had forgotten all about it, and I find that hard to believe considering what I saw.”

“Which was?”

“The sky was totally black except for directly overhead. There were two lines of lights or stars. They crossed each other. It was an amazing sight. How could I have forgotten it?”

I knew why he had forgotten it and why he would forget it again as soon as I left the room. But that was information I wasn’t about to share.

“Thanks, TJ. I’ll pass on the moonshine. This time.”

I walked out into the bright, cool sunshine. It was 1 pm.

Thirty minutes later I was still standing at the crossroads. I had three choices (I wasn’t going back the way I came). Each way was not only a different direction but they also each turned into different time periods. My choices were north, east or west. I decided to heed Horace Greeley’s advice and ‘Go West, Young Man.” This was only possible because I was now younger than I was before.

I was now (and now is the operative word) in some kind of condition where I could travel through time without time affecting me. In other words, I didn’t seem to be aging. No matter where (or when) I went I was always in the ‘Now’. But there was one question that still was unanswered and would probably remain so for a long time. Why was this happening to me?

To be honest, the main reason I headed west was because a sigh at the crossroads had pointed in that direction with the words ‘Corinth 5 miles’. It was the closest settlement to my present location. It took me about two hours of easy walking to get there. On the leading edge of town was a motor court with only one car out front. I got a room for the night and weighed my options.

I must have been more tired than I realized. I slept until 10 am and realizing checkout time was in thirty minutes, I quickly took a shower and got dressed. As I walked out the door of the room, I heard a loud commotion coming from across the road. A crowd of people were in a circle and it looked like they were throwing objects of some kind toward the center of the circle. I rushed over.

When I got there, I was suddenly seized with the terrible realization the crowd was cruelly pelting a man with rocks, bricks and stones. Using one of the ‘enhancements’ the Re-integrators had equipped me with, I immediately dispersed the crowd. I then went over and knelt by the man who was unconscious and bleeding. I did what I could and in a few minutes, he came back to consciousness.

I lifted his head up and his eyes opened, “What happened?”

“You were stoned within an inch of your life.”

Surprisingly, there was a faint smile, “Ah, yes, they didn’t like what I had to say.”

“That’s the understatement of the year. By the way, what year is it?” Apparently, when I headed west at the crossroads, I had headed ‘south’ in time.

The man looked at me warily, “You’re not an angel of the Lord, are you? I had a friend tell me it was possible to meet angels unawares.”

“I’m just a man, like you.” Which was the truth but maybe not all the truth.

I then asked him, “What will you do now?”

“I’ll keep talking. It’s all I know.”

We had both stood up. I said, “Well, if my services are no longer needed, I’ll be moving on.”

“Thank you, friend. Maybe we’ll meet again somewhere down the line.”

“I hope so.”

I kept walking west for the rest of the day. I came across another country store where I was able to buy a fairly substantial meal. That night I slept under the stars.

All my sleep now is dreamless. I could tell you why but I’m going to leave it for you to figure out. You may already have. The main thing to know is, since I travel alone, is that no matter where I am or under what conditions I sleep, I am perfectly safe. Nothing can touch me during that time. And no, angels are not secretly surrounding and protecting me.

Human logic plays a large part in what I’m doing but it doesn’t explain everything. Time travel is not logical. It doesn’t make sense in many ways but in my case it’s true, so therefore it’s logical. Human logic is not the only logic.

In 2029, about a year before I first died, I was in the southern part of Saskatchewan, only a few miles north of the Montana, USA border. It was the fall of the year and wheat harvest had just commenced. The sky was a light blue broken up by only a few white, wispy clouds. The temperature was in the 60’s Fahrenheit with a slight wind out of the west. The giant reapers were chugging along nicely. I was speaking to an elderly Canadian farmer.

“Your crop looks good. Do you anticipate a good price for it?”

“Absolutely.”

“Who buys most of your wheat?”

“The wheat goes to Greenland.”

His reply didn’t surprise me. The new colony there was thriving.

“How does it get there?”

“It goes by train to Lake Superior, then by tanker to Greenland. Pretty simple, really.”

That was my last trip to Canada.

After sleeping outside for the night, I needed a bath. Behind a row of trees that lined the road, was a fast-moving stream. I took the opportunity to jump in and wash with a bar of soap that was in my travel bag. Definitely refreshing and cold; but it woke me up.

I made a fire, heated some water and made a cup of instant coffee. Along with a protein bar, it was the perfect breakfast for the occasion.

When I came out of the woods, a farm truck carrying a load of hay was parked across the road. A middle-aged woman had the front hood up. Steam was rising out of the radiator.

“Anything I can do to help?” The woman looked at me carefully but not suspiciously. She was probably used to dealing with unemployed men wandering through the countryside. I say that because the ambience was of the depression era.

“The old truck is overheating again.”

“If you have a container I can walk over to the stream and get some water.”

“That would be real nice of you.”

She had an empty bucket in the back of the truck. I went and got the water. It seemed to do the trick.

“I’m headed to Prestonville to sell the hay. Do you need a ride?”

I readily accepted.

3

Some ‘time’, by that I mean it could happen in any time period I happen to visit, the sky is liable to explode in a cascade of lights: a coruscated sky. That’s why I plan to spend as many nights as possible outside. In 2030 no one had memories of such a thing happening. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen sometime prior to 2030. In assessing human history, memories are usually the most unreliable source.

Either I had dozed off or had simply been lost in a bit of reverie when a bump in the road caused me to awkwardly shift in my seat (this was before seatbelts).

“Sorry about that. The bump seemed like it appeared out of nowhere.”

“I guess road repair is not the top of the agenda.”

“Actually, it is. The government is looking for all kinds of things that need fixing in order to give men and women jobs. I guess the road crews just haven't made it out this far yet.”

“Well, the bump was probably a good thing. I needed waking up, obviously. It wasn’t polite of me to doze off like I did.”

“No offense taken. But I will say that politeness is one of the few nice things left in a society short on cash and optimism.”

We had reached the farm supply store that she hoped would buy her hay. I said thanks and started walking into town.

The ancients believed the earth was the center of the universe. If we are the only conscious beings in the universe, then they were right.

Prestonville had a small park in the town square. I sat down on a bench underneath a shade tree and did some people watching. It must have been a weekday because only small children with adults were walking in and out of stores. The older kids were probably in school. There was a lot of foot traffic at a barber shop. I decided to eat lunch at ‘People’s Drug Store’. I took a seat at the counter and ordered a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee.

The man who served me appeared to be the only employee in the store. “Look here, I’ve got to fill a couple of prescriptions. Help yourself to as much coffee as you want.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.”

The pharmacist walked over to the back part of the store where bottles of various 1930’s drugs were neatly positioned on the shelves and began working on filling the prescriptions. It must have been a slow part of the day because he and I were the only ones in the store.

About fifteen minutes later he came back over to the counter. “How was that sandwich? My wife cooks the ham in the morning and brings it over for the lunch crowd. You were lucky. Usually whatever she cooks is gone by this time.”

“I see why.”

His name was Bill, age 52, born in a nearby town. He moved to Prestonville a few months after finishing pharmacy school. A year later he married the preacher’s daughter. They had three kids, and now even had a couple of grandchildren. He had no plans of retiring.

“With this damn depression not ending, I’ll probably have to work until I’m eighty.”

I could have told him he would die of a heart attack in a few years but that would be needlessly cruel.

Bill then asked the inevitable question, “What brings you here?”

“Just passing through. Caught a ride into town with a lady selling hay.”

“Come from an easterly direction?”

“That’s right. How did you know?”

“The only woman around these parts who brings her farm products into town by herself is Maggie Herbstreet. She lost her in husband in a farming accident last year. They didn’t have any kids so she’s running the farm by herself.”

“That’s’ pretty impressive.”

“Now she does have part-time help, but they come and go with the seasons.”

Bill and I talked for another hour before the late afternoon crowd, which including kids and teenagers just getting out school, started coming in. I told Bill goodbye.

I then walked a little over five miles before making camp for the night. The same stream that had flowed by the night before was once again close to where I slept.

It was very dark. I purposely avoided artificial lights of any kind so I could have a clear view of the heavens. I did see one falling star before slipping off into unconsciousness.

I was stirred awake by someone gently kicking me in the side. I looked up to see a uniformed man towering over me.

“Wake up, bum! You’re on private property.”

“I didn’t see a no trespassing sign.”

“Some other bum must have torn it down. Now get up and get moving. Pronto!”

I had no desire for conflict with the law. Now I could have easily persuaded the officer to allow me to stay there but since I had gotten a good night’s sleep and the sun was beginning to rise, there was no real point in staying. I assumed a shuffling gait as I left. I didn’t want the officer to think I was spry and agile. He might have decided he could fine me and make me work it off manicuring the courthouse grounds.

The greatest speed in the universe is the speed of thought. Using it, you can instantaneously travel millions of light years in a fraction of a second. It’s the favorite mode of travel for celestial beings. Not that I’ve ever met a celestial being. We don’t go to the same cocktail parties.

In the days ahead, I would have to be a little more careful where I bedded down for the night. The past night I had slept a little too close to the road and as a result, I was more easily spotted by passersby.

But the area of the country I was in was predominantly a heavily rural one and vehicles along the road were as a rule few and far between. This was also a time when a few farmers, the ones who couldn’t afford gasoline, were still using either horses or mules to carry their agricultural products to market.  I was offered a lift on such a conveyance around mid-morning. I sat beside the driver, a farmer named Lucius Applebaum. He looked to be past sixty-five.

I asked him, “What do you think about Mr. Roosevelt’s new Social Security program?”

“I’m against it. People in this part of the country take care of their own security, social or otherwise.”

“But lots of folks live in the city and can’t grow their own food and have to make rental payments each month. Once they lose their jobs or simply lose the ability to work productively, they have nothing to fall back on.”

“That’s why you save.”

Lucius was a hard nut to crack but I can’t say I totally disagreed with his sentiments.

Is the human race one individual, by that I mean, if someone was to put all of us together into one body, would it be overall a healthy body or a sick one? If it was a football game, it would be the fourth quarter, and one team (us) would be about forty points behind with time running out. But who is the other team?

Lucius was taken watermelons to the market in a town called Reutersburg. Before getting to town he directed the two mules to a large oak tree where an artesian well had been flowing since colonial days. While the mules drank, Lucius cracked open one of the smaller melons and offered me half.

“The smaller ones are sometimes the tastiest ones.”

Now that’s one subject in which we were in total agreement.

Before parting, Lucius said, “If you’re still around town tonight, you ought try out Mama Jody’s place on the west side. There’s a young man playing some hot guitar.”

“The Blues?”

“Nothing but.”

The places I’d been and would be going to were not always places that could be found on the same map. The information on a map was never one-hundred percent correct because as soon as the map was printed, something had changed. In my case, the changes were even more profound because the places I visited weren’t always in the same time period.

I did go that night to the “juke joint”. It was loud and smoky with a slight hint of potential violence in the air. I stayed for a couple of hours and the music was unlike anything I’d ever heard before. Amazing what a talented individual can do with only a voice, acoustic guitar and harmonica.

I had to buy something to drink so I could stay there. There was no cover charge. I think the drink I got was something they call 99 proof whiskey. Luckily, my stomach was immune to almost anything I could throw at it.

After my experience with the law officer, and the fact that I was still probably inside his territorial authority, I decided to spend the night in a flea bag hotel. As it turned out, the fleas did not seem to be interested in me.

I visited the local undertaker, a Mr. Samuel Samuels, the next morning before leaving town. I had been planning to meet a certain individual in Reutersburg but was told at the juke joint he had recently passed away. This surprised me because I had been operating under the assumption that everyone on my list would be still be alive when I “accidently ran” into them.

The undertaker was also the town’s life insurance salesman. Which means he profited from both death and life. Not a bad way to go.

As it turns out no one had died recently. Samuels was at his life insurance office. I walked in and asked the secretary if I could have a minute of Mr. Samuels’ time.

She said sure, then hollered, “Hey, Sam, somebody wants to talk to you.”

A sonorous voice came wafting from the back office, “Send ‘em on back.”

I walked in his office and said, “Mr. Samuels…”

“Call me Sam and have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

I started to wonder why Sam was being so nice to a stranger. Did he think I needed life insurance or did he think I was about to die?

We exchanged a few more pleasantries. Apparently, it had been a wet spring. The crops were looking good.

I then said, “I wanted to ask you about a man you buried a few days ago. I was hoping to talk to him in person but sadly, I found out he had only recently passed away.”

“You mean Lincoln Adams?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, if your questions aren’t too personal, I might be able to answer a few. I didn’t know Lincoln that well. He pretty much kept to himself.”

“Didn’t he serve in World War I?”

“I’m not sure. If he did, he never talked about it.”

I stood up. That was the only answer I needed.

Sam looked a little surprised but quickly recovered. “Have you thought about buying life insurance?”

“Mine is already paid in full.” I answered. Smiling, I left Sam’s place of business.

Each one of us creates his or her own reality – a smaller reality inside a greater reality. And just like reality itself, there are no limits in size, in either direction.

4

That afternoon I came upon a small farmhouse with a barn and chicken coop to the side of the house. Some pigs were wallowing in the mud while chickens pranced back and forth across the grassless yard. I knocked on the screen door. A young man, already fully bald, appeared.

“What can I do for you, fella?”

“I was wondering if you had any work I could do for a meal?”

He looked me over. “You look mighty healthy, and unusually clean, for a hobo.”

“Well, I’m not actually a hobo, but I do find myself temporarily dislocated.”

An eyebrow went up. “I tell you what. Chop some wood for me and we’ll see what we can do.”

He took me over to the woodpile and handed me an ax. “This should take you a couple of hours. I’ll be in the barn doing some work. Come over when you’re through.”

I went over to the barn in less than thirty minutes. The man had a wood workshop. Looked like he was beginning the process of building a chair.

“What are you doing here already? Need some water?”

“I’m through.”

He didn’t say anything, but it was obvious he didn’t believe me. We walked over to the woodpile.

“I’ll be damned.”

I said, “I’m pretty handy with an ax.”

“I’ll say you are. Well, let’s go in the house and see what Jenna Mae has on the stove.”

When we walked into the house, a young woman, slightly plump with a checkered apron on, said hello.

We introduced ourselves. The man was named Tom Tarleton and he and Jenna Mae had only been married for a couple of years. No children yet as far as I could tell.

We sat down in a little nook off to one side of the kitchen. It had two doorless entryways with a narrow wall between them. Very cozy. I had lucked out. Jenna Mae was one hell of a cook. She brought rice, butterbeans, fried squash, fresh ripe tomatoes, fried chicken, and to top it all off, homemade biscuits right out of the oven. I hadn’t eaten like this in hundreds (or thousands?) of years.

I did the food justice.

Tom said, “You don’t come across as your stereotypical hobo. If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you out this way?”

“I’m somewhat of an amateur astronomer. I’ve been spending nights outdoors looking for certain star formations that may be prevalent in this…(I almost said this time period), uh, part of the country. Also, like most everyone else, I don’t have much money so I’m living as cheap as possible. Working for food is one way of doing that.”

Jenna Mae had just returned with an apple pie for dessert, “You know, I’d be more than happy to make this fella a couple of more meals. You need help fixing that barn roof.”

Tom looked thoughtful, “Jenna Mae’s right. Would you like to stay overnight and do a little more work tomorrow?”

“That’ll be fine, but I do have one request.”

“What’s that?”

I’m not sure but I think there’s a spot on your land where I’d like to be tonight. That’s the real reason I stopped here. My calculations tell me the sky may be especially bright tonight.”

“Where exactly is this spot at?”

“About a half mile due south of your house.”

“That’s close to the end of my property but since nobody else lives anywhere close to that spot, I don’t see any problem with you camping out there for the night.”

I stood up. “That was a wonderful meal. What time do you want me to be back in the morning to start working on the barn roof?”

“Be here at 6 AM. Jenna Mae will have coffee and breakfast ready.”

I said thanks and headed out the back door. It took me about ten minutes to find just the spot I was looking for.

At 9:15 PM the moon was at a partial phase but was more toward the north, so I had an uninterrupted view of the southern portion of the sky. I prepared a place on the ground  where I could lay on my back and gaze steadily at the sky. I was in a clearing on a small knoll. The temperature was in the lower fifties and would not drop much during the night. Very comfortable. There was zero chance of rain. A perfect scenario for what I wanted to do.

I stayed awake all night. I saw enough to convince me that I was still on the right path. At 5:45 AM I got up and walked to the farmhouse. The light in the kitchen was on. Tom saw me coming and had the door open for me when I reached the steps. Breakfast was fit for a king. We then worked for four hours on the barn roof. I had one last meal in the tiny nook. It was then time to move on.

How many human beings have lived up to expectations? How many have not? How many have exceeded expectations? It’s a list, if compiled, that would be lacking in some important aspects. For instance, in any of the outcomes, what would be the extenuating circumstances? Life is rarely, if ever played, on a level playing field.

Speaking of playing fields, I happened that afternoon to come across a bunch of kids playing baseball in a cow pasture. Much exuberance if not much skill. But that would come later. Let’s just hope the exuberance will endure.

That night, I would be near the first city of any size, about twenty thousand or so. My plan was to avoid larger population groupings, but I needed to do some research. A town of such size should have a decent library.

When did the stars begin to outnumber human beings? They always have, you say. Here’s the sad thing about stars. The more you have of something, the more insignificant it becomes.

I was able to spend a total of three hours at the library. A road that I knew about in 1965 might not have existed in the 1930’s. If not, it was no point in trying to find it. But the road had been built in 1936 as a project of the WPA, which was created to do something about the high unemployment at the time. According to newspapers at the library, it was 1937, so the road did “now” exist.

I spent the night on a park bench. The town must not have had enough money to pay policeman to work the midnight shift, so I wasn’t harassed and ran off during the night. Since I didn’t sleep at all the night before, and also because the city lights obfuscated the sky, I slept soundly through the wee hours of the morning.

Waking slightly before dawn, I headed out of town. I was looking for the afore-mentioned road and a man named Jodiah Manassas. He had been born at the outbreak of the Civil War and was now in his late seventies.  I got to his house mid-morning. On the way to the house, a brief shower fell and I got slightly wet. But by the time I reached Jodiah’s house, I was completely dry.

He was sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch smoking a pipe. The house was of the shotgun variety, three rooms back to back with no hallway. From the front door going straight were two more doors ending with a back door. If all the doors were open, you could see straight through the house from the front porch to the back porch.

Jodiah had an advanced case of cataracts so he heard me long before seeing me.

We shook hands. I then asked him, “Were you sitting on this porch last night a little before midnight?”

“I sit here all day. Midnight is when I usually get up and go to bed.”

“How long has your vision been poor?”

“Oh, a couple of years, I guess.” Josiah didn’t seem to mind answering my questions. He probably enjoyed having some company.

“Is that about the same amount of time you’ve been seeing flashes of light in the sky? And I don’t mean lightning.” I hope I wasn’t pressing too hard.

Before answering, Josiah relighted his pipe and turned his head toward the road, “It’s downright funny, ain’t it? I can’t see worth a darn anymore. There’s a kind of a film over everything. But those flashes of liseright you’re talking about. They’re just as clear and sharp as they can be. That’s why I stay out here until midnight.”

He looked over at me, “How did you know about those flashes? You’ve been seeing them too?”

“Not like you have. With your permission I want to hang around here until midnight and see them for myself.”

Josiah slapped his leg, “Well, young man, you got yourself a deal. There’s another rocking chair in the front room. Get it and bring it out here.”

I did so. It was late afternoon, twilight was near. Josiah had a lot of stories to tell and I enjoyed them all.

That night was the greatest series of coruscations so far.

I was overwhelmed. Since my eyes were normal vision the sudden, intense flashes and sparkles had a greater impact on me than on Josiah, whose eyes were, in this case, actually protected by the cataracts. To him, the flashes were clear and sharp but to me they were cataclysmic and earth-shattering. It’s strange that, no one else had reported seeing the flashes. Josiah lived in a remote area, but the sky is big and anything that happens in it should be able to be seen for miles around.

It was a mystery, but it would have to be resolved later. It took me the rest of the night just to recover from the shock. I didn’t leave the rocking chair. I don’t think Josiah realized what had happen to me. He was used to seeing the flashes. At midnight, as usual, he got up and went to bed.

This was ground zero, but would it be ground zero in ten years? In fifty years? In a thousand years?

Sometime, just before dawn, I fell asleep. When I awoke, I was lying in some tall weeds in a pine forest. Josiah and his house were both gone.

I later found out I had been re-positioned to 1946. The Baby Boom was on and wouldn’t abate for twenty years. I was roughly in the same geographical area but instead of desperation in the air there was a hint of coming prosperity. As might be expected, the sky took no notice of what was happening on earth. We may look up to the heavens but what do the heavens look up to?

Now a question may arise in your mind, how do the people I interact with remember the events? They remember them as a feeling that comes occasionally to mind. It feels familiar, but yet when they try to tie the feeling to some past experience, no exact parallel can be formulated. It’s a very strange feeling. I experienced it for the last fourteen years of my life. I kept thinking, surely, I’ll come to some sort of full realization of what I was feeling. But it never happened. Until, that is, I woke up, sometime in the far future.

Anytime I get re-positioned to another time period, my first inclination is to immediately begin going to work. But then I realize no particulars have been set before me. So the only thing to do is to pick a direction and start walking.

I soon find that I’m near a small village. All the houses look exactly alike. There must be a textile plant nearby. These textile mills employed thousands of people (both men and women). They had ready access to cotton from farms across the region. It was economical to build the workers’ houses and even more economical to use the same house plans.