by Inmon, Shawn
“Do they think you’re dying? You’re just going for a drive, right?”
“Right. I think it’s just that Sam hasn’t left home yet—“
“And I don’t think he ever will, as long as Mom is feeding him.“
“—so this is the first time they’ve seen one of their kids leave home. Even when I went to Hartfield, they knew where I was and that they could get me at any time. I understand it. Listen, I’m probably going to be gone for a while, but I’ll call home every week. So, if you need to talk, we can.”
“Thanks, big brother.”
“No ‘Bubby’ anymore?”
“Fine. Thanks, Bubby.” She rolled her eyes, but Dominick could still see her eyes glistened.
“Okay, gonna take off.”
“Where are you staying tonight?”
“No idea. Ain’t it great?”
“I’m fine with staying in my comfy bed, thanks.”
Dominick opened the front door, stepped to the edge of the small porch, and felt an exultation he had never felt before. He leaped off the top step, over the tiny border of flowers, and onto the lawn. He slid in behind the wheel of the Chevelle and turned her over.
The deep purr of the V8 engine, so much power ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice, thrilled Dominick as it always did. He smiled to himself and turned the radio on.
Gotta have some tunes for a momentous occasion like this.
“Don’t Give Up On Us, Baby” by David Soul, was playing.
Nope. Not quite right.
He pushed a button on the radio, and a generic rock ‘n roll song came on. The DJ back-announced, “That’s a moldy oldie you don’t hear much anymore, if you ever did—Rock ‘n Roll Boogaloo, by Jimmy Velvet and the Black Velvets. Now, here’s the Righteous Brothers, and Rock ‘n Roll Heaven.”
Dominick pushed another button and tuned in 680 KFRC, out of San Francisco. “Feels Like the First Time,” by Foreigner came through the speakers. He listened for a moment, nodding his head, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.
I’ve been planning, thinking about, and waiting for this moment to arrive for more than ten years. Now that it’s finally here, I feel a little scared. Is she really out there? What will she say, when she sees me? Will she recognize me in any way, on any level?
He turned up the driving guitar line of “Feels Like the First Time,” slipped the car into reverse, and backed out of the driveway. The bump at the edge of the driveway always made him think of stealing his father’s Dodge and wreaking havoc on Mr. Bratski’s rose bushes and shed. On this day, he manage to pull onto the street without incident.
As he pulled out, he saw Mr. Bratski, a little rounder and a little shorter than he had been on that day ten years earlier, standing out in the yard in his dark socks that went up to his knees, and his yellow shorts pulled up past his navel, with the newspaper tucked under one arm, and a cup of coffee in his hand. He waved.
Dominick smiled and waved back, but resisted the urge to give a jaunty honk of the horn—it was still early, and wouldn’t be appreciated in their quiet little neighborhood—and tooled on down the street.
Toward the freeway.
Toward freedom.
Finally, toward Emily.
Chapter Thirty
Dominick had bought a AAA Road Atlas the year before, and had been studying it ever since. The easiest trip for him would have been to get on Interstate 80 in Emeryville and stay on it almost all the way to Sheboygan, Wisconsin. In another few years, he knew he would have been able to have taken that epic freeway all the way, but in 1977, there were a few areas where construction wasn’t completed.
No matter. Dominick wasn’t interested in driving 2,300 miles of freeway, anyway. In fifty-one years of living, he’d never had much of a chance to travel. In his first life, he had graduated high school and gone straight to college. After graduating, he had taken a job teaching high school English in an inner city school in Oakland. After a few years there, he had accepted a position in Middle Falls, Oregon, which seemed like a slice of heaven after working in a school where drugs and violence were an everyday occurrence. Middle Falls remained heavenly until he learned in the most abrupt fashion possible that violence wasn’t just for inner city schools anymore.
Once he met and fell in love with Emily, they never had money to travel. They had summers off, yes, but two teachers’ salaries never got them far. Many summers, the house needed a major repair so they fixed the house and they often ended up taking other jobs in the summer.
In any case, he had never traveled. Now he was a fifty-one year old man in a fit, healthy, eighteen year old body. He had a tuned up ’67 Chevelle Super Sport, and he had $800 in his pockets. Not a fortune, but in 1977, gas was sixty cents a gallon, and if you didn’t care too much about amenities, you could find a roadside motel for eight bucks.
If he had wanted, Dominick could have made the drive to Wisconsin in two days. Instead, he took a week. He drifted north first, up the California coast wherever possible. By mid-afternoon, he rolled through Crescent City. A few miles later, he saw the driveway that led to Hartfield Academy. He contemplated turning in to say hello.
Ah, mid-September. Michael and everyone I ever knew there, other than the instructors, are gone. I don’t need to just look at the buildings again.
He pushed on north. He spent the first night in a tiny motel called The Blue Horizon, just over the Oregon state line, in Brookings. The room was $8.50, but there was a .50 charge for towels. Dominick saved the two quarters and got by with the towel he had brought along in his duffel. The sun was setting earlier as fall approached, but he still got there in time to enjoy a walk on the beach before retiring to his room for a dinner of leftover lasagna and two slices of homemade bread.
The next morning, he drove north to Newport, Oregon, then turned east to catch I-5. Less than half an hour later, he took the turnoff for Middle Falls.
The town didn’t look that much different to him in 1977 than it had when he had last seen it in 1999. There had been a few more fast food options, and the Blockbuster video he had always gone to wasn’t built yet, but the residential streets looked unchanged.
Without thinking, he drove to the house that he and Emily had shared. It was a small, two-bedroom brick rambler with a white picket fence and a detached single car garage. If he closed his eyes and squinted a bit, Dominick could picture himself and Emily standing in the driveway, saying goodbye on the day he was killed. He sat there for ten minutes, drinking in the nostalgia and memories.
I’ll have nothing but memories, unless I start moving.
Dominick left Middle Falls behind with some regret, but turned north toward Washington. He went east just over the Washington line, then followed the mighty Columbia River for more than a hundred miles. He crossed over into Idaho, then cut across Montana. He spent his second and third nights sleeping in the back of the Chevelle.
Maybe I should have gotten a van instead of a sports car. I wouldn’t have looked as cool going down the road, but I’d sure sleep better.
On the fourth day, he dropped down into Wyoming. He’d seen an ad on the television for Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and that reminded him to stop and see Devils Tower. He arrived at the tower via a back road, and spotted it first from a distance. It did look odd, such a huge formation shooting up from nowhere, with nothing like it anywhere around.
Hmmm. It’s cool, but once you see it, you’ve kind of seen it.
He spent the next night in a dingy motel in Rapid City and drove down to see Mount Rushmore the next day.
Same thing as Devils Tower. It’s cool to see in person what I’ve only seen in pictures, but once you’ve looked at it for five minutes, what else is there to do? Buy a pennant or a refrigerator magnet in the gift shop? I think it’s time to stop sightseeing so I can get to Emily,
Dominick hustled to the Chevelle, drove back to Interstate 90, and headed east. He drove through the night, and just as the sun was rising, he cros
sed the Sheboygan city limits. He drove straight through the town until he ran into the shores of Lake Michigan.
He worked his way around the lake until he found a quiet residential area, then pulled over onto a side street. He didn’t even bother to leave the driver’s seat. Instead he just pulled a ball cap over his eyes, laid the seat back, and was asleep within minutes.
Less than an hour later, he was awakened by a metallic tapping on his window. He lifted the brim of the cap to see what was disturbing him and looked into the face of one of Sheboygan’s finest. He was a young patrolman and he was making the universal “roll down your window” gesture.
Dominick jumped a little, startled and still groggy. He rolled down the window halfway. Chilly air rushed in.
Ah, Late September in Wisconsin can be a little chillier than the Bay Area. Guess I should have known that.
“Yes?” Dominick said, after clearing his throat.
“Can I ask what you’re doing, son?”
Son, my ass. If you’re more than five years older than me, I’ll eat your badge.
Dominick mustered his best smile, then said, “Sleeping?”
The cop lowered his chin a bit, then sighed like a twenty year veteran. “Sheboygan has an anti-vagrancy law on the books. I’m going to need to ask you to move along.”
Dominick smiled a little broader. “Vagrancy? That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? I drove all night and just pulled into town. It was too early to rent a motel room.”
The police officer straightened and hitched up his gun belt. “Oh, new in town, huh? Well, that makes all the difference. I can offer you a tour of the sights. We’ll start with our holding cell, then move on to a look inside one of our courtrooms. After that, you can spend a few nights learning what Sheboygan hospitality is all about at our gray bar motel.”
Really? For taking a nap in my car? Okay, Barney Fife, have it your way.
“Do you have a license for operating this motor vehicle?”
Dominick sighed, chuckled a little to himself, then reached for his wallet and produced his license. He dug around in the glove compartment and found his registration, then handed it over.
The officer took the license and registration and retreated to his prowler.
Dominick stretched and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
This’ll be a great first call home. Hey, Dad, I’m in Wisconsin. I’m under arrest for vagrancy.
A few minutes later, the officer returned to Dominick’s window. “You’re good to go, son, but I’d advise you to do just that: go. If I see you sleeping in one of the neighborhoods on my beat, I’ll run you in.”
“Which neighborhoods are on your beat?”
The young cop, puffed his chest out a little and said, “All of them. By the way, if you’re planning on staying in our fair city, you’ll have thirty days to change from this California license to a Wisconsin one.” He dragged the syllables of California out so that it sounded exotic.
“Thank you, officer,” Dominick said. He replaced the registration, slipped his license back in his wallet, and turned the key. He was careful not to give it much gas as he pulled away.
I’d probably violate some noise ordinance and give him another reason to run me in.
Dominick drove until he found a parking spot in the downtown area right in front of a small café with a sign out front that read, simply, “Al’s.”
He hopped out of the Chevelle, locked her up, and went inside. There were a few tables scattered around, plus a long bar with red barstools. Dominick took a seat at the bar and turned the heavy ceramic cup over.
Within seconds, a waitress with heavy makeup and dyed red hair appeared with a coffee pot and filled his cup.
“Know what you want?”
“Uh ...” He hadn’t even seen a menu yet. “Two eggs, over easy?”
“Bacon or sausage?”
“Oh, bacon, definitely.”
“Hang on, hon, it’ll be up in two shakes.”
“Excuse me,” Dominick said, looking at her name tag, “Doris, do you have a newspaper laying around anywhere?”
“What, the Depression? Sure, hang on.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a newspaper, laying it on the counter in front of him. The masthead read, “The Sheboygan Press.”
I get it. Press – Depression. Everybody’s a comedian.
`While he waited for his breakfast, he scanned the Help Wanted ads. Not much looked promising, but he did see one garage looking for a mechanic. That might work.
Dominick wolfed his breakfast down so fast, Sam would have been proud.
Doris came to check on him and saw that the plate was clean. “Didn’t like it, huh? Surprised you didn’t eat the plate.”
Dominick smiled, stripped three singles off his bankroll and dug two quarters out of his pocket for a tip. On the way out of the café, he stopped at the payphone and pulled the Sheboygan and Surrounding Area phone book out. He flipped to the white pages until he found the names beginning with the letter E. He turned a few more pages, then ran his finger down the left-hand column until he found the name he was looking for: Harvey and Louise Esterhaus. The address said they lived at 2117 Martens Street.
With his heart near to beating out of his chest, Dominick drove through several residential neighborhoods, hoping to stumble across Martens Street. Finally, he gave up and pulled into a Phillips 66 gas station. As the pump jockey filled his tank, Dominick asked for directions to Martens Street.
Ten minutes later, he found what he was looking for, turned onto it and followed it to the 2100 block. He missed 2117 the first time, so had to turn around in a driveway and circle back. This time, he carefully counted the houses down as he passed them. 2143, 2137, finally, there it was. A lovely two story white colonial. The lawn and hedges were neatly trimmed, and the walkways recently swept. The leaves that had started to fall in a few spots had already been raked and collected.
This would have been a lot easier if they had still lived in this house when Emily and I were married, but they had already downsized to the condo by the lake by then.
Dominick pulled to the curb just past the house. He put his hand on the door handle to get out when the front door swung open and three girls emerged. They were dressed casually in high-waisted bellbottom jeans and knit tops. The colors of their outfits were different, but managed to convey the idea that they were together. Friends.
Dominick leaned toward the passenger window so he could see more clearly. The girls on either side faded away. An electric shock ran from the top of his head, down his spine and to his toes. The girl in the middle, had long, blonde hair, a heart-shaped face, and a laugh on her lips.
Emily.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tears sprang to Dominick’s eyes.
Emily. Eleven years I’ve waited for you. I wasn’t even sure you would really be here. But, there you are, so young and beautiful, I can hardly stand it. Emily! I love you!
Once again, his hand reached for the door handle. Once again, he stopped himself.
Hold on, hold on. Keep it together. She doesn’t know me from Adam. If I come on too strong, it will freak her out, and then where will I be? Trying to explain that I’m really a time traveler, and that we were already married in her future? That I’m her soul mate? Down that path, only madness lies.
Slightly slack-jawed, Dominick adjusted his mirror so he could watch the girls climb into a station wagon. Emily slid behind the wheel, looked over her shoulder and turned down the street headed the other way. Dominick shifted into drive and did a three-point turn on the narrow residential street. By the time he was pointing in the opposite direction, they were several blocks ahead.
Dominick didn’t push it. It was mid-morning, and traffic was light. They got on the Interstate for a few miles, but then got right back off and headed southeast. Eventually, they passed a sign that said, “University of Wisconsin–Sheboygan.”
Light dawned on Dominick. She must be going to college here. But,
that’s not right. She graduated from the UW, but it was UW-Madison, not Sheboygan. He watched the station wagon turn into a parking lot. Immediately, the three girls hopped out and, now carrying book bags, hurried, still laughing, into a building and disappeared.
Dominick tapped his fingers against the wheel. So. Things are different here, I guess. I didn’t go to Hartfield Academy for two years in my last life, either. It’s the butterfly effect. Change one small thing and it causes ripples through the world. He turned the wheel to loop a circle around the parking lot and out. Doesn’t matter, though. I saw her. I saw Emily. Everything is going to be okay now. For the first time in a very long time, everything is going to be okay.
DOMINICK SPENT THE next hour driving around Sheboygan, getting the lay of the land, familiarizing himself with the neighborhoods. In the end, he drove back to the college—not seeking Emily, it was too early for that. But, now that he knew she was here, he knew he would be too. At least, for a while. That meant he needed some cheap housing. Wherever students were, cheap housing typically followed, so he parked outside the Student Union Building and went inside. Sure enough, just inside the entry, there was a bulletin board with different notices—ride shares, offers of tutoring, and rooms for rent. Dominick tore off several of the tags of different ads, then wandered around until he found a payphone.
He started with five possibilities, but struck out on the first four. Maybe trying to compete for student housing right after a new semester starts isn’t the smartest idea in the world.
When he called the fifth number, a man’s gruff voice answered.
“Crows,” he said.
“Excuse me?” Dominick asked, caught off-guard.
Whatever minimal patience the man seemed to possess was used up in that one question. “Crow residence,” he said, enunciating slowly, as though Dominick might be slightly slow.
