The wonderful workings of a time machine


Pete suggested we all take a walk to the Eltingville train station. Since neither of us
could come up with anything better, we decided to walk. Ten minutes later, we arrive
at the Optimo shop adjacent to the station where we entered. John looks at the cigars,
but buys nothing. Pete looks at the Tiparillo's and buys a pack of Tijuana Smalls.
While I, not wanting to get lost in the shuffle request a pack of Muriel. Joe was a cigar
chomping Brooklyn native who always had a cigar in his mouth. No one understood
him when he spoke that unintelligible jargon, but we respected him, nonetheless.



Upon exiting the cigar store, which was partly a convenience store, I paused under the
overhanging sign to light my cigar. After sparking it five times, my cricket lighter would
produce its final flame. So small was this delicate bead of light, that it almost seemed to
be levitating above the lighter itself! Knowing it was about to disappear, I immediately
fanned it by puffing in reverse. We usually puff that way when we use a match to
light a stogie. The flame flares out like a torch!

As we ascended the steps leading up to the Eltingville train station, I suggested we walk
the tracks. Since we were all feeling a bit adventurous, Pete decided it wasn't such a bad
idea. As I stood over the yellow line, looking down at the tracks, I felt like a gerbil running
the wheel. My heart was speeding and it seemed as though I were running on only one pint
of blood. Enervated and weak would be the best way to describe it. Like a bus ready to
overheat, I removed my sweatshirt. I then thought about what I had done and removed my
T-shirt as well. John simply could not fathom me walking bare chested and began to act very
embarrassed and ashamed. He then began walking in the opposite direction before stopping;
like a little boy who suddenly realizes he has been following a stranger. Peter who was acting
very truculent kept to himself. In an odd way, he was becoming somewhat territorial and that
could prove to be a danger to us all. As I gazed at the metal sign posted to the railing on the
station's platform, I saw the word Eltingville. I never cared about it before, but now it was
becoming significant. What did it mean? I know it was foolish to dwell on, but I couldn't help
wondering! We then hopped down from the old wooden platform and began our descent into
oblivion. I tried to imagine what we must look like to the ghosts and apparitions now watching
us from the station as we faded away into the distance.

                                                                               Pg 111
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There was always something watching someone it appeared, as if from a ubiquitous window
in time, and I found that to be exhilarating! Looking back, my eyes took a second to focus.
Similar to a cheap camera that was always on and ready. How wonderful it felt to be in motion.
To be moving unrestrained! So free are we now to travel. To go about our way without restrictions!
To follow our own instinct and senses without rules and regulations posted everywhere, showing
you where you can and cannot go. Telling us what we can and cannot do! With each step I took,
I began to feel as though I were walking in a dream, and the further we got, the more memorable
the whole night seemed.

In the distance, I could see the Hawaiian restaurant coming into view. All the white vinyl
letters on the brown metal sign have curled up around the edges. So intrigued was I by the
withering of the years, I found myself entranced in its hypnotic presence. I was completely
baffled at how it now looked more Polynesian and more exotic than it ever did before! As
we got closer, I realized that these white stick on letters actually had more of a sharp and
pronounced look to them as they got older. Almost like a new form of Asian lettering! It
seemed that they were now fully accentuated by the whole aspect of the South Pacific sea,
and a foreign culture we've come to adopt and to love.

Below the overpass, calcium carbonate deposits form small, brittle stalactites on its
underbelly. Here water becomes trapped in the pores of the old concrete, and gradually
finds its way out by traveling downward. In winter, they resemble a glistening waterfall,
indistinguishable to that of frozen milk. One that is smooth to the touch as polished glass.
While in summer it seems to be caked and crumbling, as if it had already begun its
transformation into rock salt.

As we exited the overpass and moved on, I saw an old barbed wire fence to my left.
Covered in rust and decaying, it stood there like a monument from another time, whose
only purpose now, I thought, was to just exist; until the sentinels of time whisk it away.



Toward the middle, it bowed like a swag valance, for a tree had grown through it.
As that tree continues to grow, it has no other choice than to eat whatever is in its
way. One day, I'm sure that part of the fence is going to be either gone or dangling
many feet in the air like an old kite string. Further ahead, the superannuated fence
just seemed to stop, leaving its bare, rusting threads to dance like fibrils in the
wind. Soon neither us nor they shall remain.

It wasn't very long before we were approaching the Annadale station, where I felt
it grow stronger still. I then noticed a large banner draped across the trestle that read,
"Welcome to Annadale Junction" and I became elated!

                                                                               Pg 112
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John noticed it too and asked happily, "what's a junction?" I told him that a hundred years
ago there was no such thing as a train station. In those days, a train stop was called a junction.
And now I have a very strange feeling we may be back in time. Of course I was making the
whole thing up as I went along! A chance to infuse my ideas into the mind of someone else.

If you look at the situation the way I was looking at it, you would have to
ask yourself a very simple question. Who in their right mind would ingest
a psychoactive substance, and then go outside to try and act normal?

((((((((((((((((Isn't that what coffee is for? ))))))))))))))))



John marveled at the thought of it and was filled with glee! Forthwith he was
overcome by insurmountable little bursts of adrenaline. The kind we so often felt
as children on an excitable day. My mind soon began to prefabricate yarns, and as
I walked on, I was not really there but somewhere else. In my head, I imagined we
passed through a doorway. A doorway leading back instead of forward.



The 1980's had miraculously vanished, and I was walking down the tracks before my
parents were born! It was an incredible feeling. Kind of like being in a dream where
you are living somewhere else. You know every room in that house; till you wake up!
I could envision the horse drawn carriages awaiting me on the other side of the tracks.
The taste of fresh water from a hand drawn well, and the scent of honeysuckles coming
to life! As the wheels inside my head began to spin faster, my senses were more attuned
to creating the next scene. In my mind's eye have I seen the sun standing still in the midday
hour. Women in fancy dress walking nonchalantly. They who gently twirl their parasols
behind them are, in fact, sporting their femininity. I hear them whisper very excitedly to
one another while vying through the corner of their eyes for perspective grooms. Never
were these damsels at any time grandiloquent in nature, but rather quiet and shy.

The modern contrivances of the day had dissolved along with the sun, and all that remained
were the dying embers of time, extracted from a shadowy canvas which lined the sky. That
immense glory would forever fulfill the pages of hope from a book never to be written in my
lifetime, but one which would reside in the annals of truth until at last our days are recounted.

Euphoria was coursing through my veins like an analgesic, and I was now oblivious to
everything, except that of my own macrocosm. Although I knew in my heart it was only
a state of mind, my imagination was taking me to new heights. Weird things were beginning
to happen in my brain! Everything was anticipating itself and I truly felt that at any given
moment, I was going to make the transition from 1982 to 1882! Such a powerful thought
was this, that it overwhelming my senses! While we continued to follow the shimmering rails
of lighted steel, we proceeding on down the tracks feeling like the lords of all creation! But
this was just not meant to be for up ahead in the distance we heard, what was ultimately
the end of my evening.

                                                                               Pg 113
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Reviews for chapter 23

Joe Yasner - When very word begs to be written, you are no longer a writer but an artist! Congrats fella!

Ronnie Mack - Coffee is not a psychoactive substance

Charles Pendelton - According to National Geographic magazine,
and every other place I've looked, caffeine is still the world's most
popular psychoactive drug. *Take a look for yourself and you'll see*       http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0501/feature1/

((((((((((((((((((((P.S. - It is also a stimulant))))))))))))))))))))

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PG 111) Cigar box label for Fine Cigars

PG 112) The Sentinel by Judson Huss

PG 113) Coffee - If you're not shaking. . .

PG 113) Doors of the night by Vladimir Kush