Chapter 23
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 a better idea, we complied. Ten minutes later, we arrived at Joe’s Optimo cigar shop adjacent to the train station where we entered. John looks at the cigars but buys nothing. Pete looks at the Tiparillos and winds up buying a pack of Tijuana Smalls.
Whilst I, not wanting to get lost in the shuffle, request a pack of Muriel Coronas.
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 emit 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 began puffing in and out while continuing to release the gas. One usually puffs that way when using a match to light a stogie. The flame will flare out like a torch.
As we ascended the steps leading up to the Eltingville train station, it didn't take long for us to grow restless. 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. I felt the life being sucked out of me by an unknown force and, in its place, the very principle of agitation.
I was confused beyond reason as the world, which had forever spun in one direction, had now suddenly decided to come to a grinding halt.

Like a bus ready to overheat, I removed my thin flannel shirt. I then thought about what I had done before removing my T-shirt as well. John could not fathom me walking around bare-chested and began to act very embarrassed and ashamed. He then started to walk in the opposite direction before stopping, like a little boy who suddenly realized he had been following a stranger. Sheepishly he made his way back but refused to make eye contact.
Peter, who was acting very truculent, kept to himself, and it was quite apparent that he was living in malice.
Similar to the animals of the forest when they become provoked, it appeared that humans were not exempt from become increasingly territorial either. And that little observation, could certainly prove to be a danger to us all.
As I gazed at the metal sign, I saw the word, Eltingville. I had never thought about it before, but it was now becoming significant.
What did it mean, that strange name?
I know it was foolish to dwell on, but I couldn't help but wonder. It was only then, did I suggest that we walk the tracks. Since we were all feeling a bit adventurous, Pete decided it wasn't such a bad idea. 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 112 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was always something watching someone it appeared (from my mind's eye) 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.
Hamilton Streetcar - Invisible people
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 us where we can and cannot go, telling us what we can and cannot do.
With each step I took, I began to feel as though we were walking in a dream, and the further we got, the more memorable the whole night seemed. It appeared as though Captain Jack had given us our own private island.

In the distance, I could see the Hawaiian restaurant coming into view. There were many lights fashioned to shine upon that faded brown metal sign, which bore the name of the remarkable establishment. As we passed by, I could clearly see the white vinyl letters that had curled up around the edges, giving it a more pronounced look. Thus, creating a sharper appearance.
So intrigued was I by the withering of the years that I found myself entranced in its hypnotic presence. I was completely baffled at how it now looked more Polynesian and exotic than it ever did before. All because of an error in manufacturing that caused the material to shrivel over time. As we gradually came closer, I realized these permanent white stick-on letters actually had more of an authentic look to them as they got older, almost like a new form of Asian lettering. It seemed as if they were now ‘fully accentuated’ by the whole aspect of the South Pacific Sea and a foreign culture we've come to adopt and love.
Below the overpass, calcium carbonate deposits from rainwater, combined with an accumulation of sprayed rock salt, form small, brittle stalactites on its discolored underbelly. It is a buildup over time, from when water and salt become trapped within the pores of the old concrete. Gradually, it finds its way out by trickling downward.
In winter, the exterior wall resembles a glistening waterfall of white, like frozen milk.
One that is smooth to the touch as polished glass, while in summer, parts of the exterior surface appear to be caked and crumbling, as if it has already begun its transformation into rock salt. In certain areas of Brooklyn, you will find there are literally piles of accumulated concrete powder decorating the appearance of old structures and exposing the rusted steel used to secure the entire railway's facade.
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 devour whatever is in its way until nothing remains. One day, I am 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 didn't take long before we approached the Annadale station.
It was around this time that I felt it grow stronger still. Looking up, I noticed a large banner had been draped across the trestle that read: “Welcome to Annadale Junction,” and I was elated.
Pg 113 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John noticed it, too, and asked happily, “what's a junction?” I explained to him that a hundred years ago, there were no train stations. In those days, a train stop was called a junction. And now, I think we might very well be back in time. Of course, Peter was not within earshot to spoil it for me because, again, I was making it up as I went along. A chance I could infuse my ideas into the mind of another participant on the journey.
If you looked at the situation as I did in the present tense, you would then have to ask yourself a 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. It wasn't too long after when my mind began to prefabricate wild yarns, and in my head, I imagined we had passed through an invisible doorway, a doorway leading back instead of forward.

The 1980s 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; until you wake up. I could almost envision 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 from afar.
As the wheels inside my head began to spin faster, my senses were more attuned to creating the next scene. In my mind, I saw the sun standing still in the midday hour where women in fancy dress were walking nonchalantly. They who gently twirl their parasols behind them are, in fact, sporting their femininity. I can now hear them whisper very excitedly to one another while vying through the corner of their eyes for perspective grooms. Never at any time were these damsels grandiloquent in nature but rather quiet and shy.
The modern contrivances of the day had dissolved, as did the sun, and all that remained were the dying embers of time extracted from a shadowy canvas that lined the sky. That immense glory forever fulfilling the pages of hope from a book I never thought would be written in my lifetime. One that lay in a dark corner of my mind, long discarded.
At last, the annals of truth will be revealed,and the days of my life shall be recounted.
Euphoria was coursing through my veins like an analgesic, and I was now oblivious to everything except that which resided in my own macrocosm.
Although it was only a state of mind, our imagination was taking us to new heights. Weird things were beginning to happen in my brain, and I honestly felt I had somehow breached the threshold in making the transition from 1982 to 1882. As we proceeded on down the tracks, following two shimmering rails of lighted steel, we truly felt 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.
The Twilights - Stop the world for a day
Pg 114 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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*
Caffeine is officially the world's most popular psychoactive drug
((((((((((((((((((((P.S. - It is also a stimulant))))))))))))))))))))
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Nov/15/22
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Dec/22/22
iqrabashir871 's review The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 23 - The wonderful workings of a time machine
Reader's Report by Iqra

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Dec/31/22
nehanegi1905 's review The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 23 - The wonderful workings of a time machine
Reader's Report by nehanegi1905
C
P
 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Jan/2/23
alits29's review
C

C
P


 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Jan/2/23
Hajranoor's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 23 - The wonderful workings of a time machine
Reader's Report by Hajra
C
P




 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Feb/2/23 kanchanninawe's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 23 - The wonderful workings of a time machine
Reader's Report by kanchan
C P H
 I
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Mar/12/23
Reviewed by yashodha_95
DD
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Apr/20/23
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Apr/24/23 Reviewed by aamnaaaa
Aa
 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This review was posted on May/7/23
Tayyaba17's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 23 - The wonderful workings of a time machine
Reader's Report by Tayyaba
TY
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If any image on this site is considered to be offensive, it will be removed. If it has been copied without proper consent, please contact me immediately and the image will either be removed, or credit shall be given unto the person or persons responsible. Whether it be an artist, photographer, cartoonist., etc. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
PG 112) Cigar box label for Fine Cigars - http://tinyurl.com/mas7czv
PG 112) Digestion by Henry Gunderson - http://tinyurl.com/mbnpoj4
PG 113) Double life by Jacek Yerka - http://www.yerkaland.com/
PG 113) The Sentinel by Judson Huss - http://tinyurl.com/kn32xb5
PG 114) Coffee - If you're not shaking... - http://tinyurl.com/k4aarts
PG 114) Doors of the night by Vladimir Kush - http://vladimirkush.com/
|