Charles Pendelton
       2008 Marty Langdon
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 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, while keeping my finger down on the fork. One usually
puffs that way when using 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. 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, because the world was suddenly beginning to unravel.



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 started to walk 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, and appeared to be 'in malice'. Oddly, he was becoming
somewhat territorial, and that could certainly 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 it was now 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.


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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.

                                                   http://picosong.com/ff6W


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. It appeared as though Captain Jack had given me my own private island!



In the distance, I could see the Hawaiian restaurant coming into view. There were many
lights focused to shine upon that brown metal sign, which bore the name of the remarkable
establishment. As I passed, all could clearly see, the white vinyl letters that have curled up
around the edges, giving it a more pronounced look. Giving it a sharper appearance! 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 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 to love.


Below the overpass, calcium carbonate deposits from rainwater, combined with the
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, on the side wall it resembles a glistening waterfall, white like frozen milk!
One that is smooth to the touch as polished glass; while in summer, parts of the
exterior structure appear to be caked and crumbling, as if it has already begun its
transformation into rock salt. There are some places in Brooklyn, where there are
literally piles of accumulated concrete powder decorating the appearance of the
structure, and exposing the rusted steel used to secure the entire railways 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 eat 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 were approaching the Annadale station.
(It was around the time I'd begin to feel it grow stronger still.) I would
look up to notice a large banner had been draped across the trestle
that read, "Welcome to Annadale Junction," and I became elated!


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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 train stations. In those days, a train stop was called a junction.
And now, I have a strange feeling we may be back in time. Of course I was making it
up as I went along! A chance I could 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 in my head, I imagined we
had passed through an invisible 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
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 which lined the sky.
That immense glory forever fulfilled the pages of hope from a book, I never thought
would be written in my lifetime. One which lay in a dark corner of my mind, long
discarded. Until the annals of truth are revealed, and the days of my life recounted.


Euphoria was coursing through my veins like an analgesic, and I was now oblivious to
everything, except that of 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
mind! Everything was anticipating itself, and I felt at any given moment, I was going to
make the transition from 1982 to 1882! The notion of which had surely overwhelming my
senses! 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.

                                                http://picosong.com/fJCm                    
 

                                                                               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 - http://tinyurl.com/mas7czv

PG 111) Digestion
by Henry Gunderson
- http://tinyurl.com/mbnpoj4

PG 112) Double life by Jacek Yerka -
http://www.yerkaland.com/

PG 112) The Sentinel by J
udson Huss
- http://tinyurl.com/kn32xb5

PG 113) Coffee
- If you're not shaking... - http://tinyurl.com/k4aarts

PG 113) Doors of the night
by Vladimir Kush - http://vladimirkush.com/