Time Flying by Dan Garmen Read Free Book Online Page B

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    Mrs Givern gave me two aspirin and a small paper cup of water. I took the aspirin, thinking this was surely a simpler time. The paperwork necessary for her to give me two aspirin in 2007 would have taken half the day.
    Coach MacLaren thanked Mrs Givern and left, telling me to go on to first period and to stop by his office later in the afternoon. I promised I would, thanked Mrs Givern, and walked out into the hallway, hoping I’d be able to remember the combination if I somehow managed to find my locker. I waited for the information to pour back into my head like with the physical therapy, but...nothing. Mrs Givern's office sat at an intersection of hallways, one to the right and one to the left. I stared down both and choosing one, headed toward where I hoped the Junior lockers resided.
     
    Three hours later, I sat in the multi-purpose room used as a massive lunchroom in the middle of the day. Will Curry, another member of the basketball team, across the table from me, next to him, my best friend and confirmed non-jock, Rick Underhill. To my right was long-time pal, Walter Steinberg, like Rick, decidedly unathletic, but an accomplished trumpet player in the band. Rick would be, in the years to come, a 'nerd,' thanks to his knowledge of computers, Star Trek and later, Dungeons and Dragons. Sitting next to him while he ate his lunch on this day in 1976, I didn't have the heart to tell him he'd wake up one morning after a D&D weekend, hungover, naked and next to a large Wiccan co-ed. He'd grab his clothes, run out and within three weeks find himself 'born again,' in a Seminary studying for a life in the clergy. After graduation, I lost touch with Walter, who went on to college, followed by med school, and a career in the US Navy. I'd wanted to fly Navy jets at one point, but addiction and getting thrown out of school tends to eliminate the possibility of becoming a Military Officer. On this day though, Rick and Walter lived the lives of Science and Band nerds, and as such, were marginally tolerated by my jock friends. A couple members of the athlete cast might talk to them occasionally, but only if they needed some help with an assignment from Chemistry, Math or Physical Science class. We sat and ate. Lunch for me a wax paper wrapped ham and cheese sandwich, an apple, three chocolate chip cookies and two small cartons of milk, all purchased from the cafeteria for the sum total of $1.75. I'd thought to put my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans as I left the house and while in the lunch line, found it contained $12, more than enough to get me through the day, even if I had to buy gas.
    The topic of conversation, not surprisingly, didn't include me traveling some 30 years into the past, consciousness somehow sliding into my 17 year old body and brain and taking them over, or about how to get back to the time from which I'd come. We talked discussed the previous Saturday night's broadcast of “NBC Saturday Night,” hosted by Raquel Welch (and musical guest Phoebe Snow, though that part was of no interest to us). I vaguely remembered the episode, but as Rick and Will talked and laughed, I began to remember. By the time I drew a pair of puzzled expressions from my reference to 'SNL,' they were clear I hadn't watched the show that week, which was rare. After all, what else what was on late Saturday night in a world without cable or satellite?
    The weekly critique exhausted itself, the bits redone and shared among ourselves to the point they weren't funny anymore, Will stood up to return his tray and leave, but not before looking at me and saying, in his level, direct way 'I hear you passed out in the hallway this morning...'
    “No,” I replied testily, without thinking, “I didn't pass out. I slipped and fell.”
    “Coach says you're not doing your rehab”
    Damn. MacLaren had talked to Will, and once again, I had no memory of having this conversation 30 years before.
    'He said that?' I asked, my leg starting to ache