Time Travel High Jinks

I open the door cautiously, and listen. I have stepped back through time in my rickety old-fashioned time machine. It is just yesterday, but I may be in time to stop them. The Slinky, The Barn Owl and the Rat, they are secretly plotting. I smell it and then see the wisp of cigarette smoke curl upward above the grandfather clock as I peer through the slot between the door and the frame. It must be The Rat. He's the only one who smokes.

I think about tomorrow when I casually strolled into this same room, the three of them looking up startled. The Rat flicked his lighter and inhaled deeply. A wisp of smoke drifted up from his cigarette as his beady eyes settled on mine. He smiled his disingenuous rat smile as he greeted me with his raspy rat voice. "What's up kid?"

"Nada, Señor Raton" I respond, and his little rat eyes crinkle and he laughs his little rat laugh, if you can even call it a laugh, like he always does when I say that. "Well, hurry up about it," he says, "We are having serious business here."

They are playing a game of Yahtzee.

But now, yesterday, they are not. Tomorrow will be going about secretly preparing to do whatever it is they've planned, whatever that is, and playing a friendly game of Yahtzee to calm their nerves before it happens. But now, I strain to hear their voices from the other side of the door. I definitely don't want them to see me. And I don't want to bump into my yesterself. I'm pretty sure I was taking a nap upstairs. The Slinky has a history with bank robbery as the distraction, and oh what a distraction she is, in all the right ways. Charming, sexy, smart, observant. All good qualities in a distraction working a bank robbery. The Barn Owl, he doesn't say much, but I think they value him for his ability to see behind. It is very difficult to foresee the past.

In the shimmering light of the afternoon I hear them plot to kill a historical figure. Isn't that the way it always goes? Of course it's usually Hitler. There must be a time machine traffic jam in his neighborhood. But not now. This time it's Abraham Lincoln. Well that seems a bit excessive I think to myself. However, as I listen I realize their goal is to kill him before he ever becomes president. Easy to see how that would throw a monkey wrench into History. They plan to ambush him after the acquittal of somebody named Peachy Harrison who Lincoln was defending on a murder charge, somewhere in Illinois.

Well, they have a nice new state of the art time machine, an iTravel 12 so there's no chance of chasing them around Illinois in the 1850's with my Relativity Roadster. I'll have to figure another way. I think I hear my footsteps coming down from upstairs so I quickly sneak out back, hop in and clunk on back to tomorrow, slip out the 'present' hatch catching a faint whiff of ozone as usual and walk up the back steps. I glance back at the shed where they keep the iTravel. It's the Fort Knox of sheds, reinforced steel walls and door, granite roof, concrete floor, titanium lock. No way I can tamper. It was originally built as a temporary home for stolen paintings, jewelry and other loot, even before they got into the time travel heists. I check my watch. I've got about an HOUR to come up with something.

My timing is perfect. I walk into the room just as The Barn Owl is taking Yahtzee out of the game closet. "Can I play?" I ask innocently. He looks down at me. "Sure, why not," he mutters. He glances questioningly at The Slinky. She smiles. I am, after all, her son. She doesn't say "no" often. I hate to conspire against my own mother, but, you know, The Emancipation Proclamation and stuff.

The Rat chooses not to play and just stands and stares out the window and smokes, all moody. I can tell he's not happy I've come along. I think maybe he's feeling the time shadow from what would have been. Mom is her usual cheerful self. No sign that later today she plans on assassinating one of the most famous Americans in history. Probably be back in time to make me some cocoa before bed. The Barn Owl is quiet and thoughtful, but that's how he always is. "You can start honey" says The Slinky. I take the dice and begin. Not a great start. I take six for my twos. The Barn Owl takes care of keeping score, which is OK with me. He's reliable and accurate.

As we play I wonder to myself why they are doing this. What reason could they have? They usually go for easy money, but this can't be about money and I don't know that they've ever killed anyone before. Well, maybe The Rat. I'm pretty sure he'd kill his own mother for a stick of gum. Oh well. Adults. Go figure.

The Barn Owl gets his small straight for 30. I ask him something I've always wondered. "Why do they call you The Barn Owl?" "I like barn owls," he replies. That's not too revealing. I've given up asking mom why they call her The Slinky, because every time she just says "Shut up and eat your vegetables honey." No mystery as to why they call The Rat The Rat and it's not because he likes rats. Mom tries for a small straight but doesn't get it so she takes a two for her ones. "But why do you like barn owls?" I persist. He looks uncomfortable, but answers softly, "When I was a kid, like you, there was barn owls around by where we lived, on a farm. I thought they was cool and always tried to find them. People laughed at me and said I looked like a barn owl.” He does, kind of. "I didn’t care. Then they started calling me Barn Owl. That's all." Not the most exciting story I ever heard. I glance over at the stuffed barn owl he keeps on the mantle, but I decide I'll ask about that another time.

As I pick up the dice I notice The Rat twist his mouth and close one eye as he lights up another Camel and mom is biting the nail of her right index finger while twirling a strand of her blond hair with her left. I can tell she’s nervous. She always gets nervous before a stroll down memory lane as she calls it. Luck strikes like lightning as the clatter of the five dice on the table reveals five fives on a single roll. You could hear a pin drop. The Rat exhales a perfect smoke ring. “That’s a one in 7,776 chance punk,” he remarks. The Slinky’s eyes are wide and bright. “Rub his head for luck,” she giggles. And they do. All of them. Even the Rat’s greasy hand makes a quick pass, just barely touching my scruffy tangle. “Hotzee totzee I got Yahtzee!” I exclaim following my mother’s sacred protocol.

We cruise through the rest of the game without much more conversation and I leave them in the dust. On my last turn I get another Yahtzee, and as always the winner must put away the game. I remark that I’m going up to my room to read and mom says they’re going out for a bit. “There are some pot pies in the freezer if you get hungry.” I grab the handle to the door and she says, “Oh, and will you go down to the Stop & Shop and get stuff for S’mores. I thought we’d have a campfire tonight.” The Barn Owl is standing behind her and he stares directly at me. What a look. It is the gaze of one who knows exactly what you’re thinking, or a desperate plea, or both, or neither. “Sure,” I say. “No problem”.

I peek around the edge of the window frame to the yard below. The three of them stroll confidently to the shed, professionals headed off to work. As they stand in the shade of the old oak The Rat punches in the code and slides the door to the right. The looks on their faces are priceless. The magnificent iTravel12 has vanished. Wonder, confusion, horror. It is as if the elephant and the magician have simultaneously disappeared. There are no words. They silently walk a slow circle around the perfectly solid, perfectly intact shed. I think I see The Barn Owl take a quick glance up at my window, but I’m not sure. On a workbench just inside the shed is a long range sniper rifle, but 1859 is a long shot, even for an expert marksman.

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How I used that HOUR

I go upstairs and check my copy of Santiago Beckett's autobiography I Did IT! How I Singlehandedly Invented Time Travel. You have forgotten this book, or more precisely, you never even knew it existed. I've read it numerous times. The actual science behind the machine is a closely guarded secret but he goes into great detail about his parents, his upbringing, his time at MIT, dates of important events and lots of great photos too. I turn to the timeline on page 184. I thought so. I'm in luck.

I dash downstairs, and get back in the Roadster. Destination: Cincinnati, Ohio, West Clifton Avenue, the day after tomorrow. 7:00 p.m. Santiago should have foreseen something like this. I stash my ride behind a dumpster and come around the block. I duck inside Murphy's Pub and scan the bar. There he is. Looks just like his picture. Billy Beckett, dashing he is, in a sweet blue fedora. Just finishing up a beer. I quickly pop back out to the sidewalk. Not likely an unaccompanied 12 year old is allowed in a bar here, though I'm not really up on the laws of Ohio. Besides all I need to know is that Billy is here. I hang out on the sidewalk for a few minutes and see a lady about a block down headed this way. When she gets closer, sure enough, it's Betty Cameron, Santiago Beckett's future mom, a dead on likeness of herself. I quickly walk her way, confused like, and start crying. I'm an all star cryer when I need to be. From Santiago's writing I know she's a soft touch, and I am after all, The Slinky's son. Maybe not sexy but charming, smart and observant. "Lady, can you help me," I sob. I blubber on about my lost dog Rufus and beg her to follow, pointing up the block away from Murphy's and tugging on her hand. She protests a bit, looking around in confusion but follows along. As we reach the corner I glance back and see the door to Murphy's swing shut and a sweet blue fedora moving away from us in the opposite direction. We turn the corner and I point excitedly. "Look, there he is," I shout. "What? Where?" she says. "He went behind that car and around the corner." I hug her and look up into her kind blue eyes. "Oh, thank you lady! Thanks so, so much!" She laughs, shakes her head and crosses her arms and I turn and tear off after imaginary Rufus. Santiago talks about how it was love at first sight between Billy and Betty. But you know how it goes. No first sight, no love. Therefore, no Santiago Beckett. I feel a little sorry for Betty, but a couple chapters later you find out that Billy is definitely a dick. I'm sure she'll do better. Besides, the Emancipation Proclamation and stuff. I zip around the corner and behind the dumpster. I've gotta beat the 7 minute synchro-delay before this whole thing kicks in. I make it with 3 minutes to spare, and time travel is a thing of the past. I hope I'm in time to play a little Yahtzee. I'm feeling lucky.

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They stand quietly in front of the shed and talk among themselves. At one point The Slinky takes out her phone and scrolls down. She taps the screen and raises the phone to her ear. She listens, says a few words, listens again, a puzzled look on her face. She ends the call and puts the phone back in her pocket. She talks to The Rat and The Barn Owl. I suppose she conveyed the result of her call. They all stare dejectedly at the ground and slowly move back toward the house.

That night we sit around the campfire, have S’mores and stare up at the stars. The Rat smokes Camels and mom asks me if I’ve done my homework, which I assure her I have. I think about the things I’ll miss. The travel machine dealerships are all gone, so no more visits to see the latest model, the time tour agencies, my favorite show, America’s Funniest Time Trips, but most of all my worn copy of I Did It!, which along with all the rest of it has vanished into thin air. My reverie is broken by a shrill cry, a couple seconds long, coming from the trees at the back of the property. A silence. There it is again. I look over to the Barn Owl, and he nods, just once.

As the fire dies to embers I wonder what they will do now. Will they break up like The Beatles, or cook up some other way to con a living out of the universe. Who knows? As for me, I like to think of myself as the boy who saved the world from time travel, but of course that’s just between you and me.