Then how can I still have this picture of her graduating in a wheelchair?
Because every trip down the rabbit-holes a reset. Then Al just looked at me, to see if I got it. After a minute, I did.
I?
Thats right, buddy. You bought yourself a dime root beer this afternoon. You also put Carolyn Poulin back in a wheelchair.
CHAPTER 4
1
Al let me help him into his bedroom, and even muttered Thanks, buddy when I knelt to unlace his shoes and pull them off. He only balked when I offered to help him into the bathroom.
Making the world a better place is important, but so is being able to get to the john under your own power.
Just as long as youre sure you can make it.
Im sure I can tonight, and Ill worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Go home, Jake. Start reading the notebooktheres a lot there. Sleep on it. Come see me in the morning and tell me what you decided. Ill still be here.
Ninety-five percent probability?
At least ninety-seven. On the whole, Im feeling pretty chipper. I wasnt sure Id even get this far with you. Just telling itand having you believe itis a load off my mind.
I wasnt sure I did believe it, even after my adventure that afternoon, but I didnt say so. I told him goodnight, reminded him not to lose count of his pills (Yeah, yeah), and left. I stood outside looking at the gnome with his Lone Star flag for a minute before going down the walk to my car.
Dont mess with Texas, I thought but maybe I was going to. And given Als difficulties with changing the pastthe blown tires, the blown engine, the collapsed bridgeI had an idea that if I went ahead, Texas was going to mess with me.
2
After all that, I didnt think Id be able to get to sleep before two or three in the morning, and there was a fair likelihood that I wouldnt be able to get to sleep at all. But sometimes the body asserts its own imperatives. By the time I got home and fixed myself a weak drink (being able to have liquor in the house again was one of several small pluses in my return to the single state), I was heavy-eyed; by the time I had finished the scotch and read the first nine or ten pages of Als Oswald Book, I could barely keep them open.
I rinsed my glass in the sink, went into the bedroom (leaving a trail of clothes behind me as I walked, a thing Christy would have given me hell about), and fell onto the double bed where I now slept single. I thought about reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp, but my arm felt heavy, heavy. Correcting honors essays in the strangely quiet teachers room now seemed like something that had happened a very long time ago. Nor was that strange; everyone knows that, for such an unforgiving thing, time is uniquely malleable.
I crippled that girl. Put her back in a wheelchair.
When you went down those steps from the pantry this afternoon, you didnt even know who Carolyn Poulin was, so dont be an ass. Besides, maybe somewhere shes still walking. Maybe going through that hole creates alternate realities, or time-streams, or some damn thing.
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Carolyn Poulin, sitting in her wheelchair and getting her diploma. Back in the year when Hang On Sloopy by the McCoys was top of the pops.
Carolyn Poulin, walking through her garden of daylilies in 1979, when Y.M.C.A. by the Village People was top of the pops; occasionally dropping to one knee to pull some weeds, then springing up again and walking on.
Carolyn Poulin in the woods with her dad, soon to be crippled.
Carolyn Poulin in the woods with her dad, soon to walk into an ordinary smalltown adolescence. Where had she been on that time-stream, I wondered, when the radio and TV bulletins announced that the thirty-fifth President of the United States had been shot in Dallas?
John Kennedy can live. You can save him, Jake.
And would that really make things better? There were no guarantees.
I felt like a man trying to fight his way out of a nylon stocking.
I closed my eyes and saw pages flying off a calendarthe kind of corny transition they used in old movies. I saw them flying out my bedroom window like birds.
One more thought came before I dropped off: the dopey sophomore with the even dopier straggle of goatee on his chin, grinning and muttering, Hoptoad Harry, hoppin down the av-a-new. And Harry stopping me when I went to call the kid on it. Nah, dont bother, hed said. Im used to it.
Then I was gone, down for the count.
3
I woke up to early light and twittering birdsong, pawing at my face, sure I had cried just before waking. Id had a dream, and although I couldnt remember what it was, it must have been a very sad one, because I have never been what youd call a crying man.
Dry cheeks. No tears.
I turned my head on the pillow to look at the clock on the nightstand and saw it lacked just two minutes of 6:00 A.M. Given the quality of the light, it was going to be a beautiful June morning, and school was out. The first day of summer vacation is usually as happy for teachers as it is for students, but I felt sad. Sad. And not just because I had a tough decision to make.
Halfway to the shower, three words popped into my mind: Kowabunga, Buffalo Bob!
I stopped, naked and looking at my own wide-eyed reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Now I remembered the dream, and it was no wonder Id awoken feeling sad. Id dreamed I was in the teachers room, reading Adult English themes while down the hall in the gymnasium, another high school basketball game wound down toward another final buzzer. My wife was just out of rehab. I was hoping that shed be home when I got there and I wouldnt have to spend an hour on the phone before locating her and fishing her out of some local waterhole.
In the dream, I had shifted Harry Dunnings essay to the top of the pile and begun to read: It wasnt a day but a night. The night that change my life was the night my father murdirt my mother and two brothers
That had gotten my full attention, and in a hurry. Well, it would get anybodys, wouldnt it? But my eyes had only begun to sting when I got to the part about what hed been wearing. The outfit made perfect sense, too. When kids went out on that special fall night, carrying empty bags they hoped to bring back filled with sweet swag, their costumes always reflected the current craze. Five years ago, it seemed that every second boy who showed up at my door was wearing Harry Potter eyeglasses and a lightning-bolt-scar decal on his forehead. On my own maiden voyage as a candy-beggar, many moons ago, Id gone clanking down the sidewalk (with my mother trailing ten feet behind me, at my urgent request) dressed as a snowtrooper from The Empire Strikes Back. So was it surprising that Harry Dunning had been wearing buckskin?
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Kowabunga, Buffalo Bob, I told my reflection, and suddenly ran for my study. I dont keep all student work, no teacher doesyoud drown in it!but I made a habit of photocopying the best essays. They make great teaching tools. I never would have used Harrys in class, it was far too personal for that, but I thought I remembered making a copy of it just the same, because it had provoked such a strong emotional reaction in me. I pulled open the bottom drawer and began thumbing through the rats nest of folders and loose papers. After fifteen sweaty minutes, I found it. I sat down in my desk chair and began to read.
4
It wasnt a day but a night. The night that change my life was the night my father murdirt my mother and two brothers and hurt me bad. He hurt my sister too, so bad she went into a comah. In three years she died without waking up. Her name was Ellen and I loved her very much. She love to pick flowers and put them in vayses. What happen was like a horra movie. I never go see horra movies because on Halloween night in 1958 I lived thru one.
My brother Troy was to old for trick and treat (15). He was watching TV with my mother and said he would help us eat our candy when we came back and Ellen, she said no you wont, dress up and get your own, and everybody laughed because we all loved Ellen, she was only 7 but she was a real Lucile Ball, she could make anybody laugh, even my father (if he was sober that is, when he was drunk he was always mad). She was going as Princess Summerfall Winterspring (I look it up and thats how you spell it) and I was going as Buffalo Bob, both from THE HOWDY DOODY SHOW we like to watch. Say kids what time is it? and Lets hear from the Penut Galery and Kowabunga, Buffalo Bob!!! Me and Ellen love that show. She love the Princess and I love Buffalo Bob and we both love Howdy! We wanted my brother Tugga (his name was Arthur but everyone called him Tugga, I dont remember why) to go as Mayor Fineus T. Bluster but he wouldnt, he said Howdy Doody was a baby show, he was going as Frankinstine even though Ellen she said that mask was to scary. Also, Tugga, he gave me some s-t about taking my Daisy air rifle because he said Buffalo Bob didnt have any guns on the TV show, and my mother she said, You take it if you want to Harry its not a real gun or even shoot preten bullets so Buffalo Bob wouldnt mind. That was the last thing she ever said to me and Im glad it was a nice thing because she could be strick.
So we was getting ready to go and I said wait a sec I have to go to the bathroom because I was so excited. They all laugh at me, even Mom and Troy on the couch but going to pee then save my life because that was when my dad come in with that hammer. My dad he was mean when he drank and beat up my mom time and again. One time when Troy try to stop him by argueing him out of it, he broke Troys arm. That time he almost went to jail (my dad I mean). Anyway my mom and dad were separated at this time Im writing about, and she was thinking about divorcing him, but that wasnt so easy back in 1958 like it is now.
Anyway, he came in the door and I was in the bathroom peeing and I heard my mother say Get out of here with that thing, youre not suppose to be here. The next thing was she start to scream. Then after that they was all screaming.
There was morethree terrible pagesbut it wasnt me who had to read them.
5
It was still a few minutes shy of six-thirty, but I found Al in the phone book and punched in his number without hesitation. I didnt wake him up, either. He answered on the first ring, his voice more like a dogs bark than human speech.
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Hey, buddy, aint you the early bird?
Ive got something to show you. A student theme. You even know who wrote it. You ought to; youve got his picture on your Celebrity Wall.
He coughed, then said: Ive got a lot of pictures on the Celebrity Wall, buddy. I think there might even be one of Frank Anicetti, back around the time of the first Moxie Festival. Help me out a little here.
Id rather show you. Can I come over?
If you can take me in my bathrobe, you can come over. But I got to ask you straight up, now that youve had a night to sleep on it. Have you decided?
I think I have to make another trip back first.
I hung up before he could ask any more questions.
6
He looked worse than ever in the early light flooding in through his living room window. His white terrycloth robe hung around him like a deflated parachute. Passing up the chemo had allowed him to keep his hair, but it was thinning and baby-fine. His eyes appeared to have retreated even farther into their sockets. He read Harry Dunnings theme twice, started to put it down, then read it again. At last he looked up at me and said, Jesus H. Christ on a chariot-driven crutch.
The first time I read it, I cried.
I dont blame you. The part about the Daisy air rifle is what really gets me. Back in the fifties, there was an ad for Daisy air rifles on the back of just about every goddam comic book that hit the stands. Every kid on my blockevery boy, anywaywanted just two things: a Daisy air rifle and a Davy Crockett coonskin cap. Hes right, there were no bullets, even pretend ones, but we used to tip a little Johnsons Baby Oil down the barrel. Then when you pumped air into it and pulled the trigger, you got a puff of blue smoke. He looked down at the photocopied pages again. Son of a bitch killed his wife and three of his kids with a hammer? Jee-zus.
He just start laying on with it, Harry had written. I run back into the living room and there was blood all over the walls and white stuff on the couch. That was my mothers brains. Ellen, she was laying on the floor with the rocker-chair on top of her legs and blood coming out of her ears and hair. The TV was still on, it was this show my mom liked about Elerie Queen, who solve crimes.
The crime that night had been nothing like the bloodlessly elegant problems Ellery Queen unraveled; it had been a slaughter. The ten-year-old boy who stopped to pee before going out trick-or-treating came back from the bathroom in time to see his drunken, roaring father split the head of Arthur Tugga Dunning as Tugga tried to crawl into the kitchen. Then he turned and saw Harry, who raised the Daisy air rifle and said, Leave me alone, Daddy, or Ill shoot you.
Dunning rushed at the boy, swinging the bloody hammer. Harry fired the air rifle at him (I could hear the ka-chow sound it must have made, even if I had never fired one myself), then dropped it and ran for the bedroom he shared with the now-deceased Tugga. His father had neglected to shut the front door when he came in, and somewhereit sounded 1000 miles away, the janitor had writtenneighbors were shouting and trick-or-treating kids were screaming.
Dunning would almost certainly have killed the remaining son as well, if he hadnt tripped on the overturned rocker-chair. He went sprawling, got up, and ran down to his younger sons room. Harry was trying to crawl under the bed. His father hauled him out and fetched him a lick on the side of the head that surely would have killed the boy if the fathers hand hadnt slipped on the bloody handle; instead of splitting Harrys skull, the hammerhead had only caved in part of it above the right ear.
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I didnt pass out but almost. I kept crawling for under the bed and I hardly felt him hit my leg at all but he did and broke it in 4 diferent places.
A man from down the block who had been out canvassing the neighborhood for candy with his daughter came running in at that point. In spite of the slaughter in the living room, the neighbor had the presence of mind to grab the ash shovel out of the tool bucket beside the kitchen woodstove. He slugged Dunning in the back of the head with it while the man was trying to turn the bed over and get at his bleeding, semiconscious son.
Afterwards I went uncontchus like Ellen only I was lucky I woke up. The doctors said they might have to ampantate my leg but in the end they didnt.
No, he had kept the leg and eventually become a janitor at Lisbon High School, known to generations of students as Hoptoad Harry. Would the kids have been kinder if theyd known the origin of the limp? Probably not. Although emotionally delicate and eminently bruisable, teenagers are short on empathy. That comes later in life, if it comes at all.
October of 1958, Al said in his harsh dog-bark voice. Am I supposed to believe thats a coincidence?
I remembered what Id said to the teenage version of Frank Anicetti about the Shirley Jackson story and smiled. Sometimes a cigar is just a smoke and a coincidence is just a coincidence. All I know is that were talking about another watershed moment.
And I didnt find this story in the Enterprise because?
It didnt happen around here. It happened in Derry, upstate. When Harry was well enough to get out of the hospital, he went to live with his uncle and aunt in Haven, about twenty-five miles south of Derry. They adopted him and put him to work on the family farm when it became clear he couldnt keep up in school.
Sounds like Oliver Twist, or something.
No, they were good to him. Remember there were no remedial classes in those days, and the phrase mentally challenged hadnt been invented yet
I know, Al said dryly. Back then, mentally challenged means youre either a feeb, a dummy, or just plain addlepated.
But he wasnt then and he isnt now, I said. Not really. I think mostly it was the shock, you know? The trauma. It took him years to recover from that night, and by the time he did, school was behind him.
At least until he went back for his GED, and by then he was middle-aged going on old. Al shook his head. What a waste.
Bullshit, I said. A good life is never wasted. Could it have been better? Yes. Can I make that happen? Based on yesterday, maybe I can. But thats really not the point.
Then what is? Because to me this looks like Carolyn Poulin all over again, and that case is already proved. Yes, you can change the past. And no, the world doesnt just pop like a balloon when you do it. Would you pour me a fresh cup of coffee, Jake? And get yourself one while youre at it. Its hot, and you look like you could use one.
While I was pouring the coffee, I spied some sweet rolls. When I offered him one, he shook his head. Solid food hurts going down. But if youre determined to make me swallow calories, theres a six-pack of Ensure in the fridge. In my opinion it tastes like chilled snot, but I can choke it down.
When I brought it in one of the wine goblets Id spied in his cupboard, he laughed hard. Think thatll make it taste any better?
Maybe. If you pretend its pinot noir.
He drank half of it, and I could see him struggling with his gorge to keep it down. That was a battle he won, but he pushed the goblet away and picked up the coffee mug again. Didnt drink from it, just wrapped his hands around it, as if trying to take some of its warmth into himself. Watching this, I recalculated the amount of time he might have left.
So, he said. Why is this different?
If he hadnt been so sick, he would have seen it for himself. He was a bright guy. Because Carolyn Poulin was never a very good test case. You didnt save her life, Al, only her legs. She went on to have a good but completely normal existence on both tracksthe one where Cullum shot her and the one where you stepped in. She never married on either track. There were no kids on either track. Its like I fumbled. No offense, Al, but what you did was like a doctor saving an infected appendix. Great for the appendix, but its never going to do anything vital even if its healthy. Do you see what Im saying?
Yes. But I thought he looked a little peeved. Carolyn Poulin looked like the best I could do, buddy. At my age, time is limited even when youre healthy. I had my eyes on a bigger prize.
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Im not criticizing. But the Dunning family makes a better test case, because its not just a young girl paralyzed, terrible as something like that must have been for her and her family. Were talking about four people murdered and a fifth maimed for life. Also, we know him. After he got his GED, I brought him down to the diner for a burger, and when you saw his cap and gown, you paid. Remember that?
Yeah. Thats when I took the picture for my Wall.
If I can do thisif I can stop his old man from swinging that hammerdo you think that picture will still be there?
I dont know, Al said. Maybe not. I might not even remember it was there in the first place.
That was a little too theoretical for me, and I passed it without comment. And think about the three other kidsTroy, Ellen, and Tugga. Surely some of them will get married if they live to grow up. And maybe Ellen becomes a famous comedian. Doesnt he say in there that she was as funny as Lucille Ball? I leaned forward. The only thing I want is a better example of what happens when you change a watershed moment. I need that before I go monkeying with something as big as the Kennedy assassination. What do you say, Al?
I say that I see your point. Al struggled to his feet. It was painful to watch him, but when I started to get up, he waved me back. Nah, stay there. Ive got something for you. Its in the other room. Ill get it.
7
It was a tin box. He handed it to me and told me to carry it into the kitchen. He said it would be easier to lay stuff out on the table. When we were seated, he unlocked it with a key he wore around his neck. The first thing he took out was a bulky manila envelope. He opened it and shook out a large and untidy pile of paper money. I plucked one leaf from all that lettuce and looked at it wonderingly. It was a twenty, but instead of Andrew Jackson on the face, I saw Grover Cleveland, who would probably not be on anyones top ten list of great American presidents. On the back was a locomotive and a steamship that looked destined for a collision beneath the words FEDERAL RESERVE NOTE.
This looks like Monopoly money.
Its not. And theres not as much there as it probably looks like, because there are no bills bigger than a twenty. These days, when a fill-up can run you thirty, thirty-five dollars, a fifty raises no eyebrows even at a convenience store. Back then its different, and raised eyebrows you dont need.
This is your gambling dough?
Some. Its mostly my savings. I worked as a cook between 58 and 62, same as here, and a man on his own can save a lot, especially if he dont run with expensive women. Which I didnt. Or cheap ones, for that matter. I stayed on friendly terms with everybody and got close to nobody. I advise you to do the same. In Derry, and in Dallas, if you go there. He stirred the money with one thin finger. Theres a little over nine grand, best I can remember. It buys what sixty would today.
I stared at the cash. Money comes back. It stays, no matter how many times you use the rabbit-hole. Wed been over this point, but I was still trying to get it through my head.
Yeah, although its still back there, toocomplete reset, remember?
Isnt that a paradox?
He looked at me, haggard, patience wearing thin. I dont know. Asking questions that dont have answers is a waste of time, and I dont have much.
Sorry, sorry. What else have you got in there?
Not much. But the beauty of it is that you dont need much. It was a very different time, Jake. You can read about it in the history books, but you cant really understand it until youve lived there for awhile. He passed me a Social Security card. The number was 005-52-0223. The name was George T. Amberson. Al took a pen out of the box and handed it to me. Sign it.
I took the pen, which was a promotional giveaway. Written on the barrel was TRUST YOUR CAR TO THE MAN WHO WEARS THE STAR TEXACO. Feeling a little like Daniel Webster making his pact with the devil, I signed the card. When I tried to give it back to him, he shook his head.
The next item was George T. Ambersons Maine drivers license, which stated I was six feet five, blue eyes, brown hair, weight one-ninety. I had been born on April 22, 1923, and lived at 19 Bluebird Lane in Sabattus, which happened to be my 2011 address.
Six-five about right? Al asked. I had to guess.
Close enough. I signed the drivers license, which was your basic piece of cardboard. Color: Bureaucratic Beige. No photo?
State of Maines years away on that, buddy. The other forty-eight, too.
Forty-eight?
Hawaii wont be a state until next year.
Oh. I felt a little out of breath, as if someone had just punched me in the gut. So you get stopped for speeding, and the cop just assumes you are who this card claims you are?
Why not? If you say something about a terrorist attack in 1958, people are gonna think youre talking about teenagers tipping cows. Sign these, too.
He handed me a Hertz Courtesy Card, a Cities Service gas card, a Diners Club card, and an American Express card. The Amex was celluloid, the Diners Club cardboard. George Ambersons name was on them. Typed, not printed.
You can get a genuine plastic Amex card next year, if you want.
I smiled. No checkbook?
I coulda got you one, but what good would it do you? Any paperwork I filled out on George Ambersons behalf would be lost in the next reset. Also any cash I put into the account.
Oh. I felt like a dummy. Right.
Dont get down on yourself, all this is still new to you. Youll want to start an account, though. Id suggest no more than a thousand. Keep most of the dough in cash, and where you can grab it.
In case I have to come back in a hurry.
Right. And the credit cards are just identity-backers. The actual accounts I opened to get them are going to be wiped out when you go back through. They might come in handy, thoughyou can never tell.
Does George get his mail at Nineteen Bluebird Lane?
In 1958, Bluebird Lanes just an address on a Sabattus plat map, buddy. The development where you live hasnt been built yet. If anybody asks you about that, just say its a business thing. Theyll buy it. Business is like a god in 58everybody worships it but nobody understands it. Here.
He tossed me a gorgeous mans wallet. I gaped at it. Is this ostrich?
I wanted you to look prosperous, Al said. Find some pictures to put in it along with your identification. I got you some other odds and ends, too. More ballpoint pens, one a fad item with a combination letter-opener and ruler on the end. A Scripto mechanical pencil. A pocket protector. In 58 theyre considered necessary, not nerdy. A Bulova watch on a Speidel chrome expansion bandall the cool cats will dig that one, daddy. You can sort the rest out for yourself. He coughed long and hard, wincing. When he stopped, sweat was standing out on his face in large drops.
Al, when did you put all this together?
When I realized I wasnt going to make it into 1963, I left Texas and came home. I already had you in mind. Divorced, no children, smart, best of all, young. Oh, here, almost forgot. This is the seed everything else grew from. Got the name off a gravestone in the St. Cyrils boneyard and just wrote an application letter to the Maine Secretary of State.
He handed me my birth certificate. I ran my fingers over the embossed franking. It had a silky official feel.
When I looked up, I saw hed put another sheet of paper on the table. It was headed SPORTS 19581963. Dont lose it. Not only because its your meal ticket, but because youd have a lot of questions to answer if it fell into the wrong hands. Especially when the picks start to prove out.
I started to put everything back into the box, and he shook his head. Ive got a Lord Buxton briefcase for you in my closet, all nicely battered around the edges.
I dont need itIve got my backpack. Its in the trunk of my car.
He looked amused. Where youre going, nobody wears backpacks except Boy Scouts, and they only wear them when theyre going on hikes and Camporees. Youve got a lot to learn, buddy, but if you step careful and dont take chances, youll get there.
I realized I was really going to do this, and it was going to happen right away, with almost no preparation. I felt like a visitor to the London docks of the seventeenth century who suddenly becomes aware hes about to be shanghaied.
But what do I do? This came out in a near bleat.
He raised his eyebrowsbushy and now as white as the thinning hair on his head. You save the Dunning family. Isnt that what weve been talking about?
I dont mean that. What do I do when people ask me how I make my living? What do I say?
Your rich uncle died, remember? Tell them youre piecing your windfall inheritance out a little at a time, making it last long enough for you to write a book. Isnt there a frustrated writer inside every English teacher? Or am I wrong about that?
Actually, he wasnt.
He sat looking at mehaggard, far too thin, but not without sympathy. Perhaps even pity. At last he said, very softly, Its big, isnt it?
It is, I said. And Al man Im just a little guy.
You could say the same of Oswald. A pipsqueak who shot from ambush. And according to Harry Dunnings theme, his fathers just a mean drunk with a hammer.
Hes not even that anymore. He died of acute stomach poisoning in Shawshank State Prison. Harry said it was probably bad squeeze. Thats
I know what squeeze is. I saw plenty when I was stationed in the Philippines. Even drank some, to my sorrow. But hes not dead where youre going. Oswald, either.
Al I know youre sick, and I know youre in pain. But can you come down to the diner with me? I For the first and last time, I used his habitual form of address. Buddy, I dont want to start this alone. Im scared.
Wouldnt miss it. He hooked a hand under his armpit and stood up with a grimace that rolled his lips back to the gumlines. You get the briefcase. Ill get dressed.
