Locomotive to the Past by George Schultz (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“Oh… thank you, Mister Atkinson! I’ll do the…”

“You’ll have to join the union,” Eric interrupted. “But, we’ll pay you union scale. It’s a pretty good rate. You should do all right… as long as you work! As long… as you want to work! To really… literally… work your butt off!”

“Oh, thank you… again, Mister Atkinson! Thank you so much, Sir! You won’t be sorry! You can depend on me! Honest! I’ll be the best hod carrier… I know how to be! I really will!”

“Well,” responded his new landlord, “the fact that you’re with me . . . isn’t going to be, of any help! Not for you! I’m going to expect you… to pull your weight! I’m sure as hell not going to… going to… to carry you! I will not stand for… will not put up with… any damn goldbricking! Any kind . . . of goldbricking! The bricks you’re gonna be hauling… they’re made of anything… but gold! Heavy as hell! They’re heavy . . . as hell! And, when you’ve put in a day’s work . . . I don’t wanna scare you… but, after you’ve put in a good day’s work, that thing dragging behind you, is gonna be your butt! Don’t want you to have any misconceptions . . . about anything . . . goin’ in!”

“No, Sir. No misconceptions. I’m sure that my butt will be dragging… by the time, I ever get home tomorrow. I’m fine with that.” (He loved using the word “home”—this home—in that idiom. He treasured it! Cherished it!)

“Fine with that?” It was a more-than-quizzical Susan. “I’ve never heard that expression before”.

Our Hero had to quickly remind himself: He was going to have to be—strictly—on his guard! He was going to have to be, spectacularly, aware of the many differences, in one’s vernacular—that 60 years can make. Which was not going to be made any easier, by the fact that he’d not been exposed—not nearly enough—to the language, and/or lingo, of the forties.

Susan brought in a towel—and matching washcloth. Both were a deep, vibrant, blue. Soft to the touch—and fragrant, with some manner of wholesome aroma. A pleasing scent—one that Jason could not identify. Their new roomer could take a shower—whenever he wished—she’d advised him. Then, he could crawl into bed.

It was only ten o’clock, when Jason began toweling himself off. The water had been as hot as he could stand it. He was certain that he’d gone through a half-bar, of Camay bath soap. “The Soap Of Beautiful Women”.

He’d never been so tired—so utterly exhausted—in his entire life. Not even close! Nor had he ever been so contented! Ever! For better or for worse—he was in 1942. He was—in 1942! Body and soul! And, so far, he was loving it! So far!

He crawled into what was the softest, most comfortable, bed—in which he’d ever lain. A far cry from that dreaded, dorky, lumpy, damnable, old, Murphy-looking, thing. As pooped as he was, Our Hero wound up—unable to simply drop off, to sleep. There was probably some, invisible, force which would simply not “let go”!

He’d just lain there—eyes closed, and fingers locked behind his head—and smiling! Unable to abandon—his most contented smile, which actually bordered, on a monster grin! And it just simply would not leave. Wouldn’t even diminish. He was home! He felt it! He knew it! This had to be home!

It had been some kind of day! Some kind of day!

SEVEN

Jason Rutkowski’s first full day—in his new life—appeared to be starting out exceptionally well. So far, anyway. That happy judgment would remain valid, of course—providing he was going to be allowed to remain, in his new era. That promising prospect, he’d felt—would be awfully tenuous! Would be terribly fragile! Not unlike the completely-unexpected, terribly-frightening, highly-precarious, status of Christopher Reeve’s character—in Somewhere In Time.

That had been a wonderful old movie. As previously noted, his grandfather had bought the flick—sometime in the eighties. On VHS. The old man had “played the hell out of it”—as he’d always told his grandson. After many viewings, the time-travel picture had become one of Jason’s favorites too. He’d seemed to “grow into it”.

Time-travel—he was just beginning to realize, and to the fullest—had always intrigued him. More—much more—than he’d ever realized! Our Hero had not been completely aware, of his beneath-the-surface “interest”! Not until that surprise, magical, train-launched, happening—of the previous day!

The young man had never believed that he’d spent an overwhelming amount of time—pondering such things. The subject had never really made all that much sense. It was the stuff, that heartwarming fantasies were made of. But, that dethatched rationale—had always been it. To Jason, traveling backward (or forward) in time—was simply impossible. Still, the concept—“impossible”, as it had always been—had, continually, held an intriguing amount of interest for him. Plus, he’d been consistently captivated—for years—by Grandpa’s theories. And, not incidentally, by Somewhere In Time.

Reeve’s character, in the picture—once he’d been sent back, to the twenties—had, inadvertently, come across a penny! In his vest! An ill-fated piece of copper. One which had been coined—in the year, from which he’d been so willingly transferred! Immediately, the unfortunate, highly-distraught, young man had been picked up—and, immediately, trundled forward! Returned—tragically—to his former era!

Unable to get back, once again, to the woman he’d encountered—and whom he’d dearly loved—his character simply refused, to eat or sleep or drink! He’d simply sat there—staring into space! Totally consumed—by what turned out to be terminal grief! His death, soon after, had been the culmination of pure, all-consuming, utter, hopelessness! And of devastating heartbreak! And soulful, tragic, longing—for the woman! For the woman—that he’d so deeply loved!

Dear Lord! Could that happen to our favorite time-traveler? Would Jason be—all of a sudden—swept up? Plucked out of some beautiful, rewarding, gratifying, situation? And/or an overwhelming relationship? Simply, arbitrarily, picked up—then, hopelessly, deposited, back, in 2001?

Well, no. Seemingly no, in any case. Not