The memo said please answer the attached questionnaire. I thought ok I looked at it and smiled. Question one asked what era in history you would choose to live in? Question two asked why and where. Of course I had seen the questions before. They were from the questionnaire the psychologists used to determine the proper placement of the evacuees. But there are only five of us left to go. There aren’t any psychologists left to review the questions. Most of them have gone back to Vienna to study under Freud. It has always made me wonder. Did we create Freud by sending so many students back to that time? The butterfly effect. I know it doesn’t exist I’ve gone back into history most of my life. Studied history first hand. I know the rules we followed when time travel started. Stupid rules like don’t touch anything, do not speak to anyone. Everyone was so afraid of ripping the fabric of time. The events happen no matter what you do to change them. It’s like if I go back to stop Oswald from killing Kennedy. I get stopped by traffic or get lost. Something always happens to stop me. One guy got stopped twenty-two times. He even tried to make Oswald late by chatting him up. Talked to him for twenty minutes. Kennedy was twenty minutes late.
Really people are people no matter where you go in history. I remember when I saw Jesus the first time. I mentioned to a fellow I had met from Nazareth that I thought he’d be taller. He told me everyone said that.
One thing I can tell you history is full of just plain hard work. I rode a cattle drive with John Chisum. I was so tired at the end of the drive. I sure didn’t go to a saloon. I went right to the hotel and slept for two days. Mr.. Chisum worked us hard, but he was fair. We’ve become spoiled. Now days to us work is sitting behind a desk. Most of history is about working to keep food on the table.
There’s a lot of poverty and illness in history too. Then there’s slavery I wish I could say it only happened here or there, but whenever someone got a little power over anyone, they end up forcing their will on the weak. I saw Mr. Lincoln speak against slavery in Springfield. He was magnificent and was truly able to move a crowd.
I guess I should answer the questions now. I won’t though. The world ends in three days, but I’ve made up my mind. I could never decide where or when and someone has to stay and turn the lights off when everyone else has left.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
The Good Child
The sign said “Forbidden” she had seen the word before. It meant she couldn’t go in. She would never disobey the sign. She listened to her parents. She ate all her peas at dinner. She turned around and went home. She was a good child
She woke up scared. The dream again. This was the third night. She put her head into her pillow and cried herself to sleep. She was eight on her birthday. The next day she helped her mother around the house. She did her chores. Helped with dinner. She was a good child.
She returned to the building. The sign was still there. She wondered why someone had put the sign up? The doors had locks on them. She used to come here every Thursday night. Her parents told her that it was the only time it was open, when they didn’t have to work. She would wait patiently for Thursday. She never complained. She was a good child.
While she helped her father in the garden she thought about the building. It had been closed for a month now. Would it ever be open again? That night she had the nightmare again. She reached under her bed and found a book. It was about dogs. She had read it the first time when she was three. But she read it again. She went back to sleep. She was a good child.
When she went to the building again an old man was waiting at the steps. The sign was still there. She asked the man why the building was closed. You were here when they closed it. Remember the men in the uniforms? The men who burned all the books. She had thought it was a nightmare. It was real. She remembered the old man now. He was the librarian. He looked sad. He smiled and handed her a book. A new book. She looked at it and handed it back to him, crying. She was a good child.
She woke up scared. The dream again. This was the third night. She put her head into her pillow and cried herself to sleep. She was eight on her birthday. The next day she helped her mother around the house. She did her chores. Helped with dinner. She was a good child.
She returned to the building. The sign was still there. She wondered why someone had put the sign up? The doors had locks on them. She used to come here every Thursday night. Her parents told her that it was the only time it was open, when they didn’t have to work. She would wait patiently for Thursday. She never complained. She was a good child.
While she helped her father in the garden she thought about the building. It had been closed for a month now. Would it ever be open again? That night she had the nightmare again. She reached under her bed and found a book. It was about dogs. She had read it the first time when she was three. But she read it again. She went back to sleep. She was a good child.
When she went to the building again an old man was waiting at the steps. The sign was still there. She asked the man why the building was closed. You were here when they closed it. Remember the men in the uniforms? The men who burned all the books. She had thought it was a nightmare. It was real. She remembered the old man now. He was the librarian. He looked sad. He smiled and handed her a book. A new book. She looked at it and handed it back to him, crying. She was a good child.
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