Chapter One – The Invitation

4.

  Chris placed his heavy duty headphones securely over his ears as he opened the door to leave his quiet office to enter the noisy floor of the Mason Brothers Fishing Boat Company.  He heads to line 4, where Mark Johnson’s team was scheduled to begin to construct a small center console boat for a client to use, presumably, at nearby Lake of the Ozarks..

  There are four production lines at the plant with a team of four people for each line.  They use a single point assembly method where the team builds the boat in one place and they bring the parts required to build it to it.   Well, sort of, because each line has four stations where the boat is moved from one to the next by using a boat frame of Chris’ design.  No matter the boat style the frame can be adjusted to the boat’s size and type and it is moved by the work team to each station called the Baseline, Interior, Exterior and, Finishing Details.  Chris got word that Mark’s team was stuck on the Baseline. 

  “What’s the problem, Mark?”  Chris asked as he stepped up to the foreman.

  “We are beginning to build a center console and Bill put the port side down and Carmen put starboard side down and we’re waiting for Al to weld that aft together and he tells me that he is out of gas for the welder.”

  “Send him to inventory for a new cannister!  Why are you telling me?”

  “You don’t understand.  We are out of cannisters in inventory, Chris.”

  “Oh, I’ll go make a call.”

  Chris turned away from Mark and headed back to his office.  This is beginning to become a habit.  His crews can’t get into a good working rhythm because on inventory.  He was thinking what he was gong to say to Vera this time.  He opened the door to the office and removed his headphones.  The office was small and held four small desks with computer monitors perched on each of them.  These are the desks of the three managers of the plant and their office administrator, Alice Simmons, and she sat at the first desk on the right.  She looked up at him as he entered, smiling but when she saw him, she frowned.

  “Don’t say a word Alice,”  Chris told her as he headed toward his desk, directly behind her.

  “Inventory?”  Bob Jones, the accounting manager, who sat next to Alice spoke up as Chris passed him.

  “Again?”  Maxine Bowen, the property manager, looked up from her computer screen as Chris sat down.

  “Yes, again, Max,” Chris answered her as he sat down.  “Welding cannisters this time.  I have to call Vera again.”

  “It’s not her fault,”  Alice piped up.

  “Yeah, I know but it is her job to make sure we have what we need when we need it.”

  “She knows,” Bob pitched in.  “You should be calling purchasing.”

  “I thought about that, but I don’t want it to seem that I am going over her head.”

  “But you would be,” Alice said as she got up from her seat and walked toward the copier.

  Chris sighed as he reached for the phone that was perched on his desk and paused with his hand resting on the handset, thought a minute about what he was going to say and finally picked it up.  He pressed the fourth button of four that lined the bottom of the phone and listened to it ringing.  It was answered on the third ring.

  “Inventory?””

  “Hi, Vera.”

  “Listen, Chris, it’s not my fault.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Whatever it is you need.  It is purchasing.”

  “Do you even know what we need?” Chris asked.

  “No,” Vera answered.  “And it doesn’t matter, we are low on lots of things.”

  “Would it help if I called purchasing?”  Chris offered.  “Because that is what I am going to do.  I just wanted to give you a heads up before I do.  I didn’t want it look like I am going over your head.”

  “Would you?”  Vera said.  “I don’t mean go over my head but call purchasing.  It seems like I am talking to a wall.”

  “Oh, I will,” Chris smiled.  “Your welcome.”

  Chris hung up the phone and looked at his office mates.  They were all grinning at him, but it was Alice who spoke.

  “Nice move.  Bill Akers at extension 2101.”

  As he reached for the desk phone, his muted cell phone lit up from where he set it on the corner of his desk.  He glanced at it and saw the picture of his family, three women smiling back at him but saw that the phone call revealed it was from “The Boss”.

  “It’s Cheryl, guys,” he told the group.  “I better answer it first.”

  “Hi, Cheryl,” he said into it.

  “Hi.  Sorry to call you ..”

  “Something wrong?”

  “No.  You just received a weird piece of mail and I thought you might want to know about.”

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “A post card.”

  “A post card?”

Chapter One – The Invitation

3.

  As Fred opened the door, he heard his wife yell at him from the depths of their home,

  “Honey, you got a postcard in the mail!”

  Fred put his briefcase down by the door and headed through the living room to the coffee table that was placed in front of his spot on the couch.  Sitting on top of a few envelopes was a post card.  Alverta entered the room from the dining room with a towel drying her hands.  He changed his direction from the couch toward his wife, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.  She pushed him back and smiled.

  “I missed you, too.”

  “Yeah, I did miss you too.  It was a crazy day at school.  Let me just look at you for a minute.”

  Alverta stepped back and Fred looked.  She was just as beautiful as the day they first met in college.  Tall with dark brown hair that normally touched her shoulders but today it is pulled back into a ponytail.  She is wearing a t-shirt that said Best Mom Ever and blue jeans.  Her eyes were a brown-green mix, the same ones that hooked him all those years ago and they are smiling at him now.   He stepped forward to embrace her once again, but she pushed him back.

  “Nope, it is my turn to look at you,”

  Fred complied and stepped back.  He wore a suit today, the dark gray one she got him for special occasions, a white shirt with his St. Louis Blues tie adorned with the Blue Note logo of his favorite team.  His dark brown hair was graying but he still liked it long, to his shoulders.  His eyes matched hers with the same brown-green mix, and they were smiling at her, too.  He is shorter than her by a few inches, but she never seemed to care and neither did he.  This time she stepped toward him and embraced him.

  “I love you Freddie and I see you wore my favorite tie.  Let’s Go Blues,”  she said as she kissed him.

  When the kiss ended and still holding her in his arms, Fred looked at her and smiled.

  “I love you, too.  What are the kids up to?”

  “You know it is spring sports, Michael is at baseball practice and Susan is running track.”

  Michael and Susan are their 17 year old twins, who fight over who gets the car on Saturday night but end up going out together.  They both favor Alverta, tall with dark brown hair.  The funny thing about them is that their eyes are a sharp crystal blue so opposite their parents.

  “So, Al, we are all alone in this big house?” he quizzed her, hopefully.

  “We are,” she whispered.  “But before you whisk me off to the bedroom, I am so curious about that postcard.”

  “Oh, yeah, I completely forgot about it,” Fred replied and turned back toward the couch with Alverta following him.

  They both sat on the couch in their assigned seats next to each other and Fred reached for the postcard.

Chapter One – The Invitation

2.

  Sammi O’Neil drove her soccer Mom van into the garage of her ranch-style home just as the door to the house flew open.  Her fifteen year-old son vaulted on to the hood of the van. She leaned on the horn and he jumped off.  He went to the passenger door, opened it and sat down.

  “Hi, Mom!”, he said as he smiled at her.

  “Martin. So what’s up?” Sammi replied fully knowing that something was indeed up.

  “How about a driving lesson?” he grinned at her, somewhat sweetly.

  She sighed.  He was growing up so fast.

  “Well, you cannot drive from the passenger seat,” she said as she opened her door.  “Meet me at the mailbox and then you can take us to McDonald’s.”

  Sammi walked down the driveway as she watched her son run around the car and climb into the pilot’s seat.  She paused at the mailbox and watched as the taillights turned white and the vehicle slowly edged down the drive toward her.  She opened the mailbox and retrieved her mail.  The car stopped beside her, she opened the door and climbed in.

  “Okay, check your mirror then look both ways and take us to dinner,” she instructed smiling at him.

  Martin smiled back and readjusted the mirror again, this now being the third time he did so, then he looked behind him, both ways.  He slowly lifted his foot from the brake and the minivan creeped into the street.  He pulled the gearshift lever down from reverse to drive, again very slowly pushed the accelerator, or the go pedal down, and they began to roll forward.  Sammi smiled at him before saying, “You can go a little faster, you know.  Just watch out for any kids and don’t forget to stop at the stop sign, not roll through it.”

  Martin laughed as he made sure his hands were at ten and two on the steering wheel.  He slowly followed the road as it bent left to right and he moved his foot from the go pedal to the brake or stop pedal. He shook his head as he thought of his Mom’s names for the pedals, stop and go.

  “What?”

  “Nothing” he said, turning the signal lever up to turn right.  “How was work?”

  “Oh, it was work.  I had to bring a story home to edit for Mr. Blakely, which explains McDonald’s for dinner.”

  “I figured as much.  I got more homework that usual, Chem test tomorrow.  What’s in the mail?  Anything from Dad?”

  “No,”  Sammi said as she rifled through the few letters in her lap. “But this is strange.  I have a postcard.”

  “A postcard?  Who sends postcards anymore.  What does it say?”

  Sammi turned it from the front of it to the back and began to read.

Chapter One – The Invitation

1.

  Through the half-moon window Libby stared at the thin pink-yellow line appearing on the horizon, a new day was here.  She sat at a dark mahogany desk and on the desktop were three items: a piece of paper, a medicine bottle and a glass of water.  She looked down and slowly moved her hand that gripped a pen to the bottom of the page as she readied to sign her name to her last will and testament.  She paused, again, and glanced out the window.  The sky was brighter, pastel colored orange and gold blended with the pink and yellow as the sun slowly rose.  She could see the town now spreading before her eyes. 

  Candlelight is a small Missouri town south of Columbia and, as the old saying goes, if you closed your eyes you could miss it.  It had a gas station and Mini-Mart combo, an elementary school and a high school but its big claim to fame is the Candlelight Candle Factory located the her right, just out of view.  Main street has its City Hall, barber shop, grocery store and hardware store lined up next to each other.  Libby still lived in the Davis family home, a two story house across the street from the elementary school where she has been the school’s secretary for the last twenty-five years.  Tears are filling her eyes.  She blinked and a single one fell down her left cheek.

  She was told she had breast cancer.  Her mother died of that horrid disease.  Libby remembered how the treatments had drained her mom and the hope her father and she had when she recovered.  Then the cancer returned with a vengeance a few years later and she died.  Her Mom was sixty-five years old.  Libby just turned fifty and now she has breast cancer, too.  A month ago she felt something funny in her left breast and she went immediately to her doctor.  Following a mammogram, she was sent to a specialist in Columbia who tested and announced that she did have cancer.  He prescribed the course of action and she went home and cried.  She decided to keep it a secret, but she didn’t want to go through all of what her mother did, alone.  She thought she would rather die so she sat at her mahogany desk finishing her last will and testament, planning to take all those pills and go to sleep forever.

  Libby’s gaze out of her window led her from her school to the ice cream parlor, the Milkshake Straw, located catty-corner from her home and she smiled.  It was the place to go after school when she was so much younger.  Her friends, the gang of six, would go there from fourth grade to high school graduation, almost every day, for a chocolate shake in the far corner booth.  She giggled through the tears as she remembered them, her gang, and she could see their faces.  She still hears from each of them somewhat regularly, a couple more than others.  All of them escaped Candlelight except for her.  None of them left Missouri.  Three of the six were married and had kids, and two were divorced like her.  One of the divorced friends had one child, and the other, like her, had none.  One worked as a newspaper editor in Columbia, one was a teacher in St. Louis, another worked in manufacturing somewhere in Jefferson City, one was a legal aide in Branson, and the other one was a stay at home parent in Wentzville.  She smiled again as she thought of them.  Suddenly a thought entered her head, a shimmering thought of hope. Maybe, just maybe. 

  She opened the right hand drawer of the desk and pulled out her laptop, opened it typed in Sami O’Neil.

A Cup of Coffee

            I first noticed him the day before Halloween. 

I woke up thinking. No, I was desiring, a cup of Pumpkin spice coffee. So I gave in and on my way to work, I stopped at the corner coffee shop named, believe it or not, “A Cup of Coffee”.  I was standing in line waiting and watching the folks in front of me as they stared into their phones.  There were two people ahead of me, a young man wearing a bright red stocking cap and a middle aged woman sporting a blue hoodie and jeans directly in front of me.  Both were staring into their phones.  I glanced around at the few tables scattered here and there around the small room.  A woman was sitting at a table staring at her computer screen as she clattered away on its keyboard.  I smirked in jealousy.  I then glanced toward the window and saw him sitting at one of the two booths planted there.  There was a cup of coffee in front of him, cradled in his hands.  There was steam rising from it as he stared out of the window.  I took a good look at him as he looked oddly familiar to me.  His shaggy white hair was just over the collar of a plaid jacket that looked rather tight  across his belly.  He had a stubby white beard that framed the profile of his face.  I shook my head, smiled and took a step forward following the woman in front of me.  I looked back toward the window to catch the man looking at me.  He smiled.  He had vivid blue eyes with pince-nez glasses hanging on to the end of his nose. I smiled back at him and he touched his nose, then turned his head to look back out the window.  I returned to looking forward, finding the server waiting for me to place my order, so I did.  As I waited for my large Pumpkin spice coffee, I looked back at the booth and he was gone.

The second time I saw him was on Black Friday, you know, the day after Thanksgiving, the biggest shopping day of the year,

On my way to join in the mayhem, I decided to grab a cup of coffee from the “A Cup of Coffee” shop.  As I opened the door, I glanced toward the booths and there he was, sitting in the exact same one he sat at on Halloween.  He didn’t notice me though because he was staring at the ceiling.  I walked to stand in line to place my order.  It was a little busier than the last time I was there but, like before, everyone was staring into their phones.  I take that back. I remember there were a couple of little girls at the counter laughing and giggling at each other.  A man beside them asked them something and they both turned toward the glass counter, jabbering and pointing at the same time.  They both stopped, stared at each other and then burst out laughing.  The man shook his head and spoke to the server.  I watched as the man turned holding a cup of coffee in one hand, a brown bag in the other, and was followed by the two, giggly, bubbly girls.  He handed one of them the brown bag. pushed open the door, and they were gone.  The coffee shop went quiet and I could hear for the first time that Christmas tunes were flowing from the speakers.  Shaking my head, I glanced back at the window booth again and looked eye-to-eye with the man with white hair and beard.  The eyes gleamed above those spectacles on his nose.  His beard seemed longer.  He smiled and nodded at me.  I returned the smile with one of my own and returned to face forward again.  I had already decided to stop at his booth after I received my coffee order.  As I held my Columbian coffee, which was the coffee of the day, I turned toward the booths at the window and the man was gone.

The last time I saw him was yesterday.  I stopped at the coffee shop on my way to pick up the one gift I forgot to get, the one for my wife. 

When I entered the shop, no one was there except for the two attendants behind the counter talking to each other.  I walked right up, and one of them walked to the bank of coffee pots and the other waited for me to order.

“He will have the coffee of the day,” said a voice behind me.

I turned and there he was. 

“Make that two,” he continued.  “Care to join me, Ken?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh, I know all about you,” he said, stepping around me and took the two cups of coffee from the attendant.  He walked to the booth by the window and I dutifully followed.  I sat across from him and he handed me a cup.

“Well,” I began.  “I thought you looked familiar, but I don’t recall from where or when.”

He laughed aloud, a full hearty one, and placed one hand on his stomach as he did so.  “I don’t think you would remember me because we have never really met.”

I squinted at him.  He just chuckled and sat back in his seat.  He looked me over carefully and then removed his pince-nez from his nose placing them on the table.  He leaned forward and asked me, “Do you believe?”

I looked him over carefully before answering.  His white hair was a little longer,  his beard was fuller, and brighter than the first time I noticed him.  He smiled at me and his eyes smiled, too.  A funny thought occurred to me then.  If I really admit it, I probably wondered it when I first saw him.

“Noooo,” I started to say as I laughed.  “It can’t be!  Are you –“

“I remember your first request to me, Ken,” he interrupted.  “Do you remember?”

“No way,’ I answered.

“Do you remember?”

I sipped from my cup, French Roast, was Flavor of the Day, one of my favorites.

“I will give you a hint, a book.”

I smiled.  I remembered.  I answered, “Red Fish, Blue Fish.”

“You still love books, Ken.  That’s why you are such a good librarian.”

We looked at each other as we each sipped our drinks.

“Why are you talking to me now?” I looked at him over the edge of the cup.

“Ahhh, good question.  You see every year I show up somewhere, as myself, to someone.  Actually, to an adult.”

“Why not a kid?”

“Adults who believe pass on the spirit so much better.”

“But kids enjoy Christmas more,” I challenged.

“Do they?” he placed the specs back on his nose and began to skootch out of the booth.

  “Where are you off to?” I asked watching him pull on a bright red coat.

  “Oh, I think you know,” he said smiling at me.  “I almost forgot.  Here is something your wife asked for this year.  Enjoy another cup of coffee on me, Ken.’

He placed a small box wrapped in red with a tiny green bow around it.  I looked up at him and he touched his nose.  He patted me on the shoulder, smiled at me again and said, “Merry Christmas, Ken, and Happy New Year.”

I turned in my seat and watched him walk out the door. 

What do you think of that?!  Enjoy your cup of coffee!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from me!

Greg

Hello friends – it has been awhile I know but I do have a Christmas story coming soon called A Cup of Coffee. Also, I believe I will bring you more stories in 2023. See you soon!

Mark sat at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, staring into space, completely zoned out.  He wasn’t thinking of anything at all.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Mark slowly turned toward the voice.  Terri was leaning into the doorway from the dining room dressed in her gardening outfit of white sleeveless blouse, blue jean shorts and old straw hat.  She smiled at him.

  “Hi honey,” Mark said.  “I am thinking of nothing at all.”

  “Oh, as usual, huh?” she teased as she walked into the room and bent down and kissed him.

  Mark smiled at her.  She smiled back then stood up and started back toward the doorway.  “I will be outside.  Oh, Matthew called.  He wants you to call him back.”

  “Okay,”  Mark said as he turned back to his coffee.  He glanced at his watch.  It was still early.  Terri’s youngest brother, Matt, lives in Candlelight, Missouri near Columbia.  He is a mailman and his busiest time was in the morning.  He liked Matt.  Matt had told him a long time ago his routine as a mailman.  The letters were presorted and were ready for him when he got to work but he had to get the any flats, large envelopes, and parcels, packages, himself.  After that, he had to separate the flats and parcels into the addresses of his route and pack it into trays in the order of his route, grab the circulars, and then organize and load his truck.  Just doing that took up most of his morning and he had orders that we were not allowed to contact him before 10:00.  The delivering of the mail, even though Matt walked most of it, was the easy time.  Mark looked at his watch.  It was only 8:30 so this was in Matt’s busy time.

  Mark rose to his feet and followed his wife outside.  He stood on the deck and called down to her.  “Honey?  When did Matt call?”

  “Oh, a little while ago,” Terri turned to look up at him.

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Nope,” she said and turned away from him and toward her garden.

  Mark went back to the kitchen table and placed his phone in front of him.  He picked up his cup of coffee and took another drink as he wondered what Matt wanted to tell him.  He placed the cup on the table, accessed the phone number for his wife’s brother and pressed it.  He put it to his ear and listened to it ring, once, twice, three times and then the click and the voice of Matt .

  “Sorry I missed your call.  Leave your name at the beep and if I fell like it, I’ll call back.”

  After the forewarned beep, Mark said, “it’s me.  Your sister said you called.  Call me back.”

  Mark pressed the disconnect button and placed the phone back on the table in front of him and reached for the cup.  His phone lit up and rang at the same time.  He hit the accept button and held it to his ear.

  “Hi, Matt.”

  “Hey bro.  Listen, I only got it a second so I will call you a little later, but I was wondering if you know what IDAN means?”

  Mark froze.

  “Mark?  Are you there?”

  “Yeah, I am here.  Why do you want to know?”

  “I can’t get into it now.  We will talk about that later.  Do you know what it means?”

  “It is a Native American, an Indian term, Fox Indians to be specific, and it means time.”

  “Time?”

  “Yes, time.”  Mark repeated.

  “Hmmm,”  Matt said on the other end of the phone,  “I’ll have to call you later.  Bye.”

  Mark held the phone to his ear for a few seconds after the disconnection and slowly put the phone on the table.  What a strange phone call that was and is it a coincidence that he was asking about IDAN?  IDAN.  Time.  The word that is inscribed around the window upstairs in his office.  The window that allows him to time travel to events in his past. Just when he was deciding to let his investigation to figure out the origin of it, go, something is reeling him back into it.  But where to go?  He had nothing to go on.  Nothing.  He had to wait for Matt to call back to see why he wanted to know what IDAN meant.  He stood up and went to the coffeemaker and poured another cup.  He leaned against the counter and sipped the hot brew.

  Mark had returned to the table.  Terri had finished gardening and had left the house to go to the grocery store.  His phone lit up and rang again causing him to jump.  It rang a second time.  He picked it up and held it to his ear.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi Mark.  I am walking now so we can talk.  You know the morning is my busiest time and the time all the bosses are watching us.  I have been doing this job for a while now and you would think they knew the kind of a worker I am.  Anyway, how are you guys?”

  “Fine, Matthew.  I had my gang over the other day for a barbeque.   It was fun and your sister is fine, too.  So what’s up with IDAN?”

  “Good to hear everyone is good.  Tell them all hi for me.”

  “You’re stalling.”

  “Yes, I am”, Matt agreed.  “This is so weird but when you told me it was an Indian word; it made more sense.  I received a postcard yesterday.  The picture on it was in Montana of a buffalo herd and the message said, Ask Mark about IDAN?”

  “Did it have a return address on it?”

  “No.  Weird, huh?”

  “Yes but why does it make sense to you?”

  “An Indian word, a picture of buffaloes.  They kind of go together, right?”

  “I guess but it is a Fox Indian word.  The Fox lived more in the northeast and the farthest south and west they went was around Spanish Lake.  They didn’t see buffalo.”

  “Maybe it is word used by more than one tribe.  That doesn’t matter.  Why do they want me to ask you about it?”

  Mark hesitated before he answered.  It was obvious that Matt didn’t know about the window, but someone seemed to want him to know.  Why?

  “Mark?”

  “Sorry, I have no idea why they wanted me to tell you that it means time.”

  “How did you know that it is a Fox Indian word means time?”

  “I don’t know.  I must have read about it somewhere.”

  “Really, Mark?”

  “Yes,” Mark lied to his brother-in-law.  “Really.  I’ll try to figure out where and let you know what I find out.”

  “Okay.  Well, I got to get back at it.  I will talk to you soon.”

  “Okay.  Talk to you later,” Mark said and disconnected.  He set the phone down, placed his face into his hands and let out a big sigh. 

  The phone sounded again causing him to jump.  He looked at the phone’s screen and read, Michael.  He reached out and hit the button and placed it to his ear.

  “Hi, Michael.”

  “Hi, Dad.  I just got a postcard in the mail and it is telling me to ask you what IDAN means?  What is this?”

To be continued…

Mark sat at the edge of the bed and smiled.  He was listening to Terri snore.  It was a quiet snore, like the soft rumble of distant thunder.  To him, it was calming.  It meant she was safe and at peace.  He looked at the digital clock displaying its bright red numbers of 3:01.  He couldn’t sleep.  He wanted to just lay back and listen to Terri snore, close his eyes and join her.  His mind kept reeling around the window and if there was anything in his past that he would want to change in the present.  He looked over at his wife and smiled. 

  He quietly rose from the bed and walked to the kitchen.  He opened the refrigerator and pulled the half gallon of milk from it and set it on the counter.  From the cabinet he took a glass and set it beside the milk.  He moved the cannister set for flour and sugar to the side to reveal the hidden container of Nestle Quick.  He placed two overflowing spoonfuls of the chocolate mixture into the glass, added the milk and stirred.  He put everything back where he had found them and took the glass as he ascended the stairs to his office.

  Mark set the glass down and walked to the window. It was dark yet he could still make out the shadows of the rooftops.  He wondered what it would be like to simply relive a moment without changing a thing.  Which one would he relive?  The day his kids were born, his first job, and his first hockey game came into mind.  He stood up and smiled.  He would like to relive the day he met his wife.  He touched the window and it shimmered.

  Mark was on the playground of Larimore elementary.  It was lunch recess and the asphalt blacktop was jammed with kids.  He looked down at himself and instantly remembered that he was in sixth grade again.

  “Hey, Mark!  Are you playing or what?”

  He looked toward the voice and saw his best friend Tommy Asbridge holding a basketball in his hands.  He remembered what that day was, and the moment was at hand.  He held his hands out and Tommy flung the ball toward him.  As he reached for it, a girl playing dodgeball ran toward him chasing her ball.  He remembered what was about to happen and closed his eyes.

  The impact was expected but he still felt the pain as he fell backward hitting his head on the blacktop.  The girl lay sprawled across him, moaning.  He slowly sat up and pushed her off of him.  She rolled over and laid face up.  Mark looked down at her.  He recognized her but couldn’t remember her name.  She raised her hand to her forehead and opened her eyes.  First, she smiled at him and then her face changed to one of surprise.

  “You’re bleeding!  Your nose!”

  “What?” Mark raised his hand to his nose and found she was right.  He looked down and saw his hand was covered and large red drops fell to the asphalt.  He felt them being surrounded by other students.  Tommy bent down to help the girl stand on her feet.  He then bent down beside him.

  “Are you okay, Mark?” Tommy whispered to him.  “Let me help you up and get you to the nurse.”

  The ring of kids split and returned to normal as Tommy led Mark toward the building.  The girl followed behind them with her head down.  As they neared the building, she ran ahead and opened the door for them.  Mark was holding his nose as they walked down the hallway passing silent classrooms.  They were in the fifth grade hall walking toward the main hall where they turned right and into the first doorway on the right.  Nurse Amy was sitting at her desk that was located next to the door.  She raised her head as they entered the room.

  “Oh my!  Sit him on the couch,” she said as she hurried around her desk.

  The couch was located directly across the small room opposite the door.  Tommy walked Mark directly to it and sat him down.  Mark immediately laid down on it.

  “No, don’t do that!” Nurse Amy instructed as she sat beside him.  “Sit up and keep your head back.  Move your hands, please.”

  Mark shook his head, no, and said, “It’s broken.”

  “No, it’s not,”  Nurse Amy said. “Move your hands so I can see.”

  “I know it’s broken because I broke it before.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” tommy laughed.  “You missed the fastball your brother threw to you.”

  “Shut up!  I didn’t miss it.  I was distracted!”

  “Boys,” Nurse Amy said.  “Mark move your hands, please.”

  Mark moved his hands and watched her face turn from calm to concern.  She reached up and felt down the bridge of his nose.  She stood and turned to the cabinet behind her and began opening drawers.  She handed the girl a washcloth.  “Go into the bathroom over there and get that wet, please.”

  The girl came back and started to hand it back to her.

  “No, that is not for me.  It’s for you.  Mark get on the chair next to my desk and keep your head back.  You, young lady, lay down on the couch and put that on your head.  You are white as a ghost.”

  Nurse Amy waited while they moved to their assigned places.  She stood over Mark and handed him two fluffs of cotton and said, “Place one of these in each nostril and keep your head back.” 

  She walked around her desk and sat down.  She folded her hands on her desk and smiled.

  “Well,” she began. “You are right.  I think it is broken.  Before I call your parents, who will tell me what happened?  Tommy, why don’t you sit in the chair by the door and you tell me what happened?”

  “We were playing basketball when she butted into our game chasing her goofy dodgeball and plowed into him!”

  “Oh,  I see.” Nurse Amy said.

  “It was all my fault!  I was so focused on my ball that I didn’t see him,” the girl said from the couch.

  “How could you not see him?  He’s a person and he was standing there.  How could you not see him?” Tommy yelled at her.

  “Now, Tommy, hush,”  Nurse Amy interjected.  “It was just an accident.  I am sure Terri didn’t intentionally run into Mark.”

  “I’m sorry,” Terri said, and she began to cry.  “I didn’t mean it.”

  “We know you didn’t mean it.  It’s all right, honey,“ Nurse Amy stood and sat on the couch beside her.  “How are you feeling?”

  “My head hurts,”  Terri answered her.

  “Okay,” Nurse Amy adjusted the washcloth on her head.  “Tommy, go get Mr. Anderson and ask him to come here, please.”

  Mark lowered his head and watched Tommy leave to go across the hall to get the principal.  He looked over at the girl laying on the couch with the school nurse sitting beside her.

  “Hey, Terri,” Mark said.  “I’m sorry, too.”

  Nurse Amy turned to look at him and smiled.  Terri smiled, too.

  Mark closed his eyes and open them.  He was standing in his office looking out of the window.

To be continued…

Mark was setting the table for the whole gang once again.  His entire family was coming over for a Saturday barbecue.  His son, Sam and his boyfriend, William, have volunteered to do the cooking if he and Terri would supply the party place.  Of course, they agreed.  The deck that stood outside the dining room was built for barbecuing as Mark had a smoker and gas grill stationed on it.  A small refrigerator stood near the door into the dining room held the beverages required for cooking as well as plenty of space to keep other items cool and at the ready.  Sam had come over last night and prepared a variety of chicken and beef kabobs and they were marinating in that refrigerator.  Sam and Terri laughed throughout the prep time in the kitchen and Mark enjoyed listening to it from his recliner in the front room.

  Sam was always a kind boy when he was growing up.  When someone was hurt, he would sooth them even when he was two years old.  For Christmas one year, Mark recalled, they had given him a toy medical kit that had a stethoscope, a shot, blood pressure cuff and a box of Band-Aids.  Sam would use his sister’s dolls and play doctor with them.  Mark was hoping Sam would become a doctor, but he was happy that his son became a nurse at Children’s Hospital.  Sam had met William there in the hospital’s lunchroom and Mark wasn’t surprised when Sam brought him home for dinner one night.  He was happy for Sam.  William, not Bill, Mark had learned that the first time he met him, was an x-ray technician.  Mark liked him right away when William joined Terri and Sam in attacking him over his dislike of Tupperware.

  Mark smiled at the memory.  It was an everyday occurrence and running battle with his wife and it flared its ugly head during the dinner they had met William.  Terri kept the empty Tupperware containers in a cabinet above the sink.  Mark volunteered to clear the dinner plates and do the dishes.  There were some leftover vegetables that Mark wanted to place in a container and when he opened the cabinet door, all of them cascaded down, falling on him.

  “I hate Tupperware!” he yelled in exasperation .

  “And you!” Terri yelled as she entered the kitchen to help him.  “Don’t know the value of Tupperware!”

  “What?” he said to her.

  “I said you don’t know the value of Tupperware.”

  “Yeah, Dad, you don’t know the value of Tupperware,” Sam chimed in from the dining room.

  “Sorry, sir,” William added.  “I don’t believe I have ever met a man who didn’t know the value of Tupperware.”

  And with that they all began to laugh at him and all he could say was, “I still hate Tupperware.”  They laughed even harder.

  Mark stepped onto the deck.  It was covered in the shade of the tall, old oak tree, even this early in the morning. He walked to the table that had a rainbow colored umbrella centered in it and sat down.  Terri’s gardening skills were paying dividends as her flowers were looking, well, really nice.  He wished he knew what varieties they were but, to him, it didn’t matter because it looked nice.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  He looked over his shoulder and saw his daughter walking through the doorway carrying a small box.

  “Well, hello there,” Mark said to her.  “Aren’t you here kind of early?”

  “Yes,” Marie said as she sat down next to him and opened the box. “Yes, I am.  David will bring the girls later and I brought you doughnuts.”

  “Boston crème?”

  “Of course,” she said as she pointed it out to him.

  Mark selected it and took a bite.  He chewed slowly watching his daughter as she selected one herself and leaned back and looked at him.

  “And?” he asked her as he took a second bite.

  “I want to talk to you about something, but I am not sure if I should.”

  “Hmmm,”  Mark replied.  “Can I get a subject and maybe I can help you decide?”

  “I don’t know,” Marie said as she leaned forward in her chair and looked over the doughnuts.

  Mark watched his daughter and reached out and placed a hand on her head.  “I see your favorite one in there, too.”

  She selected the chocolate long john and sat back.

  “I went searching for its origin last night,” Mark said looking over the doughnut box again.  “Online.”

  “Dad,” Marie said as she looked at him.  “The window is exactly what I want to talk about.  I knew you would do this.”

  “That’s what I do, honey.”

  “I know,” Marie leaned forward again.  “I know that is what you do but I am worried you will try to do too much.  Did you find out?”

  “I believe it has an Indian origin, the Fox tribe, I think.  But it was going down an awfully long rabbit hole and I decided it didn’t matter.  I should just enjoy it,” Mark said.

  “No, Dad, I think that would be dangerous.”

  “What would be dangerous?”

  Both of them turned toward the doorway and saw Terri standing there with a coffee pot in her hand.

  “We,” Mark answered. “Were discussing whether or not I could climb up that tree right now.”

  “That would be dangerous,” Terri said as she sat down next to Marie.

  Marie looked at her Dad and said, “Told you.”

  Later that night Mark walked up the stairs in an effort to get away from the chaos of his loud family.  He walked into his office, sat at his desk and looked out the window.  His computer screen flared on when he bumped the desk and the family picture appeared.  It was an old one of just the five of them.  He looked so young and, right now, he felt so old.  The floor creaked beside him and he looked over his shoulder.  Marie was walking into the room.

  “I like your office,” she said walking toward him.  “And your view.”

  He turned from her to the window and joined her in looking out the window.  They remained silent for a while.  Mark sat straight up and looked at his daughter, who had sat down beside him, Indian-style, beside him.  He smiled at her.  She frowned back at him.

  “Hey,” he began.  “I wonder what would happen if two people could go back together.”

  “No, Dad, that’s crazy.  Who knows what would happen?  I think it’s too dangerous and why would you want to do that anyway.  We have gotten to a good place now.  There is nothing that we need to do over.  Except for this moment right now.”

  “Maybe not change anything,” Mark countered. “Maybe we could just relive something together.”

  “Dad, you forgot that when you back into time, it’s like you are looking through a window into yourself back then and you know what’s going on.”

  “And you can make yourself make changes to the story, right?”

  Marie got up on her knees and took her father’s hands and quietly said, “I don’t want to make any more changes, Dad.  It is wrong to change things.  I decided not to and so should you.  Come on, let’s go back downstairs and join your family.”

  Mark looked at her closely.  Her hair was shorter than he liked but the firm, dark brown eyes were the same.  They were quite startling as to how deep, dark brown they seemed to hm just now.  Marie’s eyes reminded him of his wife’s eyes when she got, well, stern with him.  He smiled.

  “You are right honey,” he said as he stood up and helped her to her feet.  “Let’s go join the party.”

To be continued…

Mark rose from his chair and wandered over to the window.  He looked out on the familiar scene of rooftops and treetops wondering if the window would even let him go back into the past to an event that was not his own.  He looked at his watch and saw that it was only 4:00.  It seemed like it should be later than that.  Marie should be home from school by now and he removed his cell phone from his pocket.  He spied the phone icon and selected it.  When his phone directory appeared, he pressed the number 4 to speed dial his daughter.  She picked up on the first ring.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “I have a question about the window,” Mark went right to it.  “Did you ever try to go into the past that wasn’t yours?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like did you want to go and meet Abraham Lincoln or see the first space launch, something like that?”

  “No, I didn’t.  It never crossed my mind.  I was more interested in saving my butt from situations I created.  What are you thinking of doing, Dad?”

  “Nothing,” Mark said and ended the call.

  Now he had no idea if he could or could not go into the past to a time that not of his own.  He went back to his computer and double-checked the date of the C. Simon article.  It was June 13, 1964.  He slowly walked back to the window focusing on the date and the place and paused in front of it.  He asked himself, did he really have to find out where the window came from or just accept it for what it is, a magic window?  The window shimmered.  He reached out to touch the window and suddenly turned and walked to his desk.  He sat down and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.  Does it matter to know about the Knights?  But he really wanted to know about the window.  How else can he learn about the window if he didn’t go back to that time and ask the players?  Wait!  There is only one player he needed to focus on and that was the owner of the house, Cecil Burgos.  He looked at his Post-its and found the one that listed his family.  He noticed Cecil’s wife; Brenda’s maiden name was Soft-shoe.  What kind of name is that?

  Mark returned to the search bar and typed; what kind of name is Soft-shoe? And hit the enter key.  The search returned several choices including links to tennis shoes, a company name, synonyms, definitions, the name of a dance, but the one that caught his eye was Indian names.  He clicked on it.  The screen returned a page that had a heading of Fox Indian names and there it was, Soft-shoe.  Behind it was little description of its origin.  Soft-shoe was the name associated with the tribal doctor.  A doctor, in the Fox tradition, was not a medical doctor but one who was believed to have mystical powers to protect the tribe from its enemies.

  “Mystical powers? What does that mean?” Mark said to the air.

  He went back to the search engine and typed in Brenda Soft-shoe and hit enter.  Nothing.  He sat back and wondered how he was going to figure this out.  He typed in Fox Indians in Spanish Lake.  A page appeared of the history of Spanish Lake that explained that the tribe settlement in Missouri was the farthest south as they were typically located north.  The Fox tribe began a relationship with the Spanish contingent that were assigned to the Spanish Lake area, originally called Spanish Pond.  A display is featuring Fox culture is located at the Missouri History Museum in St. Louis.

  Mark began a search of the Missouri History Museum.  The website gave basic information and he was unable to search for the Fox Indian display.  He went back to his search engine and typed in Fox Indians and Time traveling.  He smiled when one link appeared titled Fox Indian – Time travel.  He clicked the link and sighed.  He was really going down a rabbit hole and he began to wonder if it was worth it .  Maybe he should take his daughter’s advice to just enjoy using the window.  The screen appeared with a one paragraph article.

  Fox Indian lore claimed that they could manage time for the betterment of the tribe.  The gift of managing time was the responsibility of the tribe’s doctors called Soft-shoe.  The Soft-shoe assignment was passed down to the oldest daughter of the chief of the tribe.  How the tribe used the gift of time travel is a secret that will probably never be known.

  He sat back again and ran his fingers through is hair in frustration.  He needed a break and he stood up.  He walked to the window and looked out at the all too familiar view.  He would like to go back to a place where he didn’t have a care in the world.  The window shimmered.  He touched it.

  He was in the swimming pool that his parents had set up in the driveway of their home on Congress Avenue.  It was one of those three-foot high pools with plastic runners clipped to thin aluminum sides.  He was on his back staring up at a light blue sky.  He was ten years old without a care in the world.  He remembered this day.  It was one of the best days of his life.  It was game day!  His Khoury League baseball team had a game at 6:00 that evening and it was about 3:30 in the afternoon.  He wasn’t supposed to be in the pool, coach’s orders.  Coach Allison wanted the team to rest on game days.   But it was so hot that day, Mark decided to sit in the pool anyway.  He floated and stared at the sky.  High cirrus clouds floated above him and he smiled.  He could almost fall asleep.  He closed his eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on top of him and the chill of the water beneath him.  He opened his eyes and he was standing at the window.

  Mark shook his head as he returned to his desk.  He decided that he didn’t care how the window worked.  He was going to enjoy it as his daughter suggested.  He closed the search engine on his computer and selected the word document icon that he had started to write his life’s story.  He began to write about the best day in his young baseball life; the day he hit three homeruns in one game.

To be continued…