Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

whatever-year-he’d-found-himself, had stopped! Abruptly! And had stared at him! And not nearly as impassively—as had been the case, with those spooky passengers, on that spooky train! That remarkable—yet, completely implausible—locomotive! The one—that had, apparently, transported him—from 2001! That must have transported him—from 2001! How do you do that? How do you explain it? Any of this? His head ached even more.

Not many people, he felt certain, thought that a trip—such as this epic voyage—was even a remote possibility! He’d probably been one of them! As before, he again warned himself, of the fact that all he really knew, from such things—had originated in those few movies. The sparse number of flicks—that he’d been fortunate enough to see. Especially Somewhere In Time. What else did he have to go by? What else could he go by? In this era—his new era—sadly, there would be no wonderful “Aunt Debbie”—dressed or undressed—to guide him!

Well, now that he’d thought about it, he had also seen all three of those Back To The Future flicks—many, many times. That fact was not really that comforting, to perplexed Jason, at that particular moment. Well, there had been one difference between those dandies—and the Christopher Reeves picture. Jason’s watching those movies—hadn’t been quite so upsetting, to his mother. He could never understand—why that should be.

Still, he had never actually believed—that he’d been really hung up, on the time-travel aspect, per se. Not that deeply, anyway. He’d never thought much about the possibilities—of actually going back, to another era. Not really! That had never been a big wish—or wonder—on his part. He never really thought that he’d ever launched a real—a concise, a positive—wish, to undertake such an “impossible” trip!

Again, he wasn’t so sure about Grandpa. Had the elderly Piepczyk long harbored some kind of deep desire—to be transported back? As stated, the old man had never said anything like that. Nothing definitive, in any case. Nothing—of which Jason was aware, anyway. But, still… !

True, Grandpa Piepczyk had always waxed nostalgic about “the way things used to be”—especially in Detroit. Well, he’d lived, in The Motor City—for all his life. And Grandpa hadn’t really traveled much. In any form. Still, he’d always had all kinds of stories to tell. Each one—about the past.

Jason had always been interested—sometimes overwhelmingly enthralled—with those experiences, when the old man would settle in, light up his pipe, and relate them. But—another old bromide—“that was then… this is now”. Recalling those things—at this tenuous point—sent a stem-winding shiver, of inexplicable pain, up and down the young man’s back!

What was that all about?

While he didn’t know the exact epoch, in which he’d, suddenly, found himself, Our Hero figured—just by looking at the automobiles (he was, at that point, walking past another Studebaker)—that, in whatever year he’d found himself, his grandfather would’ve been a mere child. And that was if, indeed, the young man had been, in truth, transported back to the thirties, or—more likely—the forties.

And, of course, that would be true—only if this whole thing wasn’t some kind of really weird, “wild-assed”, dream! Or goofy mirage! Or incredible hallucination! The whole adventure was totally bewildering! Jason was completely bemused! And the mental/psychological fog—seemed to be getting thicker! And thicker! And, relentlessly, closing in on him!

He spotted a surprisingly-small Detroit Free Press box! It was mounted, on a telephone pole—close by the bus stop, at Michigan and Trumbull! “Cattywumpus”—across from Briggs Stadium. He’d already passed by, a number of similar boxes—on his walk down, from the train depot. But, they’d all been empty.

“The Freep”—as it would come to be known, in the seventies, or eighties—had all of their boxes affixed to, literally, hundreds (maybe thousands) of telephone poles. The paper had positioned them—at major bus stops, all across the metropolitan area.

The News and The Times had featured the more conventional (for the era) metal racks—colorful ones, that had sat, on the sidewalk. Mostly outside heavily—patronized stores, auto repair shops, theaters, and restaurants.

Each one, of the telephone-pole-mounted boxes, had, as stated, been empty. That was until Jason had spotted the one single remaining copy, of “The Freep”, left in the small Michigan/Trumbull dispenser.

He pulled that lonely copy from its container. The paper, he noted, cost three cents—amazingly enough. Three cents? That’s all they want . . . is three lousy cents?

And the entire transaction—was an, on-your-honor, thing. A person could pull his/her paper out—and pay for it. Or he/she could pull out every paper—and not pay for any of them. The same, the lad would find, held for all those sidewalk containers—used by the two other dailies.

Most people, apparently, could be depended upon to drop their three coins, into the coin slot. At least, in that culture! It would be, he figured—literally—decades, before the publishers would be forced to convert! Change their racks, to the defensive, “thief-resistant”, almost-armored, fortresses, that were so familiar, to Our Hero.

Grandpa Piepczyk had spoken, often, of these wondrous old boxes. He had told his grandson—that it wouldn’t be long, “before they’ll have to use barbed wire and landmines” to keep the damn newspaper-buying populace, in line. “Keep ’em from robbing the publishers blind.”

The DATE! It should be at the top of the front page! That was what he wanted to know! What he needed to know! What was the DATE?

FIVE

The DATE! Jason could barely hold the newspaper! Hold it steady enough—to read the date! Why was the print so doggone small? Why could he not stop shaking? Ah! There it was! It was Tuesday! It is Tuesday! Tuesday—for heaven’s sakes! Tuesday, January 20th. Tuesday, January 20th—in 1942!!! Dear Lord! 1942! 1942 . . . for heaven’s sakes! 1942!

He’d been right! His worst fear/best hope (he’d had absolutely no idea which) had been realized! For better—or for worse! He was there! There—in the past! In the actual past! Far in the past! Really far in the past!

He’d come back almost sixty years! Good heavens! Six decades! That was incredible! The whole thing was incredible! Totally not possible! Yet, here he was!

He had! He’d made an actual