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

Do you hear me… you little bastard? Do you hear what I’m, fucking, saying? Fucking… now!”

He’d never seen his mother more upset! There had been occasions, over the years, when she’d been equally as beside herself, of course. Many such instances. But, never more so—than at that particular moment! At that catastrophic moment—for the United States!

That was exactly what the young man was thinking: A catastrophe. And for the whole, entire, country! Why can’t she see that?

Obviously, anytime that money was to be involved—even when his mother was referring to his “piss-poor, damn, little check”—Jason knew that he probably should not have been surprised. Still, in this highly-atrocious instance, he’d remained shocked!

This was a day—like no other! Ever! In the country’s entire history! Why could she not snap to that obvious fact? And realize that? Why was she so tragically unaware—of what was going on? Just a mere few-hundred miles, from Dearborn, Michigan?

The young man heaved a gigantic sigh—and, dutifully, he hoisted himself up, off the couch. And trudged—out the door. To work!

TWO

“Has the whole world gone nuts?” Jason was positive that he’d asked that rhetorical question—literally dozens of times—under his breath. Well, maybe not all under his breath.

Two pedestrians—who’d shown rather startled expressions—had stopped! Abruptly! They’d been heading the other way—along the sidewalk, there on the north side, of Michigan Avenue. Halted—almost as though they’d been turned into pillars of salt, or something.

They’d simply stood there—and stared at Our Hero! Following that initial, rather-jarring, experience, nothing appeared to affect him any further. It seemed, to the troubled lad, that this was destined, to be the town’s natural state of reaction—to what was so tragically taking place, in lower Manhattan! The inexplicable condition of reigning “normality”! That appeared to be the case—the regrettable situation—in the entire City of Dearborn, Michigan.

This alarming, “non-dithered”, state seemed to have been solidly confirmed—when, probably, a dozen other people wound up staring at the lad, as he’d continued, to his workplace! Or, maybe some of them had gone a little further! Had out and out glared, at him! Who could actually tell, though? What difference did it make? What difference—did anything make? Truly, the whole world was going nuts! The whole—the entire—world! Totally bonkers!

No one seemed to care! No one! Not one person—not one single person—seemed to be the least bit concerned! Don’t you people understand?

They should—every one of them—be emotionally shattered! Over the unimaginable tragedy! The sacrilege—that had just happened! The God-awful “event”—that still may be happening, for all Jason knew! The outrageous incident appeared—to have been no big deal! To anyone! Incredible! Incredible—and yet, sad! So sad! So damn sad! How can this be? How can any of this be? How?

Why should such a hopelessly-uncaring, doesn’t-involve-me, reaction exist? And be so damn prevalent? Was he the only one? The only sane one? The only one—with feelings? With any feelings—at all? The only one to, actually, care? The only one—to, truly, give a damn? In the whole damn, blue-eyed, world? Just him? Why? How could that happen? How is that possible?

Finally, he simply shrugged! Stopped—and shrugged! Hunched his shoulders—then, let them fall, motionless, to his side! The hell with them! The hell—with them all! With every damn one—of the uncaring bastards! It seemed, by then, to be the only reasonable response! For him, anyway! Although, sadly, inexplicably so. In each instance, every motion—every expression—that he’d exhibited, turned out to be completely overdone!

After each one of these, semi-confrontational, little adventures, he would, inevitably, lower his head—and, resolutely, press onward. Ever forward—to his “glorious” job. That storied, fabled, “wondrous”, wait-person position—at that shining Shangri La! The “undeserved paradise”—which was that special coffee shop. Actually—that stupid, damn, coffee shop!

Once he’d arrived, at his heavenly place, of “gainful employment”, the lad had remained grossly upset! More so, even—once he’d stepped inside! Terribly, terribly, troubled, he’d continued to be! Made even more uneasy—by the ghastly-similar attitude, exhibited by virtually all, of the patrons! These dozens—were a bunch of equally-uncaring yahoos!

Those schmucks—these schmucks—who were inhabiting the stupid eatery, all seemed to be “caring less”! Almost all of them! Just about everyone—in the whole damn joint! Could care less!

He shuddered! Yet, another elaborate spasm! Head to toe! And then, he was, again, seized—by the now-normal, entire-body, absolute, convulsion! Then, another! Then, again! Then, again!

His murky thought processes were awash—with images that he’d always considered “too heavy”! “Too deep”!

Every great culture, he was aware, had eventually destroyed itself! Had—as the decades had gone by—totally deteriorated! And all from within!. They’d all—each and every one, of these supposedly-invulnerable forces—had gotten themselves, irretrievably, soft! Irretrievably! (Another head-to-toe tremble!)

The Roman Empire, he further mused The Greeks! All of them! Every damn one of them! They’d all, eventually, fallen! Had caused their own demise! From pure self-indulgence! From their own, self-absorbed, softness!

Jason simply could not “let go”! Could not cut loose—from the overwhelming train, of this kind of extreme, overwhelming, painful, thought! All the frightening images! They simply would not stop! They just kept coming! And kept coming—and coming and coming! Dear Lord!

Was that—was this—to be the fate, of the United States of America? Was this—this damnable day—was it, to be the beginning of the end? THIS 9/11 day? THIS God-awful day? This day—in September, of 2001? Had we become that damnably flabby? That totally uncaring? That deadly self-absorbed? Fatally so?

He’d—finally—begun to “back off”! Slightly! To begin, at last, to start to staunch the horrible, almost-irreversible, flood of terrible, God-awful, haunting. foreboding, images! But, just barely!

Those horrible thoughts—fortunately—had begun, at long last, to gradually turn! To welcome warm, furiously-loved, remembrances—of his beloved, his late, Grandfather Piepczyk.

This wonderful man! This ever-so-kind man—who’d always seemed to be reminiscing. Mostly about World War II. The old man had talked—long, and loudly—about “The Big One”! A lot! A whole lot! Incessantly, sometimes! Well, incessantly—often!

But, there had always—always—been something uplifting. Something really refreshing—about these cherished reminisces. There had always—without fail—been a vital point, to his remembrances! Always this same critical point—upon which Grandpa had never failed to dwell:

The