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

“Yeah, gee. I never really thought much… about that,”

“You must be the only one who hasn’t,” she replied—laughing heartily. It was a delightful laugh. “My father,” she continued, “he still has his thirty-six Studebaker. Does he have much hope, for getting something… anything… newer? Not so’s you’d notice. Not for awhile, anyway. New? Hah! That would be out of the question. Daddy says that they want eight-hundred… or even nine-hundred… dollars, for a new car nowadays. And that’s just for a Ford. Or a Plymouth… or Chevy. I can’t even imagine paying that much money… for a doggone car! And those prices… like I say… they are just for the cheaper ones. And all the cars… they’re only going to get more expensive. So, I’m quite used to riding the buses.”

“That’s… why, that’s wonderful.”

“Riding buses?” she responded. “That’s wonderful? What’s so wonderful . . . about riding the bus?”

“No. I just meant that it’s wonderful… that you’re wonderful! Wonderful… for not demanding, that a guy has to have a car, y’know.”

“I don’t know where you come from… but, I don’t know many guys. Guys… who actually own a car. There was this one guy… fella I used to date… he had a thirty-seven Graham! But, he always had his nose so durn far, in the air. I guess he figured that he could get any girl that he wanted, to… get ’em to… ! Well, you know . . . what I’m talking about! But, I just thought he was… was… well, I thought he was a real drip! And I wasn’t going to… not going to… to play his crappy game! I guess there are a lot of girls who would, though! Who do! Who have! Who will! You know what I mean!”

The entire conversation had become most illuminating. Grandpa Piepczyk certainly had not exaggerated—when he’d reminisced, so many times, about the past. Our Hero was—in an entirely different culture. It was—indeed—a “kinder, gentler” time. A much more genteel epoch. No wonder the old man—had been so thrilled with the life and times (and the joys) of his childhood.

“Would… would you go to the movies with me, sometime?”

“Yes. Yes, of course! I’d be honored, Jason… to go to the movies, with you. We could even walk . . . up to the Great Lakes. Even walk… if we had time… over to the Norwest, if you wanted to.”

“Uh… could we go to the… to the… you know… to the Great Lakes? Like now?”

“‘Like now’? How funny you talk.”

Our Boy had finally realized that people didn’t use the word “like”! Not in the manner, in which he’d just spoken it! Not—in 1942! He’d probably already hit her with a few other phrases—or expressions—with which she’d not have been familiar. He was going to have to be awfully careful—of his vernacular. Going to have to get completely used—to 1942-speak! (Although he believed that, on balance, he’d done all right. Susan had never made mention—of any strangeness, in the way he spoke. Of course, there had been that “full-body” tremble!)

On the other hand, if he had exposed this beautiful Valerie—to his 21st-century language—he must have said similar things, to Susan. And to Eric. Yet, neither of them had—ever—made mention, of the manner, in which he’d spoken.

He was trying hard—to come up with an explanation for his “2001-speak”. To find some way—that he could explain it away, to this pretty lady. But, he simply continued—to come up empty.

“Don’t, for heaven’s sake, worry about it,” she’d finally assured—flashing, once again, that enigmatic smile. “It’s not that big a thing. I just thought, that the way you talk is… well… it’s kind of… well… kind of unique, y’know. Don’t get so flustered, Jason!”

“Uh… well… you may find this hard to believe, but I’ve never really, ever, asked a girl, for a date, before.”

“That I do find kind of hard to believe. A good-looking lug like you?”

A lug? I’m a lug?

“I’m really not. Not very good-looking, y’know. I hardly even…”

“Jason? Jason… listen to me. You are a nice-looking boy! And you are a nice guy! I’ve enjoyed myself. Really enjoyed being with you! It’s just that I can’t go to the movies, with you. Not ‘like now’. I’ve got a boodle, of things to do. Stuff I need to do… at home. I told Mother… that I’d help her. Give her a hand… polishing the good silverware. She does it once a month. Without fail! We never… ever… use the good silverware. But, we polish it… religiously. Once a month. Big production number… for her. Gives ‘us girls’ a chance to talk, y’know. And she’d be awfully disappointed . . . if I didn’t show up, for the ‘ceremony’.”

“I… I understand.”

“Besides, I have to be to be to work, tomorrow. Early in the morning. Need to be there… at eight o’clock. For a big old meeting.”

He flinched! For a brief second, he’d felt she was going to say, “big-assed meeting”! Of course, he realized—immediately—that she would not have used the vulgarity! Would never have come close! She was “a 1942 girl”!

“We have to get together, y’know, before the store even opens,” she’d explained. “Every Monday. Have to go over… whatever new-fangled products, that’re coming in. Whatever they’re going to be introducing. Merchandise… that they’re going to be featuring. Displays… and all that. But, maybe we could go… could go out… next Friday. Actually, Saturday night would probably be better, for me. Sunday being my day off and all. Why don’t we do it… say, next Saturday night? Why don’t we get together then?”

She pulled a napkin from the dispenser, on the table, extracted a pencil, out from her purse—and wrote a telephone number on it. It was in the Vermont exchange. Same exchange—as the Atkinson’s. Valerie’s number was VE6-0085. One that Our Boy was likely—to never forget! He’d committed it to memory—practically before she’d finished writing it!

That had been something else—that his grandfather had continually lamented. No more telephone exchanges. Not since the late-fifties—or early-sixties. Jason felt sure that Grandpa had told him