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

that his phone—when he was a child—had also been, in the “enchanted” Vermont exchange. It was, lamented the old man, “one more charming tradition. One that bit the damn dust . . . in the fifties, or the sixties”.

“Why don’t you call me?’ suggested Valerie, handing him the, suddenly-invaluable, paper napkin. “Call me anytime. Well, after seven-thirty… in the evening… is best. We can decide, then, what movie… we might want to go see. And be able to figure out the time… what time… that the pictures are playing. And we can, maybe, figure out… from there… when we should get together, y’know. In the meantime… would you like to walk me home?”

Valerie lived on Coyle Street—a block-and-a-half south of Cadillac Elementary. It was a most pleasant walk—during which the pair didn’t say much. Jason’s brain was whirring—at breakneck speed! Trying his “durndest”—to come up with some manner of conversation! Something—anything—with which he could further relate, to this really wonderful lady.

But—with less than two weeks, having been spent, in 1942—he felt as though he was not steeped, nearly enough, in late-thirties/early-forties lore. Not nearly enough—to carry on even a halfway-intelligent dialogue. A distinct disadvantage, he’d reasoned.

How he wished that he’d listened even more closely—and more often—to Grandpa Piepczyk! The man was always spouting off—about the “glorious” past.

Even Grandma Piepczyk used to fuss at her husband—for being too nostalgic. “You can’t keep on… continue on… living in the past, Richard,” she’d admonished—on numerous occasions. True, the young man reasoned. But still, most of what the old man had to say—had, always, to do with the forties, fifties, and the sixties. Sometimes even the seventies.

He’d always had plenty to say, about what had been happening—when he was growing up. Endlessly comparing those “kinder/gentler” conditions—with current events (very few of which thrilled him). A goodly portion of his upbringing—was happening, right about now! For our favorite time-traveler, this was a most-significant consideration!

Jason’s new acquaintance—he could barely be bold enough, even in his own private thoughts, to think of her, as his “girl”—lived in a nice, art-deco, two-story, house. One that looked, just the slightest bit, like the hallowed Atkinson home. It even had an “S” shaped walk, up to the fairly-large porch. The “S” was slightly more pronounced—than that, of his current residence.

Our Boy had never felt nearly so sophomoric. Never—in his life. Wanting to kiss this lady—in the worst way. Just like some stumbling high school kid, on his first date. (In point of fact, his “clumsy” situation—was not that far-removed from reality.)

Actually, he was—for all practical purposes—truly on his first date. He’d never really dated anyone—in his “home era”. Not in what he’d considered to be the truest sense of the word.

Oh, he supposed, he had “dated” a few girls—but, he’d never really gotten to the highly-sought-after, the well-known, “first base” with them. Not with any of these young women. “Second base”? What the hell was that? To Jason, that was—literally—out of the question! And he’d seldom—ever—allowed himself to even ponder “third base”. “Home plate”? He didn’t really know enough about “scoring”, to so much as even fantasize about reaching “home plate”! (Well, not much fantasizing, anyway.)

Lorna—his buddy, at the wondrous coffee shop—had been right. He was retarded. Especially when it came to girls. With them, he’d been totally out of his element! A state of being, that was—at this “crucial” point—coming back to haunt him! Miserably! To cause him an almost-conniption—as he walked along Coyle Street, with this “sweet young thing”.

Looking “back”, there’d been precious-little else—other than “scoring”, always “scoring”—on virtually all, of the dozens, of inane TV sitcoms. That also went for the supposed-serious “dramas”, that the networks constantly churned out. “Scoring” was, usually, the one-and-only thing—that had ever been played out. The common denominator! The only thing, that had ever been emphasized, on television, in the, one-track, world—from which he’d just come.

But, he had always known—had always been lead-pipe certain—that reality could never be like that! Not in the manner that it was constantly depicted—“on the tube”. Nothing—he was positive—even close! That would especially hold true—here, in this far more reserved era! The one in which he’d now found himself! So, he was feeling doubly helpless! In way over his head!

He’d—never before—experienced what he was feeling, at that moment! Had never felt anything—anything close—to what he was feeling, at that moment! The puzzling emotions, that were overwhelming him—toward this beautiful Valerie Krenwinkle!

He’d known—“forever”—that, what he’d always felt toward “Aunt Debbie”, had been nothing more, than an oversized crush! A totally-impossible situation! Given that she was at least 20 years his senior! Wishful thinking, though—unrealistic, as it undeniably was—had always prevailed, in his, consistently-overheated, imagination! Pure and simple! And—down deep—he’d always known that! But, this . . . ?

Another consideration: Outside of his mother’s constantly parading around the apartment—totally, in the nude—the closest he’d ever come, to seeing an actual female form (except, of course, on TV) was the ever-beautiful “Aunt Debbie”.

She did wear those short—exceptionally tight—skirts. And she seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of different-colored (and different-patterned) panties. Jason could’ve considered himself an authority—when it came to those exciting undergarments! Though most of those intimate “dandies” were somewhat diaphanous, it still wasn’t anything like beholding the “real thing”! Not even close! How he’d constantly longed—to ever see this gorgeous lady, sans her clothing! All her clothing! Another “impossible dream”!

His completely-confused emotions—toward this Valerie—though! They were brand spanking new! And gloriously wonderful! Even more satisfying, was the fact that they all seemed to be—well—clean! That seemed to be the one word—that continued to ricochet, through his fevered brain! Clean! Yesssss! Clean and fresh! And, yes, wholesome! And—and new!

He certainly didn’t want to offend this new—this very beautiful—addition, to his life! Therefore, he felt as though an attempt, at even one kiss—after having known her, for such a brief time—would put her off. Put her way off! Big time—as they used to say. Back in the 21st century!

As they’d walked up—to her parents’ home (Jason noted the Studebaker, in the driveway), he took her