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

of this, as a quest! And concentrate… on little else.”

“Quest?” echoed Susan. “Quest? It’s obvious that Our Boy… that he isn’t the only well-spoken person, in the room.”

Eric smiled! Broadly! First time—in a long time! He was—obviously—pleased, with his wife’s comment. Jason experienced an additional, highly-relieved, sensation!

“I think I can help you, Honey,” said Susan to her still-troubled roomer. “I listen to the radio, all the time.”

That was funny! A bit of a surprise! Jason had remembered nothing—but, silence—on that critical first afternoon/evening, when he’d been “sweating out” the arrival home, of the man seated across the table from him, at that moment. Whether the young man would be permitted to stay, had rested, upon the, probably-life-or-death, decision, of a man! A man—whom, at that point, he’d never met! It seemed as though the heaviest silence imaginable had—consistently—weighed down, on his shoulders. For the entire afternoon.

“You’re gonna want to stay away from WWJ and WJR,” advised Susan. “They broadcast nothing, but ‘sob serials’, all day. I seldom listen to them. Well, maybe, Ma Perkins . . . every now and again. WXYZ has Eddie Chase… and The Make Believe Ballroom . . . all afternoon. He’d be pretty difficult to replace. The stuff the station does… in the morning… is pretty nondescript. But, they are a network outlet. They’re with ABC. So, they’re pretty high-powered. I’d have to imagine that they’d be an awfully-tough nut to crack.”

“Yeah. Valerie said… that there were three or four independent stations. That I should go after one of them. I forget just exactly how many she’d mentioned.”

“Yes,” responded Susan. “My suggestion would be… would be WXXD. They’re a small station. They do nothing, but local broadcasting. Cooking shows, you know. Fashion shows. mostly in the mornings. News shows… throughout the day. They play a few records. Well, maybe more than a few. More of them, I think… lately. Seems that way, anyhow. The one guy… I forget his name… in the mid-morning. He’s pretty good. I think he’s on from eleven o’clock… till one or two, in the afternoon. Plays the kind of music… that I like.”

“His name is Henry Bork,” furnished Eric.

“I didn’t think you listened to the radio,” she poked fun at him.

“Well, he’s on during lunchtime. And there is a radio… dont’cha know… in the superintendant’s shack.”

“So,” resumed Susan, as she faced Jason, once again, “you might want to train your sights… on WXXD. At first, anyway.”

“Yeah,” added her husband. And the schedules . . . the schedules of all the radio stations, on the whole damn dial… they’re all printed, everyday, in the newspapers. All of ’em.”

“Jeemers!” gushed Susan. “This has been a very illuminating breakfast! I’ve learned so much… about my devoted spouse!” Then, once again, looking directly at Jason, she added, “I’ve learned a lot . . . about a lot of things.”

That statement—and accompanying, Mona Lisa-type, look—was quite disturbing, to the couple’s newly-minted “Boy”! Why should that be?

Saturday—at a little before noon—Jason walked up, to the Montgomery Ward store, at Greenfield and Grand River. His mission was accomplished quickly—once he’d spotted a pretty little Crosley, table-model, radio—with a chrome-like “grille”, that took up most of the face, of the “appliance”. The “wireless”—with 3% sales tax—“ran him” (an expression he’d picked up, a week before) a little over $16.00.

He stopped at the Kresge dime store—next to “Monkey Ward’s”—and imbibed a ten-cent hotdog, and a fifteen-cent chocolate soda (with two scoops of delicious vanilla ice cream).

Then, after having made himself a good bit logy—weighed down by so much junk food (although he’d never heard that term used, in his new venue)—he trudged back to the confectionary, on Schoolcraft. He was hoping to “blunder into” Valerie. He had tried to call her—five different times—earlier in the morning, only to find her line busy each time!

She was not at the “sweet shop”. So, he bought himself a Bulletman comic book—and inhaled more Vernor’s and Krun-Chee potato chips! More junk! (Our Hero wound up positively intrigued by Bulletman—a superhero, who could fly, by dint of the fact that he’d, brilliantly, invented a “gravity helmet”. The metallic thing—made his head appear to come to a point. Like the tip of a bullet, one might say. Pretty clever, thought the young man.)

He’d also paused, occasionally, to look—fondly—at June!

“Whatcha got there?” It was that self-same June—interrupting his deepness, into the second story, found in his “classic” reading material. She was nodding her beautiful red-haired head—in the direction of his recent purchase.

“Uh… oh, a radio.”

“A radio? You didn’t have… a radio? I thought that everyone had a radio.”

“Well, now, I guess… everyone does!”

He’d worried, for a moment, that his response had been a little too sharp—which was unintended. But she seemed not to have taken offense.

“You’re funny,” she’d replied—then, hurried down, to the far end of the soda fountain, to wait on a newly-arrived customer.

Now, what the hell did she mean by that?

It was—so far—a day, filled with confusion, for Our Hero! He had remained quite unsteady. The result of the happenings—at that morning’s breakfast table! And the earth-shaking events—of the previous night!

Jason had spent 45 or 50 minutes, at the confectionary. Then—believing that fate had not intended for his path to cross with that of Valerie (at least, not at that time, nor in that setting)—he’d made his way home!

Susan was thrilled—that he’d bought his radio. And—although Eric had gone, to do the weekly shopping, at The A&P—he, also, expressed his satisfaction, once he’d returned.

And—he’d advised his boarder—it was time, for his first driving lesson!

The two of them piled into Eric’s prized—dearly loved—Nash! While his host headed out Grand River—way out Grand River—he gave his charge a most complete verbal tutorial. (That had been another term that the young man had, fortunately, never heard used in his new “adopted era”.) Eric’s audible instruction, of course, pertained to driving an automobile.

Till then, Jason could not imagine an actual car—with a standard shift! Any vehicle he’d ever been inside—“back, in the future”—had all been equipped, with an automatic transmission. Eric had mentioned, one time—that he’d