Time Drifters

It was called The Truth is Stranger Than Science Fiction Fair.

Ms Kretch from eighth grade had us gather, along with Sandra, a girl from her class, to tell us about it. She said the teachers from the other school had wanted to get TV cameras out to the event—something about funding for science departments—so they were going for “this very unique concept,” as she put it. I didn’t know how my drawing and animation project was going to stand out, but I had the projector and she seemed pleased about that.

Apart from a sign taped to the wall of the gymnasium, the only thing that seemed to be Sci-Fi about the Fair was someone dressed up in a silver robot costume. All the older grown-ups thought this was very funny. It was supposedly from a TV show about Space. “Danger, Danger!” they kept saying, laughing as they imitated the robot’s arms which looked like vents from a clothes dryer. In fact, I think they were.

Mom had dropped me off and stayed long enough to make sure all of my display boards were securely taped to the long table I was sharing with another boy. She and Dad thought the projector had come from someone at school, so I dodged the awkward explanation on that one.

She’d made a skirt for the front table even though I told her I didn’t want one, because skirts were for girls. “You’ll thank me later,” she’d said. “The judges don’t need to see your knapsack and lunch bag as part of your project. It’s all about presentation, sweetheart.”

Mothers do sometimes know best, and mine knew a lot about theatre.

Sandra, from Eighth Grade, was a very brainy girl who had something wrong with her nose that made her wiggle it a lot and sound perpetually stuffed up, but she seemed so excited at the idea of being recognized by like-minded scientists. Unfortunately for me, she was set up directly across the aisle from my booth. I’d never known she could talk more than she sniffed.

My plan had been to get rid of the “skirt” the minute Mom was out of sight. But now I found it helpful in avoiding Sandra since I could kneel down and pretend to be sorting things right behind it, saving me from getting sucked into any long conversations.

“The future’s not what it used to be, is it?”

I looked up and saw a very old man with hollowed out cheeks balancing himself on a polished wooden cane. He was looking down the aisle towards the robot thing but then he turned back and looked right at me.

“Pardon?” I said, standing. Maybe he was a judge. Best to be prepared.

“Oh, when I was young, we thought we’d all have flying cars by the time it was two-thousand and one,” he said, his head jiggling a bit as he spoke. “And I didn’t see any in the parking lot.”

I wanted to say, When you were young they didn’t even have cars, but I didn’t.

“Wow,” I responded, nodding.

“That’s a lovely projector you have,” he continued. “Had one almost the same as that, but it broke.”

“Oh,” I said. “Thank you, but it’s not mine,” I added, in case he was going to ask to buy it or something.

“Funny how the way we think things are going to turn out doesn’t always come true,” he said, looking very serious and a bit puzzled as he stared back at the robot.

“I guess that’s true,” I said, smiling. He was kind of a nice old guy. Not a judge, I didn’t think, but harmless and pleasant and sort of sadly lost.

“Did you know that time is not what we think it is?” Sandra said loudly.

“I beg your pardon,” the old man asked, looking even more confused. His neck craned sideways as slowly as a tortoise, and his skin looked just as wrinkled.

“Time,” Sandra said, very matter-of-factly. “Science now tells us that it’s not what we used to think it was.” I knew the man was a goner now. I’d heard Sandra’s speech before and it was a black hole in and of itself; an entire list of references from Einstein to the Gregorian calendar and back again. She was smart, for sure. But she apparently wanted to enlighten everyone with every fact she’d absorbed and accepted.

Fanatics, is what Dad had called the kooky people in Times Square, the ones with wild hair and neon rain slickers that stand on plastic crates and yell things at people walking by, saying that the world will end in 14 days, guaranteed, that Black people built the entire Great Wall of China, and that Jesus is coming back to become President of the United States… and he’s pissed. There was something about Sandra that reminded me of those guys. Taking the grain of truth and then blowing it up into a boulder that would like roll back on the owner.

I kept looking for the judges, knowing that I’d have to make my presentation soon. More regular visitors, like parents and other students, would come around later. I knew I needed to be more outgoing but I kind of sucked at that. Still, this was a chance to get known in the district, someplace other than Tarrytown.

I walked to the next aisle to check on Harris. Just as I rounded the corner there was a loud crash at the end of the gym. Someone was in a hurry and had bumped into the robot and a TV cameraman.

“Mind where you are, please,” said a lady that looked like a teacher. “We walk slowly in this school.” She was helping the cameraman back to his feet.

“Crazy,” said Harris. “That guy who just ran out of here? I think he’s the older brother or uncle of this girl,” he added pointing to the project right next to his.

“I think she’s cheating, ‘cause he keeps hanging out with her,” he continued.

“Doesn’t look like much worth cheating for,” I said.

I’d been really worried that my project might take the award for Most Lame, but this one was so much duller. Two posters hung on the backdrop showing crosscut sections of rocks. There were a few big boulders and smaller stones sitting on the table on a piece of burgundy velvet. I thought that one of Miss Prankle’s open boxes might be more entertaining just by itself.

The girl’s title banner said, The Quarries of the Adirondacks.

Harris made a snoring sound.

“Exactly,” I said, and then I heard a girl’s voice chirp up from behind us.

“Mountains can move, you know.”

“Oh, please,” Harris begged. “Liam’s my friend and he’s got his own project... and yes, I know. Tectonic plates drift on average at five centimeters per year, which is slower than your fingernails can grow.”

“I’ll listen while you practice, if you like,” the girl protested. She had reddish-chestnut hair and an accent that sounded like she was English from Europe, or maybe South-African. She had pretty eyes and I was about to kick Harris because the girl was really, really cute. But he had already launched into a taunting, high-pitched imitation of her.

“The top of Mount Everest has moved two feet to the north since Sir Edward Hillary…”

“Sir Edmund Hillary,” she jumped in, getting angry. “See? If you’re going to act smart then you’d better be able to back it up, eh?”

That did it. If you ever questioned Harris’ intelligence, you were done for, although I wondered if he might have met his match. Mom told me that girls are smarter than boys and develop faster and I shouldn’t worry so much if they did better than me. Dad had jumped on that.

“Do you want him to just give up before he even starts?” he’d snapped.

It went downhill from there and I had nothing much to say at the time except, “May I be excused so I can go to my room?”

While Harris and the girl got into it, I looked back at the rock project beside me. Something under the velvet was moving. I lifted up the fabric and saw a beautiful stone; a cut crystal that had straight sides that came to a point. It was pink in the center and then almost clear like glass at the base. The top of it had jagged, metallic spikes, almost as though it had been carved from the wall of a cave.

And it was shaking. Vibrating. The same weird thing that happened with Miss Prankle’s rocks in the open box at Mr. Danby’s. But I figured this had to be different. The table must be moving. I didn’t want this beautiful thing to fall and so I reached out and picked it up.

I don’t remember my hand going all the way around the crystal. I don’t remember my thumb touching the top of it either. But I do remember what happened next.

Suddenly, a jolt went through my entire body, like every muscle tensed and locked at the same moment. I swore that all of the hair on my body felt like it was crackling. My arms and legs stiffened and I felt as though I was falling.

The next thing I knew, my hands were grabbing for something solid and only getting a piece of presentation board and a loose piece of wood.

I heard gasps. I heard a scream. I heard my head hit the table. I heard nothing.

#

“I don’t think poor Harris intended it that way, but you did show how much destruction an earthquake can cause,” my Mom said still trying to make me laugh as she was driving me home. She’d come as soon as the teachers called her. Once she knew I was okay, she’d been really good about it all, packing up my booth while the nurse continued to watch me in the office. So humiliating, but given how woozy I was, I had no choice.

While Mom was cracking jokes, I was thinking about the earth shaking at Mr. Danby’s, so it took me a minute to remember how I’d seen all of Harris’s tectonic plates lying on the floor when I came to. Right now, I was sulking and feeling bruised.

“And you were very animated,” Mom said, trying out another pun.

“Yeah, Ha-Ha,” I said. She reached out and tickled me.

“Stop!” I said, giggling in spite of my efforts not to.

“Very, very animated!”

“No, stop,” I said. “Seriously!” But I couldn’t not laugh. When she wanted to, she sure knew how to get me.

“That’s better,” she said, focusing on the road again. “It’s not the end of the world, Liam.”

“I didn’t even get to present. And Harris likely hates my guts.”

“Mrs. Rautbard was understanding,” Mom said, her lips tightening. “Eventually. Once I told her you had fainted.”

“I didn’t,” I protested, “It was the stone, I swear.”

“Well…”

“It was moving.”

“I’m positive it seemed that way, Liam.”

I’d started to question what I remembered while I tried to explain it to Dad during dinner. He kept on asking Mom if there had been any electrical cords under the table. Always the engineer, he was certain that it was some kind of shock, even though Mom assured him that he’d heard the whole story. She kept looking at him like she was trying to push him back from the table using her mind powers. Her eyebrows would get really high and pointed. Eventually he let it go and we had an unusually quiet night.

The next day, Mom took me into the doctor—who knew me well from almost frequent visits. He seemed skeptical and slightly annoyed with Mom’s concerns about my “fall,” asking if I was nervous about the Fair—as if I couldn’t tell that he thought I’d faked the accident. Luckily he gave no medications this time. Then Mom took off for the weekend. More acting stuff. She stayed with her friend Carly at her loft in SoHo down in The City. I wanted to go out to play, but Dad seemed quite definite that I stay in to rest according to a pact that he and Mom had worked out.

And then at four o’clock, the doorbell rang.

“Liam!”

I’d gone to the window to see who was in the driveway but I knew from Dad’s tone that I’d better materialize immediately. I ran downstairs to see Miss Prankle standing on the front step. I’d got caught in lies to both of them and my stomach dropped.

“I’m terribly sorry if our son has taken something that’s yours,” he said, even though he sounded like he was angry with her for lying.

“No, it’s quite alright,” she said, smiling at me and waving when I’d gotten to the foot of the stairs. “A friend of mine lent Liam a projector for his school project and I was going to drive him so we could return it. It won’t take more than an hour. I’m sure that you’re very busy, so I hoped you wouldn’t mind. If driving him over there would be helpful,” she added when Dad remained stone faced and silent.

He turned and I thought he was about to become the volcano that Harris never made.

“Do you still have this projector, Liam?”

“Of course, it’s just inside your office,” I said quickly. This seemed to infuriate him even more, as though I’d made him part of a theft he hadn’t agreed to. I went to get it, but just inside the door, he impatiently blocked me with his hand and reached for it himself.

“Is this all of it?” he asked me sharply.

“I’m sure he took very good care of it,” Miss Prankle interjected from the hallway, and I noticed she wasn’t telling on me for not asking my parents.

“Well, you know children,” Dad called out. “They don’t really have any concept yet of what it means to be careful.”

“That’s not…” I couldn’t get out any more before Dad stared me down.

“Not what?” he said in his calm voice. There was a guest present but I knew he was seething. As soon as the door closed, I also knew I wouldn’t get in a single word and it was now or never.

“I was very careful,” I said. “Very.”

“I’m sure you were, Liam,” Miss Prankle agreed.

“Miss Prankle?” Dad confirmed politely, handing the projector back to her. “I’m so glad to know that nothing happened to your friend’s projector, especially since Liam passed out and fell on the other displays at the Fair. Of course, as parents, we’re concerned. But if you do find that there is any damage, any at all, please let me know the amount and I’ll reimburse you immediately.”

“I know that it’s not…”

“Unfortunately Liam still needs to rest and we must keep him at home for a while,” Dad said, cutting off Miss Prankle. She looked at me and I could only swallow my words.

“Liam?” he continued. “Did you want to thank Miss Prankle properly?”

“May I?” I asked sharply. I was so embarrassed, with him treating me like a five year old.

“Thank you very much, Miss Prankle, for your friend’s projector,” I said, reciting the script that I knew my Dad wanted to hear. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble. And I honestly appreciate the help with my project.”

“Excellent,” Dad said.

“Spoken like a perfect young gentlemen,” Miss Prankle said looking more concerned than charmed. “Such a very rare thing to find these days. Someone so sincere and polite. However do they learn? I know you have every reason to be proud. And I mustn’t disturb you for another moment. Thank you.”

Miss Prankle seemed to flatten some of my father’s fire with whatever she’d said, or however she’d said it. She turned and walked out before he’d even been able to say another word and it took him a long time to close the door.

I tried to quietly pad up the stairs.

“My office. Now,” he demanded.

Oh no. An office speech. That meant sitting and shutting up and agreeing with everything he said. Predictably, he waited for me to sit facing him before he spoke.

“Your mother and I give you a lot of latitude,” he said.

Meaning you’re always busy doing other things, I heard my inside voice saying.

“But that kind of freedom comes with responsibility.”

He loved that word, responsibility. It could mean I had to do more chores, or simply do whatever they said, and when and how they said to do it.

“I am responsible,” I insisted.

“Going off and getting in strangers’ cars?” he asked. He squeezed his lips and shook, like when the washing machine goes off balance, and then his voice got louder. I’d finally given him something to snap back at. I knew that whatever I said he’d corner me with it. My Grandpa Trinder and my uncle Corby were both lawyers in Baltimore, and I had started to recognize that Dad liked to make the same kind of arguments where he was also the judge with the final word.

“You know better than that,” he said. “I thought you did, at least. But maybe I forget that you’re still a child.”

“I’m not a child,” I said, getting angry and snapping back. “I’m twelve.”

“Yes, Liam. You’re twelve.”

“I’m not a kid, and I’m not an adult,” I said. “So what am I supposed to be?”

He actually stopped. I think I was just as surprised as he was that he didn’t have an immediate come back.

“I did take care of the projector, and I am responsible,” I said. “I don’t do bad things, not like some of the kids I know at school. If I was them, you’d have a total fit.”

“I’m not saying you’re a bad kid,” he said. “But…”

“But what?” I asked.

“But you are still a child and we are still your parents,” he said firmly and so loudly that I had to look at my feet. “And you’re little for your age, Liam. You just are, for the moment. And bad things can happen. You might not be aware of what they are, but that’s our job as parents… to protect you from those things… the things you don’t know about yet.”

“A child?” I said. What had really hurt was the word, little and I didn’t want to repeat it.

“They were strangers,” he said, finally calmer.

“They’re nice people… good people,” I said.

“How do you know that?” he said, sounding almost curious as to how I could tell.

“I just do,” I said. “I can feel it.”

“Oh!” he said, leaning back suddenly. He’d just tripped over the familiar topic of what I said I felt. This was where he usually clicked out of the discussion and Mom had to take over. But she wasn’t there.

“That’s all very nice, Liam,” he said. “But you can also moderate that with a healthy dose of logical analysis. Feel what you feel, but give yourself some time to verify. And you met this Miss Prinkle woman, where?”

“Towards the school,” I said. “And it’s Miss Prankle.”

“So she lives by the school?” he asked. “And when did you meet her?”

“I wave and say ‘Hello’ on my way home sometimes,” I said, stretching the truth. I didn’t want Dad to turn her over to the police for being a weird witch woman who had dream catchers hanging from her porch, luring children with friendly waves.

He sat back and stared at the ceiling. The final verdict was coming. I wished that he’d get it over with so I could go back up to my room and draw something. I was itching to take the pencil from his desk and sketch dragons with horns and fire, and knights with large swords and shields.

“For the next three weeks,” he said, “You can call us from the phone here at home as soon as you get back from school. And that needs to be by 3:45pm, every day.”

“But…”

“If you do that impeccably, then you can have your Nintendo 64 console back,” he said. My eyes bugged out.

“But, I just got it a week ago…”

“Other than on weekends…”

“A birthday present!” I exclaimed. “When I turned twelve, remember?”

“… When we’re home, you can play,” he said.

“Of course that’s okay, because then I’ll be quiet when you have to work,” I said, crossing my arms and turning to the wall. I didn’t care if he made the punishment harder. I was super angry.

“Three weeks is not that long,” he said, getting up and opening the door. It was my cue to leave. I took my time. I was pondering other things to say but finally got up.

“I’m glad the projector was okay, Liam,” he added. “But I’m so much happier to know that you’re safe and okay. I really am.”

I didn’t let him touch my shoulder and I didn’t turn around. But I didn’t slam the game console on his desk either when I brought it down. I nodded at him when he said, “Thank you.”

He looked sad. Like someone had told him that he couldn’t move from his desk either. It seemed ridiculous to me, both of us being in the same house with so little to say. And I noticed afterwards that he’d never answered my question about what I was supposed to be. A kid or an adult.

I couldn’t remember when he didn’t have some kind of an answer. But maybe he really didn’t know either.