The Sun, the Moon, and Maybe the Trains

by Rodney Jones

  “Hello. Tess? Hello.” Beeps and trills emanated from the phone, nothing resembling a gal’s voice. “Hello.” I thought sure I’d done it wrong. “Hello?”

  “John?”

  I fumbled the thing to the floor, then grabbed it back up and put it to my ear.

  “John?”

  I could barely hear her, so I raised my voice. “It’s me. I can hear you. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, you’re yelling.”

  “Tess, are you there?”

  “John, try turning the phone around, end for end.”

  I did. “Now can you hear me?”

  She giggled.

  “That you, Tess?”

  “Hold on. Uh, yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”

  “I can’t believe this. I’m actually talking… where are you?”

  “Lying on my bed.”

  “Wallingford?”

  “Yes, Wallingford, duh. If I was in Timbuktu, you’d be hearing me all the same, but my bed is here, so—”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “Well, thank the good lord for phones.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Yeah. So what’ve you been up to?”

  “I just had the most delicious breakfast.”

  “Oh?”

  “Froot Loops. These little things in a paper—”

  “Froot Loops?”

  “Yes, Froot Loops. They’re little O-shaped things. All different—” I stopped. I could hear her laughing.

  “You crack my butt, John.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  I don’t know if I was more in awe of the phone or in shock from Tess’s uncomely language. I was in no position to scold, though. “They’re very good,” I said.

  “We’ve got to get you away from here, back to your wholesome grist. I don’t have a lot of room to talk, do I? Me and my crappy sandwiches and cheeseburgers.”

  “You’re coming to Rutland, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take the 910 Bus to West Street, then walk to Jim’s from there. It should be about nine forty—two hours. In the meantime, I thought I’d dig around a bit on the internet and see if I can find anything helpful.”

  “I wish I knew what you were talking about, Tess.”

  “The internet—the thing with the presidents and governors.”

  “Oh, I think Jim has an internet, too.”

  “Yeah. Look for me a little before ten.”

  “Look for you?”

  A sigh came over the phone. “I’ll be there around ten.”

  “Oh, yes. Good.”

  “I should go. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

  “All right.”

  “Oh, don’t forget to press the off button.”

  “Off button?”

  “On the phone. The off button.”

  I located the button, pressed it, then held the phone to my ear. “Tess?” I listened and waited. “Tess? Hello?” I turned it over, looking at it from every angle. How could something so small and simple manage so much? I shook it. Nothing rattled. I lifted the phone to my ear again. “Hello.”

  Not a sound. The other device was lying there. I picked it up. It didn’t appear all that different from Jim’s phone, as it too had number buttons and a lot of things that didn’t mean beans to me—arrows and squares and circles and letters and words: Play, Enter, Stop. I pressed the Play button and brought the thing to my ear. Silence. I tried Enter. Nothing there, either. Power. I studied the thing, wondering if I should or not, but then I didn’t. I’d be standing there like a coot with his britches on backwards, pushin’ buttons, not even the foggiest idea what the durned thing was supposed to do. I instead busied myself exploring some of the countless curiosities scattered about the house.

  A couple of hours later, a knock came from the door. Knowing who it’d be, I went and opened it. I doubted the fat grin I had on my face was there for anything more than a brief moment.

  “Hey,” Tess said.

  I looked past her, up the street one way, then the other.

  “John, what are you doing?”

  “Is this… your… uh…?”

  “What?”

  “You should get inside.” I closed the door behind us. “Tess, what the dickens? Maybe you ain’t noticed, but you’re just about this far from naked, is all.”

  “Really?” She looked down as if evaluating the situation for the first time.

  “Well, I could take another look, but I’m pretty sure.”

  The top she wore was little more than a band of daisy-white cloth, just shy of covering her belly, and did nothing to hide the shape of her bosom. Her knickers, if they could even be called that, came every bit of ten inches above her knees, her limbs as bare as Eve’s.

  She glanced down toward her calves. I did, too. Not only were they bare, but completely hairless, as well.

  “Looks to me like all the critical parts are pretty well concealed. Maybe you see something I don’t.” She twisted around. “Is there a hole in my shorts?” She bent slightly.

  “Tess? Really. This is what womenfolk wear these days?”

  “It’s summer; it’s hot. Yeah, this is what womenfolk wear, unless they’re nuns.”

  “And people don’t… stare?”

  “Unless they’re like you, they don’t. And I don’t believe there’re too many out there like you, John.”

  “I wasn’t staring.”

  “Maybe you should… get it out of your system.” She gave me a goofy look. “Help me get this off my back.” She released a buckle. I grabbed the bag from her back and leaned it against the couch. “You’re going to have to relax about the clothes. Honestly, this is the norm. And there’s nothing wrong with looking, as long as you’re not drooling.”

  “Well, if I’m going to be talking to you, I can’t help but look at you, and if you’re half naked, I can’t help but notice.”

  “I’m fine with that.” She took a seat on the couch and threw her feet up on the table.

  “You are, by far, the oddest gal I’ve ever met.”

  “We’re even, then.” She glanced down at the open magazine I’d left lying on the table. “Reading about our insane world, are you?”

  “Pardon?”

  She pointed to the magazine. “Iraq.”

  “Yeah, I was reading that.” I didn’t say, but I only understood maybe one tenth of what I’d read.

  “Obama.”

  “What?”

  She picked up the magazine and pointed to a picture of a sharply dressed, clean-shaven Negro. “Our new president.”

  “No.”

  “As of January twentieth.”

  I grinned. “And pigs might fly.”

  She read, “‘President Barack Obama heads to Moscow for his first visit on July 6.’” She handed the magazine to me so as I could read for myself.

  “That’s him?” I point. “The Negro man?”

  “Jesus, John.” She rolled her eyes.

  “You’re not a very religious gal, are you?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, using the Lord’s name in vain like you do and all.”

  “I do?”

  “It ain’t really none of my business, I know. I was just noticing you do that a lot.”

  “You’re concerned for my soul now?”

  “No, Tess. But maybe I should be.”

  “That’s really sweet of you. Hmm. Is it my saying ‘Jesus’ that bothers you?”

  “I think it maybe bothers him, the way you say it in vain and all.”

  “It bothers him? So you’re speaking on his behalf. What if I said, geez? You think that would annoy him, too?”

  “My Lord, Tess.”

  “Ha! You did it.”

  “Lord isn’t his name; it’s just what he is.”

  “Oh, good. I think you’re on to something. He’s not likely to catch the subtleties in that.”

  It was starting to get a little hot around my collar, so I went back to the picture in the ma
gazine, trying to steer the conversation to cooler ground. I pointed. “Is that for real—a Negro got elected president?”

  She again rolled her eyes. “Please, please don’t call anyone… just don’t say ‘Negro’ unless you want to draw attention to yourself. And it won’t be admiration, I assure you.”

  “But he is, ain’t he?”

  Tess’s eyes drilled into mine like a mother about to scold her child. “So what do you call Grant? The Caucasoid man?”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Really? Is that what they called black people in the nineteenth century? Negros?”

  “Well, I reckon if you’re a good Christian, you do. It’s how I was brought up.”

  “They’re not offended by that?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “African Americans are called blacks, Mexicans are Latinos, Indians are Native Americans, people from India are Indians, Chinese are Asians, and everyone else is white.”

  “Then what are Negros called?”

  She closed her eyes and once again shook her head. “We need to get you home.”

  “That’d be all right with me.”

  “Yeah, but how do we do it?”

  “If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “Well.” She took a deep breath, then released it in a long sigh. “If we can figure out how you got here, maybe we can figure out how to get you back.”

  I gave that a chance to settle, then said, “All right.”

  She got up from the couch, stepped over to the window, and twisted a thin white rod dangling there. My eyes followed her to the window, but then drifted down to her bare limbs. I couldn’t stop them.

  She twisted her head back toward me. “Is that drool I see coming off your chin there?”

  “I was looking out the window.” Tess’s eyes bored into mine as warmth spread up through my face. “And… your limbs.”

  “Limbs? Do I look like a tree to you? No? Legs. They’re just legs.”

  “Well, your legs don’t have any hair on them.”

  “You noticed that, huh?”

  “How can I help it?”

  “I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve never told anyone before. I shave them. My armpits, too.” She raised her arms.

  “Jesus!”

  Tess’s eyes sprang wide open. She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Well, my Lord, Tess! What do you expect?”

  She shook her head. “All women shave. They’ve been doing it for half of eternity. At least.”

  “It don’t seem peculiar to you?”

  “What? It’s normal!” She looked down at her legs, then up at me and shrugged. “Well, I do see your point.” She gave me a quick smile. “Trust me, though. No one thinks anything of it. So, let’s get out of here, and go somewhere to brainstorm this thing.”

  “Do what?”

  “Let’s go get a coffee.”

  I had some misgivings about being seen with Tess dressed as she was. I assured myself I’d not be running into anyone I knew. We walked west on Washington Street, down past Wales. I searched for anything recognizable. Except for the street names, there wasn’t a hooter left of the Rutland I knew. We were coming to Grove, where I expected to see the train depot, but it wasn’t even Grove anymore, and all I saw to the other side of the road were some long, stretched-out buildings with a smart chance of cars parked row after row out front, more than a hundred of them, all sizes, shapes, and colors.

  But then, around the corner, to our right… I pointed. “Right there is where Jacobson’s General Store should be. That’s where I was headed the other day, with my wagon.”

  She looked. I thought she was trying to imagine the store being there in place of the big red-brick building that stood in its stead. Tess pointed to the opposite side of the street, to the place with all the cars. “Over there’s our general store.” Big red letters above the windows and doors said Walmart. She suddenly leapt out in front of me. “It’s chocked full of exotic treasures from the Orient,” she said and gestured with her hands as though making ocean waves.

  A group of three young men approached from ahead, all three wearing short pants and loose-fitting, short-sleeved shirts covered in a confusion of colors, pictures, and words meaning nothing to me. I kept a suspicious eye on them as they came closer. One of the fellows had blue hair and a piece of shiny jewelry attached to one of his earlobes. They were talking among themselves, arguing about a bat and a joker, but then they walked on by, none taking notice of Tess or me. Why would they, being even more curious-looking than either of us?

  On the corner of Merchant and Center, we entered a bakery filled with the most heavenly aroma. A display of pastries, cookies, and other fancy sweetbreads stretched along the back wall. I’d have been content to try any one of those treats. Some looked familiar, but most didn’t. A person wouldn’t need to taste them to know if they liked them.

  “You do drink coffee, don’t you?” Tess asked.

  I nodded.

  We sat to either side of a small round table near a window overlooking the street. A handful of other patrons were in the store. One man sat at a table near an inside wall, sipping coffee and fiddling with a device resembling a large cell phone. He didn’t appear to be talking to it, so I figured it was yet something more I knew nothing of. The other patrons, a group of three ladies and a fellow, were sitting together at the other end of the store, talking and occasionally laughing.

  The pastry Tess bought me looked much like an olykoek. I took a bite. A sweet white filling as light as whipped cream oozed from it. I looked at Tess and smiled. She grinned, then giggled. “Are you saving that bit for later?” She pointed toward my face.

  I stared down the length of my nose to a white blur. “I was thinking I might, but then again, this thing’s so tasty.” I wiped the end of my nose with my finger, and then licked my finger clean.

  Tess picked up a folded piece of paper from the table and reached toward my face. I drew back.

  She smiled. “I take it they don’t have napkins where you’re from?”

  “Is that what that is?” I grabbed the napkin from her and examined it. “It’s paper.”

  “What were yours made of—shirt sleeves?”

  “Silk, ma’am.” I daintily dabbed at my nose and mouth. “We Bartleys use nothing less than silk.”

  Tess snickered. She took a bite from her doughnut and a sip of coffee, then glanced over her shoulder before turning again to me. “The other day, uh…” She cocked her head to one side. Her eyes shifted as though in search of an idea, a question, or an answer or something. “Wednesday, right? You said the whole day was strange? So where were you?”

  “Where was I?”

  “I mean when you first noticed it being strange? Do you remember where it was?”

  “Up on the mountain.”

  “I mean exactly.”

  I walked through a picture in my mind—the oak tree, the woods around it, the road, and the boulders along its edge, and then the orange ribbon. I recalled the time before—the ribbon, the feel of it, the way it stretched when pulled. It suddenly dawned on me what it was made of and where it had come from.

  “John?”

  “I’d been there more than once.”

  “What?”

  “The place I found the ribbon.”

  “The ribbon?”

  I explained it all to Tess, my suspicion that I found the ribbon in the future and then went back. “Of course, I had no idea at the time,” I said.

  A long pause followed in which Tess appeared to be lost in thought. She leaned in toward me and lowered her voice. “Do you think you could find the place again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “John.” Her eyes lit up. “We have to go there.”

  “Right now?”

  “Well.” Her hands went to her cheeks and pushed her face around. “No, we can’t. It’s a quarter to twelve. The next bus south doesn’t leave ’til three twenty.” Her hands d
ropped, her fingers drummed the tabletop, and her gaze drifted. “Do you know how long it’d take us to get there from my house?”

  “You’re saying us, Tess.”

  “Well, duh, I have to see this.”

  “But suppose something happened, like it got you and me both? What if it was to take you to my time? Isn’t that possible? Then you’d be no better off than I am here, Tess.” I slowly shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “What if I went with you, but then stayed back behind you a little bit? I can watch from a distance.”

  “It’s probably a five- or six-hour hike, mostly uphill. If we were to go tonight, say we left your house by four or five, it’d be getting dark by the time we got there. Then what are you going to do up there in the woods by yourself in the dark?”

  “How far is it from Greendale?”

  “A solid uphill hike, maybe three hours.”

  “Okay, then. We start from there. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Mom has the day off. She won’t need the car. We drive over to Greendale, hike up…” Her eyes shifted from mine to nowhere. “And I’ll need an excuse to be gone for eight hours.”

  “That’s another reason I should go by myself, Tess. Didn’t you just get yourself in a fix with your ma last night?”

  “I told her my plans with Nicole fell apart—long story there—and then my cell phone died, so I went over to Jim’s to use his phone. She was just relieved I wasn’t drunk or stoned when I got home. I used up some of my good liar karma, though.”

  “Good liar what?”

  “Just kidding.”

  “I don’t like it that you have to lie to your ma ’cause o’ me. It’s not right, Tess.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, I know. But in this case, the alternative just won’t work. If I told her I was going somewhere with you, giving you a lift somewhere, anywhere… well, I know my mom. You’d be on your own.”