“Is she, you know, slow?”
Leah faced him. “Technically, she has autism. It's really rare in girls. I learned a lot about it from Doc. You know, us 1991-types are still in the medical dark ages.” She winked.
“But, wasn’t he breaking the Second Accord by sharing that with you?”
“Fair question,” she replied. “But since it was kind of a medical emergency, we made an exception. My world knew about autism, we just were immature and lumped it all together with a lot of other disorders. It’s way more complicated than that. It covers a huge spectrum of issues.” She motioned. “Make a right. It’s difficult to generalize about autism, but there are—strategies that can help. For one thing, avoid using exaggerated expressions.”
“Like?”
“Like saying something like ‘I will just shoot myself if I ever have to do that again’, or ‘go jump in a lake’, you know, non-literal expressions.”
He smiled. “Well, I have noticed that you eat like a bird.”
“Yep. Those kinds of expressions require a more complex level of processing, and many people with autism have real difficulty separating fact from fiction. But that’s just one thing, I mean, some struggle to even communicate at all, or struggle to just convey normal emotions.”
“I have a nephew like that. He is, kinda, in his own world. We can't seem to break through the shell. No one can. Even specialists. Pretty sad.”
“Sounds like he is at the severe end of the spectrum. Does he scream a lot, and hate loud noises?”
He nodded.
“It’s heartbreaking, I’m sure,” she replied.
“Well, speaking of heart—you’ve got a pretty big one in my book,” Denver said. “I think it’s really great how you look after Tori, and all. I mean, she’s not your responsibility.”
Leah grew quiet for a moment, and gazed out her window. “She is not a burden, Mr. Jackson. She’s a gift. She’s an amazing person, with so much to offer, so much to share. We just have to help her let it out. She’s a butterfly that needs a little more time than the rest of us to break free.”
Denver couldn’t have been more impressed. “You have a rare gift, Ms. Swan. A rare gift, indeed. Even in the twenty-first century, we don’t see too many folks like you.”
“Think about your daughter, Jasmine,” Leah began. “If she were lost, and surrounded by strangers, what would you be willing to give to make sure that someone good and kind took her in and treated her well?”
He didn’t have to think very hard. “I would give everything I had.”
Leah smiled. “Exactly. I try to remember that when I look at Tori. She means the world to somebody, and I need to be that person that they are praying for.”
He shook his head. “Like I said, you are one special person.”
“Just trying to take care of the least of these, Mr. Jackson. You, uh, you can park anywhere uptown, but not too close to the diner.”
Denver found a few open spots with generous amounts of shade beneath a hulking, lopsided oak tree. He imagined that it would’ve taken a lightning bolt or severe ice storm to have crippled the towering giant. He killed the engine and deposited the keys into her waiting hand.
“Thanks,” she said. “Ready for your first official public test?”
He blushed a little and tapped on the shiny steering wheel. “C'mon Leah, do you really have to chaperone me while I eat lunch?”
She wagged a delicate finger at him. “Protocols are protocols, Trailer Jackson. No new Jumpers are allowed to be unsupervised in public for their first thirty days.”
He rolled his eyes. “I know all that.”
“Well then, you also need to know that it's not lunch, it's usually called dinner. Midday meals in the Midwest are called dinner, well, most of the time.”
Denver was uneasy. This whole arrangement was just—wrong, like being watched by your parents on a first date. “So, what, are you going to get out a notebook and grade me or something? Lemme guess, observe and report?”
“Observe and rescue,” she corrected.
“Rescue?” He couldn’t believe that she was serious.
She was.
Leah squinted at him. “Mr. Jackson, who is the current candidate for president on the Democratic ticket?”
Denver’s eyes shot around and he rubbed his forehead. “Wait, hold on—I know this, it’s—”
“Too slow.” She pursed her lips. “Too slow. Slip ups like this can be disastrous, Denver.”
He blushed and took a deep breath.
“I observe,” she said, “and if you get into trouble...I, uh, rescue. Give me a few minutes lead, then come in the restaurant. Sit near me, but don't look at me or talk to me. Do you have your money?”
He dug into his shirt pocket. “Ten vintage bucks.”
She double checked the cash and pointed at his wedding ring. “Have you thought any more about what we talked about?” she asked. “About your ring?”
He stuffed the money away and held his hand up, twisting the golden band.
She put her hand on his shoulder. “Not wearing it doesn't mean that you don't love someone.” She looked into his distant eyes. “It's just that it...it complicates things around here. It will create questions about where your wife is and such. If we don't have to deal with those questions, it would be better.”
It was a strange warfare that raged inside of this displaced soldier. In his logical mind, he absolutely knew that Leah was right. But every time he even tried to slide the ring off, something deep inside groaned. He tried to drown out the shame with a flood of his own rationalizations.
It’s not that big a deal. It’s just a piece of metal. A lot of professions can’t even wear rings. It’s a safety or health issue. It’s okay. It’s what’s in your heart that matters, not what’s on your finger.
Denver settled the decision in his head, though his chest was still languishing. He slid the precious token off of his finger (it was only the third time he had ever done so since they were married) and stowed it away in his pants pocket.
Leah rubbed his arm and leaned closer. “I'll see you inside, Mr. Jackson.” She checked her makeup in the visor, and hopped out, but then grabbed the door frame and smiled at him.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, “the answer is Stevenson. Adlai Stevenson.”
Journal entry number 231
Wednesday, January 21, 1948
I have finally begun crafting a formal curriculum for our “New Jumper” training program. I am thrilled that my background as a high school teacher can finally come into play. My TOC (Temporal Orientation Classes) will start with the Big 4 (the Four Accords). After that I am breaking it down into:
1. Recent History—our history, more than anything else, shapes who we are. There is a lot of history that hasn’t happened, yet we will have Jumpers whose lives are molded by un-happened history. No Vietnam War, no Korean War, no Civil Rights movement, no Moon landing, no hippies, no satellites, and no Kennedy assassination.
2. Politics—orienting Jumpers to the current leadership landscape, from the White House to the local courthouse. Also, it’s not the 50 United States…there are only 48 states now. Hawaii and Alaska come into statehood in the late 1950s. That’s a tough one to remember. Also Interstates—there won’t be a Federal Interstate system until the mid to late 1950s. And America doesn’t even have zip codes yet. Apparently that’s still a long way off (Mrs. Tomlin is great for these subtle details).
3. Entertainment—that’s sports, movies, television, music. Television is still brand new (we won’t even see color TV for about 6 or 7 years, I think) and is not really a household staple yet. We have to be careful about TV and television terms, like rerun, soap opera (I think they have these on radio though), cable TV, etc. Movies (if you forget radio) are a huge part of the culture. Current movie stars are THE stars, more so than musicians and singers.
The problem is that most of the Jumpers will have heard of most of the big stars and even some of the mus
icians, but we have to be careful about WHAT movies and WHAT songs that we associate with them (especially Elvis—we are almost 10 years too early for him).
No Godzilla, no Star Wars, no Beatles, no Michael Jackson, Disney-yes, Disneyland-no, no Six Million Dollar Man, no Charlie’s Angels, no Gilligan’s Island, and no Brady Bunch. Ouch.
4. Technology—there are no microwave ovens, no CELLPHONES (thanks Michael), no color TVs, no home computers, no space program, no calculators, no seatbelts, the word “digital” isn’t even in common use yet. Also, most people do not have washing machines or dryers. But I’m very thankful that window-unit air conditioners were recently invented though!
5. Language—nothing can get a person into trouble quicker than their tongue. As one observed: “Thy speech betrayeth thee.” Language has both a positive aspect and a negative aspect. On the negative side, Jumpers have words, phrases, and quotes that don’t exist yet in the late 1940s, and therefore must be SUBTRACTED. On the positive side, there are words and phrases that must be ADDED to their conversational lingo to make them authentic.
Of course there are other areas to learn such as social etiquette, acceptable behaviors, and such. Many of these will come organically, not formally. And then there are more personal, sensitive issues—like relationships. Should a Jumper go on a date with a Local? The entire goal of our Jumper community is to stay below the radar until we find the technological breakthrough to send us all back home.
Should we get involved with a Local, as a boyfriend, girlfriend, or husband/wife? Isn’t that too risky and selfish—knowing we are going to be leaving? If we get too involved, and then leave (disappear), won’t that create problems/questions and therefore violate The First Accord? Won’t relationships leave too many well-established footprints?
A Jumper too entangled may NOT WANT to return. I can’t even imagine what kind of a problem that would create with the future time-stream!
Oh well, enough school…time for a recess.
CHAPTER 38
The broken bell at the diner did its level best to jingle when Denver entered, but the pitiful result didn’t even rouse a solitary glance from the floor. Of course, Denver felt every eye upon him from every possible angle. An irrational sensitivity plagued him, followed by a case of crippling self-consciousness. As his dad would’ve said, he “felt as guilty as a whore in church.” Denver never noticed that no one noticed him.
A lot busier than the last time. Smells great. Let’s see, where is Leah—oh, there. Act casual, Collins.
He meandered over to the bar and plopped down a few seats over on Leah’s left side. He spotted her subtle nodding out of the corner of his right eye.
So far so good. Piece of cake.
Denver lifted the famous trifold paper menu, disappointed that this one didn’t have any cleverly simulated coffee stains. He laughed at himself. It had been well over a week since he first sat here, but in many ways it seemed like mere moments ago.
The kitchen doors burst wide open and waitress Katie Long backed out with a large tray covered in steaming dishes. Denver was distracted by the mouthwatering menu options and didn’t notice her at all. But once she spun about, regardless of his misguided sensitivity, there was only one pair of eyes following his every move.
He felt confident of his eventual order a minute or so later, and folded the menu, risking a quick glance over at Leah. She had nearly dumped her entire purse out on the counter, hunting for something. Their eyes met for less than an instant, and he turned away.
The door jingled pathetically and two older farmers decked out in denim overalls and caps strolled in and sat down immediately on Denver's left. The closest one removed his dusty hat (revealing a mop of dustier hair) and acknowledged Denver with a hearty grin. “Afternoon.”
Denver overthought his own reply for a few moments. “Good afternoon.”
Gotta be smoother, quicker Collins.
Katie had found the way back from her big delivery and passed in front of the two newest arrivals, flipping and filling their coffee cups. “I better get some big tips this afternoon, boys, or I might just accidentally tell your wives where you had dinner today!”
The gentlemen chuckled and one of them spoke up. “The womenfolk are out at Twin Grove, visiting my sister.”
Katie put on a pitiful face. “And they left y’all to fend for your little ole selves?” She smiled wide with her deep red lips. “Shoulda married me. I would've taken better care of you than that.”
“Speakin' of matrimony,” the one furthest from Denver noted, “when’re you gonna settle down and get hitched, Katie?”
Denver busied himself with the menu again, acting like he wasn’t listening in on the authentic 1956 conversation. She glanced at him. “Just waiting for the right man to jump into my life,” she said. “And hopefully a man from the city. I may be a farmer’s daughter, but I sure don’t wanna be a farmer’s wife. No offense, boys.”
She winked and they all three laughed. Katie took a few steps over and looked up at Denver. “Well, welcome back, bus boy.”
Leah glanced over, but Denver struggled to play it down. “Bus boy? What? Oh, yeah, the bus.”
She poured some coffee. “Is your life still...complicated?”
He knew that Leah was parsing every syllable with all the cunning of a prosecuting attorney. It wasn’t a very pleasant thought. “Uh, always. That’s me, complicated,” he said. “You have a good memory, uh, Katie.”
She put a hand on her hip. “You forget that I am a waitress, and a waitress never forgets the biggest tipper in probably the entire history of tipping!”
Leah rotated towards him on the bar stool.
Strike one, Denver thought.
Leah’s body language screamed what her mouth didn’t. If this had been a driver’s exam, Denver knew he had just blown a red light. His mind scrambled for an appropriate response. “What can I say, just in a generous mood I guess.”
Beverly slipped up behind Katie after refilling Leah’s coffee. She whispered discreetly, “Careful, trouble, trouble.”
Katie shifted her weight and gave Bev both a not-so-subtle bump and a dirty look as well. She snatched her order pad. “So, uh, are you here to stay this time or just passing through?”
He floundered right out of the gate as if he had lost the ability to simply communicate. You are staying Collins. Say it. He cleared his throat. “Well, uh...I uh, I am, staying, for a while. A while. I think.”
Strike two.
“How does the other guy look?” she asked.
He froze. Other guy? What is she talking about?
He shrugged. “I’m sorry, the other guy?”
She pointed at his facial injuries. “The other guy. Did you get in a fight? Was it over a girl?”
Respond Collins. Now. “Oh, no, no, nothing like that. I, uh, see what happened was, I, it—”
Strike three.
Leah reached for her purse and squarely smacked her coffee cup. It flipped across the counter and exploded in white shards on the well-worn tile floor. “Oh!” she cried out, jumping up, “Oh, I am so sorry!” The hot coffee ran like a dark river and dripped everywhere.
Katie sprang into cleaning action like a pro, damming up the runaway spill with a large dishtowel she whipped up out of nowhere.
“Don’t you worry, ma’am, happens all the time,” Katie calmly assured. “I’ll clean this up and getcha a fresh cup.”
“On it,” Beverly chimed in as she sailed around the corner.
“Thanks, I am really sorry,” Leah blushed. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
Katie snagged a dry towel and hurried out to wipe down Leah’s bar stool. “No problem. No problem.” She slapped the seat with her hand. “Dry, good as new, and a fresh cup.”
Leah looked over as Katie departed with a filthy rag and Bev arrived with a clean mop. Denver mouthed the words THANK YOU. She acknowledged him with graceful subtlety and sat back down.
Denver peeled his half-sogg
y menu up off the sticky counter.
Well, that explains the coffee stains.
MEMO October 29, 1947
SECURITY LEVEL: TOP SECRET
FOR: Roscoe H. Hillenkoetter, Director, Central Intelligence
FROM: Chief Howard D. Ross, Project SATURN
SUBJECT: Phase I – Dreamland update
Phase I of the Dreamland facility has been completed. Temporary living quarters, incarceration center, storage, and currently-adequate airfield have been established, along with basic utilities.
All Roswell Incident materials have been successfully relocated to Dreamland.
Phase II, which will encompass permanent housing, office, research, and incarceration centers, should be completed on or around 27 March, 1948.
Phase III, which primarily centers on upgrading the temporary airfield, hangar, and communication facilities, is slated for completion on or around 3 June, 1948.
END
DCI/PS
Journal entry number 375
Monday, May 2, 1949
Something hit me as I was driving around Normal and South Normal (that’s what the Locals like to call Bloomington—it really gets the Bloomington folks bent out of shape!). It may be the answer to many of our problems. As I drove around I saw a lot of family businesses. I mean, if you think about it, up until fairly recently in human history, just about everyone worked in the family business, whether farming, or carpentry, or fishing or whatever.
As a matter of fact, many people’s last names were associated with the family business, i.e. the Smiths were a family of prominent blacksmiths, the Bakers were known for breads and pastries, the Carpenters…well, you get the picture. I realized that our group of Jumpers, we are just like a family. We need our own cottage industry. This would solve quite a few difficulties right now:
Paradigm Rift: Book One of the Back to Normal Series Page 19