Daytrippers

by H. L. Sudler

  At first, Perry didn’t understand, but then he did.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked.

  “A month.”

  “A month?” he cried.

  Missy nodded, and pushed him to walk. They were attracting attention; a Black man talking to a White woman.

  “Where are the others?” Perry asked, trying to sound casual.

  “I don’t know,” Missy whispered. “I haven’t seen them.”

  Perry stopped walking. He seemed about to cry.

  “I don’t know what to do. Where to go.”

  Missy looked at him. “Do you have a wallet?”

  Perry frowned. “I don’t know. I didn’t think to look for one.”

  He patted himself and found a wallet in his jacket pocket. He opened it slowly, then looked at Missy.

  “There’s a card here that says I work at the Reading Terminal Station.”

  “Oh, that’s down the street. Where the Reading Terminal Market is in our time.”

  “That was a train station?”

  “Long, long time ago. Well…now.”

  “Hey, buddy,” someone called to Perry.

  Perry and Missy turned to see four sailors in white, standing in a group.

  “Colored entrance is around the corner, if you’re lost.”

  Perry frowned, then looked behind him. He and Missy were standing in front of a restaurant. Bookbinders to be exact. Which in his time was now an Applebee’s or some other restaurant. Missy turned to him.

  “Go. Now. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Perry looked at her, then at the soldiers.

  “What, you got something to say, boy?”

  Perry had started to walk away, but then turned back. He walked up to one of the men and whispered quietly, “I will beat your pussy-ass all up and down this street.”

  The sailor turned red. “What in the hell did you just say to me?”

  “Hey!” Missy called. “Whoo-hoo! Guys! Which one of you gentlemen wants to be the first to buy me a drink before you all have to get back to the Navy Yard? We’re standing in front of Bookbinders, and this girl is awfully thirsty.”

  The sailor leaned in to Perry and pointed. “You get your nigga ass—”

  “Uh, uh, uh,” Perry said, his face ignited. “Sell that shit someplace else. The lady says she wants a drink. You’ll have better luck with her than you will with me.”

  “Yes, you will,” Missy said, coming between the men and pulling them away. She gave Perry a look to leave now. “Let’s get this party started! You guys have any friends?”

  Perry turned and walked away, one fist tightly wrapped around his newspaper, the other around the handle of his lunch pail.

  Perry knew Roxanne’s voice as soon as he heard it.

  “Go back to wherever it is you came from!”

  “You know what, bitch, I wish I could! I really wish I could. But I can’t go back the way I came! If you got a problem with me here, why don’t you leave, bitch? Why don’t you leave?”

  “Well, I never—. Who do you think you’re talking to? I was here first!”

  “Bitch, please, stop frontin’ like you really somebody. You’re a fraud! Like everybody standing here. You’re all a fraud!”

  Perry found Roxanne near the train station, just outside a restaurant on Market Street. She was surrounded by a group of White women and one White man.

  “Roxanne!”

  She turned to Perry and then ran into his arms.

  “What’s going on here?” Perry asked.

  “Can you take her someplace else, please?” the White man said to Perry. “I got a business to run here and I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Why can’t I eat here?” Roxanne said to the man. “There’s no sign in the window saying No Coloreds Allowed.”

  “But that’s what you are, dear,” one of the women said. “Colored. Why don’t you go and find a colored restaurant where they’ll feed you. This restaurant serves Whites and Coloreds, but Whites get first priority when it’s busy…or didn’t you know that?”

  Roxanne looked as if she’d been slapped across the face.

  “Look,” the restaurant owner said. “I got nothing against Coloreds, but I need this business to stay open. And I don’t need any trouble. Please take her away or I gotta call the police.”

  “Understood,” Perry said, taking Roxanne by the arm. He pulled her away. “No need to call the police. We’ll find someplace else to eat. Sorry for any trouble.”

  Perry dragged Roxanne into an alleyway on Arch Street, a block over.

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I was hungry!”

  “Here!” Perry said, pushing his lunch pail into Roxanne’s arms. “I think there’s food in it. Eat what’s there.”

  “Don’t yell at me.”

  “Roxanne! We’re in 1942! Do you hear me? We’re in 1942! You know how Philadelphia is in our time, can you imagine what’s it’s like now?”

  “Yes, I can! I’ve been here two days!”

  “Then act like it! And remember what Janey said…or else we could wind up in somebody’s jail. Or worse, flat-out beaten in the street.”

  Roxanne was quiet a moment, while Perry paced back and forth with his hands on his hips, trying to cool down.

  “We were only looking for you. That’s the only reason we’re in the street.”

  Perry turned to look at her.

  “We who?”

  “Me, Bart, David. We’ve been here a few days now. We’ve been looking for you.”

  Perry sighed deeply. He went to Roxanne and hugged her.

  “I’m sorry, Rox. I’m sorry I yelled. I just got here a couple of hours ago and I almost got into a fight. And I saw Missy.”

  Roxanne looked up at Perry. “Missy’s here?”

  “Yeah. And she saved me from getting my ass beat by a group of sailors.”

  “She wasn’t with Janey?”

  Perry shook his head.

  “Come with me,” Roxanne said, taking Perry by the arm.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We got some place to stay. The Divine-Lorraine Hotel. You remember that? Over on Broad and Fairmount?”

  “Yeah, it’s condos in our time.”

  “Well, it’s still a hotel now. And it’s integrated.”

  Perry looked to the sky. “Thank you, Jesus.”

  Later that evening, Perry, Bart, David and Roxanne sat in Bart and David’s room. Roxanne’s room was on another floor. They ate quietly. Burgers and fries David had picked up from a greasy spoon.

  “What are we going to do now?” Roxanne asked. “We can’t stay here forever.”

  “We’re paid through Monday, but after that we’re toast.”

  “I have a job,” Perry said. “At the Reading Railroad Terminal. At least I think I do. I think I was supposed to show up to work today, but I didn’t.”

  “Well, you’re better than me and Bart,” David said, “because we don’t have any jobs. And I may be in trouble because of the War.”

  “Why?” Perry asked.

  “I’m a Jew. Word on the street is that a lot of Americans believe the United States is in the war because of Jews. Too many migrants from Eastern Europe, that we’re trying to influence the film industry, the press, the government. So a lot of places are restricted, restaurants, clubs, jobs.”

  “Anti-Semitism at its best,” Bart said. “If you’re not a White male, Christian and God-loving, you’re a second-class citizen…or worse. And don’t forget, everybody. The Klu Klux Klan is very big at this point in history. White businesses only want White workers, even with the war going on. I’ve seen the signs in windows.”

  Perry covered his face. “Oh, my God. This is a nightmare.”

  Roxanne touched Perry’s arm. “I’m sorry about what happened at the restaurant. I w
as just angry. I didn’t remember how much trouble we could get in.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Perry said. “It’s easy to forget we’re not from this time. No air conditioning. No good food.”

  “No iPhones,” Roxanne said, and laughed.

  David chuckled. “No TV.”

  “No comfortable beds,” Bart said to Perry. “Those wire springs will kill you, so watch out.”

  “And the water takes a long time to heat up,” Roxanne added.

  Silence fell over the room, and they sat like that, quietly, staring into space, listening to someone’s radio somewhere playing The Jell-O Program Starring Jack Benny, which was later followed by big band music to close out the evening.

  Roxanne was unmarried, so she had to stay in her room alone. Hotel rules. David walked her there and kissed her goodnight. He told her everything was going to be fine. He would see her early in the morning. When he got back to the room he shared with Bart, he found Bart and Perry on the bed, spooning, and asleep. He turned out the lights and found a spot on the sofa across the room. He fell asleep before he could kick off his shoes. A deep sleep that he welcomed. A deep sleep that he hoped would take him back home to his time.

  Perry was the first to open his eyes to the morning’s sunlight, peeking from behind the window’s pull-down shade. He sat up and wiped his face with his hands, and then he jumped. What time was he in? Was he still in 1942? Was he back in his time?

  He looked around the room. It was still the same as last night. Except it wasn’t. David and Bart were gone. It was only him in the room. Perry went to the window, lifted the shade. Everything was the same outside. Perry tore out of the room, went to the shared bathroom down the hall. No David. No Bart. He ran down to Roxanne’s room. Pounded on the door. Called her name. No answer.

  He went to the front desk. Asked after David and Bart and Roxanne. The clerk looked at him strangely, said no one by those names was checked into the hotel. Perry ran into the street. He could feel his fright creep up on him, seize him hard. He knew the answer before he asked the question. He was in 1942. He was stuck here. They had moved on. But he was stuck here. In Philadelphia. In 1942.

  He searched for his friends for three days. He could find not one of them.

  David woke up, his feet bobbing to a song he knew. It was not a modern song. It was something his grandmother would have listened to. It had a beat, it had a rhythm. It was rock and roll. He knew the song.

  His eyes flashed open and he sat upright. His heart was pumping in his chest. He was in a bed, in a small room. There was another bed across the room, two small desks, and a book case. He was in a dorm room. He threw off the sheet and threw his feet to the floor. He was naked. There was a silver chain around his neck, holding a peace sign medallion.

  David stood up and went to the window. He opened the metal blinds and looked outside. He was on a college campus. He looked to the street and saw the cars passing by. His stomach fell. A Chevy Camaro? A Ford Mustang? He was no longer in 1942. He was in the 60s. The song he heard, the song he knew, was being sung by The Beatles. It was called Ticket to Ride. Some dude was playing it on is radio. He was sitting on a patch of grass with a group of friends. The girls were in jeans and mini-skirts. The guys were also in jeans, but had on T-shirts or collared shirts with crazy geometric shapes and colors. They all had long hair. They had signs and paint.

  A sign read: BABIES ARE FOR LOVING NOT BURNING!

  A sign read: MARCH FOR PEACE MOVEMENT

  A sign read: GET OUT OF VIETNAM!

  David’s eyes widened and he stepped back from the window. He could hear a new song now, one his father said that even he liked as a kid. Dance to the Music. Was it Hendrix? No, no. It was…it was…Sly & the Family Stone. He was definitely in the 1960s.

  He went to one of the desks. A pair of jeans and a T-shirt were flung over the back of the chair. He put them on quickly. He found canvas sneakers nearby. On the back of the door was a note to him.

  Dave, see you at the rally! Pat

  Who the hell was Pat? Pat Papadopolous? And then he looked at the other bed, unmade. He was a student here. He had a roommate. He looked around for keys, found them and stuffed them into his pocket. He snatched open the door to the hallway. The corridor was alive and loud with everyone gearing up for the rally. They had signs, markers, banners, face paint.

  David looked for a bathroom. He had to piss like a horse, and he needed no distractions. The race was on once again. He had to find his friends.

  From what David gathered from the crowds of students everywhere, the March for Peace was to start at noon, going up North Broad Street, past Temple University at Broad Street and Columbia Avenue, past the Divine-Lorraine Hotel at Broad Street and Fairmount Avenue, and toward City Hall for a mass protest downtown. David prayed that his friends were in the crowd here. He had awakened in the late 1960s, he thought, and it would be good to find them, to sleep again. To keep moving toward their future, toward their own time.

  The crowds had poured out onto Broad Street. There was chanting, music, singing, speeches being given by megaphone. A few were playing drums (the college band kids it seemed). The Black students held signs calling for liberation. Others held banners reading G.I.s FOR PEACE, or GET U.S. OUT OF VIETNAM NOW, or NOT ONE MORE DEAD. Some held posters of Martin Luther King, Jr. on one side and that read CARRY OUT HIS DREAM on the other. Some women held signs that read I’M NO BREEDER FOR THE MAN’S WAR or THE WOMEN OF VIETNAM ARE OUR SISTERS.

  It was all very stunning and scary for David. He had never been in a march before, had never seen this many people congregated and angry. There were hundreds and hundreds of people on the street, and there were police here too in great number. The chanting, the noise, the music, the shouting, was all very dizzying, as he began to walk with the crowd, down the middle of Broad Street, looking to his left and right for any familiar faces.

  It was 1968, he saw as he passed a wooden newsstand at the corner of Broad Street and Girard Avenue. Early October, which explained so many people in the street. School was in session, summer was over, Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy had been dead only a few months. People were angry, fed up. They were pushing back hard. Articulating the American rage. David understood something as he looked at faces on each side of the street. The older crowd stood on the side, some shaking their heads at the young people marching. There was a division here. Young versus old. Progress versus status quo.

  In the crowd that surrounded him, he saw the seeds of tomorrow. People that looked like him, just in the 1960s. Young, spirited, vocal, Black, White, gay, all together, all feeling a vibe, all riding a wave of purpose. There were people who spoke to him, said hi, gave him mimeographed flyers, gave him a sign that read ALL FOR PEACE. They saw he was empty handed and wanted him to participate. Someone took up a chant and others followed, shouting: A PEOPLE UNITED WILL NEVER BE DIVIDED! A PEOPLE UNITED WILL NEVER BE DIVIDED!

  David got an idea to raise his sign high. That maybe his friends would see his sign and find him, instead of the other way around. He took up the chant, raising his voice loud. A pretty girl nearby smiled at him, at his energy, and she too raised her voice and her sign high.

  Then he heard something through the chanting, over the drums, over the megaphone speeches. He saw through the raised fists and raised faces, Bart and Roxanne jumping up and down. They were on the steps of the Divine-Lorraine Hotel at Broad Street and Fairmount Avenue, waving their arms frantically. Bart was in a brown turtleneck and brown patterned pants, Roxanne in sky blue polyester pants and a white sleeveless blouse. She had on a black, white, and blue head wrap.

  David pushed his way through the crowd. They ran to him. They all hugged without saying a word.

  “How long have you been here?” was the first question David asked.

  “Two days,” Bart and Roxanne answered.

  “I just got here less than an hour ago. Where’s Perry?”r />
  Roxanne looked at Bart, whose face had reddened. He shook his head.

  David put a hand on Bart’s shoulder. “Bart, I’m sorry.”

  “But we have something to show you,” Roxanne said. She had a cloth bag and pulled from it a magazine. She held up the cover for David and he gasped out loud.

  “It’s from four years ago. It was lying around the lobby of the hotel. Probably on purpose by our friend Pat Papadopolous,” Bart said.

  “Pat Papadopolous? What’s he got to do with this?”

  “I swear if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  David looked at Roxanne, who shrugged her shoulders in ignorance. David looked at the cover of the magazine. It was called Reel Stars. It was from June 1964. On the cover was Missy Alexander, looking glamorous in full make-up and an emerald green silk gown that hung off her shoulders. The cover read Death of a Sex Symbol. David flipped the pages, found the article, and read.

  “It says she became a film star in the 1940s and sold bonds for the war effort. She was discovered after a talent scout saw her at a USO concert here in Philadelphia for the Navy. She went on to do radio shows and eventually got her Hollywood start in romantic comedy films. She helped to open an integrated canteen for World War II soldiers. She rocketed to stardom in a string of 1950s sex comedies, and was often compared to Kim Novak.”

  “Can you believe that?” Roxanne said.

  David shook his head in disbelief. He continued.

  “She had three marriages and two children, and seemed to retire from acting for a time. However, she later returned to acting in television, often guest starring as strong-willed women. She died of cancer and donated part of her estate to the horticultural upkeep of…”

  David raised his head, his eyes wide.

  “Say it,” Bart urged. “Say it out loud.”

  David said, “…to the horticultural upkeep of Hightower Park in Philadelphia.”

  Roxanne touched David’s arm. “Janey has a park.”

  David looked at her, stunned. “When did you see this article?”

  “About an hour ago. We were going to and try and find this park, but decided to wait for any one of us that showed up at this rally. We were holding out hope that we weren’t the only two left.”