Missing Time (A Short Story In Five Parts ~ Part Three)
Previous installments of Missing Time: Part 1, Part 2.
“Timothy Alfred Johnson, you’re to be home by noon. I mean it,” Joss said, patting her son on the seat of his faded Levi’s as he ran towards the door.
“Love you, honey!”, she yelled, her hair tousled by the breeze her son left behind.
“Love you too!”, Timmy answered. He imagined the bang of the wooden screen door slamming behind was a starter pistol and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.
He slowed his pace as he approached the last house on the block and tossed the neighbor’s skinny Boxer the sausage he pocketed from the breakfast table. The dog snorted as he eagerly licked the remnants of grease from his palm. Timmy made a sharp left turn at the corner of the fence and traveled two and a half blocks further, and quickly closed the gap between him and his destination, his beloved woods.
He parted the foliage and, as he entered, he drew in a deep breath of the fresh, cool air. Something unusual caught Timmy’s attention. About fifty feet straight ahead, dozens of butterflies fluttered in a shaft of sunlight that pierced the forest’s canopy, an undulating vortex of vibrant color. There were the standard orange and black monarchs but also iridescent blue, and an exotic lavender-colored variety that was foriegn to him. He inched forward slowly so as not to startle them and stood there transfixed for what seemed like a split second, but strangely, also like an eternity. It was one of those rare moments in life where our thin veil of reality melts just enough for you to see a bit of what’s beyond it.
Timmy felt about this particular patch of woods like the pious felt about church. When he was here he was connected to something so vast that his problems seemed insignificant. He searched for his landmark, an old moss-covered walnut tree. Someone long ago had strung a rope swing across one of its thickest branches.
He hoisted himself onto the swing. His hands encircled the prickly hemp ropes, pushed off, and began to pump his legs, each time swinging ever higher. As he reached his apex he inhaled one last breath of the musky scent of green walnuts strewn across the forest floor and jumped into the shaft of light. He soared for what felt like and eternity. The last thing he could remember was being surrounded by light, his entire body vibrating like a tuning fork and the rough outlines of people peering down at him. The memory then became foggy, like studying a Monet through creamy cataracts.
“Mr. Johnson, it’s time to return here to me.”
Tim awoke to Dr. Schiller lightly tapping his veined and speckled hand.
“You went much deeper this time. The gong rang five times before you even flinched.”
Tim blinked his eyes and dragged his tongue slowly across his dry lips.
“How in the hell could I have completely forgotten?”
“About?” Rachel asked.
“I spent most of my childhood in this patch of woods, but I have almost no memory of what I did there. I remember jumping off a swing and that’s where it always stops.”
The doctor shrugged her shoulders. “Memories can be blocked for a variety of reasons. There are those on the fringes of physics who believe each moment in time resides forever in its own singular dimension. They think the physical body is just some meat-suit that allows us to travel down a one way street through these moments in time. They they think that DMT, sometimes only briefly, can serve as a bridge that strings those moments together and allows you to explore in the other direction.”
There are those on the fringes of physics who believe each moment in time resides forever in its own singular dimension. They think the physical body is just some meat-suit that allows us to travel down a one way street through these moments in time. They they think that DMT, sometimes only briefly, can serve as a bridge that strings those moments together and allows you to explore in the other direction.”
Rachel backtracked. “I don’t subscribe to these theories, of course. We’re just beginning to understand how this all works. Our only goal here is to just remove blockages, so emotional processing can begin.”
Tim looked confused as memories began trickling back to him.
“They called themselves The Helpers. They were from some other time and place. They thought they could save us,” he said, stoically, as he stared off into nothingness.
Memories then started to spider across Tim’s imagination like lightning. They were as vivid as they were disjointed.
Seven-year-old Timmy was pumping his legs maniacally to get the swing as high as he could. At the precise moment he reached the apex, he jumped, sailing twenty feet above the forest floor, directly through that shaft of sunlight. When he breached the light, time slowed down, his entire body tingled, and he was enveloped in an ethereal glow. For a split-second everything shifted, then came back into focus.
Timmy, running through a grassy field in the middle of the woods, towards a group of children sitting on the ground. They were being tutored by people who looked strange but familiar. They wore dark uniforms, had very thin limbs, and large, dark eyes but once in their presence he had an overwhelming sense of peace, purpose, and belonging.
Some children were seated in circles, in the lotus position, on the ground with their eyes closed. Another group were being shown holographic scenes of raging wildfires, nuclear explosions, storms, civil unrest, and widespread environmental pollution in rapid-fire succession. Still others were studying geometric shapes and complex mathematical formulas.
The trip to memory lane ended with him lying alone, damp, and cold on the forest floor and being summoned from sleep by the cawing of crows roosting in the treetops for the evening. Tim was left with an aching heart and an intense desire to know more.
Rachel snapped her fingers. “Tim, are you still with me?”
“Vietnam derailed it all for me,” he whispered, “I feel like if I can just revisit these woods again I can rediscover the meaning of my life.”
Tim’s head tilted, and his face registered confusion. His shoulders began to bounce subtly, a soft whimper escaped from the corner of his mouth as he started to sob.
Dr. Schiller rose from her chair and touched his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re perfectly safe here with me. Let those tears flow.”
Her words of permission unleashed a river that pooled in the folds of his flannel shirt and soaked through to his skin. The emotional release felt so incredible he didn’t want it to stop.
Tim sat there in that state for a good while and went through the entire box of Kleenex from the side table.
“Christ, I’m sorry. This is embarrassing.” Tim blushed.
“Don’t cry very often, do you?”
Tim stroked the rough white stubble sprouting from his chin. “Is it bad if I can’t remember the last time?”
Rachel smiled. “We made some real progress today. I think you’re ready for a higher dosage.”
Tim gave his nose one final long blow grunting as he struggled to his feet and put on his cap. “Thank you.”
She smiled and walked him to the door, “That’s why I’m here. I’m glad it’s working. Don’t forget to schedule that next appointment before you leave. Word is getting out about the program and the appointments are being booked out more than a week in advance now.”
Tim entered the elevator packed with business people staring blankly into their phones or in various stages of preparing to. Yesterday he had been lazy, so, today he would have to really make it count.
He spotted his mark. A young woman pressed shyly into the corner of the elevator, and shuffled his way to the vacant space beside her. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles, her shoes were scuffed, and her shoulders slouched forward. To the casual observer, she might appear to be doing fine, but Tim could see she was already in the beginning stages of giving up.
Her relatives back home thought she was living her dream in the Big Apple, she probably let them assume that. Her lunch had probably consisted of a bag of Fritos from the office vending machine. Her dinner might be free happy hour tapas at some neighborhood bar. Like so many people her age living in this city without a trust fund, survival was a continual juggling act.
Her relatives back home thought she was living her dream in the Big Apple, she probably let them assume that. Her lunch had probably consisted of a bag of Fritos from the office vending machine. Her dinner might be free happy hour tapas at some neighborhood bar. Like so many people her age living in this city without a trust fund, survival was a continual juggling act.
New York City always had a way of seducing the dreamers. Once it had them in its grasp the city kept them entranced until the best of their years had slipped away. Only a small handful of lucky ones realized their dreams. Even fewer made it to middle age with their dignity intact.
Read On
With Gratitude,
~Eric Vance Walton~
*I am an American novelist, poet, traveler, and crypto-enthusiast. If you’ve enjoyed my work please sign up for my author newsletter at my website. Newsletter subscribers will receive exclusive updates and special offers and your information will never be sold or shared.
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Upvoted 👌 (Mana: 5/15 - need recharge?)
So now for part four, thank you for sharing one of your short stories here with us! Cryptos had to creep in of course, lucky Tim for that bit but not so lucky to have gone to Vietnam! Look forward to the twist;)
You're welcome @lizelle. Thanks for taking the time to read it! That crypto was a blessing and a curse for him, mostly a blessing though. I feel like there's more to this story, even after the end of it. I may end up expanding on it a little more at some point in the future. I hope you had a great weekend!
I feel like I hit the trifecta tonight... all three parts back, to back, to back.
Now I have to keep checking steemit this weekend for the conclusion with part 4 of 4.
You have done excellent thus far in my humble opinion with the first three.
Sult
You are very kind. I'm so glad you enjoyed it and people are actually reading it! This one has one hell of a twist at the end. It'll be interesting to hear your thoughts on it. I had to lengthen it to five installments because it was longer than I thought. So we have two left.
Awesome stuff. I missed the rest of these over the weekend so I am going to catch up on them now. I can't wait to finish this.
UPVOTED... Gaaaaaad.. I Loved this.. Lovely story.. you should drop it on kindle too/// if you didn't as yet.. this is awesome though... wow... didn't even know you could do that.. THIS IS MY 1ST PUBLISHED BOOK HERE CALLED "TIM" The Independent Musician...Now on Amazon Kindle. Thank U for your Greatness
Thanks! This one I'm submitting to some larger publishers but do plan on releasing a collection of my short stories on Amazon in book form later this year. Best of luck on your book!