Time Between Time (Part 1)
Issue #683 Keith’s SciFi Musings Sunday, July 28, 2024
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The first time it happened, Jonas was sitting at his desk in his cramped disaster space of an office, sipping on lukewarm coffee and catching up on his emails. Leaning back in his antique, chipped, and very squeaky wooden chair, the one he had inherited from his late father who had also been a writer of fiction (only he had been successful at it) he was frowning just slightly at a message just received from his mother asking him why he still hadn’t been in touch with his younger brother after his car accident. Isn’t that what Big Brothers are supposed to do? She asked.
Not when your little brother is an asshole, Mom, and Kyle is a Grade A asshole. The asshole survived the accident. Oh and by the way he was drunk. Again. And ran into a tree. A little girl was on the other side of that tree. That tree saved her life. Kyle’s girlfriend, who inexplicably is a decent human being, told me that Kyle didn’t seem to care about how traumatized the little girl was at almost being hit by a car piloted by a raging alcoholic screaming heavy metal lyrics at the top of his lungs. So the hell with Kyle. Wasn’t my idea to have a little brother. That one’s on you, Mom. So YOU deal with the asshole.
The end. On to the next message.
Anyway, it was just after 6 am, and it was that time of long summer days in Michigan when the sun was already up and out and poking through the shades of his small window, which looked out at the overgrown mini-wilderness of Jonas’ backyard. That was another point of head-shaking dissatisfaction for his mother, the fact that Jonas did not believe in mowing the lawn in his back yard (the front yard was immaculate) because he felt like, you know, why should he? More fun to see what happens when urban nature is left to its own designs. It was his house, small as it was, now completely paid for, which was a small miracle in these days when homes weren’t meant to be paid off. Same thing with cars. And since it was his house, as his logic went, it should be his rules.
He took another sip of his almost-but-not-yet-cold coffee from a large, strangely-shaped black mug that read “Detroit Rules the World” in large white letters on the side. His earlier frown eased into an appreciative smile and then a chuckle as he read a humorous message from his buddy Earl who was always sending him weird videos.
And that’s when he heard it. Or at least he thought he did. It was a heavy grinding sound, like metal clashing and mashing with rocks. The sound happened suddenly enough on an otherwise relatively quiet Saturday morning that it made Jonas drop his cell phone where he had been viewing Earl’s video of some ridiculously tall girl with purple skin (how in the…?) and silver dreadlocks doing magic tricks with a basketball in the middle of a busy street.
“Wha…? Hey,” he said, looking around.
Which is why Jonas wasn’t sure if he had heard the noise, even though he knew he had. Because a sound like that had to have come from somewhere, had to have been made by something. But when he went to look out his window, because at first the sound seemed to be coming from that direction, the sound shifted its origin and was now coming from behind him. He spun around, eyes growing wide, searching his office.
“Wait…”
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