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I suppose you could say I was having a good day
that bright midsummer day, the day I will not soon forget, for it certainly had
not been a bad day. It was a beautiful day, nonetheless, with the sun well into
its journey across the sky and a warm breeze blowing through my loose T-shirt.
This is the time of year I love here in my hometown just to the north of
Baltimore, when the Maryland breeze occasionally relieves you from the typically
humid summer days.
I also love summer because every time that season
rolls around I grow a year older. In fact, I had just turned seventeen a few
weeks ago. That is when my dad had informed me of a change in my life. I still
remember his words clearly. “Ethan,” he had said, “since you are a year older
and now have your driver’s license, I have looked into finding you a job over
the summer. Now don’t rush to conclusions,” he had quickly added when he saw my
face cloud over, the blissful thoughts I had had of spending afternoon after
afternoon with my friends vanishing. “It is time you started becoming a man.
Besides, you might just come to like it.”
I had come to like it. As I stopped at a store on
my way back from my summer job that day, I loved the feeling of having some
extra cash in my pocket. Like any other teenager, I bought quite a few snacks
with my money, but the snacks I buy are different. Instead of an energy drink and candy bar, my
favorite snack was a bag of fresh cherries from the produce isle and a root
beer. I suppose I am kind of strange in that regards. As I headed back to my car
with cherries, root beer, and several groceries for my parents in tow, though, I
figured that being different wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, at least in regards
to my snack preferences.
I had just popped one of the cherries in my mouth
when suddenly a bright light burst from the parking lot. The light was so bright
that I fell to my knees and shielded my eyes, and how I kept from choking on the
cherry in my mouth still puzzles me. A sound like air whistling through the
smallest crack in a door surrounded me, and if I had not had to shield my eyes,
I probably would have covered my ears against the piercing sound. I don’t know
how long I kneeled there before the sound subsided and the light faded and died
away, but needless to say, I was glad when it was
over.
A deathly quiet seemed to fill the parking lot
after this strange sensation, or maybe it just seemed that way after the
ear-piecing sound. In any case, the slight breeze had ceased to blow, and the
few persons in the parking lot were just as hushed and looked just as bewildered
as I felt. I rose to my feet and quickly gathered my few groceries, thinking it
best to leave the place as soon as possible. I figured that whatever that
strange sensation was, it was not something to stick around for and hope it
happened again. But as I approached my car, my life was changed forever. It was
changed far more than any summer job. In fact, as I look back on it now, I think
I was changed more in the next few hours than ever before since I was born.
It was as I approached my car that I saw them, the
authors of the change in my life. Three men, all three of them oddly dressed,
stood around my car. To say they were oddly dressed would be an understatement,
though, for their clothes were very
odd. Even in the heat, all three wore a buttoned up vest over their white,
ruffled long-sleeved shirts. They all also wore straight brown breeches, and
their white socks pushed out of their pilgrim-like shoes. Two of the men stood
on either side of my car, watching me approach, but the other, who was by far
the most rotund of the group, seemed to be trying to look at the undercarriage
of my car. This third figure was bent over with his head under the bumper of my
car, and as I drew near, I could hear him mumbling something to the effect of
“Astonishing, simply astonishing.”
I thought about engaging these odd humans in a
conversation but decided against it. Stomping past them, I opened the trunk of
my car and deposited all but my root beer and bag of cherries into it. I then
slammed the trunk back shut with a bang and walked towards the driver’s side
door, hoping that the strangers would get the message and back off, especially
the one with his head still under the front bumper of my
car.
They didn’t. The man closest to me, who stood
taller than me and whose face was slightly scared by chickenpox, shifted his
position and tried to catch my eye before he said, “Good sir, please, I would
have a word with you.” The man’s voice was level and controlled.
I turned towards the man for the first time and
looked into his eyes. I was struck by the commanding features of the man, and
also by how familiar he seemed. Whoever he was, it was clear that the man that
levelly met my gaze was a born leader. “Yes?” The tone of my voice made it clear
that I was not all that fond of obliging to his
request.
“Sir, my three comrades and I seem to have been
brought together by providence in this strange land. Why or how we are here,
none of us can tell, but if you would be so kind as to give us an understanding
of where we are, I am sure we would all be grateful.”
Are these
men insane? I thought to myself, staring at the earnest face of the man. The
man had looked and sounded sincere, but how in the world did he not know where
he was? And why was he speaking so funny? “Um,” I said out loud, “you are in a parking
lot in a small town just outside of Baltimore, and are in the state of Maryland
in the United States.” As I said this, I opened the driver’s door of my car and
threw my soda and cherries onto the middle seat.
Suddenly the face of the man in front of me looked
as startled and confused as mine must have looked. He opened his mouth to say
something, but no words came, and he stood with mouth agape. The man on the
other side of the car, whose fine face showed just as much surprise as his
comrade, took a step closer to me, and the third man jerked his head up so
quickly that he banged it against the bumper of my
car.
“America?” the second figure said, his light
colored eyes staring intently back into my own. “We are in America? But that
can’t be possible. These strange wagons, everything . . .” the man’s voice
trailed off, and his eyes broke away from mine as he looked around
him.
In reply, I threw my hands into the air and sat
down inside my car, fully prepared to leave the supposed escapees from the
insane asylum in the dust. I inserted the key to my car into the keyhole, but
before I could slam my door shut, the first man regained his composure enough to
grab the door and keep it from closing.
“Please wait, lad, please.” The man pried the door open and kneeled down
so that we were at eye level again. “You said that we are in Maryland, near the
town of Baltimore, and though I hardly find that possible, you do not seem to be
lying. Please, we would like to get back to Philadelphia, where I hold the title
of president over these United States and where my two friends live. Could you
guide us to a place where we could attain a sufficient carriage like your own?”
“Oh, are you sure you don’t want to go to
Washington D.C.? Being the president, don’t you want to go to where the
leadership of our country resides?” I asked, unable to keep from mocking. “And
as far as buying yourself a ‘carriage’, there is not a car dealership within
twenty miles of here.”
Again the supposed “president” looked bewildered,
mixed only with a crestfallen look. “Washington D.C? If you mean the land near
the Potomac, it is hardly developed.” An earnest look again reasserted itself on
the man’s face, and he continued, “Sir, I do not mean to presume on your
kindness, but one of my friends is in no condition to walk twenty miles. If you
are inclined, could you perhaps bear us in your carriage, at least for a time?”
“Well, I am not ‘inclined’. I don’t even know your
names, let alone why in the blazes you are here without a car,” I said quickly.
The thought of transporting these lunatics anywhere strongly disagreed with
me.
“I am sorry, sir,” the second, fine-faced man said,
coming around my car so that he faced me. “Perhaps my comrade presumed that you
would know him as most everybody in America does, well, at least in our age. He
is our president, George Washington, I am Benjamin Rush, and this third
gentleman is—“
“Benjamin Franklin,” I finished for him, looking
into the face of the rather pudgy man, the exact likeness of the face on the
Quaker Oat’s box, who had finally straightened up while still holding his head.
“Your costumes are praiseworthy, but your masks must be getting uncomfortable.
Why not peel them off?”
I again made to close my door, but “Washington’s”
fingers still kept it ajar. “I don’t know what we have done to receive your
prejudice,” he said quietly, but still evenly, to me. “Indeed, you are behaving
yourself as someone below your age. But I am not in a position to criticize you.
For pity’s sake, could you not bear us to either Philadelphia or the District of
Columbia, or at least to a place where we could ascertain a carriage? You will
be well paid.” With these last words, he pulled a wad of odd looking paper from
his vest but then quickly returned them to his pocket. “No, I will not waste
your time by offering you Continentals. They are increasingly worthless in our
day, and I doubt not that they have ceased to be used in your age. Perhaps the
Spanish dollar still retains value in your society? I am sure that between me
and my fellows, we could offer you a sufficient amount of the coin.”
I shook my head. “I have to get back home. I’m
sorry.” I suppose that was partly a lie on both counts, for I did not really have to get home and neither was I all
that sorry.
George Washington stepped back, resign showing in
his face, but then Benjamin Franklin’s double spoke for the first time, “Sir, or
would you rather be called lad, we seem to be in a proverbial stalemate. You
would like to get back to your hovel, or whatever you call them now, and we also
would like to get back to our home city. You seem to be ill inclined to us, but
we require the service of your cart and will pay you well. As I once said, ‘When
a broad table is to be made, and the edges of planks do not fit, the artist
takes a little from both, and makes a good joint. In like manner here both sides
must part with some of their demands, in order that they may join in some
accommodating proposition*’.”
Benjamin paused as if to let his words sink in.
“Perhaps it is time for us to make a compromise, lad,” he continued at last. “By
virtue of example, let’s say that instead of you journeying with us all the way
to Philadelphia, you just take us to a place where we can buy a horseless
carriage. It is horseless, isn’t it?” Benjamin asked, his eyes gleaming now as
he peered over the rims of his glasses.
Yes, it is horseless,” I said, resisting the urge
to roll my eyes. Whoever the members of this strange group claimed to be, I had
resolved to try and not look too juvenile to them, especially under the level
gaze of George Washington’s imposter. “And I don’t think a compromise can be
made. Goodbye.”
I finally managed to close my car door and turned
the key. My engine coughed to life. Though I was very proud of my first car, it
was the definition of a “beater”. Putting it in drive, I began to roll away from
the group.
I will never know why I looked back, but that is
what I did. Perhaps I really did believe, or really wanted to believe, that the
strangers were who they claimed to be. Maybe it was something else, something
like the “providence” George Washington had mentioned earlier. My eyes met with
those of George Washington’s, and I couldn’t hold his gaze. I looked at Benjamin
Rush, who stood by Benjamin Franklin and seemed to be looking the round man over
carefully. Mr. Franklin himself looked to be the least forlorn of the group, his
gray eyes searching intently over my car still.
My foot rested over the brake pedal, then pushed
against it, and I realized that the last thing I wanted to do was leave these
three men behind. At least not yet, I
thought. Give them a
chance.
I rolled down my window, and this time I could hold
Washington’s gaze. “Well,” I called out, “maybe I could get you as far as a car
dealership.”
A smile slowly spread over our first president’s
commanding face, and he bowed. “Thank you, sir, we are greatly indebted to
you.”
The three approached, and Benjamin Franklin said
cheerfully, “Thank you for obliging, lad. It is about time I set off on another
adventure. I am ready to embark on this new quest.”
“You will do no such thing,” Benjamin Rush
retorted. “You are an old gentleman—no, a very old gentleman—suffering from
multiple health disorders. I will not allow you to do anything more than what is
necessary to get you back to your abode.”
“Nonsense, good doctor,” Franklin replied, “I feel
reinvigorated, like eating a bowl of warm stew after coming in from the cold. I
don’t know what it is, but I feel younger. Maybe the time travel we all just
went through has rewound my clock a little bit in the process. Whatever the
case, I feel to be back in my sixties at least, and I do not doubt I could go
skipping about the countryside again as I did in my
youth.”
“Oh, I can assure you that you will not be doing
any skipping,” Dr. Rush said dryly, taking the smiling old man by the arm and
leading him to the door of my car.
Each of the
men managed to open the door of my car and seated themselves in it. George
Washington, or at least his imitator, sat beside me in the front passenger’s
seat while his two comrades headed for the back seats. The more rotund of the
two Benjamins sat directly behind the president, and Dr. Rush sat behind me.
As I let my car start moving again, I called out,
“Seatbelts, everyone.” The blank looks of the three men was all I received for
an answer, so I again stopped the car to show them how to fasten the safety
devices. After three clicks told me that each of the men was belted in, I
finally was able to successfully leave the parking
lot.
“I will take you to where I bought my ‘carriage’,”
I informed. “It is a fairly decent used-car dealership in the suburbs of
Baltimore.”
The president beside me, who seemed to naturally
assume the leadership of the strange group, thanked me, and an awkward silence
filled the car, broken only by a clicking sound. I glanced in my rear-view
mirror and saw that Benjamin Franklin was bent over his seatbelt buckle. He
occasionally un-buckled the seatbelt and then, after carefully studying the
medal end of the belt, re-buckled it, only to repeat the process intently again.
I rolled my eyes and turned them back to the road.
Finally the man next to me broke the silence. “I
don’t think we ever gained the knowledge of your name, sir,” he
said.
“I’m Ethan,” I returned simply, not looking away
from the road before me.
“Ethan,” George repeated slowly, “that is a good
name, like the name of a great soldier I knew.”
I shrugged, and our brief conversation ended.
Benjamin Franklin, however, seemed to be roused from his study of the seatbelt
at this short interchange and leaned forward. “Ethan, I would like to receive an
understanding of how your marvelous horseless carriage works. Are you willing to
answer a few questions?”
I should have known better from the knowing glance
the doctor and president exchanged than to agree to this request, but I didn’t.
I nodded, and that was all the confirmation the rotund founding father
needed. A rapid stream of questions
poured from his mouth, and I was hard pressed to answer the sheer number of them
all and the complexity contained in them.
I finally tried to fend off this nearly vicious
stream of questions. “I need to call my dad and tell him why I will be a little
late for dinner,” I said, grasping at anything to change the
subject.
Benjamin Franklin stopped mid-question, and
Benjamin Rush glanced up from a book that had somehow come through the time
travel with him. It was entitled A New
Method of Chemistry, including the Theory and Practice of the Art **. The three of them watched as I got out my
cell phone and dialed my dad.
The cell phone rang three times, and then the
familiar voice of my dad came through. “Hello,
Ethan?”
“Hi, Dad. I just wanted to let you know that I
might not be able to make it for dinner. I am running an errand for George
Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and Benjamin Rush.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “What in
the world are you talking about, son? Are George Washington, Benjamin Franklin,
and Benjamin Rush the nicknames of your friends or
something?”
“Nope,” I replied. “They claim to be and look like
the real deals, Benjamin Franklin especially.”
“Ethan, have you lost your mind?”
“I sure hope not.” I was surprised at the
unsteadiness in my voice when I said this.
My father said something else to me, but I don’t
remember what that something was, only remembering the rather distressed tone in
his voice. My mind was suddenly far away from the voice coming from my cell
phone. “Goodbye, Dad,” and I clicked my phone off. It rang again within seconds,
but I turned it off.
Was I going crazy? The thought had never occurred
to me. Maybe I was the one who had lost my marbles. I shook this thought off.
For now, all I knew was that I was in the company of three men who had been dead
for two centuries, three men who were titans in my country’s early history. That
in itself was enough to think about. If I had known how much my life would be
changed in the next few hours, though, I believe I would have been overwhelmed
in that moment.
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* Cited from James Madison’s Journal of the
Constitutional Convention.
** A book authored by Herman Boerhaave, a Dutch physician that Benjamin Rush studied. It was translated into English by Peter Shaw, an English physician.
** A book authored by Herman Boerhaave, a Dutch physician that Benjamin Rush studied. It was translated into English by Peter Shaw, an English physician.
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