Time Machine
Adam could feel the warmth of the sun on his face – it was bright, too bright and he knew it was late. He should have been up by now. With a groan, he rolled away from the light and pulled the covers over his head – which was throbbing relentlessly. He tried to ignore it, but it only got worse. Then his stomach grew queasy, rolling in a counter rhythm to the pounding in his head. Right then and there, he vowed to never again drink liquor of any sort.
An odd, sickening scent assaulted his olfactory system, making his stomach churn even worse. The scent was familiar and he made another vow: never again would he allow himself to be tempted by a saloon gal, no matter how pretty they were. He remembered Daisy May sitting on his lap, but wait…hadn’t she left with Rob Taylor? Yes, she had. They’d left him sitting there with…with…? He had a vague recollection of a large, sweaty bosom in his face. Lupita? No. Oh, no…. No, no, no…. He rolled over the side of the bed, right onto the floor, then reached for the chamber pot and emptied the stale, sour contents of his stomach.
He prayed to the Lord, making a solemn promise that he would indeed become a monk and never again would he commit a sin -- if only He would just let him die right then. He lay there on the floor, waiting patiently, giving the Lord plenty of time to grant his request, but to his dismay nothing happened. It seemed the Lord wasn’t taking him seriously. Finally, he gave up and struggled to his feet and looked in the mirror, the image that looked back at him was indeed frightful. Gingerly he touched the swollen and bruised area around his eye, wondering when had he gotten in a brawl?
He looked down at his clothing, rumpled and stained, smelling of whiskey and cheap perfume. Pa would probably disown him if he laid eyes on him now. The thought of his pa prompted another vague image to flash through his mind, making him suddenly feel dizzy and light-headed. Had he really said those things to his father? Please God, make it have all been a dream, he asked the Lord. He closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them everything would be fine. Another glance in the mirror was all he needed to figure out that apparently the Lord was not going to indulge him.
Resigned to his fate, he began shaving, only half paying attention until he noticed the blood flowing freely down his chin. He bent over the basin and splashed his face, accidentally getting lather in his eyes. Blindly he searched for a cloth, to no avail, then turned and stumbled toward his bed, planning to wipe his face with the sheet and stepped into…the chamber pot. Grown men do not cry, he reminded himself over and over as he wiped his face. The burning in his eyes from the lather didn’t help. He set the basin on the floor and stuck his entire foot into the water. He made one last attempt to bargain with the Lord then gave up completely, changed his shirt and headed downstairs to face the music.
“Adam! Adam!” Joe’s shrill voice made his head feel like it was being stabbed with a pick.
“Shhh!”
“Adam,” the boy whispered loudly, “ya gotta come see what me and Hoss made!”
Adam was about to reply in a less than kindly manner when he caught a glimpse of his father’s face. The air became thick with tension and hostility, or perhaps it had been that way already. Whatever the case, he had no doubt what his Pa was feeling. In fact, he looked like a volcano about to erupt. Adam closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Okay, Lord…he began again to plead, but was interrupted by an angry voice shouting. Why did everyone have to shout?
“You late! Hop Sing make bleakfast long time ago! Bacon cold and eggs watery! Biscuits cold, gravy lumpy and cold!”
“oh god.” He closed his eyes, trying to force those images out of his mind.
“Come on, Adam!” Joe tugged at his sleeve. “Ya gotta see what we ‘vented!”
Anything to get out of the house and breathe some fresh air. He allowed Joe to lead him out the door and toward the barn.
“Adam! You can be the first to test it out!” Hoss announced cheerfully. Adam didn’t even want to know what he was testing out. He didn’t care. If he was lucky whatever it was would put him out of his misery right then and there.
“Go on!” Joe gave him a shove.
Adam opened his eyes just in time to duck and avoid hitting his forehead as he was thrust into a metal box that looked like somewhat like a small outhouse. He was too tall to stand comfortably, so he sat down on the bench right as Joe slammed the door shut. It was black as pitch in the box and he realized he didn’t like it in there one bit. “Joe!” He stood up, banging the top of his head on the ceiling and pounded on the door. “Hoss!” Why hadn’t he just stayed in Boston and taken that job his grandfather had offered? he asked himself. Suddenly there was a loud whirring noise and the box began to rattle and shake. His stomach lurched and white flecks danced before his eyes and he felt his legs giving out from beneath him. And then….
Adam could feel the warmth of the sun on his face – it was bright, too bright and he knew it was late. He should have been up by now. With a groan, he rolled away from the light and pulled the covers over his head – which was throbbing relentlessly. He tried to ignore it, but it only got worse. Then his stomach grew queasy, rolling in a counter rhythm to the pounding in his head. Right then and there, he vowed to never again drink liquor of any sort.