Out of Time: Amazing Stories for Ordinary Wo-men

OUT

OF

TIME:

amazing stories for ordinary wo-men

wendy d. gillespie

©Copyright Wendy D. Gillespie, 2018. All rights reserved.

DEDICATED

To Ray Bradbury, whose imagination roamed the universe, and to my late father whose imagination was my universe.

The Stories:

TOYZ

HELL HATH NO FURY

ASH BLONDE

BUTTONED BENJAMINS

TREE

HISTORY REPEATING ITSELF

ROAMING

OLD

RED HORIZON

HUNTING AND GATHERING

AT THE CROSSROADS

CATCH OF THE DAY

CHROMATICS

DINO’S REVENGE

EAR TROUBLE

EZEKIEL’S WHEEL

GOOD DOG

GREAT WIDE OPEN

HERE, KITTY KITTY

JOEY

LIPSTICK

POOF

PURGE TORI: A CAUTIONARY TALE

SISTER CHRISTIAN

THE CANTILEVERED TALES

THE VIRTUAL PLANCHETTE

TIKI BAR

WALKIN’

ANEMONE

BLUE LIGHT SPECIAL

CLOUDS

DOPPELGANGERS

DUST

GOLDMINE

LE CHAT

LEEUWENHOEK’S RETICULE

MIRROR MIRROR

TIDEPOOL

VENUS

TOYZ

Hoo-hoo, Krono ! That was very entertaining ! You must perform that trick again ! Again ! chortled Zabreegar.

Yes, I thought you would find it particularly amusing, Krono smiled triumphantly. He hadn’t manipulated humans for the past five Earth years without learning a few things. He pressed the blue button on the Chronocutter again.

The small girl standing before them suddenly sprang into action, the white stripes on her pink shirt swirling around in a dizzying swirl of motion, sending cola spray flying from her can of soda in a bubbling helix of foam around her.

Won’t her mother be angry ! exclaimed Krono, taking his tentacle off the button.

Yes, it should prove to be a most entertaining afternoon. Perhaps she will take away her toys again ! said Zabreegar.

Dare we hope ? asked Krono. "After all, we could certainly use a day or two to ourselves to relax. All this field research among primitive species is positively exhausting !"

Zabreegar nodded his two heads in agreement. He’d had the second one added last decade when he’d been promoted to Field Observer. His mate Zolthar found it quite sexy.

Sure enough, the little girl’s mother stormed into the room as if on cue, and proceeded to read the child the riot act. "I thought I told you, NO soda in your room ! That’s it young lady. I’m taking away all your toys until you have time to think about what you’ve done to your nice white carpet and that BEDSPREAD ! I’ll never get that cola stain out !!!" She walked swiftly around the room, snatching up stuffed animals and dolls, taking Zabreegar (now a teddy bear) with her on her way to the closet to fetch a cardboard box for the rest. Krono had just managed to jump on top of the toy box and turn into a Barbie doll as she returned to drag the yellow and green particle board chest from the little girl’s room into the hallway.

Here’s a bath towel. Help me clean up this mess ! snapped her mother as the four year old began to cry, hot tears running down her pink cheeks. Meanwhile, unseen out in the hallway, Krono pressed a yellow button on his device. The woman and her daughter froze like statues, time stopped in its tracks. Now to find Zabreegar. And a bottle of that Earthly libation, be-eer, he believed it was called by the natives. They might as well make a party of their unexpected time off !

HELL HATH NO FURY

Reggie pulled his raincoat tighter around himself as the cold raindrops pelted down. He was backed up as close to the brick wall behind him as he could, so most of the rain was deflected by the overhang on the building. A passing businessman in a nice suit dropped a buck into the bucket next to Reggie’s hand-lettered sign, I am homeless - please give GOD BLESS ! Officer Newman was walking his beat at the end of the street, stepping out of the rain for a minute to chat with Mr. Kim, the Korean shopkeeper on the corner. Reggie’s head hurt real bad this morning. Homeboy had given him two forties last night, and now he was regretting it big time. How did he get here anyway ? His caseworker at the clinic told him he had a mental illness, schizophrenia, but surely someone would have noticed before now ? Reggie was fifty-two years old and the past couple years had been a blur, but he would remember if he had ever been diagnosed with a mental illness before. He could remember being a middle manager in an insurance office, with a retirement portfolio and a major medical health plan that included regular trips to his doctor for checkups. No one had ever mentioned schizophrenia before ! The last thing he did remember was crashing his car into a tree going around a curve too fast in his own neighborhood late one night, drunk as a skunk after a New Year’s party. The next thing he knew, he was waking up to the glare of sunlight pouring under the cardboard box around him in a park in this strange city. He’d even asked one of the pastors at the soup kitchen to help him out, but neither he nor the doctors at the free clinic could ever identify him. Officer Newman had even checked the missing persons reports down at the station, but no male fitting Reggie’s description and date of disappearance came up in the search. Apparently, he’d just poofed quietly into existence one fine morning in the city park, just another drifter. And the name of the town where he used to live didn’t exist either, according to the police. As far as they were concerned, Reggie was just another homeless dude with mental problems. But Reggie knew better. He got up to pick up his bucket and fished out three dollars. Then he walked down to Mr. Kim’s shop to buy a cup of black coffee. If Mrs. Kim was working the counter this morning, she’d be sure to slip him a sweet roll as well, gratis. She was always giving him wrapped paper packets of day old food she’d have to throw out otherwise, she claimed. Mr. Kim pretended not to notice and just looked the other way, his way of thanking Reggie for sorting the recyclables out back and keeping the back entrance neat and free of trash.

Besides, Reggie knew why the Kims were here. They’d been rich landowners with a cruel reputation in their home country, until the revolution. Now they were happy to be shopkeepers in their new life. Just like sweet old Mrs. Carrie Johnson who can’t say enough good things about her dead sister. Her neighbors think this is strange, since there is no sister to their knowledge. They’d lived next door to Mr. and Mrs. Johnson their entire married lives, and Mrs. Turner had even attended the same elementary school as Mrs. Johnson. Carrie had a younger brother who lived in Cleveland, but no sisters. But Mrs. Johnson had told Reggie that she and her sister used to fight over a man they both had dated, until the sister died suddenly. Then Carrie married him. Now old, she is stuck with this invalid husband and confides in Reggie on trips back and forth to the corner market with her little two-wheeled shopping cart. Mrs. Johnson was so convincing that Reggie had wondered to himself more than once if she thought she had killed this non-existent sister to win this man years ago. Or maybe she had. And then there was Father McCarthy, the young priest who shots baskets with the kids in the hood, who is obsessed with watching television gospel shows down at the community center on Saturdays. Reggie would sit with the Father, listening to his crazy ramblings when no one else could hear, waiting for the hot lunches to be served. If one of the kids walked out of the gym, he’d snap back to his cheerful community self, like everything was normal. But it wasn’t. Deep down, the young priest from Brooklyn was a tortured soul who spoke in an odd southern Alabama drawl only to Reggie, recounting lurid tales of past sins of the flesh paid for from the deep pockets of the church and televised fundraisers. Reggie was absolutely convinced the father had been a greedy and sinful televangelist in a past life. He was so alarmed that he mentioned his theory about Father McCarthy to the doctor at the clinic last month, who told Reggie to worry more about keeping his feet dry and less about the people in his neighborhood, and increased his meds. The doctor also told him that he shouldn’t pay attention to these delusions, to try to distinguish them from reality.

Reggie finished munching on his danish, and shoved Mrs. Kim’s paper bag of stale rolls into his coat pocket. He took another sip of the hot coffee and looked around. Maybe he’d spend the day in the library, since it was too damn cold to sit out here on the pavement. Looking both ways, Reggie stepped off the pavement just as a blue Mustang whipped around the corner. He never saw it coming.

The car kept going as Reggie lay bleeding on the pavement. A crowd was gathering from the shop as Father McCarthy ran over to investigate, a cell phone to his ear dialing 911. Father McCarthy bent down gently near his friend to administer last rites, in time to hear Reggie say softly: No ! I don’t to start over. I was a good man this time, wasn’t I Father ? Wasn’t I… The young father finished his prayers, making the sign of the cross over Reggie. Then he knelt down and whispered in the dying man’s ear, Good job Reggie ! You get to go home now, brother.

###

At first the siren’s wail sounded distant and far off in the distance, but it got louder the closer it got. Reggie could taste blood in his mouth, and his head was rubbing against a powdery cloth bag of some kind. What the ? Slowly, he opened his eyes. The old oak tree was slammed right up against his windshield almost, but the crushed remains of the hood obscured his view. Steam was pouring out of the engine compartment. Reggie jerked upright, suddenly awake as his seatbelt tightened and yanked him backwards into his seat. Holy crap. He must have passed out and driven into a goddamned tree. But he was miraculously alive. What a crazy dream he’d just had ! He winced and tried to move his left leg as the ambulance, a fire truck and two squad cars pulled up next to the tree.

ASH BLONDE

Tara was what was known in the business as a Clairol Junkie. She'd been as platinum as Marilyn (after much bleaching and stripping), and as midnight black as Courtney Cox. She couldn't even remember her true hair color anymore. A mousey brown, maybe. So this time, just for fun, she decided to be a blonde again. After six months of Cherry Bombshell, edgy as it was, she needed a break. Something to get Jay's attention. Jay was the new IT guy at work, a handsome nerd on the quiet side she'd overheard discussing Beyonce's new blond bangs with Ron Johnson in the break room, who was saying something about how he'd like to bang the chanteuse, or something to that effect. Blondes had more fun, after all. And so it was that Tara found herself back at her local Sally's picking out a new shade of blonde. She'd need to strip out the purple base of the red left in her hair of course, but that seemed easy enough. That cream remover she'd used last time on her blue-black locks could remove several levels of color. She had this covered. Now to pick a nice shade of blonde. She finally settled on a light golden blonde entitled Sweet Honey Kiss and made her way to the checkout counter, stopping to grab a new nail file along the way. It wasn't as hip a shade as she would have liked, but she was sure Jay would go for it. He seemed like the conservative type.

The next morning, a Saturday, she found herself sitting in the waiting area of that trendy new salon on the second level of the mall. This promised to be an expensive fix, but after ending up with a most peculiar shade of pale green locks, she decided to enlist the aid of professionals. Tara pulled the baseball cap farther down on her forehead and flipped to the next page of the Cosmo on her lap...

The colorist took one look at her and giggled. So what look were you going for, hon ? she asked with what seemed like genuine interest.

Oh, it was called Sweet Honey Kiss. You know, kind of golden blonde ? But I stripped off my old color first ! protested Tara weakly.

And that would be ?

Cherry Bombshell. Mixed with Black Cherry. The colorist frowned, sticking out her lower lip in a cute

pout. Except Tara didn't find it particularly cute at the moment. She waited.

Well, it'll take me a couple three hours. Is that ok with you darlin' ? Tara nodded. What choice did she have. The usual noxious cloud of vapors began to envelop Tara as the girl mixed up her concoction in a blue plastic bowl. If this worked, thought Tara, she’d owe the girl one helluva tip. Tara crossed her fingers as the colorist went to work.

#

By Monday morning, Tara had been transformed into a blonde beauty. They'd ended up with an ash blonde shade, to cover the brassiness left behind in her cuticle, the colorist explained. Not quite the golden hue Tara was hoping for, but it would have to do for now. Anyway, she was sure Jay would love it. She'd rolled it on large rollers before breakfast and it fell in sensuous ringlets around her face. She’d used only some pink lip gloss with a touch of mascara for that innocent, dewy look.

Jay was a goner, he didn’t stand a chance. Tara hummed to herself as she glanced into her rear view mirror and merged onto I-25.

The girls in the front office all oohed and ahhd when Tara flounced by. Where'd you get it done ? The Server ? OMG, that must have cost you a fortune !

It was totally worth it ! Tara beamed back. Now if Jay would just walk by. Bingo !

Lookin' GOOD, Jonesy ! growled Ron, slapping Tara inappropriately on her right butt cheek. Jay, who seemed to follow Ron around everywhere these days, rolled his eyes but smiled appreciatively at her. They were evidently on their way to the break room, clutching their coffee mugs. Tara suddenly felt a little woozy as they passed, grabbing the wall of a nearby cubicle to steady herself. Must be all those chemical fumes this weekend she thought. She'd better not be coming down with something ! Those nephews of hers were always sniffling and coughing.

Tara stood up, straightening her skirt and decided to join the boys in the break room for some donuts. Sugar before sex, she always said. She hadn't gotten five steps before she felt dizzy again, and had to sit down in a swivel chair. Weird images of a dark landscape floated in front of her eyes. Mounds of gray ashes covered the ground, with swirling columns of smoke rising into the darkened clouds. Truncated structures rose around her, bits of metal protruding at odd angles. She glanced down at the ground, tripping over something in her path. It was a skull. A human skull. Tara screamed, and she couldn't stop screaming.

#

What happened ? Is that TARA ?!! exclaimed Lashonda to Courtney as the paramedics wheeled a securely-fastened hysterical female past them on a gurney.

Yeah, didn't you hear the noise ? She just ran into the break room, tossing donuts everywhere. Guess she knocked over the Keurig too. She nearly scalded Ron when she ran into him, his coffee spilled all over his crotch, poor guy ! said Courtney.

Lashonda shook her head in disbelief. Mmmm, mmm, mm !

BUTTONED BENJAMINS

…with sincere apology to the memory of F. Scott Fitzgerald.

The television blared out another advertisement as Melinda flipped her cookbook open to the page with the casserole recipe she’d selected for dinner. Taco Chicken Bake was little Tommy’s new favorite, and John would just have to deal. John was more of a steak-and-potatoes kind of guy himself. Melinda laughed happily to herself. What an adventurous eater her husband was ! Not.

So c’mon down to The Birth House for all your newborn needs ! At The Birth House, we take care of all those pesky details like graveside seating and birth certificates for you, so you can just relax and enjoy your new baby. Bring the family ! Free hot dogs and balloons for the kiddies as they pick out a name for their new brother or sister. We guarantee the lowest prices in the tristate area. Make your reservation before November first and get a FREE autograph from our neonatologist, and your picture taken with our delivery nurses ! An actor in a multicolored check suit held a bunch of balloons aloft as a gaggle of excited children ran circles around him. Behind him, a beaming man and wife stood next to an open grave, attended by jostling relatives with video cameras and a seemingly anxious doctor in blue scrubs and a surgical mask. One gnarled hand could be seen peeking through the upturned soil as gasps of joy erupted from the waiting parents and two male nurses helped deliver the infant from the grave. Clapping could be heard in the background as a car commercial came on next. Melinda reached under the counter to get a baking dish out of the cabinet. Now where had she put that cheese grater ? Oh, there it was. Next to the mixing bowls.

John and Melinda Benjamin considered themselves lucky. After years of trying to have a child, they got a call one fine day from the adoption agency. It seemed an orphan had been rescued from a sidewalk downtown, gathered up in a crumpled, bloody mess by the paramedics, but definitely alive. The couple had spent a few harrowing weeks huddled in the NICU as their new child clung to life, a frail wizened mass of wrinkles and bones, hooked up to a snarl of tubing and wires. The baby couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds when he’d been found, and the doctors prepared them to expect a long wait before he was stable enough to bring home from the hospital. But the infant had rallied his strength, gaining back twenty five pounds in a month, his face filling out with a most healthy glow. Their friends had all thrown Tommy a big birthday party when they brought him home. He had quite an appetite after a month of hospital pablum, eating an entire slice of birthday cake in one great big messy bite. And what an appetite ! He was back on solid food, eating a Whopper with cheese every morning for breakfast. They spoiled him rotten, the lucky tyke. At his last visit to the pediatrician little Tommy had tipped the scale at a hundred and fifty-two pounds, his shock of gray hair filling in nicely on his patterned-bald pate. In a year or so the doctor said, he expected the boy to top one-eighty at least, quite probably bulking up bigger than John himself who was a respectable six foot three. The Benjamins had already put their name on the waiting list at one of the trendiest gyms in the city, as soon as they had filled out the application at the adoption agency. Golden Arms gym had called just last week to inform them that they had been accepted, and that Tommy’s training could start as soon as his pediatrician released him. John was just beaming with pride, and told all his jealous buddies at work the news.

The Benjamins were fortunate to live in an age of advanced medical technology, and theirs was the best medical care in the world. Special kinds of ambulances and medical facilities existed to assist in difficult births, saving especially critical and frail infants who would have perished in the less developed parts of the world. Yes, it truly was a remarkable age they lived in ! No one need lack for a child in their lives, due to biology or finances. Since the deadly German measles outbreak of ’17, the