FanStory.com - Going Back by BethShelby

“Jason, do you swear this is safe? What if I get stuck in time and don’t make it back?” I asked fearfully. “I know you’re brilliant, but why haven’t you tried to patent it, if it’s so foolproof?”

“It’s a hundred percent safe. I’ve done it dozens of times. It works like a charm. I’m not letting the government get their paws on this. They’ll kill the patent or take it from me. It’s just for me and my friends to use.”

“Okay, I’m going to trust you. I’m setting the dial for March 10, 1945. You say I just insert the pin onto the Google Earth Map and it’ll put me down right on the spot?”

“That’s all there is to it. Have a good trip. I’ll see you later.

Wow, that’s amazing. I didn’t even feel this thing move. I’m here already.

The house looks exactly like it did when I was seven.”

Those box shrubs are trimmed perfectly. You can tell Aunt Eva’s been busy. I’m getting out and going in the house now. The nails on the old tin roof are rusty. I don’t remember paying any attention to that back then. Look at that green porch swing. Grandpa and I spent many an evening on that.

There’s not but two concrete steps. I thought for sure there was at least three. The house isn’t as far up on concrete blocks as I thought. Grandma has got her flower pots out already. It looks like something’s coming up. This unpainted porch looks familiar. I’d forgotten all about that old screen door. It still squeaks when I open it.

Here’s that wide hallway separating the rooms on either side. I’m going left into the fireplace room. It’s Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom. Look at the kid sprawled on her belly on the hearth. That’s me, reading as usual. Too bad, Jason says I’m not allowed to interact with people.

It looks like Grandma’s whitewashed the front of the fireplace. It looks good. There's the old mantle clock. I wanted that clock. I love to hear it tick and strike the hour. It’s glass door needs cleaning. Look at those tongue and groove walls. You can barely see them for all the picture calendars hanging on them.

There's grandpa’s cane bottom chair over by the window with his razor strap hanging on the wall and his cup and his shaving brush on the window sill. They need to take some Windex to the glass. It’s dusty. There's Grandma's old singer sewing machine and her chair. I see she has a dress cut out.

The double bed is over by the other two windows. Grandma has her blue chenille bedspread with the peacocks on it. That white iron bedframe looks outdated, even for the forties.

Sitting at an angle in the left corner is the brown three-drawer dresser on clawfoot legs and the oval mirror. There's a white embroidered cloth running the length of the dresser with all sorts of stuff on it. There’s a milk-glass powder dish with a moleskin puff and another dish full of hairpins and a deer-horn hand mirror.

The wide planked floor is partially covered with a leaf-design linoleum rug. There's a wood box over in the corner by the fireplace with a few sticks of split wood in it. The andirons in the brick fireplace have a partially burned log still smoking over ashes. It still gets cold on March mornings, and this is the only source of heat for the house. There’s the poker I used to love to play with when the fire was burning.

Those three mismatched rockers in the front of the fireplace have cushions Grandma made for them.

I’d love to explore the rest of the house, but if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to be tempted to try to communicate with my mini-me if she can quit reading the book long enough. Jason warned me not to do that, so I’ll finish my visit on another day when she’s not around. I almost wish I could just stay. Those were some of the best days of my life.