Locomotive to the Past George Schultz (top 10 books to read TXT) 📖

gills”—after such a splendiferous repast, logy-as-could-be seemed to be the theme. Everyone had appeared to more-or-less “nestle in”, to their dinette chairs.

Then, Susan spoke:

“Jason Dear, you may want to go out, for a walk… or take in a movie or something. Sunday is kind of the day when Eric and I devote ourselves… devote ourselves, exclusively… to one another. We always enjoy being alone… alone, with one another… on our precious Sunday afternoons. I suppose that you could go up, and sit… or, maybe, lie down… in your room. But, frankly, I’m getting just a little worried about you. You’ve never gotten out. Never gone out. Well, haven’t been able to go out. Not in the entire time… that you’ve been here.”

“Well, it’s only been five days, Susie. Like you said… I kinda didn’t have time to really…”

“I know, Dear. That’s why I think… and Eric agrees… we think that it’d probably be well for you go ahead, and to get out. To get out… and do something! Do something . . . just about anything . . . this afternoon! Maybe even something outrageous! We’re not throwing you out, of course. But, you see…”

“Oh yes we are,” interrupted Eric. “Look, Jason. For one thing, you need . . . to get out, and to see things. Do things. Meet people. And, Sunday afternoon is our private time! Private time! For Susie and me! I’m sure you understand!”

Jason wasn’t sure that he did understand. Well, he thought he did. Believed that he might—but, he really didn’t want to explore, this remarkable couple’s “private time” nuances. Not—in any great detail.

“Yes, of course,” he answered. “You’re right. I do need to get out. Stretch the old legs. Look around. I can’t thank youse guys enough . . . not nearly enough… for all you’ve done for me. For everything . . . you’ve done for me. For all… for everything… you’ve meant to me. Besides, I really need to walk off this eighty-pound ‘banquet’, that I’ve just eaten. The ‘banquet’ you both call ‘breakfast’.”

He pulled away from the table, and hurried (as much as possible) up to his room! Slightly out of breath, he grabbed his jacket. His original jacket. The one he’d worn, on his mind-warping trip—from 2001.

Fortunately, it wasn’t so cold outside, that the jacket would be useless. It would keep him sufficiently warm. (Otherwise, he was positive, Susan would come up with a topcoat or an overcoat or a parka. “Or… most assuredly… something!) The “other” jacket—the one, he’d worn at work, all week—was kind of caked, with mud.

The roomer walked north—past Plymouth Road. He, of course, was familiar enough, with the geography, of the area, to know that Schoolcraft Road was, probably, a mile further north. What he didn’t know—was that there was a set of well-used railroad tracks (always railroad tracks) between Plymouth and Schoolcraft. He’d have to climb a four-foot fence—on both sides of the tracks—to continue on his journey. But, he was certainly not going to let a couple such barriers stand in his way.

He’d hoped that he’d not tear his pants—while negotiating the fences. Surely Susan would want to know why. Well, had the worst happened, why should he not be able to, simply, tell her the truth? This prospective question—hypothetical as it was—bothered him. And he didn’t know why.

He finally reached Schoolcraft. Well, “finally” probably is not a totally accurate word here. By the time he’d approached the playground—behind Cadillac Elementary School—there was a good deal more spring, in his step. More—than when he’d started out. A distinct surprise!

So this is where Grandpa went to school, he’d thought—as he’d walked around, to the front of the building. The edifice was sort of nondescript.

Jason couldn’t understand why his grandfather had always spoken so highly—so passionately—of the place. Had continually referred to it—with such flat-out reverence. Could there be some kind of—well, some kind of aura—something spiritual—about the school? An invisible saint, maybe? A guardian angel? Some sort of mystique—that Our Hero was unable to fathom? At least, at that significant moment?

He certainly had understood—comprehended completely—what the old man had, so movingly (and had so often), spoken about, when he’d been in church that morning. But, come on! This? This is just another stupid school building. What was the big deal? Of course the young man had never been enthralled, with school! Never! Ever! With any school! Under any circumstances!

Exactly what have you accomplished? he’d asked himself. There it is. A stupid damn school building. And, for this . . . you’ve been walking, for the last half-an-hour or so?

In addition, to the inexplicable amount of disappointment—at not beholding some sort of gleaming, sacred, palatial, “temple”—there was the realization that he’d probably never actually get to see his grandfather. Not as a nine-year-old schoolboy, anyway. He really had no earthly idea, as to what the old man would’ve looked like—as a young lad. A kid—of nine, or ten.

Besides, Jason would be working (thank God)—whenever little Richard Piepczyk would be attending this quite-ordinary-looking, vanilla-appearing, (“dammit”) facility. In addition, he still hadn’t the foggiest idea as to where his grandfather might’ve lived—in 1942. Just “nearby”.

There were—literally—thousands of houses, in the attractive, middle-class, neighborhood. Probably tens-of-thousands! That many—and all within a half-mile-or-so radius, of the stupid school. Finding his granddad would be a needle-in-the-haystack situation—at best! The odds against such a discovery—were completely-overwhelming! Mind-numbingly staggering! Another realization! Another disappointment!

He knew that the busy intersection—of Greenfield, and Grand River—was close by. He thought that he’d remembered there being a “really huge” Montgomery Ward store—on one of those corners. 1942, of course, would be decades before the retail giant would—so surprisingly—“go under”. A situation that would have been thought impossible—in the early-forties! No one would ever consider, such a far-fetched fate—for the then-thriving “retail giant”!

It seemed as though there would also be one of the “gazillion”, world-renown, Kresge “five-and-ten” stores there! Who knew—in 1942—that, less than two decades hence, the chain would become known as K-Mart?

He would also find a Woolworth dime store in amongst the many businesses, too. They would, eventually, become Woolco, in 1962—and,