Down Jersey Drive-shaft

Chapter Two: The Way Back Up is Down

Benny is at the traffic stop on Market. Sitting in the old Ford truck painted rust, he lights up a Camel while waiting for redundant red to turn go-go green. He fiddles with the long forward flop of his thick brown hair, watching in the oval rear mirror as it goes back and forth on his scalp. That's when it hits him.

Why am I young?

The answer allows him to slip into complacency. A dream. Yep, that's gotta be it. How else can a guy explain going back in time to his youth overnight? Benny thought it should be cool. For once, he was having a dream, and not a nightmare. Sit back in the Ford. Smoke and enjoy the ride.

It's going right as rain. The traffic light finally dings yellow. Not a single automobile is in sight and the sun is at high noon. Things could not be more perfect.

Then two long black rods grow, no, melt, out of the bottom of the traffic light. Benny squints, rubs his eyes, the whole routine, but the light is really altering in shape. Rods appear out of the sides, the three round lights push up until they form what could be deemed a head. He rolls down the window (Why am I doing that? screams the part of him aware of the dream) to get a clearer view. He doesn't like what he sees...

Traffic Light Monster clangs more than a Nieuport 28 on a crash dive. Propellers, yes like on an airplane, explode from the back like giant glass shards, and the thing hovers over the intersection of Anywhere Street. So what does Benny Haskins do? Turn the key in the ignition to get the heck outta Dodge!

But the engine doesn't kick in. He tries and tries, eyes feverishly going from the ignition to the Monster, while it creeps across the air, inches at a time, toward the Ford.

Heck with this!

Benny rips open the door, and in two hot steps he's out and gunning down the street. He looks back to see Traffic Light gaining speed. Where can he go?

Only one building exists. Out of the blue, every single building is gone except for a tall brick Federal with matching sidewalk. The door is open, but it does him no good. He's been in that place before, and it's worse than what's coming up behind him.

A nurse comes to the open door, sleek in white with a shining white face and perfectly placed maroon lipstick.

"Come in here," she speaks, a voice like Mom soothing all your worries, "better safe than sorry."

Benny high tails it inside, as the nurse shuts the door quietly, locking it with an old iron key. Benny is panting up a storm, sweating like a hog. But the flirtatious smile of the nurse makes for a flawless distraction from his current dilemma.

"You got older, pilot," says the nurse. She motions a hand behind Benny. He turns and sees an oval mirror, silver frame adorned in a wilted burial wreath.

She's right. His hair is back to gray streaks, weight is on his face. The chin sags. Benny is still tall and built like an Aryan bull, but one with high mileage. Ah well, the dream can't seem to keep out reality.

He faces the nurse, but she's aged as well. Old, very old has she become now, and the look on the face is the definition of scorn. He knows the face, and recognition makes his knees wobble.

"Have you been receiving the proper care, Mister Haskins?" she asks. The voice is devoid of sweetness. It's her! He's grown old, but remains in the past and - - oh God.

Not again. I have to go!

He takes hold of the door and pulls at it with all of his bull might. It doesn't move, doesn't even have the decency to wriggle like a real locked door would if you forced it. Might as well be a solid wall. Old Nurse leans on the door, her eyes are a spiteful color, a faded, 'life hates me and I hate it back in kind' of blue.