as soon as I crossed the wall I knew I would be in the past, and safe. I’d done
something illegal – I think it was accepting paper money from a toothless man,
who had liked what I was wearing, and what I was wearing was not allowed
wardrobe, and I was in big trouble. So I ran, and made it to the seedy part of
town, where I used the paper money to pay the tricycle driver, who furtively
handed me two folded sheets of paper, that I put in my pocket. I walked to a
house (#10 on the street), and knocked, and a woman my age let me in. The moment
I entered, I knew I was in my old house, the house I grew up in. I cried. The
woman was nonplussed, all the more so when I told her where the silver forks and
spoons had been hidden all those years. We were in the back of the house when we
heard heavy footsteps outside. I thanked the woman for her kindness and climbed
over the wall, and I was back in the past as I knew I would be.
And then I was with my mother and
sister, preparing to go back over the wall into the present that I detested. We
packed our bags with clothes – I had a red backpack – and on our way out the
back door, I threw in two metal tubes from the storeroom. When we crossed the
wall, there were a lot of people, all sitting on the ground, drinking beer
around small fires, as far as I could see. It was apparently not the present I’d
left, but time had moved on, and we were in the future, and these were displaced
people, like us, who had become so many that the authorities simply left them
alone as long as they stayed out of the city. We were safe.
I wish time-hopping were possible
outside of dreams.