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ALL TIMES THE SAME
Copyright 2019 Christina M. Guerrero
DEDICATION
For those buried at Arlington.
STORY BEHIND THE STORY
On my way out of Arlington,
this shadow of a story flitted through my mind.
ABOUT THE DRAFTS
First draft:
Nothing, yet.
As we walked toward the exit, I felt the past.
It was wooden houses and fences, and long dresses, men wearing felt hats or animal-skin caps. It was the maintenance and good health of your horse because they were transportation. It was way before the nonstop flow of information. It was a time of natural rhythms of light and dark. It was a time of--
“The bus is leaving, Nancy.”
I nodded and started to join the group. But a deep yearning made me turn and seek someone ... a man who walked out of the wall. He gestured to me. He wore clothes more suitable to the late 1800s or early 1900s.
Great. Was I hallucinating? I would not be surprised. It was close to one hundred degrees at this place, this huge cemetery. Even inside this cool building, the heat threatened to conquer the interior--
The man reached for me and took my left wrist. He was more familiar to me than this place.
He tugged, and I fell, fell, fell ....
“Nancy?” a man’s voice pleaded.
“It’s hot,” I mumbled. “Too hot. Please. I need water.”
Someone put a cold wet cloth on my face, neck, arms. Then I was lifted to a sitting position and given a glass of water. I sipped, then they helped me rest against the pillows.
A man’s voice to my right: “Sir, perhaps you would leave for a moment. Allow her to rest. She is delirious. What was she doing outside on this unmercifully hot day?”
“Doctor, this is my wife. I’d prefer to stay with her. She wanted to pick some flowers. I didn’t anticipate she’d be out there longer than just a few minutes.”
“Keep her here on the first floor, in this room, where there is more shade because of the trees. Continue to put cold cloths on her. It is not a day for women and children to be outside, nor for a ... ahem ... a woman expecting twins.”
“Will she be okay?”
I felt something round on my chest. The doctor said, “Breath in and out, my dear, normally.”
I did so.
The doctor said, “Yes. She needs rest and something to drink. Water and juice. No coffee.”
The two voices left for a moment.
I kept my eyes closed. That dream was odd. Where was that place?
Then, a sweet voice: the voice of my husband: “Nancy. Dear. Are you well?”
A warm hand on my cheek.
I said, “Yes, my love. I am so sorry. The flowers ... they smelled so sweet.”
“Just rest, my dear.”
“I will.”
“How are the little ones?”
I rubbed my big stomach. “So big.”
“You were going on about the most odd things.”
“Like what.”
“Something about a ... national monument of some sort. A place with a lot of graves. You wanted to look around. But it was too hot.”
“Oh yes. It was magnificent. But sad. So many of our country’s presidents and military were honored there.”
“Well. I’m happy that you’re recovering. No more mid-day flower picking.”
“No, Louis.”
Lips kissed my forehead, my nose, my mouth.
“I will sit with you for a while,” Louis said. A creak and rhythmic movements indicated he had settled into the rocking chair to my right.
“Please.”
He rocked for a while. “My dear, you wouldn’t happen to be dreaming about ... no ... hm. I remember hearing something. Or must have read about it in the newspaper.”
“About what.”
“Something about a national cemetery close to Washington DC.”
“Oh, the one with that unusual name? Arlington?”
“Yes, that one. Perhaps you were dreaming of it.”
“I believe so. But it was not from this time.”
“Really? Were you dreaming of the future?”
“I do believe it was as fantastic as the future. People were carrying phones in their hands.”
“In their hands?” Louis laughed. “Were they hunched over, from the weight? How did they speak to one another? Did the lines trail behind them?”
“I don’t know. The phones ... they were small. Like a deck of cards.”
“Really. Why on earth would anyone carry a phone, no matter what the size? Were they constantly ringing?”
“Some were. Yet one had the option to silence them.”
Louis laughed again. “I would like that option in this century.”
I smiled. “I would, too.” I finally opened my eyes. I saw mostly darkness, with vague images in random areas of my vision.
Louis said, “My dear. In your dream, you were able to see?”
“Yes.”
“You were looking into my eyes earlier.”
I turned toward him. “I was in that place. And saw you. I knew you. You brought me back.”
He kissed my right hand. “And yet you have never truly seen me.”
“No.”
He rocked again. “Perhaps it was not me.”
“It was. You know that I have touched your face. But I saw it: square and proud; lined and tan; kind eyes that are dark blue-green. You are tall and your head is a bit small for your body--”
“I beg your pardon.”
I laughed. “But you are strong and good.”
He squeezed my hand again. “Thank you, my dear.”
Much later, in the dark, at bedtime, Louis said softly, “The future. I wonder what will happen then. Remember reading those stories about the planets and the moon? And the inventions?”
“Yes, my dear.”
“Some day our children will be elderly.”
I rubbed my stomach. “What a thought, Louis! Indeed they may, if the Lord blesses them with long lives.”
“I wonder what they will see. I am jealous of them.”
Images came back: people wandering around the cool room; some of them braving the heat outside; couples and families; men in uniform; parents with children; young and old from around the world. Some smiling; some serious; some affected by the heat; others apparently unscathed.
“Louis. I saw only a little bit. I was most surprised at the clothes! People wore less clothing in the heat. But otherwise ....”
A long silence enhanced the nighttime sounds of our time: owls hooting; insects creaking; bats clicking; a distant wolf howling.
“Otherwise?” Louis prompted.
“Otherwise, I think all times are mostly the same. Just different people, and different ideas, and different ways of doing things.”
Another silence; some affection: he held me close.
Louis whispered, “The same? All times the same. That is comforting.”
THE END THE END THE END
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