The Rusty Time

Behind closed doors of his small room, in the house on Brook Lane number 27, a twelve-year-old boy named Michael Jones, was crying his eyes out with his face buried in his snowy white pillow. On this day, exactly five years, two months and seven days ago, his mother would have celebrated her thirty-seventh birthday. He missed everything about her, her laughter, her hugs, her kisses, the way the house always smelled of lemon washing liquid. When his mother died, he was heartbroken. He even thought of jumping off the roof of his house. All he wanted to do was fly, fly sky high into his mother’s loving arms waiting for him in Heaven.
His father was getting more and more concerned because Michael wasn’t the sociable little boy he used to be. As if he closed himself from the whole world, even him, his own father. No matter what he did, what he offered, Michael would bleakly, yet determinedly thank him, then refuse. He went downstairs and clicked on the big screen on the wall of the kitchen. A computerized voice greeted him facelessly and asked what he would like to have for breakfast. He chose eggs and toast. The buzzing of machines wasn’t as loud as it was before they installed the newest Cook-O-Master. He thought to himself that his wife would have loved not having to cook anymore, but just indulge in her painting and taking care of Michael and him. He sighed and took the freshly prepared breakfast tray that the table produced before him.
Michael stopped crying, but the sadness was all too visible in his demeanor. He went downstairs and joined his father at the table. He wanted no breakfast.
“Please, dad… can we try it? Just once, I believe it is possible,” Michael started.
“Mike, we’ve already had this discussion. You are putting me in an awful situation having to say no over and over again. I told you, even if we did try the procedure, it is questionable whether it would work. You know that the machine transports only live matter,” his father spoke calmly, feeling tired and heartbroken having to discuss a painful thing again.
“I read somewhere that new additions are made to the machine and that they managed to transport some parts of clothing… Dad, we can try, we have money now, I know…”
“Michael,” his father’s voice was getting louder and more resolute, “You know it is impossible to transport money through time… and you know… I feel it’s my fault that we couldn’t afford to pay for your mother’s operation… We could have saved her life… If only…” He buried his face into his hands and went silent. Michael felt bad and hugged his father soothingly.
“Dad… dad… it’s not your fault… you couldn’t have known we would win the lottery… we had no money… it was… it wasn’t your fault, dad, it wasn’t…”
“It was, Mike, it was… I am the provider, at least… I was supposed to be, and I couldn’t provide your mother with the treatment… it is my fault... my fault…”
“No, dad… listen, we can try, I read… I read somewhere… let’s try, we have money, we can afford it now. You can go, and pay… pay everything they ask… just bring mom back, please, dad, please…” Michael was crying in his father’s arms.
His father was crushed by the weight of his guilt. He didn’t want to raise their hopes up, only for them to be shattered like glass. It would be like losing her again. And he wasn’t strong enough to go through that pain again. Not again. But, looking at his son, he felt stronger. Maybe, he thought to himself, maybe it is possible. If I make a few phone calls, maybe someone does know something.
Having made several phone calls, he turned to Michael, who was looking at him with puppy dog eyes.
“Alright, son, they said that they did manage to transport several pieces of cloth to the past. And, they said they are willing to give it a try, provided we pay them enough…”
Michael jumped into his father’s arms.
“But, Mike, Mike… Promise me that you won’t get your hopes up… after all, it’s not a sure thing, it is just… just a glimmer of hope that we can do something.”
“I know, dad… I know… Thank you!” He was still hugging his father as strong as he could.
They were due at the State Laboratory of Time Travel on Monday, the 21st of February, 2090. Michael was holding his father’s hand. They were dressed formally. If this works, it will be the beginning, or more, the continuation of the perfect life. With his mother. He closed his eyes and tried to picture her in his mind, while his father stood like a rock, a safe harbor next to him.
An older man in a white coat went out to greet them.
“Good day, gentlemen,” he smiled to both of them. “You are our 10 o’clock appointment?”
“Yes,” the voice of his father was calm. As if today was just another day.
“If you would please follow me, and we will get started immediately.” He showed them into a big room where walls were crammed with buttons and computer screens, and in the middle of the room, there was a big plastic bubble with an opening, big enough to fit a whole person inside. Neither of them was surprised because that was mostly how all the houses looked inside.
“Have they explained the procedure to you?” The white-robed man asked Michael’s father in a friendly manner.
“Yes, they have.”
“And, the package, you have it on you, I believe?”
“Yes.” Michael’s father showed him the suitcase in his left hand.
“Alright then, we are good to go.” He smiled again and turned to the wall screen.
“Now, Mike,” he knelt before the child, “You do what the man tells you and be a good boy while I’m gone, alright? I won’t be long and I will do my best to make everything better.” He kissed the child on the forehead. Michael felt like crying, but managed to control himself. He watched his father get into the plastic bubble and close the door from the inside. He was holding on to the suitcase. He smiled at Michael, and after several rainbow flashes around him, disappeared. The bubble was empty.
“Did he take the money?” Michael asked troublingly.
“You see, my dear boy, the package does travel, but the tricky part is having it land at the same time as the living matter. We won’t know until your father returns. Come, I will have you sent home, and you wait for your father there. I sincerely hope everything turns out for the best.” Michael liked this man. He believed him.
On arriving home, he found it empty. He sat in the kitchen and had the Cook-O-Master make him ice-cream with chocolate topping. Sweets always soothed his troubled mind. He slowly ate the ice-cream, knowing that when he finishes he will just start worrying again, so he took his time.
Then, all of a sudden, he heard a noise in his parents’ bedroom. He took a deep breath and ran towards the room. By the time he got there, the noise had stopped. All was silent again. He was afraid that he only imagined the noise. His mind was racing whether or not to open the door. It was tightly shut. Then he heard the noise again, and without thinking twice, he opened the door like a tornado.
His eyes were searching the room from top to bottom, looking for the sweet, angelic face of his mother. And in the corner, illuminated by the small lamp standing on the bed side table, there they were. His mother and father in a loving embrace.
“Mom!” He yelled as loud as he could and ran towards her. On seeing him, she smiled and stretched out her arms.
“Shhh, baby… everything is going to be ok,” her voice was peaceful and comforting. He knew she was right. She was always right.

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