The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 1): First Time (47 page)

"You don't think it's fiction, do you?"

Heather shook her head, "Not any more. When you first came back, I was sure you had just clunked your head on something."

"What changed your mind?"

"You."

"Me?" he asked, puzzled. "What about me?"

"Just you. You're you, but you've changed. And, um, maybe I have, too."

They sat in silence as the rain moved closer, lightning darting from peak to peak and putting on a show Hollywood could only dream of producing. Garison reached out and took Heather's hand. She gladly took his hand in both of hers and held them close to her abdomen. The baby was growing and she couldn't wait for it to meet its father.

"There is one thing left to do with the time machine," Garison opened suddenly.

She stared at him with wide, fearful eyes and asked, "What is that?"

"Destroy it," he replied.

"Really?"

"Absolutely. I'm going to rip the control panel open and turn everything inside it into little bitty pieces. Then, I am going to dismantle the frame and make a chicken coup out of it, or something. I am going to take the video tapes of the event and consolidate them all onto one DVD—that is what they're called, right?—that only you and I will ever be allowed to see—well, you and I and some day the baby—and someday when we explain that our baby has step-brothers who fought in the Revolution, we'll show him or her the DVD. The five tapes I am going to use to tape episodes of 'Gilligan's Island' on."

"Why 'Gilligan'?" Heather had to ask, surprised he even knew of the show as he had never been one for wasting time in front of the "idiot box". And he had barely turned one on in the month since the experiment.

"I want something as far from the world of particle physics and time travel and academia on those tapes as possible. I want anyone who might stumble across those tapes to never imagine that they once carried a sign of intelligence on them. Perhaps I should also put a few episodes of 'The Brady Bunch' or 'Survivor' on there to assure myself that no one will ever suspect them of containing intelligence."

"The network evening news would fit that bill, too," Heather quipped.

"Ever the cynic, huh?" he laughed, knowing that was not an accurate description of Heather Dawson Fitch, except where politics were concerned.

"What about the lab?" Heather wondered. "Do we destroy it, too?"

"We'll keep it. I'll use part of the lab for my inventions, and I'll turn the rest into a wood shop. I have a great urge to build you a rocking chair of wood taken from here in our beloved La Plata Canyon."

"A rocking chair?" she asked. With mock anger, she slapped him on the arm, "Garison Fitch, are you saying I'm getting old? Look at my hair. Do you see a gray hair there? or a line on my face?"

He put his arms around her and said, "No, I don't. You are the most beautiful woman on this time line or any other."

"Could be," she offered.

"Aren't you the humble one?"

"Just kidding. But, it could be I'm twice as pretty because I am smiling for two."

"That's true."

"So why a rocking chair?

"Because every mother needs a rocking chair to rock her baby to sleep in."

Garison was out in front of his laboratory later that same day, after the rain had passed on through, fashioning a crib for his forthcoming child from some oak he had purchased, when he heard someone walking up the dirt driveway in front of the house. He had wanted to build the crib from actual La Plata Canyon pine, but he decided oak would look better and last longer and so had purchased it at what seemed like an awfully high price at a lumber yard in Farmington. But, he knew Heather wanted to place more than one child in the crib over the years and he had wanted the crib to last. He still wasn't sure if he could bring himself to give her another child, but he was slowly warming up to the idea and thought that, in another two or three years, he might be able to take the first step and marry her. Again.

Sometimes, he thought it might only be months.

He looked up, but could see no one, so he went back to the crib, trusting Heather to call him if he were needed. They had a set of walkie-talkies they had purchased so she could call him (or vice-versa) when he was outside. Since learning of her pregnancy—early along though she was—he hated being out of touch with her. It had almost reached the point of annoyance for Heather, but on the other hand she liked knowing that he cared that much about her, especially considering that, in some weird way, the child really only belonged to half of Garison.

Garison looked up again when he heard the footsteps come over the rise between himself and the house and saw a familiar face from long ago approaching. Garison smiled from reflex and said, "Howdy, Tex."

The man paused and looked at Garison strangely. He came closer and asked, "How did you know my name? Have we met?"

It then hit Garison what he had done and he dropped his hammer, narrowly missing his foot. He picked it up with a look of embarrassment, brushed it off as if nothing had happened, then set it on his saw horse (missing the horse and dropping the hammer again). Shrugging, he offered a hand to the stranger and said, "Garison Fitch. No...I...ah, I call lots of people Tex." As soon as he said it, he realized with a grimace how stupid it had sounded.

The man shook Garison's hand warily, but said, "Harry Jameson. But people do call me Tex. I thought maybe we had met somewhere but I had forgotten it."

"I guess not," Garison shrugged. Still, he looked intently at the stranger. Physically, this was the Tex he had known...before. Wiping the thoughts from his head, Garison asked, "Where you from?"

"Texas, actually, down near Nacogdoches," the man replied proudly. "But, I just bought a piece of land down the canyon a ways and thought I would come see if I could meet any of my new neighbors. You're the first person I've found at home."

"There aren't many of us back up in this far," Garison nodded. "Where is the land you bought?"

"I bought fifteen acres from Charlie Begay, down at the mouth of the canyon where that old motel used to be. I've brought in a mobile home and my plan is to tear down that motel and build me a log home—sort of like the one you've got. Back in the trees behind where that motel is now."

"Well," Garison offered, "If I can be of any help, let me know. I learned a lot from building this one and I might could save you some trouble." Especially since I built the same house twice, Garison thought to himself, and remember it from both times.

"You live here by yourself?" Tex asked.

"No. My wife's inside." Garison motioned to the wood before him and said, "It's going to be a crib. My wife's going to have a baby."

"Congratulations. Got four kids of my own—and thirteen grandchildren."

"Thirteen!" Garison replied with a smile. "You never mentioned them—ah. Wow. Thirteen?" It was going to take a while, Garison told himself, to remember this wasn't the Tex he had known before, at least not entirely. He was anxious to find out how similar this Tex was to the one he had known.

Tex looked at Garison strangely and wondered if he might have been better off just passing up this particular residence on his quest to meet neighbors. This young man seemed a bit odd. Nervously, he nodded, "Yep. Thirteen. And there should be one more by Christmas."

As if out of the blue, Garison asked, "Do you read much?"

"Lots," Tex replied warily. "Why?"

"Oh," Garison shrugged, "I used to have a friend I traded books with a lot. You kind of remind me of him. He was from Texas, too. I haven't—I haven't seen him in about five years. I, uh, don't think he's around anymore."

Reading was one of Tex's passions so he told Garison, "I love to read. I like trading books with folks and discussing them after we've both read them."

"You remind me more and more of my old friend." After a pause, Garison recalled, "Like I say, I guess I haven't seen him in over five years now. I've kind of been looking for someone who reads. My wife does, but we have different interests. I miss those books and discussions I used to have with my friend." Looking at Tex, he asked, "You ever read anything by a man named 'Doc' Green?"

"Ben K. Green? He's my favorite!" Tex exclaimed excitedly.

"My friend loaned me a Doc Green book once but I, um, I got called away and when I got back I couldn't find it. I'd love to read some of his stuff now. After all my friend told me about him."

"I've got everything he ever wrote—that I've been able to find, anyway. When I get 'em all unpacked, I'll loan 'em to you."

"That would be great!" Garison motioned toward his house with the hammer and offered, "Would you like to come in for a glass of Dr Pepper? You do drink Dr Pepper, don't you?"

The man was a little wary of his strange new neighbor, but finally replied, "Everyone from Texas drinks Dr Pepper."

"Well, come on inside and you can meet my wife. And I want to talk with someone who's read Green."

"Ever read anything by Dobie?"

"J. Frank Dobie? Yeah!" Garison exclaimed happily. "You ever read Elmer Kelton? Or ..."

A Final Word From Garison's Journal

September 17, 2005

When we had figured out how to word them, Heather and I put our final ideas about the whole adventure into our computer. We saved it on a hard disk, then put "the whole shootin' match"—as Tex would say—in a lined metal case which we then stored in a safety deposit box in Durango. Maybe someday, we will have all this published so the world can know what the world used to be like. Of course, Heather's right that we would probably have to publish it under fiction.

As I said before, there is something about being up late at night—especially if it's raining—that makes me think of my years growing up on a world that no longer exists. ["in a world"? Whatever] In fact, the reality is that it never did exist. It is not really a figment of my imagination, but yet, it is. Perhaps someone who reads our thoughts on the matter one day will find a better way to verbalize what happened. I am no story teller, however, so I will not even make the attempt. Maybe Heather will be able to tell it. I can only say that it really did happen.

We completely destroyed the time machine. I am working on restoring the power plant to be used like a generator here at the house like at my previous house in La Plata Canyon, but it has become more of a hobby than a vocation. Heather and I have resurrected our law office and I make furniture on the side. Neither make us rich or famous, but I crave for neither, having sampled them both. And I make a comfortable living from a software company I and Bat invested in some years before.

I play baseball for a local adult team and am beginning to really enjoy the sport. They tell me I could have played professionally in my younger days, but, with a wink in Heather's direction, I tell them you can't change the past.

Heather is, indeed, pregnant. The doctors have confirmed it. Just yesterday, we were able to get an ultrasound and they tell us our first baby will be a girl. She seems healthy and active and should be born on or around Thanksgiving.

As we lay in bed last night, speaking of the baby and talking of how we would raise her, Heather asked if she could choose the name for the baby. Since she seemed to already have one picked out, I was happy to let her. I am no better at picking out names than I am at telling stories, anyway. Remember Bob?

When I asked her what name she had picked out, she smiled and told me, "Sarah."

APPENDIX

World History (or "As I Remember It")

by Garison Fitch

In the year 1492, a man named Christopher Columbus tried to convince the kings and queens of his day that the world was round. We regard him as quite a revolutionary for his day, but he wasn't, really. Every mariner knew the world was round (as did almost every other yokel in the world). I am certain that even Noah could have told us the world was round, he just didn't feel it important to his story. For, anyone who has ever watched a mast disappear over the horizon of a seemingly flat ocean knows the world is round. And, if it were possible for a ship to sail over the edge, how come the water doesn't fall out of the ocean?

Columbus never proved his theory, though. Before he could make it all the way around, he ran into something. What appeared to be a small and insignificant something later turned out to be a very big and quite significant something. Columbus didn't find this out immediately, though; like the great adventurer he was, he turned around and went home.

A man name Amerigo Vespucci later ran into the same obstacle Columbus ran into, so they named it after him. Considering that most places that are named after a person take his last name, I am sure the inhabitants of the newly discovered continent breathed a sigh of relief that tradition was being flaunted and they were being named after Vespucci's first name. I venture to say that no one who hailed himself as a Vespuccian would have ever amounted to much. "Hello, I am a Vespuccian," sounds like the beginning of some sort of marine-life related joke.

More explorers followed Vespucci and, eventually, a ship that started out being captained by a man named Magellan proved that every mariner who had ever said the earth was round was right. After several lay-overs so that they could re-stock their ship and give more crew members scurvy, they made it all the way around the planet. Within a few decades, the explorers had convinced everyone except the Catholic church that the world was, indeed, round. Eventually, even the Catholic church was convinced.