300 Years from Yesterday
                       A Story of Possibilities

                                                             

 Chapter 1

 

          The light was dim. Twilight had enveloped him as he napped on the living room couch. Suddenly, he was feeling that kind of confusion you feel when you wake up and you’re not sure where you are. What had brought him back to consciousness? Rrrrring!

            "Geez,” he muttered as he pulled his body off the couch and stumbled toward the phone. His head ached. He knew who this was, and he wasn’t ready for the conversation he imagined he was about to have. He grabbed, clumsily, at the ringing phone.

            “Yeah?”

            “Jack,” the man on the other end of the line almost shouted. “Jack, where are you?” The caller’s voice was filled with righteous indignation. “Jack, you promised me that manuscript yesterday. Where is it?”

           Jack tried to pull his thoughts together. “Yeah, right,” he muttered

to himself.

            “Sorry, Jameson,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster “It’s just not coming. I’ll call you on Monday.”

            “No, Jack. I promised the manuscript to the publisher this week.. They aren’t going to like this.”

            “Talk to you on Monday, Jameson.” He hung up the phone.

            Jameson Whitaker had been Jack’s literary agent for the past ten years. Jameson had made a small fortune off Jack’s books. The large percentage Jack paid him was more than fair. The money made for a strong buffer between Jameson’s and Jack’s personalities.

            They could never be friends. Jameson was meticulous, to the point of obsessiveness. Always on schedule. Jack liked to go with the flow, his flow. Jameson gave Jack a lot of leeway on most things creative, but he was rigid about deadlines. And, until now, Jack had never missed one.

            Jack was now thinking out loud. “Haven’t I provided him with three best sellers? Haven’t I made him a fortune on every one of them? “Have I ever missed a deadline?” his voice growing louder with every question.

            Jack tripped over a boot lying sideways on the faded carpet. Angrily kicking the boot aside, he strode across the room and back to the couch.

            “It’s not like it matters,” he mused, falling back into semi-consciousness. What’s he gonna do to me?

 

            Jack had hit a wall with his writing. The ideas for his other books had come so easily. After the success of his first book, the generous advance for his second book had motivated him to work hard and fast. The minute he finished that book, another idea hit him. The advance from the publisher for the third book was even larger, and he worked with a strong passion, finishing slightly ahead of the deadline they had agreed upon. But now, he had hit a wall. A thick, tall, wide, brick wall.

            His first three books sold so well that the publisher gave him the latest advance without caring that he didn’t yet have an idea for the next book. They all knew he would come up with something great. But he hadn’t.

            In his first books, his characters had just come to him. It was like they just walked out of another dimension and told him who they were, what they were planning, and begged him to tell their story. This time, nobody had shown up.

           

            The next time Jack woke up it was mid-morning. He lay there for a few more minutes and then got up slowly. His shoulders ached from sleeping all night on those worn-out cushions, his mouth was dry, and he was feeling anxious.

            He lit a cigarette and looked in the frig for something to eat. No luck there. He decided to go around the corner to the diner.

            Half an hour later, he was showered and dressed. Lifting his favorite denim jacket off the back of the couch, he thought for a few seconds about how that dingy, faded couch resembled his current mood.

            “Man,” he thought. I gotta get a grip.”

            He let the door of the apartment slam behind him, took a deep breath, tugged at the waist of his jeans, and headed down the stairs, trying to act like there was a purpose to his day. It was raining so he kept his head down to avoid the rain. It wasn’t long, though, before he swung open the door to the diner and stepped inside.

            Mazy’s Corner Kitchen was a sort of home to him. He ate breakfast there almost every day, and sometimes one or two of his other meals. It was close, clean, and the waitresses left him alone to read the newspaper, or write, or think. He rarely saw anyone new in the place, which he liked.

            He ordered two eggs, scrambled, bacon, potatoes, and toast as he grabbed part of the newspaper off the end of the counter. He didn’t intend to read it, just to hide behind it. The waitress came over and poured him a cup of black coffee. He didn’t even look up when he said, “Thanks.”

            His eyes were on the paper as he was eating his breakfast, not reading it, but trying to figure out how his life had gotten so messed up. He had made so much money on his books, but he had nothing to show for it.

            He had been a freelance journalist all through his twenties and half of his thirties, but he had written his first book on the side. When he finally found an agent and then a publisher who were interested in the book, he did what a lot of people do when money starts flowing in. He spent it.

            He partied too much, drank too much, and spent thousands on jewelry and extravagant vacations for the women who had moved through his life. Now, as he sourly reminisced about all the money he had spent, he thought, “Geez, why didn’t I at least buy a house?”

            With that thought, he dropped the newspaper on the table, got up hastily, and called to the waitress for his check. It had stopped raining. Maybe he’d go for a walk and try to clear his head a little. As he dropped a five-dollar tip on the table, he noticed a young woman sitting in the back of the diner. She was watching him. It was obvious she was watching him.

            She was wearing a hot pink blouse. Her hair was blonde and fell just below her shoulders. “But” he reminded himself. “I’m not interested in women at this time. 

            He walked toward the door of the diner, feeling the woman’s eyes on him. As he opened the door to leave, he glanced once more in her direction. Then he walked quickly out onto the sidewalk and headed for Centre Park.

 

Chapter 2

            Jack had done a lot of thinking in Centre Park lately. He had to get out of the apartment, once in a while, and let his mind wander. There were twenty-foot tress along winding sidewalks and a lake. He could see the sky and the clouds. He liked the feeling of spaciousness.

            He stayed in the park longer than usual today. He really saw no reason to go back to the apartment. Eventually, though, he knew he needed to go home but as he turned back toward the apartment, he caught a glimpse of someone that he thought might be the young woman from Mazy’s Corner Kitchen. She was leaning against one of the trees.

            “That’s really strange,” he thought. “It couldn’t be her,” he told himself. But this woman had blonde hair and wore a hot pink blouse just like the woman at the diner. Confused, and a bit annoyed, he kept walking away from her.

            "Is she following me?” he wondered. “Does she know who I am? Does she want an autograph? This is really annoying.”

            Eventually, he glanced back at her, and she was gone.

             “Now you’re imagining women coming out of trees,” he chided himself. "You gotta get a grip.”

            Suddenly, he decided to walk out into the lake. It was a chilly day, but he thought the shock of the cold water would shake him out of his mental cloudiness and misery. As he approached the lake, his legs were beginning to feel tired, and he realized that the tension he'd been feeling the last few days had exhausted him. He started looking around for a bench to sit on.

            This end of the lake had a natural cove at one side that was surrounded by tall rocks, creating a small cave-like opening. He noticed the opening and thought to himself that it probably led into a tunnel that came out a few feet on the other side of the rocks. But he was too tired to explore and turned to look again for a bench to rest on.

            “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he shouted. There she was again, the woman in the hot pink blouse. She was sitting on a bench just a little way in fron of him.

            “This is too much of a coincidence" he thought. “She must be following me, and now I’m mad! This is more than I intend to put up with. I’ve got enough trouble today."

            He strode angrily toward her. By the time he reached the bench, he was ready to let her have it for following him around and screwing up his already screwed up day. Just as he opened his mouth to ask her what she was up to, she looked up at him and smiled.

            “Hello,” she said, kindly.

            Now, he let his anger fly. “What do you think you’re doing? Are you following me? What do you want from me? Do you know who I am? Do you want an autograph? Well, I’m not giving out autographs today!”

            His anger didn’t impact her. She just smiled sweetly and said, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. We seem to keep showing up in the same places. Would you like to sit down?”

            There was something about her that was so gentle that his anger started to subside a bit. He realized how unhappy he felt, and he didn’t even care that he didn’t know her, or that she was a woman and he had sworn off women. He began to let his guard down, a little, and soon he found himself explaining to her what was going on with him.

            “I guess you don’t know who I am. I’m a writer. I’ve written several best-selling books in the last ten years, made lot of money, and spent a lot of money partying,” he laughed guiltily. “Now I am out of money. I’ve even spent the advance I was given for a new book I’m supposed to be writing. The manuscript for the new book was due yesterday and I don’t have anything yet but a few seriously bad chapters. My agent is really mad at me. But I have never missed a deadline before, and I’ve made him a ton of money.” His anger and frustration started to rise again.

            She listened quietly, looking curious and amused at the same time. She didn’t seem to be judging him, though. His suspicions about her were slowly disappearing.

            “Do you want to go for a walk?” she asked. “I love this little cave here. I often walk back and forth through it.”

            “Why not?’ he shrugged. “Obviously, I’m not going to get any

writing done today.”

            He followed her into the cave. They were walking, side by side, both deep in thought. After a while, Jack realized that they had been walking for a long time. He hadn’t imagined the cave could be this deep.

            “Hey, how deep is this cave?” He was  feeling annoyed again. 

            She laughed.

            “Why are you laughing:” he snapped.

            “Oh, it’s just that they told me I wouldn’t like you very much,”

            “Who told you that you wouldn’t like me?" Jack’s earlier suspicions shot to the surface again.

            “Who are you?” he shouted. “That’s it, I’m out of here!” He turned quickly and started walking back toward the opening of the cave. He didn’t care if she was following him or not. He just wanted to get out of that cave and back to somewhere familiar.

           “Jack!” she called after him. “Jack!"

            He stopped right where he was and turned on her.

            “How do you know my name?” he shouted. “I didn’t tell you my name. Who are you? Why have you been following me?"

            The young woman had caught up to him by now and she stood there in front of him with a look of genuine empathy on her face.

            “I’m sorry, Jack. This was the only way to get you to come this far.”

            He glared at her as she spoke.

            “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you can’t go back. We must go forward now. You can come back later, but for now, we have to keep moving forward."

​

  Chapter 3

            Jack was just staring at her now, this strange young woman, so sweet and so annoying.

            “You had better tell me how you know my name,” he snarled.

            “Jack, I will tell you everything, but just keep walking with me. We need to get to where we’re going. I will tell you how I know who you are as we walk.”

            Jack was livid. His heart was pounding, his temples were pounding, but she was calm.

            “Ok,” he thought to himself. “I’ll follow her until I can find out what she knows about me and how she knows it. She’s much too small to hurt me in any way.”

            “Alright,” he said, trying to sound calmer than he was. “Where is it that you are taking me?”

            “I’ll tell you but promise me that you won’t get excited again. Just give me time to explain. You aren’t in any danger. So, promise me that you will remain calm.”

            “I promise,” he said through clenched teeth.

            “We are going into the future. 300 years into the future.”

            “Is this woman completely out of her mind?” he screamed inside his head, his pulse beginning to race again. But he tried to remain calm. “The calmer I appear,” he told himself, "the faster I’ll hear her story.” He was just hoping there weren’t a couple of thugs waiting around the next corner to take him down and steal his wallet.

            She continued. “I was sent by the elders of my village to get you. You are in a position to help us with a plan we have developed. We will get you back, if you want to go back, and you won’t lose more than a day. I promise you that you are not in danger. We just need your help.”

            Oddly, when she mentioned the elders of the village, a picture of several men and women sitting around a long table in a large dining hall popped into Jack’s head.

            “That was weird,” he thought, and his body shivered slightly. But her voice was so gentle as she explained the situation, he just continued to listen quietly. She didn’t seem to be capable of harming an ant. Listening to her gently speaking, he begun to calm down again.

            “Things aren’t going too well back there, anyway” he told himself.

 “How long before we get to where we’re going," he asked.

            They continued walking and, as he listened to her talk, he kept hoping that this situation was as benign as she was making it out to be.        And there was something else. Through his thoughts of frustration and annoyance, a brief but not very clear vision came to him. Somehow it seemed important. There were people of all ages, farm animals, meadows.   

            Just then, he saw it. “Thank God,” he shouted. A thin, translucent stream of light showed itself up ahead. The light seemed to be coming from the outside.

            As they walked further, the stream of light grew wider and before long, Jack could see that it was, indeed, coming from outside. They soon came upon an opening big enough to easily pass through.

            

Chapter 4

            They had come through the cave opening into a meadow. The grass was the color of spring grass, even though it had been January when they entered the cave from the other end. An oak tree, fully covered with leaves, rested on a knoll about 100 yards ahead. Although the sun was bright, it wasn’t hot and there was a light breeze. Altogether very pleasant he had to admit.

            Within a couple of minutes, Jack noticed something, not strange, but not normal, either. “It’s so bright,” he murmured. “Well not bright, exactly, but clear,” He was trying hard to articulate what he was experiencing. The green of the grass wasn’t any different than the green he was used to back home. The green of the of oak leaves and the brownish black of the trunk were the same colors he was used to seeing, but there was a clarity about the colors that was striking. It excited him a little to see things so clearly.

             The young woman noticed the bemused look on his face and said, “You’ll get used to it.”

            They climbed up to the top of the knoll, hand in hand, past the tree, and started walking across the meadow. The woman began to tell him about what they would encounter when they reached the village.

            “When we arrive at the village, everything will seem normal to you at first. People will look the same, talk the same…”

            “Hold it! He said, sharply" pulling his hand out of hers. What are you getting me into? What do you mean everything will seem normal at first?”

            He turned and started to walk, quickly, back the way they had come. As more fear and frustration got the better of him, he started to jog away from her, then run. But it wasn’t long before he was out of breath. His hands were shaking as he covered his face. When she came up behind him, he took a few steps backwards.

            “Oh brother,” he thought to himself. “She’s no threat. But I just don’t know what she’s up to.” He suddenly realized that he didn’t even know her name.

            “What’s your name, anyway?”

            “Cecilia,” she quietly answered him.

            “Yeah, that name suits her,” he thought to himself, although he didn’t know why.

            “Let’s just sit here for a while,” she said. “We’ll go and sit under the tree, and I’ll tell you more. I guess I have been pushing you a little hard."

           They walked over to the tree and sat on the cool ground.

 “Okay, let’s have it. Tell me everything about the village and the people who will seem normal but won’t actually be normal.”

            “Ok, but bear with me. This is going to sound strange.

​

 Chapter 5

            “Your world is in trouble.”

            “No kidding,” he said sarcastically.

            “Seriously,” she said. “Do you think we would go to all  this

trouble for nothing?”

            “Ok,” he said. “But tell me something I don’t know.”

            She began to talk to him about how the people in his time are perpetually creating a world filled with indifference to one another and that this indifference was going to lead to a lot more suffering and conflict.

            Then she began to explain that the nature of reality is much more flexible than we think it is, that time runs both ways, forwards and backwards, and that people in different times can communicate with one another, as she was doing with him. They can help one another.

            Jack was not comfortable with the way this conversation was going.

            “That’s why they sent me to contact you.”

            “Who’s THEY?” he moaned.

            “The elders. You’ll meet them when we get to the village. What I was trying to explain to you when you took off running is that we are people much like you, but we have developed very different priorities in the way we organize our society. We think we have experience that can help your people. And we believe that you need our help. You can get our message to your fellow human beings.”

            “Why me,” he groaned? “You know that I have writer’s block. And I don’t believe in hocus-pocus? I am really not the guy for this job.”

            She waited patiently for him to finish. When he did, she asked gently, “May I go on?”

            “Go on,” he grumbled.

            “We can pick up blocks of information. You’re a famous author so your energy isn’t so difficult to pick up on. We picked up the general outline of your situation and realized that you may very well be able to help us help your people. You’ve had some great selling books and people are waiting for another one. You can tell our story!”

          “Right,” he laughed out loud. “I’m gonna write a book about how I traveled through a cave three hundred years into the future with a beautiful women…”

            She smiled. “You think I’m beautiful, do you?”

            Jack blushed. “The point is, he stammered, “I don’t write about this kind of stuff. I may have temporarily developed writer’s block, but I still have my reputation to think of and my future marketability.”

            “Just come and meet us,” she said gently. “Then you can decide. We’re not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

            He sighed and stared down at the grass.

            “We’re only a mile from the village,” said Cecilia. “Just come stay the night with us and see what you think.”

            Jack sighed again, and then motioned her to lead him to the village.

 

Chapter 6

            It wasn't long before  they reached the outskirts of the village. As they walked along the main road, Jack could see people working in their gardens, children playing tag and jumping rope. Everybody looked normal, just as Cecilia said they would.

            “I thought everyone in the future wore strange clothes and were either half-crazy or actually a robot,” Jack laughed nervously.

            “That’s because your movies always portray the future either as after the destruction of life as you know it or as some weird fantasy. As you can see, in the future people are very similar to you, and do a lot of the same things as you. It’s a problem that your writers portray the future as weird or scary because it makes you afraid of the future. It makes you feel out of control of the future. It keeps you from realizing what you could be.”

            They passed by several more people working in their gardens and a person weaving on the porch. Jack could see what looked like a solar power plant in the distance.

            “I’m beginning to think you’re all a bunch of hippies,” Jack commented.

            “Try not to label us until you get to know us,” she advised.

            “How do you spend your time?” He was suddenly curious.

            "I work, but not at one job. I pitch in wherever I want to. Everybody works that way here.”

            “That’s interesting,” he mused. “Go on.”

            “Well, no one likes to do the same thing all the time. People are more motivated to work if they’re doing something they want to do. So, I might work in my garden in the morning, do some weaving in the afternoon, teach school the next day.”

            “And this system actually works?”

            “Yeah, sure. People don’t have to be handcuffed to a job for things to get done. Employers in your time worry that, if employees aren’t held to strict rules and schedules, no one would produce anything. We know that, if people understand their connection to their community and are doing what they enjoy doing, they often work very hard.

            We also know that we can get by with a lot less, materially, than people in your time. We spend our time doing creative, fulfilling things and we don’t feel like we’re missing out on anything. We’re not backwards here. We produce our own electricity, and we use machines, but we don’t do everything in excess, we don’t produce in excess, and we don’t compete with one another. We know that if we don’t all survive well, none of us will feel good about our society." 

            “Sounds very utopian,” he said, a bit sarcastically.

            Cecilia chose to ignore the sarcasm. “We’ve got to get over to the town hall,” she said. "It’s getting late and I want to introduce you to everyone before dinner.”

            Anxiety began to move in his body again. He had grown accustomed to her by now, but he wasn’t up for meeting the others. He knew, though, that was what he was here for, so he resigned himself to get through this day and then he would figure out how to back to his own life tomorrow.

            He followed her into a spacious building at the end of the street. There were about twenty-five people there cooking dinner and setting tables. Someone came in with a huge basket filled with fruits. The basket of fruit reminded him that it was January where he had come from. He just shook his head and looked around the room, taking it all in.

            Cecilia began to introduce him. “This is Jack, everyone. Jack, this is George, Kathy, Mason, Tom, Susan, Carrie. Oh, and this is also Jack, although his birth name is Jorgenson. He’s named after his father, so they nicknamed him Jack. Is Jack your real name?” she asked.

            Reeling from all the introductions, Jack just looked at her, but did not answer her question. He was beginning to feel more relaxed, though. The friendliness of these people disarmed him, and he even started to smile a little.

            “Sorry, we’re crowding you,” George said. “Have a seat, or help us set up, whichever you prefer. Jack decided to help set up. He wouldn’t have felt comfortable just sitting there with all this activity going on.

            As he helped put dishes on the table and then carry large bowls of soup and salad, he felt good. He felt a sense of belonging, which was something he hadn’t felt for a long time. As the tables were being set, another 50 or so people arrived for dinner and began to seat themselves around the tables.

            At the end of one of the tables, a group of older men and women gathered. Jack realized that these were the elders. When everyone was seated, one of the male elders stood up. Jack expected him to ask everyone to bow their heads and pray, but he simply said, “We’re grateful once again for this fabulous meal. Let’s eat.”

            Most everyone ate in silence. Now and then, someone would make a comment or tell a funny story. Jack asked Cecilia about the silence. “Is there a rule about silence at dinner time?”

            “No,” Cecilia answered. We just like to enjoy the food. And it would get very loud in here if everyone was talking.”

            Jack had also been wondering about there being no meat on the table, just bread, soup, vegetables, and fruit. “I was right,” he said quietly. “You are a bunch of hippies. Where’s the beefsteak?”

            “Oh, we don’t eat animals,” she said. Her tone wasn’t righteous, she was just informing him of the facts. “We can’t bear the thought of slaughtering animals. Remember, you are 300 years in the future. We’ve developed vegetables and fruit that have more than enough complete proteins to sustain our bodies."

            Everyone could see that Jack was getting plenty of information about them and their lifestyle from Cecilia. So, they just let her do all the talking for them. When his eyes met with theirs, they just smiled at him.

            After dinner, many of them began to clear the tables, wash dishes, and fold the chairs. After the tables were lined up against a wall, people started pulling out musical instruments, easels, weaving looms and knitting needles. It looked like this was going to be a very social evening.

            “Is this party in my honor?” Jack asked Cecilia.

            “Sort of,” she answered. “We’re very glad you’re here, but we do this sort of thing almost every evening. No one is required to join us, and people come and go, but there is almost always a good group.”

            People were gathering in groups, depending on what activity they wanted to work on. The groups were a mixture of all ages with the older folks teaching the younger ones the skills in which they had expertise. A group of musicians had gathered at one end of the room and soon several people had moved into the center of the room and were ready to dance.

            As the music began, Cecilia said to Jack, “Do you dance?”

            “Absolutely not.”

            “Ok, I won’t push you for now,” she said.

            “Seriously,” Jack said. “I don’t dance.”

            Every now and again, someone would come over and introduce themselves to him, but overall, they left him to Cecilia. He could see why they had sent her after him. She really had a way about her. She was not shy; she spoke her mind. But she had a very gentle personality.

            One of the young men came over and asked Cecilia to dance. She smiled and went off with him. She was a great dancer, lithe and energetic. 

            When the song ended, she walked toward him with her hand out. “Ok, it’s your turn,” she urged.

              He didn’t want to disappoint her, so he followed her onto the floor.

              “OK, we’ll start with the basics," she said. "First you hold my left hand in your left hand, like this. Now, you put your right arm around my waist, like this.”

            This part he liked.

            “Now, move your right foot to the right. And bring your left foot next to your right foot.” He did what she told him to do, but his body was stiff as a board.

            "And, now, let’s go back to the left." When he tried to go back to the left, he lost his balance. He didn’t realize that he had to shift his weight before changing directions. They both laughed.

            “It’s okay,” she laughed. “It takes practice.”

            “He wasn’t enjoying the dancing, but he was enjoying interacting with her in this easy way. They kept trying for a while, but he wasn’t a quick learner. Finally, they gave up and sat back down. In amazement, he said, “Do they do this every night? Where to they get the energy?”

            “Well, you know when you’re doing what you love, you

have a lot more energy for it.”

           The activities did seem to be winding down, though. As people left the dining hall, they hugged one another goodbye and headed off to their respective homes.

​

Chapter 7

            “Do you want to go to my house?” Cecilia asked him.

            “Sure,” he said. Not that he had any place else to go.

             When they arrived at Cecilia’s house, she invited him to sit with her on the porch swing. Now, they had time to talk about more personal things.

            “How old are you,” Jack asked.

            “I’m thirty-six,” she replied.

            “And you’re not married?”

            “No," she answered. "We don't get married. We believe in the value of good relationships, but we know that people change. No one wants to hold another person in a relationship that is no longer meeting their needs. On the other hand, we don’t dissolve relationships lightly. We split up when it is mutually beneficial for everyone involved.

           "I have lived by myself for a few years now. But you can see that I am not lonely. I’m surrounded by people I love and appreciate, and they love and appreciate me. Some people do live together for a lifetime,” she added.

            "What about children? Who takes care of the children?"

            "We all do," she answered. "We all want the children to feel safe and loved, so they sort of have many parents besides their own." 

            She sat quietly for  minute.  Then she said, “Every society has assumptions about how to behave, what the priorities must be. What most people don’t think much about is that they are responsible for those assumptions. These ideas don’t just come out of nowhere. We humans make agreements all the time about how things should be.

            It’s easy to believe someone else is better equipped to take on the responsibility of managing a society, but there’s a lot of risk in that. The citizens may end up facing all kinds of situations they don’t like. We have found here that the mutual creation of our society works best to meet everyone’s needs.”

            “It’s strange,” Jack said. "At first you all seemed to be so simple, almost old-fashioned, but after getting to know more about you, I see that you have some pretty sophisticated notions.”

            She leaned closer to him and with such sincerity she said, “That’s what we are wanting to impart to your world. Society doesn’t have to march, march, march forward to greater and greater technological achievements to survive. That kind of priority can create alienation of the members of the society and greater disregard for everyone who is not part of your society. What we need most is connection, a sense of belonging and support for one another.”

            She stood up now and said,” Let’s go inside. I’ll pour us something cool to drink. And I’ll make up a bed for you on the couch. You must be exhausted.”

            

Chapter 8

            Jack followed Cecilia into the house and plopped down on the couch. "Wow," he thought. "This couch is a lot more comfortable than mine."

            It wasn't long before Cecilia came out of the kitchen holding two glasses filled with something that looked very refreshing. She handed him his glass, dripping with condensation, a napkin, and then sat down on the couch beside him.

             They began to chat while sipping their drinks. Jack was enjoying Cecilia's company and he was interested in these villagers ideas about how to live a good life. Eventually, though, they both decided it was time to get some sleep.

            Jack lay awake on the couch for some time thinking about this bizarre day he had just spent. He enjoyed it, but he wanted to get back to his world, to the things and the people that were familiar to him.

 

Chapter 9

             The sun shone in her eyes. As she got her bearing, she could see Jack standing by the window in the front room, lost in thought. She watched him for a while before she climbed out of bed. Then she went to the kitchen to pour them both some juice. He followed her and sat down at the small, white table. He realized that he hadn’t had a cup of coffee or a cigarette since yesterday, but it didn’t seem to matter much.

            “I have to go back,” he said finally.

            “I know,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay. Are you going to write the book? About us, I mean.”

            “Well, it’s hard to say right now, but you’ve certainly given me a lot to think about.” He swallowed down his juice, gave her a sad smile, and said “I guess I’ll go get dressed.”

            “Sure,” she said.

            “Hey,” he said. “How is it that I can go back now?”

            “The elders will pull back their energy and you won’t be blocked from returning to your time. You’ve seen what they wanted you to see. All we can hope for is that you write our story.”

            Within a half hour they were heading back to the cave. She walked him to the far edge of the meadow and then stopped at the cave opening.

            “I won’t go into the cave with you.”

            "Thank you," Jack said, and kissed her gently on the cheek. Then he pulled her to him and gave her a long hug.

            As he headed into the cave, he couldn’t believe that he was walking away from her. "But," he reminded himself. This was not his world. He didn’t know if he could fit in. He needed to get back to his own time.

            It didn’t take long before he could see the opening on the other side of the cave. It seemed like it had taken a lot longer to get to the future than it had taken to get back. He stepped out of the cave into the same gray, chilly air that he had left the day before, and walked quickly to his apartment.

            He should have been hungry, but he wasn’t. He got to his apartment, drank a huge glass of water, lit a cigarette, and started typing. The words flowed like warm honey. No writer’s block now.

            He typed all day, through most of the night and most of the next day, munching only on some stale potato chips and peanut butter that he found in the back of the cabinet.

            When he was done with the manuscript, he put it into a 9 by 12 envelope, grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch and headed out of the apartment. He had a purpose this time.

            When he got to Jameson Whitacker’s office, he strode past the secretary, pushed open Jameson’s door, and tossed the envelope on Jamerson’s desk without even going all the way in.

            “Here’s your manuscript,” he laughed, and backed out of the door, turned, and headed out of the office. He could hear Jameson yelling all the way to the elevator.

            “Hey, wait a minute. I want to talk to you. Where have been? I’m really mad at you!”

            Jack suddenly realized that he was starved. He stopped off at Mazy’s for some dinner. When he was finished with his dinner, he felt exhausted again. He paid his bill and quickly left the restaurant.

             Once inside his apartment, he turned on the television and flopped down on the couch. He didn’t see much of the television program, though, because he was asleep in no time.

            He had turned onto his back, and he was dreaming. The dream was a confusing array of people and events. Some of the people reminded him of people he met in the village.

            Then Cecilia was walking straight toward him, reaching out her hand. He woke startled, thinking he was reaching out to touch her hand, but she wasn’t there. All he could see were the outlines of his dingy wingback chairs and the antique lamp in the light of the television screen. He grumbled and got up to switch off the TV. Then he laid back down on the couch.

            He missed her. This was gonna be tough.

            He fell quickly into a dream state. Cecilia was walking toward him again, reaching out her hand. He started to get up off the couch to greet her but realized, this time, that he was dreaming, and he just lay there until her hand touched his. He was instantly transported to the meadow. Cecilia was holding his hand and they were walking together toward the oak tree.

            “I wish you were really here,” he said softly.

            “What makes you think I’m not?” she said. What makes you think dreams aren’t real?”

            When they got to the oak tree she said, “Ok, are you ready to try that dancing lesson again?”

            “Well, why not,” he said. "Maybe I’ll do better in my dreams."

            She took his hand and put it around her waist and showed him again. He tried but he was still clumsy. They both laughed and tried and tried again, laughing and teasing one another.

​

Chapter 10

       In the following months, Jack dreamed often of Cecilia. The book was a success. Jameson was pretty sure that Jack had lost his mind, but the book made them both a lot of money, so he chocked it up to Jack’s artistic nature. With the earnings from this book, Jack bought a house.

       He was a changed man in many ways. He no longer saw time as everyone else did. He no longer thought of marriage or children the way he always had. He found himself thinking of, and acting differently, toward people. He often thought about choice; the choices he would make that might create one future over another.

       His friends noticed that something was different about him. For instance, when they asked him to join them in hooking up with some women they had just met, he politely declined their invitations.

       He wrote another couple of bestsellers over the next few years, and his writing had changed. He often thought about his experiences with Cecilia and her village, and he would find ways to weave what he had seen there into his stories. He hoped, deep down, that if people read about these experiences in his stories, maybe more people, in time - in his time - would think more about creating some of the pleasurable aspects of Cecilia’s society.

       The most important thing that changed about him, though, was that he was no longer afraid of the future. He had experienced the possibilities. Three hundred years ahead didn’t have to be as everyone worried it might be. It might be very pleasant.