get in the mood, relax, and think about where Iâm going. Early 1912, I hoped. Someplace, I wasnât sure where. Somewhere in the general vicinity of Jim Thorpe. I knew that much. We could end up on an Indianreservationâor in Stockholm, Sweden, where the Olympics took place. Or anywhere. That was part of the mystery. I just hoped Bobby Fuller wouldnât mess things up for me. It was a big risk, taking him along. Iâd have to be very careful.
âItâs happening,â Bobby whispered. âI can feel it.â
He was right. I had been thinking so much that I didnât even notice my fingers were starting to tingle.
âIs everything gonna be in black-and-white?â Bobby whispered.
âShhhhhh!â I said. âNo.â
The buzzy feeling moved up my arm quickly. Soon it washed across me like a crowd doing the wave at a game and my whole body was vibrating. I wished I could bottle that feeling, because thereâs nothing like it in the world.
Then I started to feel the atoms that make up my very existence disappear one by one, like when you pop bubble wrap until there are no pops left. My body was vanishing from the present and moving through space and time to another era.
We were gone.
10
The Truth About Bobby Fuller
WHEN I OPENED MY EYES , THE FIRST THING I SAW WAS A ballpark. But I wasnât in the ballpark. I was up on a big, rocky hill overlooking it. Part of the field was visible, but most of it was blocked by the stands.
I didnât recognize the place. It was in the shape of a big horseshoe. There were apartment buildings all around. It was in the middle of a big city, that was for sure.
New York? Maybe. There were wooden water towers on the roofs of buildings around the park. But it wasnât Yankee Stadium. I had been there. It couldnât be Shea Stadium either. That wasnât built until the 1960s.
There was a chill in the air. It felt like early spring, maybe March or April. The beginning of baseball season. The sun was high in the sky. Itmust be around noon, I figured.
Suddenly I remembered Bobby Fuller was with me. I wheeled around and there he was, lying on the grass. He was asleep, snoring. Jet lag, I guess. Going back a century in time must have knocked the wind out of him. Me, Iâm used to it.
Bobbyâs backpack was on the ground, and the zipper was open a couple of inches. He seemed so protective about his stuff. What did he have in there anyway? I wasnât sure if it would be an invasion of Bobbyâs privacy to peek inside. But as long as he was taking a snooze, there was no harm in poking around a little. I opened the zipper a few more inches and looked inside.
His iPod was on top, with the earbuds wrapped around it. Underneath were two small medicine bottles. They didnât have labels on them, but I could see there was liquid inside.
Hmm, that was odd. I always thought kids with ADD took their medicine in the form of pills.
I dug a little deeper, and thatâs when I found something that blew my mindâa syringe. A hypodermic needle. One of those things doctors use to give you a shot.
Why would a kid have a syringe? Couldnât Bobby just take his medicine with a spoon? I know lots of kids with ADD and none of them have to inject themselves.
There was only one logical explanation. I hated to think it was true, but it was obvious.
Bobby Fuller was a junkie!
I had heard that some kids my age were addicted to drugs, but Iâd never met anyone who used them. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I just didnât know they were using drugs.
This was horrible . I looked at the bottles again. In school one time they showed us a movie about drugs, and they said junkies inject heroin into themselves with needles.
Suddenly, I felt a little differently about Bobby Fuller. All these years Iâd hated him for the mean things he had done to me. Maybe I should have pitied him. Maybe being addicted to heroin was what messed him up
âItâs happening,â Bobby whispered. âI can feel it.â
He was right. I had been thinking so much that I didnât even notice my fingers were starting to tingle.
âIs everything gonna be in black-and-white?â Bobby whispered.
âShhhhhh!â I said. âNo.â
The buzzy feeling moved up my arm quickly. Soon it washed across me like a crowd doing the wave at a game and my whole body was vibrating. I wished I could bottle that feeling, because thereâs nothing like it in the world.
Then I started to feel the atoms that make up my very existence disappear one by one, like when you pop bubble wrap until there are no pops left. My body was vanishing from the present and moving through space and time to another era.
We were gone.
10
The Truth About Bobby Fuller
WHEN I OPENED MY EYES , THE FIRST THING I SAW WAS A ballpark. But I wasnât in the ballpark. I was up on a big, rocky hill overlooking it. Part of the field was visible, but most of it was blocked by the stands.
I didnât recognize the place. It was in the shape of a big horseshoe. There were apartment buildings all around. It was in the middle of a big city, that was for sure.
New York? Maybe. There were wooden water towers on the roofs of buildings around the park. But it wasnât Yankee Stadium. I had been there. It couldnât be Shea Stadium either. That wasnât built until the 1960s.
There was a chill in the air. It felt like early spring, maybe March or April. The beginning of baseball season. The sun was high in the sky. Itmust be around noon, I figured.
Suddenly I remembered Bobby Fuller was with me. I wheeled around and there he was, lying on the grass. He was asleep, snoring. Jet lag, I guess. Going back a century in time must have knocked the wind out of him. Me, Iâm used to it.
Bobbyâs backpack was on the ground, and the zipper was open a couple of inches. He seemed so protective about his stuff. What did he have in there anyway? I wasnât sure if it would be an invasion of Bobbyâs privacy to peek inside. But as long as he was taking a snooze, there was no harm in poking around a little. I opened the zipper a few more inches and looked inside.
His iPod was on top, with the earbuds wrapped around it. Underneath were two small medicine bottles. They didnât have labels on them, but I could see there was liquid inside.
Hmm, that was odd. I always thought kids with ADD took their medicine in the form of pills.
I dug a little deeper, and thatâs when I found something that blew my mindâa syringe. A hypodermic needle. One of those things doctors use to give you a shot.
Why would a kid have a syringe? Couldnât Bobby just take his medicine with a spoon? I know lots of kids with ADD and none of them have to inject themselves.
There was only one logical explanation. I hated to think it was true, but it was obvious.
Bobby Fuller was a junkie!
I had heard that some kids my age were addicted to drugs, but Iâd never met anyone who used them. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I just didnât know they were using drugs.
This was horrible . I looked at the bottles again. In school one time they showed us a movie about drugs, and they said junkies inject heroin into themselves with needles.
Suddenly, I felt a little differently about Bobby Fuller. All these years Iâd hated him for the mean things he had done to me. Maybe I should have pitied him. Maybe being addicted to heroin was what messed him up
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