didn’t work in the lock, and when he knocked, a girl answered the door.
Chester Casey: Her name was Hattie, and she was pretty the way folks you love are pretty in old snapshots. When they’re still young and excited about life. Before time and work and you have destroyed their youth. Seventy years back, Hattie was thirteen years old and just home from school in that empty house, waiting for her folks to come back from work in a few hours.
She must’ve seen something pretty in this Simms, because she took him inside and almost straight to bed. Straight enough.
Echo Lawrence: Of course, this is the man’s version. He didn’t rape anybody. He didn’t guess who she really was until, laying there, waiting for dusk and her folks, Hattie said, “The only way they’ll let you stay is if I get knocked up…” And they had sex again. Midway through that second time, Hattie said she hoped it would be a girl baby. So she could call it Esther. And this strange young man came to orgasm, seeing the clock and calendar on her dresser. He asked her, “Is that thing right?”
Hattie rolled her head on the pillow, looking over, and said, “Give or take a minute.” And he said, “No.” He said, “I mean the calendar…”
Chester Casey: This old man talking nonsense to my boy, he said he knowed the moment that baby was conceived—felt a surge of energy, smarts, balls, and craziness break over him. Sure as rain or sunshine. “Better,” he said, “than any critter bite, poison, or justplain teeth pain.”
He said, since he didn’t stick around and meet her folks, stay like a stray dog she wanted to keep, that Hattie gal must’ve told her folks he jumped her.
Echo Lawrence: The way Simms told it to Rant, when he kissed this Hattie person, Simms tasted the meatloaf with onions and sausage that she’d eaten for lunch in the school cafeteria. Her dinner the night before, of fried calves’ liver. Her dinner three nights before, of chicken-fried hanger steak with creamed pearl onions and orange gelatin salad. The moment their future child was conceived, the man’s eyesight and hearing, his senses of smell and touch and taste just—exploded.
Shot Dunyun: Driving, just trawling around, Rant told me that Green Taylor Simms had somehow fallen into the past some sixty years. After riding in the backseat of his own Great-grandmother Hattie Shelby, Simms says he felt great. Nights, he only needed two hours of sleep. Like some kind of Superman.
Tina Something ( Party Crasher ): It’s only one of the secret goals in Party Crashing. Most people call it a Flashback. Others called it Reverse Pioneering. Breeding yourself, the way Simms had, we call it Stoking.
Echo Lawrence: Pay attention. That supposed twenty-three-year-old refugee stuck in the past, he desperately wishes he’d studied more of recent history. At least memorized some winning lottery numbers. He washes dishes to save a little capital. He works every waking minute, asking strangers, “Has Microsoft gone public yet?”
These people, they would reply, “What’s a Micro…?” “Microsoft,” he’d say.
But people would only shake their heads and shrug.
Shot Dunyun: He asked someone, “Has boosted-peak technology been invented yet?” When they shrugged, it didn’t matter. He really, really wished he’d paid more attention during math and science class.
Every few years, he returns to spy on his daughter, Esther, his future grandmother. And because he can’t invent anything, he says he seduced her, meeting her in secret, giving her money, he tells her his dream for a future dynasty, about his accidental fall backward through time. The car accident.
Echo Lawrence: Whether she believed him or not, if he raped her or not, that girl had a child she named Irene, and the man, now calling himself Green Taylor Simms, disappeared for another thirteen years.
Jarrell Moore: According to the elderly man in question, every generation, each of the thirteen-year-old
Chester Casey: Her name was Hattie, and she was pretty the way folks you love are pretty in old snapshots. When they’re still young and excited about life. Before time and work and you have destroyed their youth. Seventy years back, Hattie was thirteen years old and just home from school in that empty house, waiting for her folks to come back from work in a few hours.
She must’ve seen something pretty in this Simms, because she took him inside and almost straight to bed. Straight enough.
Echo Lawrence: Of course, this is the man’s version. He didn’t rape anybody. He didn’t guess who she really was until, laying there, waiting for dusk and her folks, Hattie said, “The only way they’ll let you stay is if I get knocked up…” And they had sex again. Midway through that second time, Hattie said she hoped it would be a girl baby. So she could call it Esther. And this strange young man came to orgasm, seeing the clock and calendar on her dresser. He asked her, “Is that thing right?”
Hattie rolled her head on the pillow, looking over, and said, “Give or take a minute.” And he said, “No.” He said, “I mean the calendar…”
Chester Casey: This old man talking nonsense to my boy, he said he knowed the moment that baby was conceived—felt a surge of energy, smarts, balls, and craziness break over him. Sure as rain or sunshine. “Better,” he said, “than any critter bite, poison, or justplain teeth pain.”
He said, since he didn’t stick around and meet her folks, stay like a stray dog she wanted to keep, that Hattie gal must’ve told her folks he jumped her.
Echo Lawrence: The way Simms told it to Rant, when he kissed this Hattie person, Simms tasted the meatloaf with onions and sausage that she’d eaten for lunch in the school cafeteria. Her dinner the night before, of fried calves’ liver. Her dinner three nights before, of chicken-fried hanger steak with creamed pearl onions and orange gelatin salad. The moment their future child was conceived, the man’s eyesight and hearing, his senses of smell and touch and taste just—exploded.
Shot Dunyun: Driving, just trawling around, Rant told me that Green Taylor Simms had somehow fallen into the past some sixty years. After riding in the backseat of his own Great-grandmother Hattie Shelby, Simms says he felt great. Nights, he only needed two hours of sleep. Like some kind of Superman.
Tina Something ( Party Crasher ): It’s only one of the secret goals in Party Crashing. Most people call it a Flashback. Others called it Reverse Pioneering. Breeding yourself, the way Simms had, we call it Stoking.
Echo Lawrence: Pay attention. That supposed twenty-three-year-old refugee stuck in the past, he desperately wishes he’d studied more of recent history. At least memorized some winning lottery numbers. He washes dishes to save a little capital. He works every waking minute, asking strangers, “Has Microsoft gone public yet?”
These people, they would reply, “What’s a Micro…?” “Microsoft,” he’d say.
But people would only shake their heads and shrug.
Shot Dunyun: He asked someone, “Has boosted-peak technology been invented yet?” When they shrugged, it didn’t matter. He really, really wished he’d paid more attention during math and science class.
Every few years, he returns to spy on his daughter, Esther, his future grandmother. And because he can’t invent anything, he says he seduced her, meeting her in secret, giving her money, he tells her his dream for a future dynasty, about his accidental fall backward through time. The car accident.
Echo Lawrence: Whether she believed him or not, if he raped her or not, that girl had a child she named Irene, and the man, now calling himself Green Taylor Simms, disappeared for another thirteen years.
Jarrell Moore: According to the elderly man in question, every generation, each of the thirteen-year-old
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