this happening to us, and the people fled in terror, at this revolt by the reminders of the nation's greatness, as those selfsame landmarks reduced to rubble every symbol of progress, sign of homogenized inclusion with the globalized world, and showing of shallow flash and glam over depth and culture and tradition, and when the sun rose over the tropical island the next morning it was all over, the assault had stopped, the landmarks as still and inert as their previous states, the country no longer globally competitive, but the people did not despair, because as they cremated their dead and began the rebuilding process, they remembered that they had endured the British occupiers, and the tyranny of the Japanese military, and they had arisen to become a global corporate power, and that they would now reinvent themselves into something new and bright and shining, a jewel of the future world, a unique visage of identity.
Dragging the Frame
September 2010
I waited in the mass queue for the number 80 bus, sweating under the metal awning at the bus stop outside the Cosmic Insurance Building on North Bridge Road, shoulderbag digging into my trapezius muscle from the weight of the MacBook inside, and wondering: What kind of policy could you get at Cosmic Insurance? Financial protection in the event of a malevolent alien invasion? Of comet or meteorite impact? Of catastrophic expansion of the sun into a red giant? As I smiled at my cleverness, my eye was caught by a young brunette in earthtone clothing making her way toward me. Khaki capri pants, white linen blouse, striped suspenders, giant purple Om ring. Tall, willowy. On her shoulder: a tote bag in natural undyed cotton, printed with the acronym SSC and a side-profile image of Virginia Woolf. So immersed was I in my daydreams that it took a full ten seconds to realize who she was, my Eurasian daughter (Amerasian, technically), and by that time I had nowhere to hide.
“Hi, Dad,” she said when she reached me. Her mouth was set in a firm line.
“No,” I said. “No, I’m not ready yet. It can’t be time.”
“What?”
“This can’t be the day, it just can’t!”
“I’m not sure what you mean exactly. Time travel isn’t an exact science; it doesn’t always happen in the right order, and you may have information that I don’t. What day is today?”
“Just go away. Maybe if you’re not here, then it won’t happen, right?”
“I can’t do that,” she said. Sofia. She’d said her name was Sofia. “I’ve traveled too far. I won’t let you push me around anymore. You’re going to listen to me this time.”
“No, no, look, I’ll do anything. Take me into the future with you.” It felt strange to shiver in such sultry weather.
Sofia looked down at her shoes, purple Chuck Taylors that matched the color of her ring. “It doesn’t work like that. One person per trip.”
“But I don’t want to die!” I shouted, the words erupting out of me before I could control content or volume, attracting looks from the other waiting passengers in our vicinity. Knowing the future was no consolation once it caught up with you. I lowered my voice and stepped closer. “I wish I’d gotten the chance to know you, but I just can’t be around you right now. If you’re not here to observe it, it won’t happen, like Heisenberg, right? So go, please go, leave now.”
She turned away, and I looked over her shoulder: the 80 was approaching from down the block. I shoved my way to the front of the mass of humanity so as to grab one of the few seats likely to still be available on the bus, and also to put some distance between myself and Sofia. Already in my mind, I was constructing a chain of logic that even the time-space continuum could not deny. If I could just make it onto the bus, grab a seat, and head down to my favorite bookstore at Club Street, like I’d originally planned, then I would avoid the inevitable. It was solid logic and I planted my feet in
Dragging the Frame
September 2010
I waited in the mass queue for the number 80 bus, sweating under the metal awning at the bus stop outside the Cosmic Insurance Building on North Bridge Road, shoulderbag digging into my trapezius muscle from the weight of the MacBook inside, and wondering: What kind of policy could you get at Cosmic Insurance? Financial protection in the event of a malevolent alien invasion? Of comet or meteorite impact? Of catastrophic expansion of the sun into a red giant? As I smiled at my cleverness, my eye was caught by a young brunette in earthtone clothing making her way toward me. Khaki capri pants, white linen blouse, striped suspenders, giant purple Om ring. Tall, willowy. On her shoulder: a tote bag in natural undyed cotton, printed with the acronym SSC and a side-profile image of Virginia Woolf. So immersed was I in my daydreams that it took a full ten seconds to realize who she was, my Eurasian daughter (Amerasian, technically), and by that time I had nowhere to hide.
“Hi, Dad,” she said when she reached me. Her mouth was set in a firm line.
“No,” I said. “No, I’m not ready yet. It can’t be time.”
“What?”
“This can’t be the day, it just can’t!”
“I’m not sure what you mean exactly. Time travel isn’t an exact science; it doesn’t always happen in the right order, and you may have information that I don’t. What day is today?”
“Just go away. Maybe if you’re not here, then it won’t happen, right?”
“I can’t do that,” she said. Sofia. She’d said her name was Sofia. “I’ve traveled too far. I won’t let you push me around anymore. You’re going to listen to me this time.”
“No, no, look, I’ll do anything. Take me into the future with you.” It felt strange to shiver in such sultry weather.
Sofia looked down at her shoes, purple Chuck Taylors that matched the color of her ring. “It doesn’t work like that. One person per trip.”
“But I don’t want to die!” I shouted, the words erupting out of me before I could control content or volume, attracting looks from the other waiting passengers in our vicinity. Knowing the future was no consolation once it caught up with you. I lowered my voice and stepped closer. “I wish I’d gotten the chance to know you, but I just can’t be around you right now. If you’re not here to observe it, it won’t happen, like Heisenberg, right? So go, please go, leave now.”
She turned away, and I looked over her shoulder: the 80 was approaching from down the block. I shoved my way to the front of the mass of humanity so as to grab one of the few seats likely to still be available on the bus, and also to put some distance between myself and Sofia. Already in my mind, I was constructing a chain of logic that even the time-space continuum could not deny. If I could just make it onto the bus, grab a seat, and head down to my favorite bookstore at Club Street, like I’d originally planned, then I would avoid the inevitable. It was solid logic and I planted my feet in
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