The Unusual Second Life of Thomas Weaver Episode Two (The Unusual Life Of Thomas Weaver Book 2) by Shawn Inmon Page A
Authors: Shawn Inmon
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past the gas station was a rundown little bar called The Do Si Do. The dilapidated marquee in front read: “One night only—The loudest bar band in the world—Jimmy Velvet and the Black Velvets.”
At the edge of the neighborhood, Sammy’s Corner Grocery brought a new rush of memories. The worn wooden floorboards, the hanging fluorescent lights, the odd mixed scent of stale packaging and fresh food, brought him up short by its long-forgotten familiarity.
He didn’t need to ask where anything was, because the layout was suddenly in his mind. His feet carried him to a spinning metal rack of comic books. At eye level, superhero comics, then, lower, Little Lulu and Betty and Veronica. He leafed through issues of The Mighty Avengers, The Amazing Spiderman, and Marvel Team Up. He reached into his pocket, but found only two dimes; not enough to buy a comic book even in 1976, but not completely useless. He wandered over to the small candy section and saw the familiar Hershey bars and Reese’s cups, but his eye fell on the bright red packaging of a Marathon candy bar. Can’t remember the last time I had a Marathon. When did they stop making them? He went to the front counter, and Sammy rang him up on an old-fashioned register with actual push keys. Thomas put the twenty cents on the counter. Sammy swept them off in one smooth motion, caught them in his other hand and tossed them in the tray. It was all very cool and retro, but it also left him broke.
Guess it doesn’t matter how cheap something is if you have no money.
He ate the Marathon on the way home, letting the chocolate and caramel stir long-buried memories back into reality. Thomas got home just before dark and sat down to a dinner of ham, au gratin potatoes, and salad.
Between the late breakfast, the Marathon, and this, it's more than I've eaten in a single day in years. Most of my calories of late have been the liquid variety. Funny, I don’t feel the need for a beer, which is probably good. No idea how I’d get my hands on one—walk down and steal one from Sammy’s? Don’t think I could do that, either.
The conversation at the dinner table wasn’t much, but Thomas found it soothing and homey. Zack talked about track team politics, then Anne vented a bit about a horrible patient and an even more horrible doctor. At seven o’clock, they all sat down in the living room and watched Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color and McMillan & Wife on NBC’s Sunday Night Mystery Movie. The dialogue was a little stilted, and Thomas solved the mystery before the second commercial break, but the scenes playing out in the dark on the low-definition screen were secondary to the simple comfort of being there.
Although I keep wanting to pause the DVR, or fast-forward through commercials. Not only is there no DVR, there's no remote. If we want to change the channel to one of the three others, including the one that doesn't come in too well, someone has to get up and turn the dial. Me, naturally, as the youngest. In the meantime, we either make a trip to the bathroom during commercials, or learn what corporations want us to know about Anacin and Tide .
When the Eleven O’clock News came on, Anne said, “Okay, boyos, bedtime. Off to bed with you.”
A bedtime. Haven't had one in decades. But it's fine; this day has worn me out, at least emotionally . He kissed his mom goodnight, laid his head against her shoulder, held it there a moment, told her again that he loved her, and headed to bed.
Thomas took his clothes off and climbed into bed, but his mind wouldn't stop. How long does it take to adjust to something like this? How can it be 1976 if I remember everything that comes after it? Reagan will come up short in his run for the presidency this year, but beat Carter next time around. The shuttle’s going to explode. The Berlin Wall will fall. The Trade Center’s also going to fall. Isn’t it? Is that something that already happened, or is gonna happen, or
At the edge of the neighborhood, Sammy’s Corner Grocery brought a new rush of memories. The worn wooden floorboards, the hanging fluorescent lights, the odd mixed scent of stale packaging and fresh food, brought him up short by its long-forgotten familiarity.
He didn’t need to ask where anything was, because the layout was suddenly in his mind. His feet carried him to a spinning metal rack of comic books. At eye level, superhero comics, then, lower, Little Lulu and Betty and Veronica. He leafed through issues of The Mighty Avengers, The Amazing Spiderman, and Marvel Team Up. He reached into his pocket, but found only two dimes; not enough to buy a comic book even in 1976, but not completely useless. He wandered over to the small candy section and saw the familiar Hershey bars and Reese’s cups, but his eye fell on the bright red packaging of a Marathon candy bar. Can’t remember the last time I had a Marathon. When did they stop making them? He went to the front counter, and Sammy rang him up on an old-fashioned register with actual push keys. Thomas put the twenty cents on the counter. Sammy swept them off in one smooth motion, caught them in his other hand and tossed them in the tray. It was all very cool and retro, but it also left him broke.
Guess it doesn’t matter how cheap something is if you have no money.
He ate the Marathon on the way home, letting the chocolate and caramel stir long-buried memories back into reality. Thomas got home just before dark and sat down to a dinner of ham, au gratin potatoes, and salad.
Between the late breakfast, the Marathon, and this, it's more than I've eaten in a single day in years. Most of my calories of late have been the liquid variety. Funny, I don’t feel the need for a beer, which is probably good. No idea how I’d get my hands on one—walk down and steal one from Sammy’s? Don’t think I could do that, either.
The conversation at the dinner table wasn’t much, but Thomas found it soothing and homey. Zack talked about track team politics, then Anne vented a bit about a horrible patient and an even more horrible doctor. At seven o’clock, they all sat down in the living room and watched Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color and McMillan & Wife on NBC’s Sunday Night Mystery Movie. The dialogue was a little stilted, and Thomas solved the mystery before the second commercial break, but the scenes playing out in the dark on the low-definition screen were secondary to the simple comfort of being there.
Although I keep wanting to pause the DVR, or fast-forward through commercials. Not only is there no DVR, there's no remote. If we want to change the channel to one of the three others, including the one that doesn't come in too well, someone has to get up and turn the dial. Me, naturally, as the youngest. In the meantime, we either make a trip to the bathroom during commercials, or learn what corporations want us to know about Anacin and Tide .
When the Eleven O’clock News came on, Anne said, “Okay, boyos, bedtime. Off to bed with you.”
A bedtime. Haven't had one in decades. But it's fine; this day has worn me out, at least emotionally . He kissed his mom goodnight, laid his head against her shoulder, held it there a moment, told her again that he loved her, and headed to bed.
Thomas took his clothes off and climbed into bed, but his mind wouldn't stop. How long does it take to adjust to something like this? How can it be 1976 if I remember everything that comes after it? Reagan will come up short in his run for the presidency this year, but beat Carter next time around. The shuttle’s going to explode. The Berlin Wall will fall. The Trade Center’s also going to fall. Isn’t it? Is that something that already happened, or is gonna happen, or
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