Charley Brindley
Do Not Resuscitate

Do Not Resuscitate

by

Charley Brindley

charleybrindley@yahoo.com

https://www.charleybrindley.com/

Edited by

Karen Boston

https://bit.ly/2rJDq3f

Cover by

Charley Brindley

© 2019 by Charley Brindley all rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition November 2019

This book is dedicated to

Vern F. Brindley Jr

Some of Charley Brindley’s books

have been translated into:

Italian

Spanish

Portuguese

French

and

Russian

Other books by Charley Brindley

1. Oxana’s Pit

2. Raji Book One: Octavia Pompeii

3. Raji Book Two: The Academy

4. Raji Book Three: Dire Kawa

5. Raji Book Four: The House of the West Wind

6. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl Book One: Tin Tin Ban Sunia

7. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl Book Two: Voyage to Iberia

8. Cian

9. Ariion XXIII

10. The Last Seat on the Hindenburg

11. Dragonfly vs Monarch: Book One

12. Dragonfly vs Monarch: Book Two

13. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book One: Exploration

14. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Two: Invasion

15. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Three: The Sand

Vipers

16. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Four: The Republic

17. Sea of Sorrows

18. The Last Mission of the Seventh Cavalry

19. Henry IX

20. Qubit’s Incubator

21. Casper’s Game

22. The Rod of God

Coming Soon

23. Dragonfly vs Monarch: Book Three

24. The Journey to Valdacia

25. Still Waters Run Deep

26. Ms Machiavelli

27. Ariion XXIX

28. The Last Mission of the Seventh Cavalry Book 2

29. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl, Book Three

See the end of the book for details about the other books

Chapter One

March 23, 2019

I brushed my hand down my face, trying to wipe away the fog that shrouded my mind. As I did, my fingers caught on something stuck in my nose.

What the hell? Where am I?

The tube felt like it was halfway down my throat. I tried to pull it out, but it was taped to my face. My brain was stiff, drifting away. I tried to concentrate.

Still nothing but muddled images. Not a thing I can lock onto. Eyes open, but hazy view of…what? Inside of a cloud. Lots of white stuff and shiny metal. Tubes. Beeping noise.

Hospital. Oh, yeah. That doctor who looked like she was about twelve years old. Way too grim for a kid.

I felt as if I’d been crushed and reconstituted into a piece of crap. Not much pain; just a mind full of wet cement.

They’ve got me doped up on painkillers.

Just as well.

Hope they remember, ‘Do Not Resuscitate.’ I don’t want to hang onto a life of tubes, respirators, and beeping monitors.

A soft, rustling sound.

Man in blue, pretty powder blue. Another doctor? Good, not a teenager. Please don’t give me any bullshit about a few more years of so-called life. I’m almost eighty. A few more years of misery and hardships for Caitlion isn’t what I want. Just snip these tubes and let me go.

The man in blue pulled a chair to the side of my bed, sat, and smiled.

Not taking vitals, not looking sternly at monitors, no stethoscope draped around his neck, not shoving needles into me; just smiling. Big guy, maybe 6-3, lean, light beard, brown hair, blue eyes, dark blue, like that first shade of night.

“What are you so…” Ugh, dry throat. I swallowed. “Chipper about?”

“It’s almost time.”

His voice was smooth, not as masculine as I expected. It was more like Mom’s voice, from when I was a kid. Soft, pleasant, making me feel like everything would be all right.

Another sound. The door swishing open. I turned my head on the pillow to see the nurse.

She checked the monitors. I wondered why the doctor had no interest in the readings.

She tapped a red fingernail on a digital display, then smiled at me, ignoring the doctor.

I tried to return her pleasantness. She was pretty and young, twenty-something. Her complexion was like the soft brown of summer wheat.

“You doing okay, Mr. Brindley?”

I nodded.

“They’re going to bring you some nice mush and prune juice. Then the doctor will be in to talk to you.”

When I tried to raise my right hand to point to the doctor sitting beside me, it was weighted down by a tube and two needles inserted into the back of my hand.

She was gone before I could say anything.

“You should probably ask to see your family,” the doctor said.

“That bad, huh?”

He nodded. “We have to get started.”

“If I know my great-granddaughter, she’s around here somewhere.”

“Sleeping in a chair, out in the waiting room.”

“Can you get her?”

“No, you need to push your button.”

“Where is it?”

“Right beside your hand.”

“Oh, okay.”

I fumbled with the button, then pressed it. My nurse hurried in.

“What can I get for you, sweetie?” She put a soft hand on my shoulder. I liked her. She was kind, no nonsense.

“Is Caitlion out there?”

She nodded. “I expect so. She’s here more than I am.”

Poor kid. Is she going to be all right? I hope she’s prepared. I held on until she turned eighteen. I didn’t want other people making her decisions. It’d been just her and me since she was two, when her mom ran away with a trucker from Wichita. In a few weeks, Caitlion will be well-off. Alone, but she can go to university, or to Europe…whatever she wants to do. I know it will be a rough month or so.

“Papa.”

There she was, my beautiful girl, taking my hand and leaning down for a kiss on the cheek. Her name, Caitlion, like Kate Lion, came from her mother’s slurred speech when she was high on fentanyl and heroin. She was trying to say, “Tavion,” whatever that means.

“Hey, baby.”

She wore jeans with manufactured holes and a pink tee saying, ‘5 out of 4 people struggle with math.’

That made me smile.

“You’re looking good today,” she said.

Long auburn hair. Her brown eyes were deep, with a hint of mystery about them, as if they hid a special secret. She’d tinted the last six inches of her hair in a light honey blonde, in what I think she called babylights. And always, the beautiful smile.

I blew a puff of air past the tube in my nose and waved my hand, shooing away her words. “I think…this is it, sweetheart.”

“No, Papa. It’s not.” She took my hand, being careful of the IV.

Chapter Two

August 10, 1945

I slipped in through the door in the back of the classroom and took the only vacant seat.

“Who are you?”

It was my first day at Fordland High School. The squat little man in front of the class stood glaring at me. He was dressed in a dove gray suit, with a black vest and wide floral tie. I’d never seen a male teacher before.

“Ch-Charley Brindley.”

“Wonderful. Brindley boy number five. Are there any more of you?”

I didn’t know what he meant. Any more brothers, or any more Brindleys? I shook my head.

Why is everyone looking at me?

I heard a girl giggle. I slumped down, staring at the huge English textbook on my desk.

Can I just crawl under it and die?

“All right.” The teacher turned to the blackboard. “We’ll try to proceed without the benefit of your input.” He picked up a piece of chalk. “Mr. Winter Coldstream,” he said as he wrote his name on the board. “Yes, my mother had a great sense of humor.”

He dropped the chalk in the tray and dusted his hands. “Who can name the eight parts of speech?”

Six hands went up. All of them girls.

Mr. Coldstream looked around at the smiling girls. His eyes fell on me. “Brindley?”

No one had ever called me by my last name. I looked down and swallowed.

“Can you name them?”

I didn’t even know speech had parts. “Um…” I grabbed my textbook and flipped it open.

“You should have learned this in fourth grade.” He looked around the room. “You, what’s your name?”

“Ember Coldstream.”

“I thought you looked familiar. Name them.”

The others lowered their hands.

Ember smiled and named off the parts of speech.

She’s so cute, and smart, too.

“Very good, Ember.” He glanced around the room. “What’s an adjective?”

The same six girls raised their hands.

“Brindley?”

Oh, my God. Why does he keep asking me this stuff?

I stared at my open book, keeping quiet and not moving, hoping I’d disappear from the surface of the Earth. I felt my face flush, and I knew everyone was watching me, probably laughing to themselves about my stupidity.

“Well, I guess Brindley is so deep into mathematical calculations, his ears have blocked out all external stimuli.”

Several kids laughed, one boy louder than the others. I knew who he was.

Henry Witt. He probably doesn’t even know what stimuli is. I sure don’t.

“What’s your name?” the teacher asked another student.

“William Dermott.”

“All right, William. What’s an adjective?”

Why does he call me by my last name and everyone else by their first?

“Um…” William looked at his hands, the floor, the window. “Um…a person, place, or thing?”

“Wrong. Does anyone know the part of speech for a person, place, or thing?”

The same six girls again.

Mr. Coldstream strode across the front of the room and stopped before a girl with her hand in the air. “Who are you?”

“Juliet Dermott.” She lowered her hand.

“Really? Do you know Mr. William Dermott over there?”

“I wish I didn’t.” She glared at William.

“Can you answer the question, Juliet?”

“Noun.”

She’s pretty, and smart, like Ember.

“Correct. What are most words ending in ‘-ly’ known as?”

Please don’t ask me again. I don’t know any of this stuff.

“Adverbs,” Juliet said.

“Right.”

I never knew time could pass so slowly. Hey, I did an adverb.

“Let’s talk about diagramming a sentence, shall we?” Mr. Coldstream wrote on the board, ‘The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.’

Diagramming? That’s about a fox and a dog.

The fifty-five minutes in Mr. Coldstream’s ninth grade English class seemed like fifty-five hours. The ringing of the bell was music to my ears. I grabbed my book and hurried out into the hall.

“Hey, Clod Hopper.”

I turned to see a tall boy leaning against the wall. He had red hair and about a thousand freckles.

“What are you doing here?”

Another boy and two girls were with him. They stared at me, waiting for me to say something.

“Going to history class.”

“No, what are you doing in high school?”

I didn’t know what he meant. I shrugged.

“You’re supposed to go to junior high first.”

The one-room school I came from had grades one through eight, but no junior high. “Oh.”

“What an idiot,” the other boy said. It was Henry Witt.

“He doesn’t even know what junior high is,” Ember said.

All of them laughed at me.

“Love your overalls,” Ember said, then giggled.

I turned, wanting to run from the building and go home, but I forced myself to walk away slowly.

I’ve got to find my history class.

I walked down the hall, then turned back.

I must have missed it.

I heard some girls singing. “Pee wadley Pasty, huge big fatsy.”

Turning a corner in the hallway, I saw a group of four girls facing an overweight girl.

“Pee wadley Pasty, huge big fatsy,” they sang, then laughed at the big girl as tears streamed down her cheeks.

The poor girl was backed up against her locker, with no place to go. Her sky-blue eyes were clouded with tears. She wiped her face on her sleeve and turned to lean her head against the locker. Her long blonde hair curled down over her shoulders. She was big, probably over 250 pounds, but why did they tease her?

Other students walked by, some laughing or making mean remarks as they went on their way. I felt as if I should say or do something, but one of those girls was Ember Coldstream. I didn’t want her to remind everyone of my humiliation in English class.

Apparently tiring of their torturing of Patsy, the four girls went on their way, still singing their silly ditty. After they left, Patsy opened her locker and found a handkerchief.

What can I say to the girl? I feel sorry for her, but I’m such a klutz. I’d probably just say something stupid.

Patsy watched the four girls go into a classroom, then she took some books from her locker. I hesitated, but when she turned and saw me standing there, I hurried away, looking for the history classroom.

* * * * *

The lunch hour was an even worse experience.

“What’s that smell?” said a boy at the next table.

“Cow shit,” said another.

“Where’s it coming from?”

“Oh, look, it’s the plow boy.”

“What are you doing in here, Clod Hopper?”

I looked down at the egg sandwich Mom had made for me.

“I think he’s eating a cow shit sandwich.”

The other boys laughed, drawing attention from the next table.

“I thought brown-baggers were supposed to eat outside?”

“Yep, that’s the rule.”

“Probably when he learns the parts of speech,” a girl said, “he’ll be able to read the rulebook.”

I knew who it was without looking—Ember.

“Didn’t they make a rule book with pictures,” she said, “so the farmers can figure out the regulations?”

That got her a round of laughter.

“Yeah,” a boy said, “a coloring book.”

I rolled the rest of my sandwich in the paper bag and grabbed my thermos of milk.

“Oh, no. He’s about to cry.”

They boo-hooed and tossed off more smart remarks as I hurried from the cafeteria.

I couldn’t get away fast enough, and I sure wasn’t hungry anymore.

That’s the last time I’ll go there for lunch. Is there really a rule about not taking your lunch into the cafeteria? Maybe if I eat there, I have to buy my lunch. If I had lunch money, I would. Tomorrow, I’ll go outside at lunchtime to see if anyone else brings their lunch from home.

* * * * *

“Mom, I don’t want to go to school.”

It was the morning after my first day of high school.

“Why?” She worked on my sandwich for lunch.

“Everyone hates me.”

“I don’t think they hate you.”

“They picked on me all day, even at lunch.”

“Did you tell them to leave you alone?”

I shook my head and took a bite of Post Toasties and milk, then added another teaspoon of sugar.

“When they say something mean to you, say something back.”

“But I can never think of anything until it’s all over. After they laugh and walk away, then I think of a comeback.”

“Well, you have to think faster.”

Yeah, good idea, Mom. But my brain is too slow for that.

“How about if I just punch them in the face? Except for the girls.”

“The girls are mean, too?”

“Yes.”

There’s no way I’m gonna talk to a girl. Or punch one, although I’d rather do that than talk to them.

“Where are you when they pick on you?”

“In the hallway, and at lunchtime in the cafeteria.”

“Okay, when a class ends, stay in the classroom until just a minute before the next class, then hurry to the next one before they have time to say anything. And find a quiet place to eat lunch. You don’t have to go to the cafeteria for lunch.”

“Good idea, Mom.”

I took my lunch sack and ran to catch the school bus.

* * * * *

At lunchtime, I grabbed my sandwich from the locker and hurried outside, where I wandered around until I came to the football field. I climbed the steps and sat in the middle of the empty bleachers.

As I unwrapped my egg sandwich from the wax paper, I noticed someone across the field, in the middle of the other set of bleachers. From her size, I knew it was Patsy. I thought about going over to ask if I could eat with her, but someone sat beside her. It was a girl with metal braces on both legs.

I could see they were talking while they ate, so I decided not to intrude. Besides, I didn’t know how to intrude.

Do I just walk over and sit down? Or ask if I could sit with them? What if they say, ‘No?’ Then what? That would be embarrassing. Better to keep to myself.

After a quick lunch, I went to my science classroom a half-hour early and sat in the empty room, where it was quiet. Twenty-five minutes later, when the kids started coming in, I pretended to read my textbook.

“Wow,” one of the boys said, “he knows how to read.”

“Na, he’s got a comic book hidden inside his science book.”

They laughed.

I should say something. What’s a good comeback? “Yeah, I got Superman in here.” No, that’s stupid. “Sure, don’t you wish you had one in yours?” No, that requires an answer, and he’d have a smart remark, then I’d have to think of another one. My God, social life’s complicated. I’ll just keep quiet until they get tired of pestering me. How long’s that going to take? Probably the whole semester. Crap, three months of teasing, pestering, and wisecracks. I’ll never make it. How does Patsy do it?

Mrs. Adams’s history class had some of the same students from my English class.

I sat in the back, hoping no one would notice.

After the teacher wrote 330 BC on the blackboard, she asked, “Where did Alexander the Great come from?”

Several students raised their hands.

She went to stand in front of a girl. “What’s your name?”

“Ember Coldstream.”

“Can you answer the question?”

“I think Brindley knows. He’s an expert on ancient history.” She turned to grin at me.

What? Why is she doing this to me?

“Brindley,” Mrs. Adams said, “where did Alexander the Great come from?”

“Um…England?”

“No. Anyone?”

Juliet raised her hand. Mrs. Adams nodded to her.

“Macedonia.”

“Right. And what empire was the first to be conquered by him?”

“Greece.”

“Right again. Good work. I’m glad someone’s been reading during summer vacation. Now, let’s talk about the Roman Empire.”

Before the class was over, she assigned us the first three chapters to read before the next day’s class.

* * * * *

Algebra was just as hard as English and history.

Why didn’t Mrs. Caldwell teach us some of this stuff?

“Buenas tardes estudiantes,” (Good afternoon, students) Mrs. Sandoval said at the beginning of Spanish class.

Several kids responded, “Buenas tardes, Señora Sandoval.”

“Es un hermoso día,” (It’s a beautiful day) Ember said.

I sat in the back of the room, staying very still. I had no idea what Ember had said, but it brought a smile to the teacher’s face.She then looked my way, and I sank down, knowing what was coming.

“Como te llamas, joven?” (What’s your name, young man?)

I only knew by her tone of voice that she’d asked a question. I shook my head.

“I asked your name.”

“Oh, Charley Brindley.”

“El tiene un ligero problema mental,” (He has a slight mental problem) Ember said.

A few of the students giggled.

I only knew it was something about a mental problem; I could guess the rest.

“Oh, siento mucho escuchar eso,” (Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that) Mrs. Sandoval said. “We’ll start off slow for your benefit.”

Ember’s smile looked very much like a sneer.

Why does she hate me?

I opened my textbook and held it up in front of my face.

* * * * *

After school, I stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the school bus.

“Back of the line, Clod Hopper.”

“What?” It was the freckle-faced Crammer.

“You’re standing in my spot. Get to the back of the line, where you belong.”

“There’s no line.”

“There will be, and you’re in my spot.”

He shoved me backwards, knocking my books to the ground.

Some other kids came to watch.

I lunged for him, grabbing him around the waist.

Crammer brought up his knee, hitting me in the stomach.

When I swung at him, he hit me in the chest, knocking me down.

The others laughed. “Go get him, Brindley.”

I jumped up and swung my right fist.

He turned his shoulder toward me.

My fist hit solid muscle.

He punched me in the face, and I went down. I got to my knees, rubbing my eye.

The bus pulled up, and everyone filed on, laughing at me as they passed me. I was last to board. I dropped into a seat behind the driver.

* * * * *

After a month in school, I’d learned nothing, except for the best places to hide at lunchtime and to keep quiet in class. The teachers finally quit asking me questions, since I could never answer anything correctly.

It was the same in all six subjects. I sat in the back and just tried not to be noticed. I took notes and read my assignments, but I was just too slow. Most of the other kids participated in class, always ready to show off their knowledge, particularly the girls – and especially Ember. I guess because her father was a teacher.

* * * * *

I left English, hurrying toward my history class.

“Hay Seed.”

I turned to see Crammer coming toward me, followed closely by his gang of three.

Oh, no. Not again.

“What?”

“You wear those same overalls every day?”

I looked down at myself. Actually, I had four pair. Mom washed clothes three times a week. We had a wringer washing machine on the back porch. Dad and my uncle Leo had rigged up an old electric motor they’d salvaged from a junk yard, to rotate the drum paddle. But all my overalls did look alike.

“And the same flour sack shirt?” he asked.

“Yeah, I-I guess so.”

“Tell your old lady to use a burlap bag next time. That’s more your style.”

He turned to grin at his pals. They laughed. He looked back at me, waiting, I guess, for a response.

I didn’t have one.

Chapter Three

March 23, 2019

“Caitlion, just listen to me. We’ve had a good eighteen years. Now, you’re going out there and live your life. Go to university, run the company, travel…but promise me you won’t squander your life. Live it to the fullest, for me.”

“Charley,” the man said. “It’s time.”

I nodded.

My little Caitlion held my wrinkled old hand to her cheek. “I can’t let you go.”

“You have to, baby. He said it’s time.”

I waved a hand toward him. She looked around, as if no one else was there.

“I want you to…” I stopped for a breath. “…go get me a Big Mac. Can you do that?”

She sniffed and smiled. “Will they let you have it?”

“The nurse said I could have anything I want today.” That wasn’t true, but it really didn’t matter.

She stood. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. You want fries?”

I nodded and gave her my last smile, then she left the room.

“When you arrive, look for this iPad in the loft of the barn,” the blue doctor said. “It’s loaded with everything; Encyclopedia Britannica, Wikipedia…” He glanced at the glowing screen before him, which illuminated his face in a greenish light. He slid his finger up to the next page. “Every book in the Library of Congress, every invention in the U.S. Patent Office, formulas and descriptions of every medicine known to man, and a lot more you’ll find when you need it. There’ll be a solar charging panel, too. You have to keep everything hidden. They would never understand.”

“What loft? What barn?” I asked.

“The round barn. You know how to work the notebook, right?”

“Yeah, but I can’t even walk. Are they going to take me in an ambulance?”

“No, you’re going to fly.”

I almost laughed. “Oh, okay.”

“We only have a few minutes. All your instructions will be in a folder named ‘Instructions.’”

How clever to disguise the name like that. I never would have figured that out.

“Instructions for what?”

“You’ll see when you get there.”

“What kind of doctor…are you?” My heart did some kind of flip-flop I’d never felt before. Not painful, but disconcerting. My breath stopped for a few seconds.

“…before she gets back,” he said.

“Wha—” Tingling, my legs.

“…but you won’t be able to contact us.”

“Contact who?”

What a strange feeling. Something warm flowing through me.

I heard some erratic beeps, then a long one.

I felt a whoosh, like air pushed out of a tunnel ahead of a speeding train.

Then a jolt.

Chapter Four

September 27, 1945

I felt a jolt, like an electric shock. But there was no pain; just a quick buzz inside my head, then tingling throughout my body. It felt as if all the blood had been sucked out of me and instantly replaced with new blood interlaced with some sort of effervescent bubbly substance. It actually felt pretty good, and my vision sharpened to crystal clarity. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the new feeling, then opened my eyes to see the ugly face of Justin Crammer.

“You hear me, asshole?”

“What did you say about my mom?”

“I said, your old lady can’t sew for shit.”

He glanced at Ember and his two boy pals, then grinned. He turned back and grabbed me by the collar.

I didn’t even think; just reacted. Gripping his hand, I put pressure on the back kof his wrist and twisted it to the side.

He went to his knees, crying out.

When he balled his other hand into a fist and swung at me, I twisted more, putting him on the floor.

Damn, where did that come from?

I let him go and stepped back.

I could’ve broken his wrist.

He struggled to stand but only got one knee under himself. Ember reached to take his arm, but he shook her off.

“Get away from me,” he told her, then stood. “I’ll get you for this, Brindley.”

“Okay. How’re you going to do that?”

“You’ll find out.”

“How about push-ups, right now?”

“What?”

“The one of us who does the most in five minutes, wins.”

Someone behind him laughed.

Yeah, I know, he’s the strongest player on the football team.

Crammer grinned, dropped to the floor, and positioned himself on his hands.

I handed my books to Ember and fell beside him.

We began together.

At ten, I started counting aloud.

When we hit fifteen, he slowed a little.

The other kids cheered him on.

At thirty, I said, “One-hand.”

“What?”

I put my left hand behind my back and kept going.

Crammer did the same.

He got to thirty-five, then fell on his chest, breathing hard.

I continued, pushing easily with my right arm.

“Forty,” I said, then stood and held out my hand.

He knocked it away. “This ain’t over.”

“Oh, now what?”

“You just better watch out.”

I glanced at Ember and lifted a shoulder. She did the same.

“Watch out.” She mouthed the words, then handed over my books, with a smile.

The bell rang.

Crammer stomped away, followed by Ember and his pals.

* * * * *

In history class, I took my usual seat in the back. Strange visions filled my mind, like dreaming while awake.

A war in the jungle…a wide river flowing through the rainforest…an oasis in the desert…skiing…

It was like a long movie set to super fast motion.

A smoky bar room…guitar music…me singing…

“Brindley?”

I looked up to see Mrs. Adams standing at the front of the classroom and all the students watching me, some smiling, probably expecting me to sink down in my chair and not say a word, like I always did.

“Yes, ma’am?” I said.

“I asked, who crossed the Alps to attack the Romans in two-sixteen BC?”

That’s a dumb question. Is she serious?

I just stared at her.

“That’s what I thought,” Mrs. Adams said. “Anyone?”

Several hands went up.

“Hannibal,” I said, then folded my arms.

“What?” the teacher asked.

“He took thirty-nine elephants and twenty-six thousand soldiers,” I said. “The army was divided into ten thousand cavalry and sixteen thousand foot soldiers. Probably a few hundred camp followers as well.”

“Huh?”

“Most of the elephants died in the cold in the higher elevations.” I glanced around at the other students. Ember’s mouth fell open, and the ones with their hands up, dropped them. “He also lost almost ten thousand troops.” I picked up my yellow pencil and twirled it in my fingers.

Mrs. Adams cleared her throat. “That’s the most you’ve said all semester.”

“Probably.” I opened my textbook and flipped pages, using the eraser on my pencil.

What was the name of that lake where Hannibal fought his third battle in Italy? I should know this.

I came across a picture of the Alps.

Zugspitze! The highest mountain in Bavaria.

I glanced out the window and watched an elm tree shudder in the wind.

There’s a gold-plated cross on the peak. Kabilis and I climbed up there. When? Who’s Kabilis?

“That’s not in the textbook.” Mrs. Adams came toward me, with the history textbook held against her ample breasts.

“What?”

“About the elephants dying in the cold.”

“But they did.”

“I know, but it’s not in the book.”

“Oh.”

“How did you know that?”

“I-I think I read it in the library.”

“Since when do you go to the library?”

“Um…during my lunch hour. Maybe it was in Levy or Herodotus.”

“Hmm…so you’ve read Herodotus’s Histories?”

I nodded.

“Where was Hannibal’s first battle after he crossed the Alps?”

“On the River Trebbia.”

“The second one?”

“Ticino.”

She opened her history book to where a slip of paper marked a page, then scanned down the sentences. “What was the biggest battle he fought in Italy?”

“Cannae. Fifty thousand Romans died in a single day.”

“Yes.” She looked from her book to me. “Yes, that’s true.” She turned to go back to the front of the class, but everyone still stared at me.

Bavaria. When was I in Bavaria? With Kabilis. We learned to ski that winter. He was a Tech Sergeant, U.S. Air Force. What the hell? He was fluent in German and Russian. I was a Master Sergeant. When…

The bell rang for lunchtime.

The others shuffled out. I didn’t move; couldn’t move. My head hurt from the intense pressure. So full of stuff. Jumbled. Swirling like the inside of a tornado.

“Charley.”

I jerked up my head. Mrs. Adams stood, watching me.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Class is over.”

“Oh, okay.”

I collected my books and stood, walking in a dream. My mind was mesmerized, dazed.

What’s going on?

In the hallway, I ignored the kids, but I knew they were watching me. I went mechanically to my locker, took my lunch, and went outside, then headed to the bleachers.

There, I saw Patsy and the disabled girl. I went to their side of the stadium.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” I asked.

They looked up at me, wide-eyed.

“Um…sure,” Patsy said.

I sat and took out my sandwich.

The two girls continued to stare, not eating or speaking.

“What kind of sandwich do you have?” I asked.

The girls looked at each other.

“Peanut butter and jelly,” Patsy said.

“Me, too,” the other one said.

“I’ve got fried egg. My mom always cuts my sandwich into two triangles. Isosceles, I think.” This was the most I’d ever said to a girl, or any kid at school.

Both girls giggled.

“Mine, too,” the other girl said.

“You want to share?” I held out half my sandwich.

“Sure.”

We traded. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Melody.”

“Melody, like a song.”

“Yeah. My mom was a singer.”

“Really?”

She nodded and bit into the egg sandwich. “This is good.” She lifted the bread. “Your mom put mayonnaise, salt, and pepper on it.”

“You’re ‘Charley Brindley,’” Patsy said.

“Yes. Mom calls me ‘Charley Eye.’ You’re ‘Patsy McCarthy.’”

“I guess everyone knows me because I’m so fat.”

“I knew you because you’re in my science class. Do you read a lot?”

“I love to read.”

“Me, too,” I said. “This grape jelly is really sweet. I like it.”

My brain seemed to warm as it hummed. It was very pleasant, watching it fill with memories. But it was also disturbing.

Where is all this coming from? Has it been there all along and I just couldn’t find it?

“Is your mind full of memories?” I asked Melody.

“Sure,” she said. “I can remember everything back to when I was about two. Nothing before that.”

“I’m the same,” Patsy said. “I wonder why we can’t remember things from when we were babies?”

My memories seemed to be of the future, rather than the past.

Things yet to happen? How can that be?

“Do you have memories, like, from your future self?” I asked.

“I daydream a lot,” Patsy said. “About things I want to do after high school.”

“We better go,” Melody said. “It’s almost class time.”

We walked together toward the building, going slow because of Melody’s braces.

Inside the school, we were met with a chorus of ‘Pee Waldy Patsy.’

“Hey,” I whispered to the two girls, “let’s throw it back at them.”

I told them what we should do. They smiled and nodded.

“Ember and Justin, sitting in a tree,” we chanted, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Ember with a baby carriage.”

It was a silly childhood ditty, but it had the desired effect. Several kids laughed.

Ember was stunned for a moment. “Pee Waldy…”

We sang the kissing song again and advanced on the four girls.

Ember stopped, swallowed her next words, then turned to hurry away. Her three friends followed.

“Good job,” I said to Patsy and Melody.

“That felt good,” Patsy said.

“Yes, it did,” I said. “Lunch tomorrow?”

“Heck, yeah,” they said together.

* * * * *

P.E. was the last class of the day. I hated it. I was almost six feet tall, strong, my muscles well-toned from working on the farm. But I didn’t know what to do with my strength.

Sometimes we ran the track or did side-straddle-hops; anything for exercise.

This time, we went to the gym to practice basketball.

I sat on the bleachers, still trying to sort my stampeding thoughts. I was in a war, in a jungle, but it wasn’t World War II, the one that had just ended. This was unlike anything I’d seen in the newsreels. The uniforms were different; some were just flak jackets over green tees and fatigue trousers. And the weapons. They, or we, didn’t carry heavy M-1 rifles…they were smaller, lightweight.

M-16s!

An aircraft flew over us, low, just above the jungle canopy. Very fast. It dropped napalm on an enemy position ahead of us.

That’s an Navy F-4 jet fighter plane. What the heck is happening to me?

“Brindley!” Coach Jameson shouted. “Care to join us?”

“Yes, sir.” I jumped up and ran onto the court.

The coach was a great guy. He always treated me like a regular kid, even though I was awkward and clumsy.

Coach tossed the basketball to me. I caught it and turned it in my hands.

I’ve done this before. Where? When? Vietnam…Da Nang. What the heck?

I spun the ball, then dribbled it.

Crammer came to stand in front of me. He took a defensive stance.

I watched his eyes as I bounced the ball.

He grinned, then went for the ball.

I stepped to the side. He followed my movement. I faked to the right, then went left, still dribbling. He was off-balance. I took a jump shot. The ball swished through the hoop.

Everyone stopped to stare at me.

I ran to get the ball, then dribbled it away from the hoop, turned, and made another jump shot. Perfect.

Crammer ran for the ball, dribbled it out to mid-court.

I ran for him.

He grinned and started toward the hoop.

I swatted the ball away from him, dribbled around two other players, and made a layup.

When the ball came down from the hoop, I grabbed it and passed it to another player.

Playing on a dirt court at the military camp in Vietnam. Very hot. Kabilis and I had cut our camo trousers into shorts. Six GIs on the court. Three of us had pulled off our regulation issue green tees and tossed them aside. Shirts and skins, we called the two teams.

The boy I’d passed the ball to, dribbled, took a jump shot, and missed.

I got the rebound, then threw the ball one-handed, bouncing it off the backboard. It ringed the hoop, then fell through.

The Marine commander gave us two weeks’ furlough. Kabilis and I went to Bangkok. We met…

Crammer bent his knees, raised the ball for a jump shot. Just as he released the ball, I jumped to take it out of the air, then dribbled out and made the shot he tried to make.

We played hard for thirty minutes.

The other players slowly dropped out, sitting on the floor, catching their breath.

Crammer continued to dog me, trying to get the ball.

I ran for the hoop, bouncing the ball. He tripped me from behind. I went down hard but held onto the ball.

Gunfire, mortar exploding all around us.

I stood, still holding the ball under my arm.

We were cut off in the jungle. I was a medic, working on a wounded soldier. More gunfire from the edge of the clearing, Kabilis went down, bleeding bad.

“Brindley!” Crammer said. “Come on.” He tried to swat the ball from my arm.

I passed it behind myself, to my other hand.

We fought the Viet Cong all night, losing three of our men, plus six wounded. What happened to Kabilis?

I tossed the ball to Crammer and went toward the bleachers, where I sat with my head in my hands.

“Charley.” The coach sat beside me. “You okay?”

No, something’s wrong with me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Johnson,” the coach said. “Bring that exercise pad. I think Charley better lie down for a few minutes.”

Pad? iPad! That blue doctor, in the hospital, said there was an iPad in the loft of a round barn.

The bell rang for the end of the class. The school day was over.

“You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m good, Coach.” I stood. “Don’t worry. I was just…um…thinking about my Spanish assignment.”

On the sidewalk, I waited for the bus, trying to sort out my thoughts.

So many weird things. Some guy in a hospital room, dressed in a light blue suit. He’s the one who told me about the iPad in the loft of the round barn. An iPad is a computer. What’s a computer?

Someone came to stand behind me. I glanced around; Crammer.

I hope he starts something about his place in line. This time, he’ll be the one on the ground.

“Where did you learn to play basketball?”

In the Marines, I wanted to say. Wait a minute; I was a Master Sergeant in the Air Force. How did I get in the Marines, and in Vietnam? Where the heck is Vietnam? Oh, yeah. Southeast Asia.

“Um, I’ve got four brothers. We play ball in the backyard.”

“You going out for the team?”

“I don’t know.”

I saw Patsy and Melody come out the double doors of the school building. I waved to them. They waved back, smiling.

Crammer turned that way. “Friends of yours?”His expression looked like he’d just gotten a whiff of something rotten.

“Yeah,” I said. “They are.” I walked toward the girls. “You can have my place in line,” I said over my shoulder.

“Hey,” Patsy said.

“Hi. Which bus do you girls ride?”

“Um…three,” Melody said. “But we walk home.”

“How far is it?” I asked.

“About two miles.”

“That’s a long walk.”

“Better than riding the bus,” Patsy said.

I looked toward the place where bus number three would pull up. Ember stood in line, talking to Henry Witt.

“Let me guess,” I said, “Ember and her gang like to serenade you on the bus?”

Patsy nodded.

The four school buses pulled up, and the kids began to file on.

“I’ve got to get home to start on my chores,” I said.

“Don’t forget lunch,” Melody said.

“Right. See you two in the bleachers tomorrow.”

* * * * *

I found Mom in the kitchen, working on supper. I kissed her cheek.

“How was school today?”

“Good. Very good.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “I’m going to start on chores. I have a lot of homework tonight.”

“I thought you hated homework?”

“I have some interesting assignments. History and poetry.”

She stared at me for a moment, then smiled. “Can you gather some eggs for me?”

“Sure.”

I grabbed the egg basket and headed outside. On the porch steps, I stopped to look across the backyard, past the clothesline and beyond the blacksmith shop. There stood our barn. It was huge because Dad stored a lot of hay for the winter. It was also different than most barns; it was round.

How’d that blue doctor know about our round barn? And if there really is an iPad in the loft, everything just got a lot weirder.

In the barn, I climbed the ladder.

Wow, tons of hay.

I glanced around the huge loft.

Surely, they left me a clue; otherwise, I’ll never find it.

Lots of old harnesses hung on the walls. Cobwebs everywhere.

Spiders have been at work here for decades.

An old coal oil lantern, broken doubletree, leather mule collar stuffed with straw…all covered in dust and cobwebs.

Wait a minute.

I waded through the hay to the lantern. It was perfectly clean; no dust, no spider webs.

That hasn’t been here very long. A lantern lighting the way?

I cleared the hay, down to the floorboards–and there it was: A cardboard box, just about the right size. And two more boxes.

Inside the first one, I found an iPad.

I sat back against the wall, stunned.

That guy at the hospital, he said I’d find the computer here.

So, that was a dream?

I was seventy-nine years old, dying. He knew I’d end up here, my home when I was fourteen. I’m in my body as a teenager, but I have all my memories and knowledge of seventy-nine years!

This is one hell of a hallucination, and so elaborate.

I glanced around. Every detail perfectly recreated.

I died before Caitlion got back with my Big Mac. That must be what happened. Then what is this? Afterlife? No, I don’t believe in any of that crap. I’m lying in that hospital bed, hooked up on wires and tubes. Damn it. ‘Do Not Resuscitate.’ What’s the point of signing a legal document if no one reads it? I should have had it tattooed on my forehead.

My body died, and they’re pumping life support shit through my veins. My brain is alive but hopped up on painkillers. And my mind, with no control over my dead body, has to do something.

So, I’m constructing this elaborate fantasy to entertain myself?

Two minds. Conscious and subconscious. When we sleep, the subconscious takes over, feeding dreams to the comatose conscious part. Now I’m inside the subconscious, playing this ridiculous game of reliving my high school years.

How long can it go on?

Until Caitlion gets back from McDonalds. She’ll tell them to pull the plug. She knows very well I don’t want to exist as a vegetable.

How much time do I have?

In here, in my fantasy, time may not matter. And I won’t even know when they cut my life support.

Until that happens, I’m going to enjoy this little piece of make-believe.

I opened the iPad and tapped the screen.

Uh-oh. Password.

He didn’t tell me the password.

Probably in the ‘Instructions’ folder, which I can’t get to without the password.

Down in the lower right corner of the screen was a stylized thumbprint.

Could it be?

I wiped my hand on my overalls and pressed my thumb to the icon.

Bam!

‘Hello, Charley.’

They–or I–had thought of everything.

I found the ‘Instructions’ folder and opened the file called ‘Instructions.’

Hard to miss that.

‘One. You are not immune to anything. There are very few vaccines in 1945. Measles, mumps, diphtheria, and especially polio, are all prevalent. You can probably get a small pox shot. Remember, don’t touch sick people, and wash your hands often.’

Polio, I bet that’s what Melody has.

‘Two. You can’t tell anyone about your mission. They’ll think you’re crazy, and you’ll be locked away in an insane asylum.’

Mission? What mission?

‘Three. Your mission is to prevent global warming.’

Oh, is that all?

‘When you left 2019, the world was already past the tipping point. Icecaps were melting, sea levels rising, climate warming at an accelerated rate. Two hundred years from now, the Earth will start correcting that, but the human race will be long gone.’

That’s not good.

‘You have to start the change to green energy—wind and solar.’

I’m just a kid. What can I do?

‘You’re only fourteen years old, but you have all the knowledge of mankind at your fingertips. All you have to do is design a wind turbine and solar panel.’

Yeah, right. Any teenager could do that.

‘And lastly, don’t forget to wash your hands.’

That’s it? All I have to do is stay alive and invent technology from fifty years in the future?

Polio. Wow, I forgot about that. When I was little, I saw lots of kids in leg braces. I wonder how old Dr. Salk is in 1945. He has to get to work on his polio vaccine.

I don’t want to end up in an iron lung.

I clicked on the tab for Wikipedia.

And Albert Einstein. I need to talk to him, too.

I read about obesity and polio. One link led to another. Cause and effect. History of research. Treatment and cures. Polio is caused by a virus, obesity caused by many things. Polio is highly contagious.

Before I knew it, an hour had passed.

“Charley Eye! Where are you?”

Oh, no! Mom. The eggs!

“Coming, Mom.”

“What are you doing up there?”

I clicked off the iPad, put it in the box, and covered it with hay.

“Looking for eggs.”

“The chickens can’t get up there.”

I climbed down the ladder. “Sometimes they fly up there.”

“Yeah? Let’s gather some so I can finish supper. Your dad will be home soon.”

* * * * *

During lunch in the bleachers, Patsy, Melody and I talked about the classes we shared. Melody and I had English together. All three of us were in the same history and Spanish classes. Patsy and I had science.

“Can we study history together,” I said, “after school?”

“Sure.” Melody pulled her coat collar tight against the cold wind. “It would be much easier with the three of us working together.”

“I know,” Patsy said. “I’m always running into words I don’t understand.”

“Okay,” I said. “Where?”

“Me and Patsy live next door to each other, so maybe at one of our houses?”

“That works for me,” I said.

“I’ll ask Mom if we can study at my house,” Patsy said. “But I’m pretty sure it’ll be okay.”

“Cool.” I folded my empty brown bag and shoved it into my hip pocket.

“Cool?” Melody asked.

“Yeah, fine, good, cool.”

“Okay, cool.”

“We better go,” I said. “Lunch hour is almost over.”

As we walked toward the school building, I said. “Hey, watch this.”

I ran for the flagpole, grabbed it with my left hand, swung around in the air, then gripped higher up with my right hand. I then air-walked up, moving my feet as if they were going up a wall. When I was vertical, I air-walked back down, then back-flipped to the ground.

“Wow!” Patsy said. “How’d you learn that?”

I noticed a few other kids had stopped to watch. “Um…it’s just something I learned in our backyard.”

“That was really…cool,” Melody said.

“So cool, it was almost cold,” Patsy said.

We laughed, then hurried for the doors as the bell rang.

* * * * *

The next day at lunch, I sat with Patsy and Melody in the bleachers.

“Mom said we can study at my house,” Patsy said. “She wants you and Melody to come to supper tomorrow night, then we can use the dining room to study.”

“Awesome,” I said. “How about you, Melody?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Can we work on Spanish, too?”

“Sure. What’s your address, Patsy?’ I asked. “I’ll tell my dad to come pick me up around nine tomorrow night. How’s that?”

She gave me her address, and I wrote it on my lunch bag.

“You want to walk home with us tomorrow?” Patsy asked.

I thought about that for a moment as I studied her address. I didn’t mind walking, but it seemed a shame since the school bus went right by her house.

“Okay.”

* * * * *

The next day after school, the three of us started down the street, walking toward Patsy’s house.

“Wait a minute,” I said.

Patsy and Melody stopped, turning toward me.

“We’re taking bus number three.”

“No,” Patsy said. “I’d rather walk.”

“If you walk home every day, Ember wins. You know that.”

“I don’t care if she wins. I hate that song.”

“We can sing, too,” I said.

Melody smiled and nodded.

“I don’t—” Patsy began.

“How about if we sing a different song?”

“What song?”

I told them what I was thinking of. We then joined the line waiting for bus number three. Ember was ahead of us, talking and laughing with her friends. She didn’t notice us.

The bus pulled up, and the kids filed on. We were the last ones.

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