Date: Sat, 25 Jun 1994 14:48:25 -0400 Message-Id: <199406251848.OAA18408@k12.ucs.umass.edu> From: bmcdonne@k12.ucs.umass.edu (Bobbie McDonnell (Phillips Academy)) Subject: Roundtable A #9 Chance of a Lifetime Part 1 The blue "force" which carried him through Time and Space dissipated around him in crinkles and snaps. At least, that's what usually happened, although Sam noticed the roar of Time rushing around him didn't fade as quickly as it usually did. Or was Time screaming this go-round? 'No', Sam realized, trying to shake the Leap-effect from his head, 'not Time screaming.' Girls. Lots of them. All around him. Crowding, pushing as hard as they were screaming. Looking for an answer to his current situation, Sam nudged the girl screaming next to him sharply. She turned to look at him, face all smiles. "C'mon, Cassie," she screamed at him, and he could barely hear her above the screams from the other girls. "They're about to get off the plane," nodding her head to indicate the jet on the other side of the fence. "Don't you want Paul to notice you? Put your sign up!" Then she resumed her screaming in chorus with the other girls. "Sign?" Sam asked much too softly for anyone to possibly hear. He bent over slightly to see the mentioned object sitting at his feet. "Beatles welcome," he read, although the wording was upside down to his orientation. The message didn't disturb him as much as his notice that he was dressed just as the other screaming girls. Which meant, he had leaped into one of _them_. He _was_ one of the screaming girls. "Oh, boy." Once-In -a-Lifetime August 18,1966 Boston, Massachusetts Allison was annoyed. After risking all kinds of trouble with their parents, they had actually made it to the airport and Cassie stood there like some kind of space cadet when she had almost begged to go before. Paul had waved in their direction, for heaven's sake. It was pretty obvious that Cassie didn't really care about the Beatles and should have been left behind with with other scaredy-cats worrying about getting caught. But she really acted like she wanted to come. That morning before math, several girls went up to the teacher with excuses signed by their parents, explaining that doctor's appointments, weekend trips or the funerals of long-dead grandparents required an early dismissal. Returning to their seats, they were unable to stifle their broad grins. The teacher, as tired of summer school as her students, never questioned them, and in fact read each one with a small smile. The sound of notebook paper ripping against spiral coils filled the room as many of the other students quickly wrote up their own excuses. Cassie had hesitated, then with Allison's encouragement wrote a note from her mother explaining the urgent need to leave school early that day for a dentist appointment. It had seemed so easy then. Now Allison found herself wondering what Cassie would do next. *** "That was absolutely the highlight of my life!" "They are so totally funky!" Jumping, twirling, shreiking, the girls moved away from the American Airlines hangar and headed back to the car in a tidal wave of noise, oblivious to the rows of police cars and flashing lights. To the casual observer, it might have been the scene of a terrible tragedy. Sam walked along with them, but he was much more subdued. He nodded and agreed with their exclamations of happiness, but drew the line at acting like a 15-year-old for the sake of appearances. An older boy walking with them seemed to have a similar reaction. He was muttering and shaking his head as they walked toward the parking area. He unlocked the doors of a blue Rambler four-door and three girls, plus a reluctant Sam, crowded inside, still holding their signs. It would have been a tight fit, even without the signs, and Sam was squeezed into a corner of the back seat by two other still enthusiastic girls. The girl who had wanted him to hold up the sign sat in front with the older boy. They rolled down the windows to get some air into the hot, stuffy car and checked their makeup, chattering all the while as they relived every moment of the Beatles' arrival. As if there weren't already enough noise in the car, Allison clicked on the radio. WBZ was featuring Beatles' songs and "Hard Day's Night" began as the car joined the line snaking toward the exit. The girls added their hoarse, strained voices to the mix. Oh, boy, the car ride from hell, Sam thought. How long will it last? Even with the airline strike, this was a lot of traffic heading to the exit at the same time and the driver was more gloomy. In the eerie quiet of the strike-bound airport, teenage girls seemed to be the major business of this place. Matt glared at his sister. "It will take forever to get home. If Mom and Dad find out I drove you here, knowing you just sashayed out the door of summer school on a phony excuse, they'll hit the ceiling. You really owe me now, Allison. We're even now and then some." She had been singing along with the Beatles' song on the radio and suddenly became quiet. "If I had stayed closer to the gate, I could have gotten through and run into the building. Maybe I could have had met them, gotten their autographs. The chance of a lifetime, and I didn't do it." "Are you listening to me, Al?" Matt was being ignored and he didn't seem to like it. No one was listening to Matt's complaints. The constant barrage of Beatles' music and trivia held the passengers' attention, all except Sam. Sam realized it was some time in the middle sixties, and although he could recall some of the songs, he did not remember the details of how the Beatles fit into his own life. It was like a dream he couldn't quite remember. His family sitting around the television watching the Beatles while his sister danced around. He could almost see them through the haze. He would just have to play Beatlemaniac until Al arrived with the details, and in the meantime, perhaps relax a little and not try to think so hard. He sighed and leaned back into the cushions. A few moments later, Al appeared outside of the car and leaned in through the open window, startling Sam. The others looked at him with inquisitive expressions, but said nothing, as if they were used to occasional unexplained actions from Cassie. Al's sport jacket was a deep blue with silver lapels; not navy blue, Al tried to avoid that color in his civvies. The cigar waved under Sam's nose, and he was glad he couldn't smell it. "Wow, the Beatles are giving a concert tonight at Suffolk Downs!" Sam nodded his head slowly so as not to attract any more attention and stared at Al, hoping telepathically to communicate the question that had been on his mind for the last hour. Why-am-I-here? Al didn't pick up on the subtle motion, only noticing the intense stare. "Sam, you don't look too happy. You're a girl again, for one thing." Sam whispered hoarsely, "For another thing, I can't hear anything from all the screaming." Matt's eyes quickly went to the rear view mirror. "Are you working on some excuses, Cassie?" "Sam, we don't have a thing yet. Ziggy got a little waylaid with the Beatles, and went off on a detour. She's starting to talk in a British accent, too. Some of her British-made parts are kicking in, I guess. I'm going to go back and see what I can find out. Cheerio." He swayed his shoulders to the first few bars of "Love Me Do" before punching buttons on the handlink and disappearing. "Make it snappy will you?" Sam called after him. Matt's eyes went back to the rear view mirror for a moment and that was all it took to run into the car ahead of them. "Dammit." He quickly put the car in park and turned to Allison. "Look what you made me do. You'll pay for this." Then he closed his fist and punched her in the arm. Allison held her arm close to her side, her mouth set in a straight line, and said nothing. Tears lined her eyes but never fell. Matt, seemingly disappointed not to get a response, stormed out of the car and walked up to the other driver, his expression becoming more pleasant with each step. "Your brother scares me sometimes," whispered the girl next to Sam. "He doesn't mean it. He'll get over it pretty fast," Allison replied,gasping with the pain. "How's your arm?" Sam wanted to see it and make sure there was no fracture, but Allison waved him away with her right hand. Even though they were going slowly, the impact had cracked the headlight. The other car suffered no damage, and the driver, undoubtedly another AWOL teenager, wasn't interested in exchanging names. "How did I ever let you talk me into this," whispered Matt through gritted teeth. "We are absolutely going to get murdered over this." "Don't worry. We'll get it fixed. It's only a little piece of plastic,Matt, and I'll find someone who can fix it this weekend. OK? Just calm down, and get us home." Allison was plainly in pain but tried to sound reasonable. "When do you plan on telling Mom and Dad that you skipped school?" He glared down at her. Allson lowered her eyes and frowned, then she brightened. "How about my wedding day." "Right --to Paul," spoke up one of the back seaters. They all laughed and Allison quickly turned up the radio to avoid any further conversation with her brother as he headed the car north from Logan Airport. Sam wondered what his mission here could be. A long talk with Matt, or maybe a punch in the arm, was certainly in order, but otherwise, these kids seemed well adjusted, and skipping a day of summer school was probably not a major life-changing event, although he personally had never tried it. *** -- Bobbie McDonnell bmcdonne@k12.ucs.umass.edu Date: Wed, 29 Jun 1994 23:09:11 -0400 Message-Id: <199406300309.XAA26584@k12.ucs.umass.edu> From: bmcdonne@k12.ucs.umass.edu (Bobbie McDonnell (Phillips Academy)) Subject: Roundtable A #9 Part 2 Once in a Lifetime The arrival home had been uncomfortable. Sam assumed he was not related to the two in the front seat, yet they had dropped off the other girls and driven a short distance to a tree-shaded street lined with colonial-style homes. Matt parked the car in front of a black and white house surrounded with flowers wilting from the heat. A handpainted sign in the lawn by the front door said "Nevins." In the driveway, Sam had stood awkwardly with his sign, willing the Observer to appear with stage directions. No such luck. Allison spoke first. "Cassie, make sure you don't say anything to my parents, and I promise not to say anything to yours, OK?" Sam promised with an "OK" and small nod. This settled, Allison took a deep breath and said, "Then, let's get this over with." She gave Sam a small nudge in the direction of the house and followed behind him through the hall, then moved ahead of him into the kitchen. "Dinner smells good, Mom. We'll help you set the table." The woman, obviously a little surprised at the offer, smiled. "Thanks. Hi Cassie. Did you get a lot done at the library?" Allison began to collect the silverware from a drawer under the counter. She was quick to fill in the space left by her mother's question. "Cassie, you get the plates." Sam was now put on the defensive. He looked furtively around a kitchen in which he was supposed to be comfortable, but had no idea which cabinet held the plates. The white countertop with little silver sparkles reminded him of something, though, and he tried to think harder. Allison quickly handed Sam the silverware she was holding. He began to put place settings around the table, not sure how many were in the family and waiting for Allison to put down the plates. In the sixties, he figured, everyone ate together, but how many was that? This unknown part of leaping was one of his least favorite. On-the-spot explanations were more Al's specialty. And where was Al, anyway? Two children of preschool age ran in the back door and Sam went to the silverware drawer for more. Matt joined them, his mood somewhat improved and an older version of Matt arrived to take his place at the head of the table. The family sat around a blue formica table, six matching chairs with upholstered blue plastic cushions and a seventh wooden chair from the front porch for Sam. Even in the heat, the dinner of meatloaf, potatoes and homemade applesauce looked good to Sam after his long day. They passed the serving plates around silently, and began eating. "So how was school today?" Mr. Nevins inquired. Sam looked down and concentrated on the meatloaf on his plate. He hoped the question was not directed at him. Allison spoke up first. "It was OK, the usual." "I hear there was a lot of commotion at Logan today." He raised his eyebrows and looked at his older daughter. They must know, Sam thought, but Allison seemed calm. She looked at her father with a disarmingly direct gaze and replied, "Yes, we heard," then continued her deliberative chewing. Matt's face was also a calm mask. The father began waving his fork in the air. "I don't know what you see in them. They're so full of themselves--between them and Cassius Clay, I don't know who's got more nerve." Allison was quick to respond. "John didn't really mean the Beatles were more popular than Jesus Christ. I know that bothers you, Dad, but I really think he was quoted wrong." The fork was now jabbing the air as the father spoke more heatedly. "Well then, what the heck did he mean? And look at their hair. It's just ridiculous. And all the money they're making...for singing a half hour." "What difference does that make? It's not fair that you wouldn't let us go to the concert. Lots of kids we know are going." Allison was quickly losing her calm exterior, as she crossed her arms and pouted. "Well, not you, kid. Not with my hard-earned money." He slammed his hand on the table and Sam jumped. Allison's mother managed a smile. "I know you're not used to this at your house, Cassie, but it's just the way they are. They don't really mean it." "Yeah, " Matt added. "In a few days, your folks will be home and you won't remember how many meals were shot to hell." Both parents shouted "Matt!" at the same time but he never took the smug smile off his face. No one spoke. Sam looked from one to another, wondering from where the next grenade would be lobbed. The war was clearly escalating. But Allison surprised him by retreating. "It's time for the news, Dad, and we have to watch it for English class." As they got up quickly and put their plates in the sink, Allison's mother watched them closely. Sam intended to offer to do the dishes, but Allison steered him away. The younger two imitated the motions and Matt was left alone with his parents. In the quiet of the living room, Allison turned on the television news in time to catch the image of the screaming airport crowd. Unlike Allison who seemed hopeful, yet fearful, to see herself, Sam was relieved when the report ended. And anyway, he thought wryly, I'm really not sure if I could recognize myself. The next story was a report on the continued bombing of the DMZ and the daily body count. It concluded with the profile of a local marine whose body had just been returned home. After that a special feature on the recent outbreak of mass murders followed with a local psychiatrist putting forth some theories. Allison was distraught after the first few minutes. "What is going on here? Has the world gone crazy? A guy up in a tower in Texas killing anybody that moves, Richard Speck killing those nurses in Chicago, and Albert DeSalvo right here in Boston. Is there no end to the crazy people?" Matt walked in and collapsed on the sofa, listening carefully. "All these guys, Speck, Whitman, DeSalvo, nobody knows what's really in their heads. All this psychology stuff is crap. Paranoid...psychotic...schizophenic. DeSalvo's got F. Lee Bailey for a lawyer, for heaven's sake. He's no dummy. He'll never serve any time." Mr. Nevins stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, glaring at the screen, then he turned around and walked outside. *** -- Bobbie McDonnell bmcdonne@k12.ucs.umass.edu Date: Fri, 15 Jul 1994 00:25:00 -0400 Message-Id: <199407150425.AAA19639@k12.ucs.umass.edu> From: bmcdonne@k12.ucs.umass.edu (Bobbie McDonnell (Phillips Academy)) Subject: Roundtable A #9 Part 3 "Chance of a Lifetime." Sam watched the evening breeze lift the white lace curtains. He was beginning to relax a little. The pink and white and lace of the room reminded him of his sister Katie's room, but she was certainly never allowed to cover the walls this way. Posters and magazine pictures of the Beatles in all sorts of poses covered the pink flowers of the wallpaper along with giant cut-out words like "fab" and "groovy." He smiled. Perhaps Al would return to tell him to make sure that Allison saved all the Beatles' memorabilia that was cluttering up her room so that she could corner the market in thirty years and get rich. Maybe she could open up a museum. "You seem happy tonight, Cassie," Allison said. "It's probably a good thing we weren't on tv. My father would have had a conniption then nobody would be happy." She was sitting on the bed surrounded by magazines, looking very feminine on the canopied bed while Sam sat in a nearby chair feeling very unfeminine. "Here's the new "HairDo" magazine," she continued. "You can look at it first. I've already decided I'm going to do something new with my hair very soon. Something long and blonde. Maybe a wig for now." Allison pointed to the pin-up on her wall, her favorite Revlon ad with the blonde model sprawled cat-like across two pages, clutching a large cheetah patterned pillow and giving the camera a smiling, come hither look. "She's so great looking, I wish I had her hair." "Only her hair?" Matt was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. "Candice Bergen looks OK now, but in a few years she'll be washed up and you won't even remember her name." "Matt, we don't need any comments from you. What are you doing here, and get out of my room." "Mom said to tell you to remember about your chores. You're behind schedule. And maybe Cassie could read your English paper and give you some help with it." Matt emphasized the last three words. Giving the Revlon model one last approving look, he went back downstairs. "That's it. I am just totally sick of them all. Mom's always s o critical, never gives me credit for anything--my grades, my clothes, my friends. I just can never make her happy." Allison heaved her pillow across the room. "And Dad, if it were up to him, I'd stay in the house all the time." Sam's opened his mouth to defend them but Allison went on, " And don't go telling me they're doing it for my own benefit. I've heard it a hundred times. I'm just asking them to give me a little credit for being grownup and living my own life. " Mrs. Nevin's voice came up from downstairs. "Get off the wet floor, Matt. I just washed it. Sometimes I feel like I could fall down dead washing this floor, and no one would even notice." Allison smiled and said, "Well, I guess we'd notice when we had to step over her body. She's just warming up now. Next will be to ask me how many of these jobs I've accomplished. Just look at this list." She presented the list to Sam with a flourish. Nothing on it looked overwhelming to him and he started to say that his own farm chores were much more time consuming, but Al arrived at that moment. He stood listening reflectively to the increasingly strident voice from downstairs, cigar smoke drifting upward. "Poor woman lived thirty years too soon. The Equal Rights Amendment would have changed her whole personality. I remember my fourth wife, or was it my fifth, who always tried to get me to help her with housework. But we always started with turning the mattress..." "Al!" Sam already knew far more about Al's sex life than he wanted to, but Allison thought the exclamation was meant for her. She frowned at Sam. "Don't say it; I'll go down and talk to her. If only I could just wiggle my nose." She thumped out of the room and down the stairs. -- Bobbie McDonnell bmcdonne@k12.ucs.umass.edu Date: Fri, 15 Jul 1994 00:36:43 -0400 Message-Id: <199407150436.AAA28812@k12.ucs.umass.edu> From: bmcdonne@k12.ucs.umass.edu (Bobbie McDonnell (Phillips Academy)) Subject: Roundtable A #9 Part 4 "Chance of a Lifetime." Sam turned to look at Al and said hopefully, "You've got some good news?" "I got news, but it's not good. It's Allison-- she's found strangled on August 19 near the Hotel Somerset in Boston." Sam was stunned. "That's tomorrow. Why does she go back into Boston? and strangled..." The voices became louder still as Allison and her mother began to shout at each other. They heard Allison wail, "You are totally unfair. I can't go to the concert, I spent the whole summer in summer school doing homework, I have to clean the house. What the heck do you have to do? You don't have to do anything but boss me around." Mr. Nevins ended the discussion by sending Allison to her room with the words, "You're out of here, and don't let me see your face again tonight." She stalked back in and slammed the door and hurled herself onto the bed just as her father thundered upstairs and opened her door. "You slam this door again and I'll take it off the hinges." Allison rolled her eyes heavenward, or at least toward the ceiling. "I cannot stay in this house another minute." Al moved next to the bed to stand close to Allison and said, "Here it comes, Sam. Get ready." Tears filled Allison's eyes. "I'm getting out, Cassie, and you can come too." "Where are you going?" Sam asked as he sat down next to her. "I don't know. I have to go someplace." She thought for a moment. "The place I really want to go is to see the Beatles again. This time I can get closer, I can get their autographs." Al pantomimed the action of a pitcher winding up to throw a baseball. "I know where they're staying," Allison continued, grabbing a tissue and showing some enthusiasm. Al threw his imaginary baseball as hard as he could. Allison lowered her voice to tell Sam what he had already guessed, "The Hotel Somerset on Commonwealth Ave." Now Al's arm made the upward motion of a homerun on its way out of the park. Sam looked at Al with a resigned measure of annoyance but said nothing. "Well, we are right in the middle of Red Sox territory," he explained with a shrug. "Al, be serious," whispered Sam. Allison pulled an oversized handbag from the closet and began to fill it. "I am serious, Cassie." Sam obviously needed to talk to Al in private. "Excuse me, I've got to use the, uh, bathroom. I'll be right back , OK? Don't go anywhere." She nodded, but continued to pack the bag. Sam closed the bathroom door and asked Al,"Strangled in Boston? Was it the Boston Strangler?" Al shook his head. "Albert DeSalvo is in custody and on trial now, so it couldn't have been him. When Allison's body was found, the police wouldn't say she had been strangled because they wanted everyone to think they had the Strangler behind bars. They also wanted to discourage copycat killers. There was nothing in the papers." "So, Al, how did you find out Allison had been strangled?" "Her little sister wrote a book when she became famous. That's how Ziggy found out about it." "Did she become a famous actress, someone we know?" . "Unfortunately no, Sam. She became a terrorist and hijacked a plane with a group of crazies. The incident went on for a week with the whole world watching. Thirty-seven people died all together." "But, Al, you said I'm here for Allison." "Well, yeah, we think so." Sam inhaled deeply and opened the bathroom door. When they returned to the room, Matt was offering Allison a ride into Boston. They could see a new movie, "A Man and A Woman," which had just opened. "What's it rated?" inquired Sam. "Rated?" they both asked. "Never mind. Allison, I think we ought to stay right here. I'm really tired." Allison was determined. "Well, you stay here if you want to wimp out on me, Cassie, but I'm going to Boston." She started toward the door. Sam felt he was losing control of the situation. "OK. OK, Allison. I'll go with you." The handlink squealed and Al hit the side of it with his palm and studied the results. He looked up very pleased. "Sam, Ziggy says that now Allison doesn't die. She starts a chain of clothing stores selling sixties clothes and she still can identify every Beatles' song by the first three notes." Sam grinned. "That's great, Al." And he waited for the familiar tingling feeling to overtake him. There was another squeal from the handlink and Al's face fell when he saw the readout. "But now, Ziggy says that Matt is going to go berserk in a car dealership after they give him an exorbitant bill from the accident. He tries to take the car and leave without paying and goes through the showroom window. The glass shatters all over the place and he and three other people in the show room are killed." Sam could only utter a weak moan and sit slowly down on the chair. "I guess I have to talk to Matt. Maybe I can help him control his temper." Al punched some buttons on the handlink and waited for the answer. "Yes, Sam. He learns to control his temper and becomes a high school principal." Al looked up and smiled, but another squeal quickly followed. "Sam, it's the mother. Ziggy says she finally cracks up with the housework and blows up the house while everyone's asleep. Sam jumped to his feel and began to pace back and forth, the back of one hand slapping against the palm of the other. It was a gesture Al knew well, but Allison had never seen before. "Just what the heck is going on here? These people aren't violent... Oh, I get it. This is what you told me in the bar. No, wait, not you...another Al. That's right. This must be a whole new level of leaping, right. I'm kind of like a crimefighter, like Superman or Batman. Saving more than one person at a time. It's my chance to really change history in a big way." "It's my chance, my chance..." "Sam, Sam." Al began to gently shake Sam's shoulder. "The chance of a lifetime." "Sam, wake up." Sam opened his eyes and slowly looked around to see blue sky, hot sun and familiar skyline. He and Al were lying on a blanket on the Cambridge side of the Charles River. The buildings of MIT were behind them and around them on the riverbank were small groups of people wearing class reunion badges and eating box lunches. A Red Sox game was on a nearby radio. "Are you all right?" Al asked. "Al, I...what happened.?" "You fell asleep and missed the crew races, but I figured you needed your sleep." Sam slowly sat up. The dream was fading away. He tried concentrating hard to bring it back, then tried thinking of something pleasant so that it might slip back in, but it was gone. All he could remember was "chance of a lifetime." On the blanket next to him he saw his well-worn copy of _Flight of the Horse_ by Larry Nevin and his photographic memory called up the favorite quote automatically and effortlessly. "There was an uncertainty, a Finagle factor in the math of time travel." Sam turned to Al and smiled. "Let's go for it," he said. And the light enveloped him, and he was gone in a blinding flash. *** Al was bewildered. He was standing knee deep in a small lake, his coral suit perfectly dry. There was no one in sight, no movement, no wind, no sound. Only three small cottages on a beautiful, cloudless summer day and not a sign of Sam. Just as he was about to punch the buttons on the handlink and return to the Imaging Chamber and complain to Gooshie about this obvious mistake, he heard a sputtering and coughing, and looked back in time to see SamUs head break the surface of the water, his arms flailing. "Help, I can't swim." "Sure you can, you---" Suddenly a woman ran out of the nearest cottage, stopped only to scream "Help, my baby's drowning!" and plunged into the water. "Oh boy," Al whispered. -- Bobbie McDonnell bmcdonne@k12.ucs.umass.edu