Time Machine

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I had a strange dream the other night. I was on a bus that traveled through a small town. Once the bus was in motion, the view outside of the windows was that of the town in the 1950s. It was like being on a time machine.

What an amazing gift that would be; to see your hometown as it was long ago. Imagine an elderly woman living her final years being able to ride through her neighborhood from childhood. Maybe she met the love of her life in that drug store on the corner. Maybe he took her to that malt shop on their first date. He’s been gone now for 15 years, but on this day, she can be with him again in some way.

He loves to sing. In fact, he honed his skills with his four best friends right there against that lamppost. They branched out from their humble beginnings to become doo wop sensations and tour the world. He’s the only one left now. He and his buddies never lost their affection for this place. He looks out the window and is 16 years old again, dreaming to make it big.

Mom and Dad raised them in this town. They ran the simple red brick grocery store. Six aisles and two cash registers. Open 9-5 Monday through Saturday. Closed Sunday. Their school was right up there on the hill. Inside that very building they received the education that allowed them to leave here and become successful in much bigger places. He was a lawyer in Chicago, she ran several dance studios near Boston. They didn’t make it back home very often, but now wish they did. Today, they get to make up for lost time.

It was just a dream. None of this can really happen. But wouldn’t it be magical to be able to go back into time and remember things how they were, in a time that was so special and innocent?

It really can’t happen, right?

Author: Whipped Owl

Writer Musician Historian Sportsman Loner

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