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The Time Traveler
Joshua Obas
He sits cold, hungry, and alone in his tiny apartment room staring vacantly out the frost coated window. A rose withers away in one corner of the room. Patches of mold grow rampantly in the walls. A thick layer of dust covers everything. The only source of light is a small candle in the center of the room that looks as though it might go out at any moment. The December snow lay blanketing the city of Chicago in a death-like grip. People pass by, always huddled together in groups of three or four. The world is silent as he counts the falling snowflakes and in the distance he hears a pack of dogs barking. Glancing at his cheap watch, he noticed it is almost 7 o'clock.
Quickly he opens the window and begins reaching for the fire escape as he hears a loud banging at his door. Making his way to the ground below, he hears an angry grunt as keys begin opening the lock to his room. Closing his eyes in a moment's reprieve, he takes a deep breath and breathes in the frosty morning. As with each morning, he begins his somber walk down the block. Looking to his left, he notices the bakery his mother took him and his brother to when they were kids. He remembers the small sticky bun his mother would buy for them to share each week. Walking over he peers through the glass, marveling at the small store. He could almost feel the warmth of the lights seeping into his skin through the old, thin jacket he had worn for years. His nose pressed against the cold glass, he tries to imagine the sweet smell of the freshly baked goods until the store owner notices him and waves him away like a stray dog.
Stumbling onwards, he looks up at the morning sky and says hello to the sun as it struggles to rise. We're not so different, he thinks to himself. Both struggling to awaken to a new day. His thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a rock that hit him square in the head. Glancing in the direction it came from, he sees the neighborhood boys across the street staring at him. When they noticed that he saw them, they scatter to the four corners of the earth like the cold bitter winds of the Arctic. Laughing to himself, he continues walking with no particular direction in mind.
His head hung low, while his eyes gaze at the sidewalk as if it were a compass guiding him somewhere important. When he did decide to look up, he notices his steps have brought him to an abandoned building. Looking through the broken glass and feeling the rotten wood door, he finally recognizes the dilapidated looking building and he remembers where he is. It is the small family owned market where his mother took them every week to buy groceries. He could almost smell the racks of choice meat sizzling on the stove, and remembered that they could never afford them. One day though, his mother had talked to the kind old woman who ran the meat department, and after a few minutes brought a piece of freshly baked glazed ham for him and his brother. He wasn’t sure how his mother had gotten it for them, but that didn’t matter as they bit into it, the juices dripped down their chin and their eyes briefly connected as they shared a quick thought. They'd never forget that taste for the rest of their lives.
A low hollow rumble erupts in his stomach as he thinks back to that memory, and a tear runs down his face as he remembered the rest of their lives was painfully short for his older brother. Not wanting to dwell on that tragic memory longer, he leaves the sad building behind and continues walking. He decides to cross the street and head for the old park in the distance. As he begins to cross, a car speeds past him angrily blaring its horn. Upon his arrival in the park, a lone bird begins chirping in the trees above. He begins to whistle through his cracked lips, imitating the mourning dove's sad song. While he whistles, he wonders why the mourning dove was mourning, what caused its sad song? Perhaps he thought, it’s because it was alone in the world. A tear falls from his other eye, as he mourns with his new friend.
For the second time that day, he is interrupted and brought back into the reality he so desperately sought to escape from. This time it is the sound of children's laughter that interrupts his thoughts. Turning in the direction the sound came from, he again saw the mob of children from before, only in larger numbers. He reasons the park must be their breeding grounds, as more slither from behind every nook and cranny the park has to offer. He is quickly surrounded by the children and their harsh sounds which soon turn into taunts, jeers, and then clenched fists. As the blows rain down on him, he closes his eyes again and remembers.
This was the park his brother had always taken him to when they were younger. He remembered their laughter as they played during the summertime. He remembered one time when he was playing in the sand pit and a group of older boys surrounded him, separating him from his brother. They began making fun of his poor clothes and soon began beating him. As he cried out, his brother came to his rescue. Fighting against the horde of bullies, his brother held his ground, until one of the kids pulled out a hidden knife and thrust it into his brother's stomach. The blood began spewing forth like a ruptured pipe, the bullies fled in every direction, the blood soaked knife left behind. Running to his brother, the tears streamed faster and a hole opened inside of him as he helplessly watched his brother dying.
When the children finish beating him, they waltz off feeling powerful and leaving their victim dazed on the ground. After some time had gone by, he slowly picks himself up from the ground and begins the long journey back home. As he walks, he coughs up blood and his vision grows blurry. Hearing laughter, he looks across the street and sees a father walking with his son. The boy is holding a toy and smiling at his father, who is glowing with pride. What’s a father? He thought to himself as he struggles to remember a time when he had anyone like that in his life. All he could bring to mind was a memory of his mother crying at the front door.
She was covered in bruises and had her arms wrapped around a shadowy figure that was opening the front door. As light came into the room, he could make out what he assumed to be his father leaving the family behind. His mother begged him not to leave, and he shoved her hard towards the ground. As she fell, her hands ripped off the jacket he was wearing as she crumpled to the ground, utterly defeated. The memory faded away and he was brought back to the present, he noticed the jacket he was wearing must have belonged to his father.
When he reaches his apartment, he looks towards the sky again, just as the sun is setting. We're not so different he thought, both going home from a long, tiresome day. Maybe we'll see each other again tomorrow. He climbs back up the fire escape and peers into his room and after seeing that the coast was clear, creeps back in. Peeling off his jacket, he crawls into bed. As he closes his eyes he notices the small candle in his room dying. The once bright and cheerful flame has diminished to a weak light, and in moments is snuffed out by the darkness for good.
