Inspired by The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger.
Time Travel
When I travel it
fees like pins and needles in my hands and feet, slowly expanding and consuming
my vital organs until there's a lurch inside my head , and - POP! - I'm there.
The feeling takes a
while to subside, like a tsunami engulfing the shore of a quiet coastal
village. But when it goes, the adrenaline sets in, and suddenly I'm flying
through the night, fleeing an invisible force, hormones rushing through my
veins like fighter jets.
When I stop I catch
my breath, heaving through my lungs and gasping for air. It might be the middle
of February in a frozen over car park, snow gathering in the pot holes like
candy floss in plastic buckets. It might be the end of June, the sun setting after
a warm, fuzzy day of sun-lounging and water fights for the neighborhood children.
Sometimes I close my
eyes and collect my thoughts, other I just run - my legs pumping so hard they
seem to outrun my brain. I run to forget; I run to collect. I pursue my life as
it forms infront of me, but so far away.
I think of my wife,
sitting at home, waiting my the last spot she saw me, wishing I was different -
wishing she had a choice not to love me. Wanting a warm, comforting embrace
that would not end in a fading heart-beat and a pile of my freshly laundered clothes.
Sometimes we argue
-for I have no choice in this matter
either. How can she not understand that if I could stay, I would compel the
wills of the Gods to be so with all of my might.
I fade but I come
back, although there will always be that faint possibility that I will just
melt away, never to be formed again.
