Time Lifts the Light

The second we stepped into the living room, all hell broke loose. A tall, thin man with jet black hair was yelling loudly at the blaring television set, substituting names of important historical figures for obscenities.

"Pass, you idiot! Pass the Benjamin Franklin ball!"

D.B. dumped his book bag and jacket on the floor near the couch.

"Dad, I've got company."
"Did you see that, Danny? Son of a Washington!"
"Dad, Kim and Mikey and Indigo are here."

The glitter of breaking glass was heard and familiar sounding woman's voice called out from the kitchen, "Oh, shoot! Don't let Frugal in here, D.B.! I've just broken the good mixing bowl!"

"Mom, I've brought my friends over for - "
"Danny, get him!"

A large white dog had been sniffing his way into the kitchen. ("No, Frugal! Out! Out!") He guiltily looked up at D.B. as he approached and snatched him by the collar.

"His name's Frodo, Ma."
"Make sure the gate is closed when you put him out there."

Mikey had gotten distracted by the television, which was currently playing some sort of sporting event. He kicked off his shoes and slid over the side of the couch, settling down next to D.B.'s father.

"'Sup, Jim?"
"Get your feet of my coffee table, Michael."
"Right, sorry. Who's playing?"
"We've got Dallas against Arizona."
"And who are we rooting for?"
"Cowboys," D.B.'s father answered monotonously, staring transfixed at the screen. "Holy Wilhelm Grimm, would you look at that son of an Isaac Newton run?" he mumbled.
"Yes, the Cowboys. Right. Good."
"They're the ones in blue."
"Oh! Good, good. I knew that. Yeah."

"Stop chewing on the table!" D.B. was presently trying to get the enormous dog under control. "Ma, he doesn't want to go outside! He's being stubborn!"
"Well, don't let him in here! I've got glass all over the floor!"
"Ouch, Frodo! You step on my foot one more time and I'm feeding your ass to the first Orc I see."
"Language, Daniel!"
"Sorry, Ma."

D.B. finally managed to get a good grip on Frodo's collar and dragged him through the sliding glass door. He left him on the patio and said a few words to his dog that looked a lot like: "Don't wear the Ring, boy."

"Kim, Indigo, help me in the kitchen!"

It was more of an order, an expected task, than a question. My head snapped up. Kim had brushed past me and was excitedly rushing toward the voice of D.B.'s mother. There was a split second where I hastily thought about running away.

"Come on, dunce," Kim teased, throwing me a casual look over her shoulder.

I timidly tripped into the kitchen, nearly knocking into Kim. The second I was in her sight, Mrs. Hawkins thrust a wooden spoon into my hands.

"Stir," she ordered, pointing to a large metal pot. I made a small squeaking sound and scurried toward the stove. Thick red tomato sauce was bubbling in the pot. I dipped the tip of the spoon into the mixture and stirred lightly.

Kim was chopping herbs - a task, I noticed, which was marginally harder than mine. I felt a pang of jealousy before remembering that I had no right to be near sharp things - awkward and clumsy as I was.

"Indigo, dear," Mrs. Hawkins scolded. "We're stirring the sauce, not caressing it." Blushing, I plunged the wooden spoon into the pot and stirred vigorously. "Attagirl!" she exclaimed heartily.

A strangled shout was heard from the living room. I jumped, startled, but neither Kim or D.B.'s mother seemed moved. Mrs. Hawkins sighed and opened the kitchen door.

"Julia, what are you doing to your brother?"
"She's - ouch! - Mom, she's biting me!"
"He took my movie! He took my movie!"
"Get her off! Julia, you little - It's not funny, Mikey! Ow!"

A section of the wall had been artfully removed from just above the sink, like a glass-less window. It allowed Kim and I a clear view of the couch, television, and the sliding glass door leading to the Hawkins' moderately-sized yard. I could see a small girl - presumably Julia - looking fiery-faced and indignant. Her black hair was separated into two french braids, which just tickled her pale shoulders.

"What movie?" Mrs. Hawkins asked.

Mikey and D.B.'s father were still absorbed in the television program.

"My movie!"
"I know that, hon. What movie?"
"She was trying to sneak Gremlins into her room!" Julia aimed a kick at D.B.'s shins. He side-stepped her easily. "She knows she's not allowed to - "
"I think Gizmo is cute!"
"But that doesn't mean its appropriate for you to -" This time, Julia's kick connected. "Shit! Ma!"
"Language, Daniel Booker!"

A soft, high-pitched whine was heard from outside. Frodo, the giant white dog, was sitting neatly in front of the glass door.

"Did you close the gate, D.B.?"
"The what?"
Mrs. Hawkins sighed. "The gate. Did you close the gate when you put Fairy out?"
"Frodo, Ma."
"Go close the gate before he gets into the Twinner's flower beds again."

She took Gremlins from D.B.'s hands and placed it on top of the refrigerator.

"Julia, you are not to watch this DVD. Do you hear me?"
As a response, Julia yelled, "Yes, yes, hairy chest!" She then proceeded to stick her tongue out at her mother, race toward the couch, and settle herself quite comfortably in Mikey's lap.

"That's it?"
"D.B. - "
"She steals a movie she's not supposed to watch, disrespects - "
"Go close the gate!"

D.B. sighed and, scowling, squeezed his way past the sliding glass door - as to not let his dog back in the house. He disappeared around the side of the patio to close the wooden gate.

Mrs. Hawkins reappeared in the kitchen, rubbing the tips of her fingers into her forehead. A stray wisp of golden-brown hair had fallen into her eyes. She brushed it away half-heartedly and flicked the light-switch in the oven on. She stooped to survey the state of her cooking.

"I swear," she finally huffed. "That boy..."
Kim shot me a look from over at the cutting board.
"He's been giving so much trouble lately at school. I've been getting daily phone calls about his problem with the dress code. He's such a smart boy. His teachers would like him so much more if he just didn't mouth-off. It makes him seem like some sort of hoodlum."
I stopped stirring the large pot of sauce, eagerly concentrating on every word.
"It's the time traveling, I suppose. It makes him feel different, causes him to rebel. His father was the same way in school. Always bending the - keep stirring that sauce, dear - rules to breaking point."

Kim cleared her throat loudly, but I pretended not to take the hint.

"Mr. Hawkins is a time traveler, too?"
"Oh, Jim? Of course! Where do you think D.B. got it from? Not me, surely! It's a very male-dominant gene. Jim's father - D.B.'s grandfather, that is - was a traveler as well. That's where Daniel gets that old pocket watch he loves so much."
"So... Is Julia...? Does she...?"
"We don't know yet," Mrs. Hawkins gabbed conversationally, dipping a fork into the pot of spaghetti on the stove. "The symptoms start to appear around puberty. She might not even have it. Like I said: male-dominant gene."
"Symptoms?" I ignored Kim's heated glare.
"Oh, things like increased memory capacity. Especially with languages. And blips. We call them blips around here, there's really no official name for them. Micro-travels, I suppose. Small, uncontrollable episodes of time travel. They only last for a few seconds."
"Wow," I breathed. "That's really surreal."
"I still remember D.B.'s first blip. His father was so proud. He was twelve. He went back thirty years, ended up in a zoo in India. The zebras were harmless, granted, but he was so startled that he fell backwards and landed on the informational sign. Have you seen the scar on his shoulder?"

"Mrs. Hawkins, I'm done chopping these," Kim interrupted quickly. "If you don't mind, I think Indigo and I are going to go find D.B. now."
"I don't mind. I think I can handle it from here."
"Okay, then. Come on, Indigo. Let's go."