BSC09 the Fall and Rise of Jared ReznikChapter 14 Jared s Kind Offer
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Play It Again, SamChapter 2: Who Are You Now? free porn video
While I waited for the cab to arrive it occurred to me that in the hospital bed I had told myself that the girls were lost to me forever. But that wasn't true. They might be twenty six years older but they would still be alive today. And I knew for certain that the years wouldn't change the way I felt about them. I would love them today in 2006 just as much as I had in 1980. Yes, I could find them. But wait, would they feel the same about me? No, they couldn't possibly. I wasn't just twenty six years older like them, in this body I was the equivalent of fifty four years older if you consider when they knew and loved me in Jimmy's body I was a teenager.
And what if they were wrong and the on again, off again magic forced them to love me even in this body? I absolutely refused do that to them. I imagined Vicky at thirty nine in love with some old geezer. No I couldn't and I wouldn't do that to her or any of the others. I loved them all far too much for that. I made a decision right then and there; I would never face any one of them as long as I was in this body.
That resolution brought with it a deep sorrow by the realization that they truly were lost to me. Oh how much I wanted to be with them, to hold them, to kiss them, to make love to them. I imagined all of them together naked on the bed with me. Oh what I wouldn't give for that. But that was not possible now.
Think! I told myself. You love and ache for them much too much to just sit around and accept that this is the end. It couldn't be. There had to be another way. Think! I needed to come up with a plan. All right what options did I have? Only one I could think of; I had to find a way back to 1980.
Okay, now that you have a plan, implement. Right.
The first thing I needed to do was collect as much information as possible. In the morning I'd rent a car and then drive over to my ex-wife's house and find out whatever I could about Clarity. Then I would go over to the Hollywood hills, and Beach house's and see if after twenty six years any of girls still lived in one or the other. I figured I'd just park out front then wait and watch.
Well, I didn't have a method for time travel yet, but at least having a plan made me feel a little better.
After the cab pulled up to the curb and then stopped, and even before I could give the Cabby the address to my apartment building, he looked me over closely, and obviously having taken notice of my shabby appearance he questioned, "Hey buddy, you're gonna be able to pay for the ride right?"
I opened my wallet and drew out two twenty dollar bills flashing them in front of his face. He nodded and said, "Okay buddy, get in."
I climbed into the back seat then gave him the street address to my apartment. As the cab rushed along the streets I knew so well, my mind searched for more answers. It found none. I looked out almost vacantly at the buildings and stores as they rushed by the cab's window and everything seemed to me as it must have seemed to Dorothy when she was in Kansas. Everything was colorless. My whole world was now in black and white. Only after Dorothy had found Oz was there any color for her, and only when I was back with the ones I loved and so desperately needed would there ever be color in my world again.
The cabby double parked in front of my apartment building. I paid the fair and then got out. With one rear wheel spinning and kicking up small chunks of asphalt and grit that had accumulated on the blacktop the cab raced away from me. I had given the Cabby a healthy tip but he had accepted the gratuity without comment as if it were his due. Screw you buddy! I thought. It's guys like you that stop regular folks from even wanting to leave a tip.
I stuck my key into my apartment door's lock and turned. It didn't budge. I tried again. Same result. I pulled the key out and then jammed it back in turning harder this time. Nothing. I wiggled the key while keeping pressure on it.
Suddenly the door was yanked open ripping the key out of the lock and leaving it in my hand and I stood gaping down into the face of a man that was perhaps in his late forties or early fifties, short, only five foot five or so, overweight, with pudgy freckled cheeks and dressed in long, droopy shorts, a tee shirt, white socks, and no shoes.
Standing behind him I saw a woman, approximately his own age dressed in a light blue, thin, house robe. She stood at least two inches taller than him. She was nice-looking, maybe not pretty or sexy, but well put together based on how the robe clung to her figure.
"What's going on here?" The man asked and then noticing the way I was dressed he must have assumed I was a bum or something because his tone became very angry when he snapped, "Get the hell away from my door! Go sleep it off somewhere else. If I catch you hanging around here again I'll call the cops. Now get the hell outa here! God damn drunks!"
"But I live here..." I started to protest, my mind in a confused fog, but he interrupted me.
"I said get!" He yelled again.
"What is it George?" The woman standing behind him asked.
"Just some drunk," George answered her. "Nothing to worry about. I'm going..."
While George was occupied explaining to the woman I quickly interjected, "Please, I'm not a drunk. I only look this way because I was in a traffic accident. Please, just give me a moment to explain. Please."
"Look you..." George started but the woman interrupted him this time.
"George! For Christ sake, he doesn't sound drunk to me. The man said he was in a traffic accident. Now give him a moment to explain."
Even though George was short in stature, due to my age, and me not being that much taller than he was I guess I didn't intimidated him because he shook his head and said, "This better be good Mac."
"Thank you." I told him, then looking past his right shoulder I said, "Thank you Ma'am. Like I told you I was in a car accident and I swear I thought this was my apartment. I just don't understand. This is 706 South Normandie Avenue apartment 300 isn't it?"
"Yeah," George said very skeptically. "This is 706 South Normandie Avenue apartment 300 and we've lived here for over five years so this isn't your apartment buddy."
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