Acme Time Travel Incorporated - Volume 1

John heard the birds singing outside his bedroom window. He rolled onto his back, turning over to watch the morning sunlight slowly creep along his bedroom wall. The wallpaper had small flowers on it, in pale pinks and pastels. His father had wallpapered his bedroom when John was just a child, 25 years ago. They had never changed the wallpaper in all that time. John supposed that since he had never offered an opinion on it, no-one had felt the need to change it. John was grateful for that. He found, by staring at the small flowers and then pushing his gaze past them, the disparate flower patterns assumed strange and intricate designs. He had found the face of his father within those whorls. He had also found the face of his brother, Robert, peering down at him. He looked young, about 12 years old. A cheeky smile and always caring ... always caring.

John dearly missed his brother, so the smiling face within the small flowers comforted him.

John heard his mother walking down the hall to his room. She would come to get him up. To get him ready for the new day. Maybe Mary would come to visit. Maybe they would go for a walk. He hoped so.

His bedroom door opened, and his mother walked into his room.

“Good morning, John,” Margaret said.

She always tried to sound bright and cheery for John. Perhaps it meant something to him ... but how could you ever really know.

“It’s a beautiful day today,” she continued.

She looked towards the bed with a growing sense of disbelief. Except for holding Mary’s hand the other day, he had made no voluntary bodily movements in his entire life.

But John was sitting up in bed, looking over at his mother, and smiling a wonderful smile.

“G ... g ...,” John said, haltingly.

Margaret looked at John, panic in her eyes. John made no sounds. Not unless he was in pain, in which case he sometimes uttered low whimpers.

“G ... g ... g ... goo ... good,” he said.

Margaret knelt by John’s bedside. She caught hold of his hands, clasping them. She pressed her face against his.

John released himself from her hands, then gently lifted her face up. He was looking into her eyes. He was smiling.

“Good morn ... good morning mum,” John said.

His voice was pleasantly deep but sounding like someone who had just learned to speak … a little unsure of themselves. It reminded her of the time some Polish airmen had been stationed in an airbase nearby. They had spoken very little English. One of them must have learned a few words of English. He had come into the town to practice them. John reminded her of that day, and the way the airman had spoken. Unsure, but inherently proud.

John looked over at his mother. She was looking shocked.

“Are you ... are you all right, mum?” John asked.

Margaret took him into her arms.

She buried her face into his shoulder.

She sobbed quietly.