Immortality. Everybody seems to crave it, whether through religion, science, mysticism or denial of death. And so this begs a question about time travel. If I travel back in time one day and wake up yesterday morning at the same time I usually get up, and I have a chance to do my day all over again (see Murray, Bill; Day, Groundhog) and then I live through yesterday and in to today, throw on my white, time travel t-shirt (from last week’s blog) and jaunt back again, does that mean that the cells in my body, which have just aged 24 hours, will suddenly be 24 hours younger than they were when I put on the t-shirt? Yes?
If that’s true, then can I repeat the process ad infinitum? Can I make my body live indefinitely through time travel? Back and forth, day in and day out, as it were. I could certainly get a lot of writing done.
But maybe I should’ve asked whether I can do this ad nauseam?
Because … speaking of “nauseam” … my son started vomiting in the wee hours of the morning today, while we were in a hotel room, out of town. After his tummy finally settled down, the mess cleaned up, and he was snuggled under a comforter to stave off the chills, I told him something that seemed perfectly logical to me.
“I’ve never owned one million dollars in gold,” I said.
He looked at me sideways, probably wondering if his fever was making him delirious.
“Not many people have, Dad,” he said. His eyes looked drawn, dark bags, the glassy gaze of the sick.
“I’d like to.”
“Get in line, Dad. Get in line.”
He sighed, rolled over, and slept another two hours before we hit the road and headed home.
During that two-hour drive from Birmingham to Huntsville my son lamented our not owning a helicopter or private jet. And like any parent on a superhighway going 70 mph, I began to daydream about such possibilities myself.
If I travelled back in time 24 hours could I prevent him from getting sick? Most likely not, since I have no idea how he came down with this virus in the first place. But I could find a way to scrounge up a dollar. And if I did this 24-hour t-shirt time hop one million times (even it was plain cash and not shiny gold) could I have made us millionaires while not aging a day in the process?
- Million bucks?
- Lear Jet?
- T-shirt time machine?
- No laugh lines?
There are worse ways to spend a Sunday.
But would that be worth it? If I did that one million times, my son would suffer fever, chills and nausea one million times. And what sort of father would that make me?
In Groundhog Day Bill Murray’s character broke the cycle by realizing something greater than him. Perhaps another way to grow is to never start the start the cycle in the first place.
And if you’re creating a character, critiquing a character, or just enjoying a movie with a big bowl of popcorn, try to put yourself in the character’s shoes. That’s why good stories work, in my humble opinion.
Now, if your head’s hurting you may be trying to figure out what the hell I’m talking about today. And, frankly, I wonder the same thing, especially since this is my first blog entry since winning a Freshly Pressed Award, and I’m a tad worried about disappointing you. Or maybe your head’s hurting because you’re coming down with a touch of flu. If the latter, I hope someone takes care of you, just this once.
Until next time,
Copyright © 2012, Alan Keith Parker. All Rights Reserved. I wrote this blog entry on my cell phone, which is like typing on a postage stamp. Out of respect for my pending carpel tunnel syndrome please don’t steal this!