Time To Go Back

Fifty-five years ago, I boarded a train that would take me away from home. Backpack slung over my shoulder, suitcase trundling behind, I was off to university. Now it was time to return.

Taking a window seat, I watched the countryside slip by. Quickly becoming a blur, it reminded me of the speed reading technique I had adopted while scanning academic articles on theoretical physics. One came to mind where the author professed time travel to be possible. I showed him. My eloquent math equations put such nonsense to rest.

I must have dozed off, for the jolt of the train stopping work me from my nap. The sign announced I was at my destination. Hurriedly, I gather my backpack and suitcase. Exiting the carriage, I was surprised to find how little had changed. Hurriedly, I made my way to the exit.

A cab drew into the forecourt. The driver, having stopped, wound down his window. “Homesick already?” was the question. “It’s only been a week.”

“A week,” I exclaimed. “Is this some kind of joke? Wait a minute. Is that you, Jack? You’ve hardly aged a day.”

“Neither have you, boy.  Hop in and I’ll take you home.”

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