September 13, 1964
Jason Treborn looks around and knows that something is not right.
He looks at the kitchen. At present, there is only a dining table and a refrigerator. Walking over to the dining table and climbing up the chair, he sees crumbs of a birthday cake.
"Where they go?" asks the new five-year-old.
A boy, about thirteen years of age, looks at Jason from the kitchen. "They went home," he says.
"They leave after I blow candles? They no say goodbye? Why they go, Scott?"
"They were here for a couple of hours," replies Scott.
"What about my presents?"
"You unwrapped them. I helped you put them in your room. Your five years old already; you should remember."
"I didn't unwrap presents yet."
"What's going on?" asks a voice coming from a clearly older man.
"Jason's playing some sort of game, Dad," says Scott. "He's pretending he missed his birthday party or something."
"Is he?" asks Chris Treborn. The thirty-seven-year-old man approaches his younger son. "How was your birthday party?"
"Everyone come," says Jason. "I blow candle and they go away."
"Don't you remember playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey."
"No. Why everyone go home? No fun?"
Chris stares silently.
"What is it, Dad?" asks Scott.
"I don't know."
"Listen, Dad, I'm gonna go with Mike tonight to catch a movie."
"You need a ride?"
"His brother's driving us."
"Mike's brother's only 16!"
"Hey, Dad!" protests Scott. "That's old enough to drive."
"Why can't Mike's dad drive you? Why can't I drive you?"
"Mike's brother's not a bad driver. You know he sometimes gives me and Mike a ride home from school."
"What movie are you going to see, Scott?"
"Uh, Clash by Night," replies Scott.
"That's an R-rated movie!" says Chris.
"Come on. Some of my friends saw it and they said it was cool."
"Why can't you watch something more appropriate like Mary Poppins?"
"That's for little kids like Jason."
"At least it's not violent."
"Oh yeah? You took Jason to see that Incredible Mr. Limpet movie and saw a bunch of submarines got blown up."
"That's enough, Scott. You are not seeing that movie."
"Whatever."
oooooooooooooooooo
That evening, Chris enters his bedroom from the master bathroom. He sees his wife Lucinda, brushing her blond tresses as she looks in the mirror.
"I heard you arguing with Scott," says Lucinda.
"Scott wanted to see some inappropriate movie," replies Chris. "He's just pushing his boundaries. But I'm worried about Jason."
"Jason wanted to see the movie?"
Chris lies down on the bed. "He said that he doesn't remember his birthday party after he blew out the candles. He doesn't remember playing any of the games or unwrapping his presents."
"He's only five. He's just playing a game, I guess."
"I wish it were so. But you know my family's history. I'm lucky it hasn't affected me much."
"Chris, you can't just think that every little quirk means he needs a shrink."
"If it happens again."
Ooooooooooooooooooo
April 24, 1965
Chris signals for a left turn in his green 1961 Pontiac as he approaches the Sunnyvale Mental Hospital in upstate New York. The massive trees are just now showing their leaves, after months of snow. The whole trip is about two hours from the family home in Connecticut. The car's radio is currently playing a song by the Beatles, a British music band that came to America last year.
"Is this where Grandpa is?" asks Jason, sitting in the back seat.
"Yes," says Lucinda.
"Why can't the doctors make him better?"
"Sometimes they can't, Jason."
"Let's go," says Chris.
The whole family approaches the brick building where the patients are housed. The place is an inpatient facility for people unable to function in society due to mental illness. Screams and laughter can be heard from even outside.
Chris and his family sit inside one of the waiting rooms. The furniture is old, and the wooden table is covered with copies of National Geographic and Time.
Chris approaches the desk where a nurse sits. "Chris Treborn," he says. "My family and I are here to visit Matt Treborn."
The nurse looks through some cardboard index cards. "Ah, Mr. Treborn," she says. "He'll be available in one hour."
After one hour, an orderly in white leads the Treborns outside to an area enclosed by a brick wall. Several stone becches and tables sit in a sea of grass. Several patients are already outside, those deemed not to be a danger to others, some of them feeding cats.
Two men approach the family. One of them is a tall man in a white lab coat. The other is an older man, about sixty years of age.
"Mr. Treborn," says the man in the white coat. "Who's the little boy?"
"My younger son, Jason," replies Chris. "This is his first time meeting his grandpa."
"Hello, Jason," says the man in the white coat. "I am Dr. Emmett Von Braun. I'm your grandpa's caretaker."
"Ah, Jason," says the other man, bending down. "I remember when Chris and Lucinda brought you over. You played hide and seek with the staff. It was only a few months before that whole situation with those missiles in Cuba turned into complete shit. At least it's good to know you made it."
"Does he still talk about the future?" asks Lucinda.
"Ah, no," replies Dr. Von Braun. "He stopped referring to future events after that Cuban Missile Crisis was over. Thank God your father-in-law was wrong about that. Of course, he's a lot less interesting without trying to predict the future. I remember when government agents came to interview him a few years ago."
"That whole thing still scares me," says Scott. "We almost blew ourselves up."
"We did do that," Matt says to his grandson. "It was something that had to be done. Of course, that bastard vice president Kennedy had me committed here. So what if I ended up in a coma for a few years? That's no reason to remove me!"
"Let's put the past behind us, Dad," says Chris.
Ooooooooooooooo
A few hours later, the Treborns walk back to their car parked in the parking lot.
"How did you like visiting?" asks Chris.
"He don't seem sick to me," replies Jason.
"I don't know why we should bother to visit him," says Scott. "He's just a crazy old man."
"Don't you speak about your grandpa like that," scolds Chris, unlocking the door to the Pontiac. "He's sick and you might get sick like that too."
"Whatever."
oooooooooooo
September 13, 1969
Ten-year-old Jason Treborn looks around and wonders where the hell he is. Below him is bare dirt. Around him steel columns and pipes and a wall.
He looks around for an opening. Crawling through the dirt, he finds an opening. He emerges to an enclosed space. Grass covers the ground. An oak tree grows in the center, with a rope tied to a tree and a Goodyear tire hanging from the rope. Apparently he had been under the crawl space under the back porch. He had no idea of how he got there. The last thing he remembers clearly is blowing out the candles on his birthday cake.
"Whatchu doing down there, Ja-shun?" asks a three-year-old girl.
"I…I don't know," he says to his younger sister, Meaghan.
"Jason," says the voice of a boy about his age. "Everyone's inside!"
"Coming, Neil," he calls out.
Oooooooooooooo
December 25, 1969
Chris and Lucinda Treborn celebrate Christmas at Lucinda's mother's house a few miles from Mobile, Alabama. They and their children are there with Lucinda's siblings, siblings-in-law, nieces, and nephews. Many of Lucinda's relatives talk with the regional accent. A Philco radio plays Christmas music.
Christmas presents are unwrapped near the Christmas tree.
"A doll!" says three-year-old Meaghan Treborn. "Thank Gramma."
All of the Christmas presents are unwrapped. Scott Treborn smiles. He tries his best not to think about a possible deployment to Vietnam; he is on leave from the United States Army.
"Look what we have here," says Lucinda's brother. "An old Christmas photo album from '61!"
"Yeah," says one of Lucinda's brothers-in-law. "Before all them hippies and shit."
"Can I see?" Jason asks his uncle.
"Sure you can."
Jason looks at the photos. He recognizes his mom and dad and Scott. There are no pictures of Meaghan since she wasn't born yet. He sees a picture of himself. He was two at the time. He smiles, amazed that he looked like that once.
He then seems to fall.
He then looks around and notices something is wrong.
"What the?" he asks.
It is the same place, all right. The decorations are different.
He sees his parents. Walking to them, he notices that they are a lot taller. His grandma is also a lot taller, as is his uncles and aunts. He wonders if he had shrunk somehow. Everything in the room appears to be bigger.
His parents, uncles, and aunts gather for a picture. He looks and sees his brother Scott, who appears to be somewhat taller.
He notices that Scott appears to be a lot younger, in fact, he looks as he did in pictures taken when he was ten.
He sees some of his cousins – Fred, Eric, Mary, Sue, and Chuck – and they all appear much younger than they should.
"Scott," he says. "Is that you? What the hell happened? Why is everyone so big? Why are you so young?"
And then Jason finds himself looking at the photo album again. He looks around. He sees his older brother, who again appears to be eighteen. He looks around. Nothing seems to be out of place.
"Can I see?" asks a five-year-old boy whose name is Zack.
Jason gives the album to his cousin and stands up, placing his hand on his face. He sees red on his finger. Rubbing his finger, he finds out it is blood. He walks and gets a Kleenex tissue to wipe his nose. There is a small amount of blood in the tissue.
He throws the tissue away and goes back to the living room.
