After the snow melts away and the flowers begin sprouting anew their virgin buds to the refurbished world, the forgotten color makes its long awaited triumphant return. Green, regretfully abandoned during autumn and lost throughout winter serves as the official color of springtime, returning to form in its luscious, life-giving splendor.

     It is hardly the only color reminiscent of the season of rebirth, with blue and yellow sharing the stage alongside of green. On this early April morning it was the color teal that stole the show as a sleek, brand new 1953 Chevrolet Corvette dressed in the light shade that was easy on the eyes cruised down the street, drawing the envy of the deep blue lake on the shore alongside the road, increasing in jealousy with each mile traveled beside the beach.

     “This is what life is all about, mornings shared with your lovely wife,” exclaims Jon Morley, extending his arm around his wife Jan as she cuddled towards her husband.

     “Such a beautiful morning. We haven’t felt air this pleasant since last August, wouldn’t have been a bad idea to have a picnic on the beach just as we used to do back when we were dating,” Jan explains flashing her shiny white grin with a wide smile.

     “We have an entire summer coming up to do just that. It’s been too long since we’ve taken a day trip up to Port Huntington, at least five years I reckon,” responds Jon as the married thirty something couple continues making their way up the coastline.

     “Would it bother the sun to come out and say hello? It’s as if he is still hibernating as well, it is far too cloudy for such a pleasant day,” explains Jan, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air, a welcome change of pace to the stagnant oxygen monopolizing her lungs while being confined to her residence during winter.

     “You can be a tough girl to please!” jokes Jon. “I checked with the weather service on the radio this morning, these clouds should break no later than noon,” Jon replies turning a corner around the bend, where a sea of thick, pasty fog awaits the two.

     “Looks very thick up ahead, drive carefully,” orders Jan.

     “Just that time of year dear, the cool Earth beneath us and those cold waters are stirring up trouble for this warm front of air, and this mess of fog is nothing more than a weave of clouds,” Jon explains, turning on his headlights as he makes his way through the wispy haze.

     “I cannot even see the lake, and it must be no more than thirty feet away!” cries Jan.

“Tell me about it,” replies Jon, struggling to follow the chalky outline of the street, as the headlights of the car have disappeared no more than fifteen feet from in front of the automobile, engulfed from the fog.

“We had no problems whatsoever the first fifteen miles up the coast, and out of nowhere we find ourselves clouded in this thick cover, this may be as dense a fog as I have ever witnessed before,” he declares.

After roughly a mile of very poor visibility, the Morley’s and their teal corvette finally emerge from this most unusual phenomenon, leaving behind the walls of fog as if shot out of a cannon, arriving in sunny conditions much more conducive to driving.

     “Well that was one for the record books,” utters Jon.

     “You know the area better than I have, but look at these new buildings! Last we were up this way this area was nowhere near as developed!” exclaims Jan.

     “Yeah. Well honey, this is a prosperous time, the economy is on the uptick these days, not like it was when we first starting dating,” explains Jon.

     “They just have a look about them that is a little bit...different. They don’t look new at all; they look as though they were not recently constructed. The drive up has always been an empty stretch of road, and now buildings left and right?” exclaims Jan feeling slightly stunned at the outbreak of prosperity. “Perhaps we became slightly disoriented in that fog and missed our turn?” 

     “Couldn’t be, right up here, Military Street. See, that is our turn, we’re not lost. Things change Jan, they do not always remain the same, or how you remember them.

     “Are you sure that’s what that sign said? This just does not look familiar,” chimes in Jan as Jon races down the street.

     “No, these natural landmarks are familiar to me. The hills, the curvature of the road, the...” Jon begins to explain, before trailing off. “Impossible.”

     “What is it Jon?” asks Jan.

     “What I’m trying to say is, I know Military Street, and this is indeed Military Street, there are just an abundance of new shops and stores. Something strange has happened with the outlay of this neighborhood, Port Huntington has always been a quaint seaside resort, just looks aged. Ah well, not a one of us is getting any younger. Jan look, do you see that?” shouts Jon, unable to control his emotion given the monstrosity resting before him...

2: Prologue

What began as a quiet spring morning for our friends the Morleys has quickly delved into something far different than what either could have imagined. In case you missed it this couple did indeed cast their sails from 1953, and although Jon is correct in his assertion that they are driving along Military Street, Jan also happens to be correct concerning her suspicion that something unusual is afoot.

     This simple day trip has taken a detour, not merely through the cloudy fog cascading along the shoreline, but through the ages as well. Neither Jon nor Jan has any prior work experience serving as diplomats, but like it or not they are set to serve as torchbearers for their era as they depart from their car as ambassadors from another time, stepping into the foreign land that is a different time some fifty years distant in modern day 2003...

3: Chapter 2

“What is that?” asks Jan.

     “Some sort of hideous automobile I suppose,” Jon remarks about a rusty, broken down car resting in a parking lot. “I need gas, maybe these boys will be able to shed some light on some of the new construction,” reasons Jon to his wife as the Corvette pulls into the gas station.

     “Care for a cola or anything?” the man asks his wife, receiving a simple shake of the head in response.

     “What on Earth is taking them so long?” utters Jon, growing impatient with the lack of candor exhibited by the attendants. Frustrating he firmly presses the car horn, honking loudly as a clerk in the window takes a gander towards the couple. “I can see him right there!” shouts Jon, laying on the horn once more as the clerk scampers out of the station.

     “What’s the problem here?” demands the clerk.

     “What’s the problem? What does a guy have to do to get a little service around here?” replies Jon.

     “There something wrong with the pump?” snaps the clerk.

     “How should I know, where are your boys?” responds Jon.

     “What?”

     “Your attendants, your service crew?” demands Jon.

     “I’m the only one working at the moment,” replies the clerk.

     “Okay. Fill her up will you, we’re running behind,” exclaims Jon.

     “Yeah, right. Not sure what kind of gas station you think this is stranger, have at it,” scoffs the clerk.

     “Well he certainly seems rude,” exclaims Jan.

     “So he does...what is this all about?” remarks Jon. “Sir? Sir?” he calls out, stepping out from his car and racing into the store. “Wait just a minute, what kind of service station are you running here? Refusing service and charging outrageous prices that are well above obscene!”

     “Look pal, you must live under a rock or you simply don’t get out enough but there is a war going on and the rise in prices is on account of it, so that is what you should be shaking your stick at,” replies the clerk, returning his view to his magazine, ignoring the distraught customer.

     “The two of us get out plenty, and I am well aware of the current conflict taking place overseas, but surely they don’t have their hands in the cookie jar of our economy to such an extent!” cries Jon.

     “You don’t like it, go someplace else. I just work here, I’m not the one fixing prices, so scram. Go write your congressman,” the clerk declares with a laugh as Jon vacates the vicinity of the station in a huff.

     “What happened?” asks Jan.

     “We’re certainly never retrieving gas here ever again!” he responds, revving up the shining teal Corvette and pulling back out onto Military Street.

     “How about lunch at Chuck’s, it has been too long since we’ve eaten there, such a nice little romantic spot,” exclaims Jan.

     “You’ve got it, and it’s coming up. There she is!” gleefully declares Jon, the wide smile of his face melting away and twisting into a slight frown as an unfamiliar arrangement of letters greet him above the diner.

     “Looks as though they have changed the name, oh I hope that nothing ill has befallen Chuck!” cries Jan, as Jon parks the Corvette.

     “We’ll see, might be new ownership or something,” he replies as the two enter the Daylight Café.

     “No smoking! Put that cigarette out ma’am!” shouts a cook in the direction of Jan, turning towards the door to abandon her cigarette.

     “Must be new management, Chuck never entertained such a policy,” utters Jon.

     “Hello,” welcomes a waitress at the front of the restaurant, admiring the full length pink dress and matching hat worn by Jan, and the impressive black suit and matching fedora worn by Jon. “Feel free to grab a table anyplace you like,” offers the waitress with a smile.

“Check my hat?” asks Jon, confused with the manners of the working girl.

     “Sure, I suppose I can do that,” she replies accepting the hat, seeing his confusion and raising it up a notch, exhibiting a bewildered look across her face.

     “Looks like they’ve replaced the old girl here, I was hoping to play one of our songs. Maybe it still has a good record or two inside,” explains Jon gravitating towards a shiny red and yellow machine in the corner.

Sliding a quarter in the slot, he searches for the controls and music lists, finding nothing but a joystick and red and white buttons. “Say, what is the deal with this jukebox? Seems to be stuck on the same song,” he asks the waitress.

“Sir, that is a pinball machine, it only plays one song,” replies the waitress.

“How do you like that!” exclaims Jon to Jan. Identifying a young couple in one booth and a pair of elderly women in another, Jon begins leading his wife towards an empty booth between, helping her settle in as the waitress provides them with menus. “Coffee for the two of us, exclaims Jon. “Excuse me for a moment my dear, stands a chance that man will be able to inform us on the happenings around Huntington Point, and possibly information on that dastardly station attendant,” explains Jon, moving towards the grill after spotting a cook.

“Is Chuck still in charge of this establishment?” asks Jon.

“Excuse me?” replies the cook.

“Is Chuck still in charge of this establishment?” asks Jon.

     “Chuck Duncan, the owner of what once was Chuck’s Diner?” clarifies Jon.

     “To tell you the truth I’ve only been working here for the past six months, but I can inform you that the owner’s name is Chris,” explains the cook.

     “I see. Quite a bit has changed here in Port Huntington since the wife and I have made a daytrip up this way, so many new shops and what have you, what with the economy picking up and all,” explains Jon.

     “That’s quite an optimistic viewpoint,” responds the cook with a smile as the ears of each man focus in on the invisible airwaves being emitted from the radio beside the grill. “I see there is a news bulleting pertaining to the war,” exclaims Jon.

     “That’s all they ever talk about anymore, it’s as if they can’t speak about it enough,” replies the cook.

     “You said it, I didn’t think this war would impact prices like it has, was just at the service station and you wouldn’t believe what they were charging!” explains Jon.

     “That damn oil, they’re holding good honest folks like you and I ransom over it, gouging us,” replies the cook.

     “All this talk of war, reminds me of my time in the service, I was a pilot that flew in the South Pacific,” explains Jon.

     “Is that right? I am a fellow veteran myself; in fact I too am no stranger to the pacific, having served in Vietnam myself,” explains the cook.

     “Vietnam? You were stationed in Indochina?” asks Jon.

“Yes I suppose that is one way to put it, I fought there during the war,” explains the cook.

     “Fighting the Japanese eh? I have enough stories from my travels to fill a library,” boasts Jon.

     “The Japanese? No, the Viet Cong,” sternly replies the cook.

     “Viet who?” asks Jon.

     “The communists in the north,” replies the cook.

     “My goodness, of course. How silly of me. Suppose we all have our little pet names for them,” explains Jon.

     “Back to the current conflict, sorry to be such a bother, but you mentioned that there has been a constant updating of the attacks on the radio?” asks Jon.

     “Buddy, that’s all they’ve been showing on radio and television since the attacks began,” declares the cook.

     “Was there an attack that I’m not aware of?” asks Jon.

     “Just another day since the invasion began a few months ago,” replies the cook.

     “Months ago? It started years ago!” shouts Jon.

     “So it did, they’ve been fighting in that part of the world for decades, look mister I’m proud of your service to your country but I’m not looking for a political debate here. They mentioned earlier that they just dropped the bombs on them, the invasion is really heating up, it shouldn’t take much longer,” explains the cook.

     “I agree with you there. Bombs? Did you say bombs? I was not made aware of this,” utters Jon with a blank expression across his face.

     “Yes bombs. They deserve it to, after attacking New York and Washington the way they did,” declares the cook.

     “New York? Washington? Attacked? When?” shouts Jon, his tension and unease clearly mounting.

     “What do you mean when, 9/11, that’s when,” responds the cook.

     “And we just launched bombs, they must be in the process of retaliation,” declares Jon, listening intently on each word of the radio broadcast.

     “Most likely, there has been nothing but resistance throughout Afghanistan and Iraq,” explains the cook.

     “Afghanistan? That is practically under the domain of the Russians!” responds Jon.

     “Amazing how they were once on our side as allies, isn’t it? Russia was involved with those Taliban, and now they’re coming after us. Destroying the World Trade Center and striking at the Pentagon, never thought I’d see the day, at least they missed the Capitol and the White House,” explains the cook.

     “This may very well be the end,” utters Jon.

     “Let’s not be overdramatic. Things will never be the same again if that is what you’re hinting at,” replies the cook as Jon looks back in the direction of his wife before staring off into space.

“Look buddy, if you’re suffering from post traumatic stress disorder or something I apologize, but I cannot help you with that, I’m no medic, never made it past the rank of private which is why I’m just a cook these days,” explains the cook as Jon slowly retreats to his seat.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” asks Jan, seeing a clear look of astonishment and sadness on the face of her husband.

“The war has taken a turn for the worse. Russia has played a hand, just as I always knew they would. I must admit that I have been out of the loop for the past months ago, but the reds have spread their influence farther than I could had imagined, aside from Korea the reds have their web entangled in Indochina, Afghanistan and Iraq. Worst of all, they have launched an attack on New York and Washington at 9:11 a.m. this morning; I just overheard this on a radio bulletin. Our forces responded in kind by launching the appropriate artillery, and they are expected to return the favor. This could be a series of attacks and counter-attacks until the end,” explains Jon, choking out each word as Jan listens in amazement.

     “This sounds trivial in comparison, but scanning through the menu I found that the new ownership of this restaurant has raised the prices considerably!” explains Jan.

“That’s okay, I’ve lost my appetite,” replies Jon, scrambling to make sense of this unwelcome information, when he picks up on an intriguing conversation coming from the next booth spoken between the elderly women.

     “It’s everywhere you look now, this war, reminds me of World War II,” one woman declares to the other, as Jon nods to his wife.

     “That reminds me of a rather suspicious neighbor of mine, the man has a real thick beard and this headpiece wrapped around his head. I am pretty sure that he is from overseas, and I have heard that is where his family is from. Now I believe that they have planted him here!” one woman declares to the other.

     “Pardon me, but the two of us could not help overhearing your conversation,” explains Jon as the two women turn their attention to his words.

     “You know, I have a neighbor that I have also suspected was one of them for quite sometime now. Very suspicious acting and he also happens to have a beard, he immigrated from the Caucuses I believe, and I am convinced that he is a red. We just can’t take any chances anymore,” explains Jon.

     “No we cannot. This suspicious young man, does his family celebrate Christmas or partake in any American customs?” asks the far-seated woman.

     “Heavens no, he’s always praying back in the direction of his homeland to the East, Damascus I believe is where he comes from,” she explains.

“You mean Moscow? At least that is where we always assumed they came from, nowadays you have these men coming from desert places like Iraq and Afghanistan looking to create fear and terror here in America, living right here under our very noses working for the enemy eager to strike and wreak havoc upon their fellow neighbors, and the scariest aspect of all is that you cannot tell any one of them apart, they all look the same!” declares Jon, concluding a conversation between the two booths, believing that they are speaking of the same events and the same war, while having absolutely no clue that they are speaking of different eras, different in time and affiliations but not so different after all.

On their way out the restaurant Jon and Jan are interrupted by a man seated near the door, eager to compliment the teal Corvette and engage the couple about it. “Excuse me, earlier I saw you two walk out of that car and I just had to say how much I admired your ride, a real beaut she is, real classic,” exclaims the man sitting in the adjacent booth behind Jan.

“Hopefully it will go down as a classic in time,” explains Jon.

“No need for modesty, it looks completely restored, how long have you had it? My son owns a similar model, but it’s not that old,” asks the man.

“What is this about age? As a matter of fact I just bought it fresh off the assembly line a week ago. This car is a new design,” replies Jon, growing confused over the man’s use of “classic” and “restoration,” in his speech.

“Sorry fella, no need to be so sour,” responds the man, watching the two carefully as Jon retrieves his hat and they exit the restaurant.

4: Chapter 3

“From the sound of things on the radio, it may not be safe to be strolling out and about today, the two of us may be sitting ducks! The movie theatre up ahead is where the fallout shelter is, may be wise see if a crowd has gathered,” exclaims Jon, starting the ignition on the Corvette and driving down the street.

“Eisenhower High School? Yet another new building dotting the landscape,” exclaims Jon.

“Had no idea they named high schools after living presidents,” replies Jan.

“The theatre looks abandoned, as if it has fallen to disrepair and has not been used in years!” declares Jan as Jon parks the car and the two stroll up to the doors of the theatre. Finding that they have been locked shut, the two exchange glances including slight hints of trepidation.

“This traffic, it’s absolutely dreadful. What is it with all of these cars running amok with such boring, uninspired designs, they look like boxes with wheels, where did they come from? This is the type of lackluster style I would imagine they come up with in the Soviet Union, in fact I suppose men over there drive these aesthetic disgraces, that is if they can afford them,” scoffs Jon.

“Honey, what is that?” asks Jan, as the two turn their heads towards the sky, where a fighter jet rips through the clouds, soaring a mere several thousand feet off of the ground.

“It appears to be some form of military aircraft, only I have never seen anything like that, so loud and fast. It can’t be our own, but it can’t possibly be Russian,” declares Jon, clearly at a loss for words as if his brain has tied itself together in a knot. “This may sound crazy, but I do believe that I know what is going on. The unexplained swapping of buildings, some new and some gone, our strange interactions with the people, those prices, the way that man described my car, the alarming abundance of these strange automobiles and the even stranger aircraft flying above us in the sky. I have an answer to the question of why we have experienced so many strange things today. Are you that dense to understand what is going on? Port Huntington has become some sort of enclosed military community, a base for the war,” explains Jon.

“Jon, you mentioned that the cars look as though they were designed by communists. I have formulated a theory behind all of these strange things we have seen today. Maybe the cars are communist, maybe we are in another time, a different plane or some future time, could that not be possible? It would explain quite a bit,” reasons Jan.

“Honey, that sounds slightly farfetched, does it not?” asks Jon. “Come, we probably should not be here. These people have been sheltered for so long, no wonder they act strange. Scarce resources would explain the dramatic increase in costs.”

“What is that building over there? I have never before seen a parking lot so large, and nearly full with cars, look they are all congregating in that direction,” declares Jan, as the two return to the car in order to drive in for a closer inspection.

“Falling Stars Community Center Ma...cannot quite make out those last couple of letters. It appears to be some sort of gigantic fallout shelter. The owners of these automobiles must know something we do not about the attack. I’ll inform them of my military credentials and we’ll get to the bottom of this,” declares Jon as the two enter the mall.

Opening the doors the two step head over heels into the unchartered territory of the new world, amazed by the fashion, technology and pace surrounding them finding a vast variety of individuals walking and playing inside the wide corridors of the mall, cluttered with an inventory of shops of all shapes and sizes and varieties.

“These people are not hiding, why it hardly seems as though they are seeking shelter or taking refuge from any possibility of attack whatsoever. This is extraordinary, they have constructed an entire community inside of this habitat, complete with commercial outposts,” explains Jon.

“Yes but the people look rather crude and distasteful, if people do live and work inside these walls I must say their selection of attire is extremely tacky,” chimes in Jan as the two make their way throughout the mall.

“Would you look at that, a store titled ‘Music Wave’, you wait here my dear and I shall see if they have a record that is right up your alley, after all I did promise you a gift today,” reveals Jon, kissing his wife as Jan takes a seat on the indoor park bench.

“Can we go to the beach later? Susan is going!” cries a little girl seated behind Jan.

“Absolutely not, that is exactly how people get sick,” replies the older woman sitting next to the child.

“You should listen to her, polio is no fun at all. I had a bout of it myself as a little girl, and many people have acquired it while swimming,” interjects Jan.

“I think you’re cousin had polio, or that may have been meningitis,” exclaims the woman, confused as to the difference.

“So nice that you are spending time with your younger sister, taking her around this community center,” declares Jan.

“This is not my sister, this little princess is my daughter. Her father is babysitting her brother,” replies the young mother.

“I’m so sorry, you just look so young is all. Jon and I were high school sweethearts too, what does your husband do for a living?” asks Jan.

“Actually I don’t have a husband,” replies the single mother. “My birthday is next week, I’ll be seventeen. She generally sees her father on the weekend, but he’s seeing his new girlfriend tonight,” utters the young mother with a look of disgust on her face, cringing not nearly as much as Jan, struggling to shield her feelings of abhorrence.

“Good day sir, do you happen to have any Hank Williams records?” asks Jon to the music store employee.

“We certainly don’t have any records in here, we sell CD’s sir,” replies the employee.

“What on Earth is a CD?” asks a bewildered Jon.

“Compact Disc sir, you’ve never heard of a CD before?” asks the employee with a laugh.

“If we have any Hank Williams it would be in classical, its in the back there,” points the employee as Jon spends five minutes surfing through a sea of unknown music. On one television screen a heavy metal music video is being played, as Jon watches, attempting to decipher what he is experiencing. A second screen features a rap music video, as Jon becomes even more confused. A third screen proves to be the one that particularly amazes the man from another time, as he comes face to face with a flat modern flat screen television set with surround sound. “Couldn’t find the name,” explains Jon to the employee at the front of the store. “What type of programming was being displayed on those portable televisions?” asks Jon.

“Those were music videos. Yeah I know, they’re growing increasingly outlandish and ridiculous by the day, I agree with you there. I imagine that when you were younger your parents hated your taste in music?” replies the employee.

“Well...” responds Jon, thinking back to his parents and their dislike of the Big Band genre.

“See there you go,” replies the employee with a laugh. “Let me guess, you were really into disco?”

“Never heard of disco,” responds Jon with a look of confusion. “That other portable television set, that huge one, was that listed price accurate? $999.99? Who on Earth could afford that?”

“That my friend is a state of the art flat screen plasma television set. Anyways, you can check out our store website at ‘musicwaves33.com, might be able to find your precious Hank Williams on there,” replies the employee.

“Website? Don’t come where? What is a website?” asks Jon.

“A website, you know on the Internet?” replies the employee.

“What in tarnation is the Internet?” asks Jon.

“You joshing me man? A computer, you do know what a computer is don’t you?” asks the employee.

“Oh of course,” replies Jon.

“Back down to Earth now I see, great,” responds the employee, exhibiting another bout of laughter. “So do you have a computer?”

“A computer, in my own home? Don’t be preposterous,” exclaims Jon.

“Not sure I follow, but you may be able to log onto one at a library or someplace,” explains the employee.

“I haven’t the time to entertain such ridiculous conversation. Computers, now I know that we’re at some military installation,” whispers Jon leaving behind the music store.

5: Chapter 4

“You would not believe what they have in that store. Obscenely large televisions that were far too loud, and that music, it was nothing more than the sound of nightmares, they must use it on the communists to torture them,” explains Jon, sitting next to his wife as the two overhear another conversation between another couple discussing air travel.

“It was my first flight since the introduction of the new security measures. To just get on the plane I had to go through so many crazy security protocols. Not like how it used to be, when you could wait at the gate without a ticket and see your friends and family off. It will never be the same, now all of us will look cross eyed at each fellow passenger, wondering if they’re one of them,” reveals the man to his wife.

“Was it that much of a hassle? See, my wife here has never been on an airplane before. Scary to think that passengers sitting beside us at the airports may secretly be trying to bring us down,” interjects Jon, oblivious once more to the barriers in conversation at play.

“You said it pal. Was quite a bit of a hassle, they treated us like cattle as opposed to paying customers,” replies the man.

“Makes you wonder if there is a point to ever stepping foot on a plane again?” asks Jon.

“Sure there is, you still have to live your life. At the end of the day if they’re going hit you they’re going hit you, nothing you can do about it. I’ll see you,” replies the man as he and his wife rise up to leave.

Walking through the mall, the odd clashes between 1953 and the present continue as Jon and Jan comment on the stores and fashions. “These girls are wearing next to no clothing, and these children are running wild left and right, no discipline from the parents. Did you know that I happened to speak with a young woman, I thought she was with her sister, she was only seventeen years of age and a parent of two children out of wedlock,” explains Jan.

“1-800 DIVORCE?” declares an astonished Jon, after coming across a commercial advertisement. “A telephone number that encourages in procuring the destruction of the sacred institute of marriage?”

“Look over there! Are they holding hands?” asks Jan, pointing towards two men.

“Could they be friends?” asks a naïve Jon, as his wife glares at him, as if asking her “really?” with her eyes. “Okay, so it is unlikely that they are friends. I just have never seen homosexuals behaving so provocatively in public is all,” replies Jon.

“We need to call somebody, just to get my head on straight. Excuse me there; can you direct me to the nearest telephone booth? Hello?” asks Jon to a teenager casually walking by wearing headphones.

“That child completely ignored us!” announces Jon. “Hey kid, you there,” he asks towards a youngster.

“Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” angrily replies the teenager towards the man.

“Did you see that? He was carrying some sort of device, some sort of portable telephone machine?” exclaims Jon in stunned fashion. “These individuals know things about the war that I, as a Veteran, have never heard before, and a laundry list of advanced gadgetry, television, radio, telephones, computers, aircraft. This proves my theory; we have indeed stumbled into some community within a military base. There are no children playing outside anywhere, they are all in here running free, they must not be allowed outside,” reasons Jon.

“What about my theory? This advanced gadgetry as you call it, what if we did pass through some type of time window and are in the future?” asks Jan.

“Honey, if we were in the future wouldn’t there be flying automobiles soaring overhead along with pet robots walking about? There would be homes high above in the sky, in outer space!” declares Jon.

“Ask somebody what year it is then, I dare you!” replies Jan.

     “One, nobody has responded to my inquiries. Second, I will not reduce myself to such tomfoolery. What I am convinced of is that we do not belong here, and I wish to return home at once. Come, let us leave this forsaken place at once,” demands Jon as the two leave behind the mall...

     “Slow down honey, if this really is a base I’m sure these streets are littered with police, we don’t want to be seen!” exclaims Jan, as the thundering roar of a jet flies overhead.

     “See? Look at these planes flying above; we’re either inside of or near a military base. We’ll slow down as soon as we leave Port Huntington behind us,” he exclaims.

     No more than a mere matter of moments following the conclusion of that statement, the screeching sound of the siren startled the couple, as they peered into the rearview mirror finding the flashing red and blue lights of a police car, as Jon pulls off of Military Street.

     “Whew, lovely car you’ve got here. License and registration?” asks the officer, as Jon provides him with the requested information.

     “Do you realize why I pulled you over?” asks the officer.

     “Honestly, yes I do. Could have sworn the speed limit here was fifty, must have hit the coastal road quicker in my mind than in reality, eh officer?” replies Jon with a laugh.

     “No, that’s not it. This here is an enforcement zone, and you were pulled over because you were not wearing seatbelts,” declares the officer.

     “Come again? Seatbelts?” asks Jon with the now familiar look of confusion across his face.

     “Yes, seatbelts, you are legally required to wear them. Where are they, do you not have any inside of this vehicle? I don’t care what year your car is Mr. Morley,” explains the officer taking a glance at the driver’s license. “What is this, says hear your license expires in 1956? What sort of gag are you playing?”

     “I’m afraid I don’t follow?” asks Jon.

“What is your name?” replies the angered officer.

“Jon Morley, and this is my wife Jane Morley,” responds Jon, as Jan waves at the officer.

“Give me a minute, I’m going to run the plate,” replies the officer.

“Oh what now?” sighs Jon, waiting for a few minutes before the officer returns.

“Looks like the car is registered to a Phillip Morley.  Still have to give you a ticket for breaking the seatbelt ordinance. Install them on your car ASAP, when that time comes be sure to buckle up for safety,” explains the officer, providing Jon with a one hundred dollar ticket.

“What an outrage!” cries Jon.

“Enough, just go!” replies Jan as the cooler head of his wife prevails.

“Who is Philip Morley?” asks Jan.

“Never heard of him,” replies Jon with a shrug. “I’ve always been a fan of that name though.”

Turning onto the coastal road, the subtle golden glaze of the sun hides behind a sea of white as an overcast sky overtakes the scenery, along with the low, surface level clouds floating alongside the beach and the road. “Not this ordeal again,” exclaims Jon, driving the teal Corvette through the choppy vapors of fog surrounding the vehicle. Roughly five minutes pass before the car emerges through to the other side, where the warm caress of the sun along their skin has returned.

6: Chapter 5 and Epilogue

“Look! Finally, a familiar looking automobile, talk about a sight for soar eyes,” explains Jon. “All of this, it’s just as we remembered it!” utters Jon happily glancing around him, while Jan takes one last glance into the rearview mirror as the rolling fog fades from view and memory. “We need to stop at the Lighthouse Restaurant, my old service buddy Pete will inform us of just what transpired today concerning this war,” exclaims Jon.

“Sounds good to me, my belly is starving!” replies Jan as Jon parks the car before the two rush inside.

Inside sits Pete the storeowner, and the friendly and familiar sights and sounds of 1953. “Hey there Pete I am sure glad to see you. Wife and I just returned from a daytrip up to Port Huntington, didn’t realize that it became such a military base,” explains Jon.

“A what?” asks Pete grimacing his face in confusion.

“Let me ask you, was New York City attacked at 9:11 this morning?” asks Jon.

“Or Washington?” asks Jan.

“Not to my knowledge, and I’ve had the radio playing all day long,” replies Pete.

“No war in Indochina, Iraq or Afghanistan?” desperately asks Jon.

“Of course not, what in the Sam hell is this all about, this military base you experienced, up in Port Huntington?” asks Pete. “There has been talk about establishing an Air Force base up the coast, but those plans were merely in the developmental phase.”

“You may wish to sit down for a moment and get us some drinks. It was as if the town we were visiting was not Port Huntington, but someplace different, someplace strange. Almost as if we were there but it was someplace else. The people were very strange, they flaunted a casual sense of style that was revealing and ludicrous, there was music that lacked any harmony at all,” explains Jon sharing his tale.

“It must have been a simulation. I have read about places like this, we heard about them Pete back in the service. Experimental communities like this, where the protocol was to be on guard, to be on high alert, to always exhibit a state of readiness at all hours. The concept began following Pearl Harbor, and with the advent of the bomb it brought forth a second wave of renewed interest in the idea. They kept called them ‘terrorists,’ but I know that they were referring to communists, it was just a funny name, perhaps a code name,” reasons Jon.

“Could it have been an illicit enclave for communists Jon?” asks Pete.

“No, because they hated the communists too. Learned a good lesson today Pete. Whatever happens with this war, destruction or peace, whatever happens it happens, I am not the president negotiating any deals, it is out of my control. How those men, women, and children remain safe, the precautions taken of being in such a large fallout shelter-—they have community wide fallout shelters complete with shops. The way they act...is it worth it?” asks Jon.

“You wonder if it is worth living in such a place under constant military surveillance, where you trade freedoms under the guise of heightened security. I hope we never go there as a society. I never hope to return to such a place. Things were horrible there, the measures they took to avoid their foes, it makes me wonder...to think, all this time I’ve spent worried about communism, war with the Soviet Union, dying, but that place makes me wonder if living can be just as frightening. Raising children in a world of what might come to pass is living in a fantasy world of asterisks, as opposed to focusing on raising them in the world that is. I am not longer going to be preoccupied with thoughts of nuclear annihilation gripping my imagination; it’s not nearly as terrifying a thought as that place...”

     It’s a give and take game that is open to debate. Is the glass half empty or is it half full? As the sands of time continue drifting is the morality of the ensuing generations progressing or regressing, advancing or declining? The answer depends on your individual interpretation and personal point of view.

There is little doubt that the proliferation of pop culture and sexuality and globalization and other like terms and subjects has made the comparisons between the 1950s and the present a true example of a class of cultures within a culture. It may take some time to completely sink in, but Jon and Jan Morley are about to learn another practical lesson, that being how the more things change, the more they stay the same...

    

END