Part 4 (1/2)

”How old were you back then?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed and focusing on the feeling.

”Lemme see,” Flip said. ”I was born in 1934. So in 1942 I waseight.”

My right arm was tingling now. I could feel the sensation starting to move across my body.

”Do you remember what it felt like to be young?” I asked. Both my arms were tingling now. It was such a pleasant feeling.

”Man, those were the days,” Flip said. ”It's true what they say, Stosh. Youth is wasted on the young. I sure wish I was young again. Like, say, eighteen. That was a good age. Boy, if I knew then what I know now, I woulda done things different. I woulda done a lotta things different.”

The tingling sensation was sweeping up and down me now, like a wave. My body was almost vibrating. I had reached the point of no return. I wanted to see what it looked like, but I didn't dare open my eyes.

”What would you have done differently?” I asked.

I never heard Flip's response.

I felt myself fading away.

7.

The Diner ”NEED SOME KETCHUP AT TABLE THREE!”

”Gimme one Adam and Eve on a raft! Make it to go!”

”One blue plate special! And a hockey puck!”

I opened my eyes. I was sitting at a booth in a diner, with waitresses hustling back and forth and the loud buzz of conversation all around. What a relief! At least I hadn't landed in a dark alley, or in some battlefield with bullets whizzing by my face.

Flip was nowhere to be seen. A teenage kid was sitting on the other side of the table, and he was staring at me.

”Who are you?” I asked him.

”What do you mean, who am I?” the kid replied. ”Stosh, it's me!”

”Me who?”

”Flip!”

”Get outta here!” I said.

The kid couldn't have been more than nineteen. Twenty, tops.

”You're not Flip,” I said. ”Flip is an old man.”

I noticed that Flip's suitcase was next to the kid in the booth. He looked at himself in the s.h.i.+ny metal surface of the napkin holder. His jaw dropped open. He touched his face and pulled at his skin as if he didn't think it was real. The kid took off his hat. He had short blond hair.

”Hey, I look good!” he said.

The kid was wearing the same clothes as Flip too. And they fit him!

”Where's Flip?” I demanded. ”What did you do to him?”

”Stosh, I swear, I am Flip.”

”Prove it,” I said. ”Who won the World Series in 1955?”

”The b.u.ms, of course. The Brooklyn Dodgers,” he said. ”It was the only year they ever won.”

”Well, everybody knows that,” I said. ”That doesn't prove you're Flip.”

”We live in Louisville, Kentucky, Stosh,” the kid said. ”I run a baseball card shop there.”

”Oh yeah? Well, why are you called Flip?” I asked.

”When I was a kid, me and my buddies in Brooklyn used to flip baseball cards against the wall. Stosh, you gotta believe me. I'm your Little League coach! We came here to see how fast Satchel Paige could throw a ball.”

It really was Flip! When I looked at his face closely, I could see a slight resemblance. But he was more than fifty years younger than the Flip I knew.

Then I figured out what must have happened. When I travel through time, I get whatever I wish for. One time I wished I was an adult, and when I opened my eyes in 1909, I was a grown man. This time, Flip wished he could be eighteen years old again. And he was!

While I was figuring it all out, Flip took off his jacket. He rolled up a sleeve and made a muscle.

”Hey, Stos.h.!.+” he said, admiring his bulging biceps. ”Check this out!”

”Okay, okay,” I said. ”Flip, will you knock that off? People are staring.”

I looked around the diner. It had those red stools that spin around. There was a jukebox in the corner. There were a bunch of pies in a gla.s.s container on the counter. It was just like one of those diners that are made to look like they're from a long time ago. Only this one really was from a long time ago.

”Hey, Flip,” I whispered. ”Did you see that waitress over there? She's beautiful!”

”Fuhgetabout that, Stos.h.!.+ What are we doin' here? I thought we were supposed to meet Satchel Paige.”

”Be patient,” I said. ”He might walk in the door any minute. Or we might have to go find him. But believe me, he's around somewhere.”

”Somethin' tells me we ain't gonna see Satchel Paige in this joint,” Flip said.

”Why not?”

Flip pointed to a sign above the restroom door. It said WHITES ONLY. Everybody in the diner was white, I noticed. It never would have occurred to me if I hadn't seen the sign.

”It's the 1940s,” Flip said. ”It's a different world.”

This was a world Flip knew from when he was a kid. He beamed from ear to ear when he saw something he remembered. ”Look, Stos.h.!.+” he said. ”Clicquot Club orange phosphate soda! I used to drink that stuff all the time back in Brooklyn!” He pointed out the old Studebaker and Nash cars through the window.

But mostly, Flip was admiring his new muscles. He was really built, and he kept flexing his arms and posing proudly.

”Will you quit that?” I said, ”It's embarra.s.sing, Flip! You're in your seventies.”