Chapter 1 – Sins of the Father

It was a scene I had only imagined as a child. My grandmother’s house bustling with people, the smell of freshly percolated coffee piping from her stove-top, the aroma filling the tiny apartment. How this space held her, her husband, and their dozen children, I couldn’t comprehend. My childhood had been the complete opposite – I had my very own room, open spaces to run and play, and our cupboards were always full. Which is why I chose to come here, to create a sense of ease, although not to alter the past too drastically. If I had learned anything from my previous slips, it was that there truly was no way to change the past, but there were elements that could be improved. So, that’s what I was going to do, I would make some improvements.

I sat at my grandmother’s dining room table, covered with the cloth which would one day become my own, my father’s dying words ringing in my ears, “It was you who saved me, Ronnie. Do not hesitate, do not fear, now you’ll have me to watch over you, just as you watched over me.” He squeezed my hand with a strength you wouldn’t expect from a frail, 91 year old, dying man. I had no idea what he was talking about that October night one year ago, but I nodded my head, tears tapping his hospital gown, as I watched him fade away. Sitting here now, I couldn’t decide if I felt a sense of peace or sadness. In a few hours this would all be gone, and I would return to a time when none of these people exist, but right here, right now, they were real.

No matter how many times I imagined it, no matter how many times I rehearsed it, nothing could have prepared me for the moment my father, well, the 17 year old version of my father, came through the door. I heard his voice at first, “Ma! I’m home!” It was a ghost, but unmistakable. I fought hard not to cry as I felt the vacancy in my chest widen and practically consume me.

“In the kitchen, Sonny!” she summoned. He appeared almost as quickly as he died, skinnier than the grown man I knew, and devilishly handsome, his Italian features newer than I had ever seen. He greeted his mother with a kiss before he even noticed my presence at the table. He looked at me for a moment and smiled his welcome, “Who are you?” he then asked, his  New York approach not to be confused with rudeness, only direct and to the point.

I fought the urge to jump up and hug him, as well as the urge I had to never leave, I was about to reply when his mother answered as she bustled about her kitchen, pouring coffee, preparing dinner, and tending to the needs of her infinite number of children, “She’s the daughter of your great uncle, I think. She says she’s a Rizzo, a cousin, on your father’s side.” I smiled and nodded my head, averting my eyes as to avoid any sense of true recognition. As ridiculous as it sounds, I couldn’t help but feel exposed, the family resemblance was obvious, but my features were softer than theirs, the tiny bit of Irish I inherited from my mother was a blessing among the stereotypical Italian noses and dark hair. But my eyes, my eyes were his, and the most revealing.

Funny how the past looks identical to the future, I mused, in an attempt to redirect my thoughts. I suppose it’s rather silly, but before I met Jonah, I could only imagine that the past took place in black and white, like the pictures I had seen. The reality is that October 20, 1941 looked relatively the same as October 20, 2017, with one exception, my father was still alive and I had something to tell him. 

Suddenly, I felt the need to run. Run out the door and back to the rat-infested storage space in the basement of the apartment building a few blocks down. In moments I could be back at Jonah’s time anchor and back to all things familiar. 

Only hours ago, Jonah set the date anchor and opened the portal. Thousands of bursts of electricity were sent through my body through a series of leads, although I had no real idea of how all of this worked. He had explained it to me a thousand times, but I never understood. It was a design by Nikola Tesla, which Jonah improved with modern technology. It was quite simple when you removed all of the mind-bending mathematics. It had something to do with the combination of magnetic fields, psychic energy, and a tiny thing called “electrocution.” It actually isn’t as bad as it sounds, although painful at first, by my third time, I had learned how to focus on the result, rendering the means of my travel, insignificant. 

Tesla nearly died when testing it, but he lived to tell of seeing the past, present, and future, all at once. However this contraption worked, I knew that I trusted Jonah’s genius, even if I was the only one who did. I believed in him. A remarkable scientist, he was, and I knew he was waiting for me right now. No, I had to put all of that aside. I forced myself to regain my mental composure and focus on the task at hand.

The Adulteress


Continuing to write fiction…one day at a time. 

If I were a different type of person, I could likely find a reason for such treason. I could blame my parents for being too strict, perhaps, in some cosmic sense, I’m to pay for the sins of my father…and maybe even the sins of my mother. But really, the decision to become an adulteress is not a conscious one. It is a vulnerable one. Men and women alike, there are few, if any, who move through affairs with malicious intent. Unlike those devilish “one-night stands,” affairs are a balm to soothe an aching heart, they fill those tiny voids in your heart that you never realized existed. They are an awakening, a realization, in a way. They force you to see your reflection with foreign eyes, the face is familiar, but the thoughts are entirely new. Nothing is sacred anymore, your beliefs, your morals, not gone, only changed. You find yourself asking, “What do you truly hold dear?” Then, you struggle even more, trying to reconcile the person you’ve become…or perhaps always were. 

Then, of course, you get found out. Perhaps through admission, or, more often, you get caught. Either way, the villagers will happily light the pyre beneath your feet, burning you for not adhering to their moral code. Yet as your soul drifts to some new dimension, you discover that the morality preached is seldom righteous. The villagers have their own dirty little secrets, their lives are a lie, and you have become their sacrifice to absolve their own sins. 

It was never a life goal to view relationships as disposable. I soon found myself asking, “When did loyalty become possession?” I was not in love anymore, my marriage had become a contract, my life one of obligation and possession. My shoulders had become weak from carrying so many burdens, sustaining verbal abuse, and floundering through countless failures. It is probably a bit easier to understand that my dalliance was inevitable. A hand was extended, offering to lift my burdens, a heart was offered to fill those spaces that had been recklessly abandoned. I’m sure, as human as you are, you might possibly offer some understanding. 

New Fiction

I’ve decided to start writing again…I don’t really understand why I ever stop. I suppose it’s because it drains me to think about topics and, then weave words that desire to be read. But here I go…again. 

“I am an adulteress.” I repeated this to myself, as I searched the reflection in the mirror for any sign that the woman I once was still existed. In just two short years, the youfulness had dwindled from my eyes, and began to show as a new dullness in both my skin and eyes reflected back to me. Apparently, all of the trials and tribulations I had endured in my first forty years didn’t take nearly the toll that just two years spent in the beautiful turmoil of passion provided. 

I suppose there is still a level of naïveté that demonstrates itself, even at the age of thirty-eight. Looking back, I could equate myself to a child, desperately seeking the comfort, the safe  embrace, only a parent could provide. At the time, I was as lost as a piece of driftwood, carried across the miles of open ocean, with no particular destination. All I wanted was a safe place to rest my weary heart. It was quite pathetic, in retrospect. But somehow, I convinced myself that nothing mattered, no sin too great, for the warm sanctuary of an equally aching heart would heal all indiscretions. 

A Walk Through Nothing


As I walked through the blank spaces in my mind, this thought occurred to me, offering some semblance of relief. I can’t say that I was fretting about my blank mind, I suppose I was just searching for…well…something, anything, that made sense, or perhaps was an epiphany. It seemed that as I grasped for each thread of thought, it simply unraveled. That’s when I realized – there were thoughts, but nothing with a solid foundation. Yet this moment wasn’t meant for concrete. It was meant for calm. There was nothing to discover or solve, it was simply time to be…so that I may have the fortune to create a sturdy stitch with the next thread of thought that enters my mind. 

A Sober Thought


In these moments I have found a greater appreciation for my solitary condition. These moments have forced me to stop running from my mind and give up the trappings of materialism. Had I never known love, I would not have found a true appreciation for the most simple weed and the vast abilities of the mind. Through love, lies the desire to know something greater, which can only be “the self.” It is not a matter of rejecting loneliness, it is simply realizing that my life has been one of distraction and indulgence, neglect. 

It is the plight of many to say that everything in our world has been discovered, mastered, and neatly packaged – but this is simply the lot of the lazy mind, which has been nurtured by a society with little regard for the spirit of beautiful wonderment. 

To seek is the greatest gift we can give ourselves.