Marilyn's Mindset

“Oh my God, she fell again! When will she ever let me do something about this?” She tucks the pill bottle into her large shirt pocket and then opens the door to find her mother on her hands and knees, struggling to get back to her feet. She was not seriously hurt, more embarrassed, but obviously in quite a bit of pain from the effort. “Oh, J-Jennie.” “Mom, did you hurt yourself?” “I tripped on my own bathrobe. I’m fine.” Jennie grabbed her mother around the waist and pulled her back up from the floor saying, “Here, put your arm around my neck. There. Got both feet under you again?” “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Whew!” “Your hip and back are bothering you again, aren’t they?” “Maybe just a little. Thank you. Thank goodness you’re bigger than I am. I must be quite a load.” “No, Mom, you never were. But you’re plenty stubborn. Mom --” “Now, Jennie, I know what you’re going to say just from that look on your face. No!” “In here?” asked Jennie, opening her bureau drawers and shuffling through them, searching frantically, not bothering to shut the drawer and moving on to … “The closet!” exclaims Jennie, hurling the two doors open and feeling along the top shelf. “Jennie, at least put things back the way you found them.” “I haven’t found what I’m looking for yet! But I will, Mom. And when I do, I’m going to … I know it’s in here somewhere.” “Oh no! You’re not going to -- Jennie!” Jennie starts pulling out boxes and even knocking books from shelves tossing the books onto the floor. “Jennie! Just look what you’re doing to this bedroom! Jennie, don’t do that! Stop it! Jennifer Samantha Williamson, stop what you’re doing, this instant, young lady!” Jennie stops what she’s doing and turns around giving her mother a very stern look. “Alright, Mother, where is it, then?” “My red diary? Forget it. I hid it and I’m not telling you where.” “You know perfectly well I’m not interested in anything in that damned diary of yours. Where’s that Golden Key?” “What Golden Key?” responded Norma Jeane, looking around the room as if she didn’t have a clue. “Your acting talents haven’t improved, either, in the last 20 years. Don’t play coy with me. Where’s that Golden Key to the underground chamber’s entrance to the Time Bubble?” “I’m not about to give you that key, but I’ll gladly give you the keys to the car.” “I’m not asking for the keys to the car. I want the Key to the Underground Chamber beneath this … place!” “Jennie, you should try to stay here in the 20th Century, in 1982, with your dad and me and your friends here in this century a little more than you have lately. You’re always running off to visit your grandparents in 2100.” “I’ve got real friends in 2100, Mother! Not here, not now!” “Look, in a couple more years, you’ll be a legalized adult and you can move away from here and live in the future if you want to. Neither your dad or me can say anything about what you do then.” “Your dad nor I, Mother.” “Your dad nor I, then. Either way, we want you to stay here with us -- at least more than you have been, lately.” “I’m not thinking about going into the future to visit Grandpa and Granny this time, for your information. “Eleven years of this! I’m sick of it and I’m going to do something about all of it!” complained Jennie. “Eleven years of what, Jennie?” “Of you hobbling around here with that limp from the accident in 1971. You won’t even let dad do anything about it, either, when you know perfectly well he or I could, too.” “Jennie, we’re not going to get into that old argument again, are we?” “Of that, you’re quite right, Mother, because I’m not going to be here in 1982 long enough for the two of us to start fighting about it all over again!” “Jennie, let the past stay in the past. What’s done is done. I-I’m doing fine. See? I - I can stand …straight up, on my own two feet…. if I try hard enough. See?” “1-2-3-4-5-6-7 … There! That hurt you doing it, didn’t it? I knew you couldn’t do it for very long.” “Ohhh … I-I’m just getting older. Arthritis. Arthur Miller-itis.” “Arthritis? Arthur Miller-itis, my ass. Which one hurt you more -- he or that last step you took?” “Why are you so insistent about trying to change the past? You’re as bad as I was before you were born.” “Tell me something, Mom, just between the two of us, without Dad here to take your side and try to talk me out of it, why are you so opposed to my trying to change it? You would have, at the drop of a hat, in your younger years.” “Penny for my thoughts?” “What?” “Do you have a penny?” “Just a second. There. Here’s one. Made in 1979.” “Un-huh. Now, whose likeness is that on your penny?” “History quiz, huh? Even I can pass this little test of yours, the 16th President, Abraham Lincoln.” “And how, where and when was he assassinated?” “One at a time, please! By Booth, at the Ford Theater on April 14, 1865. A head shot. Now, do I get to go? Before your questions get any harder?” “That’s right, a head shot. I met Abraham Lincoln, on one of my time trips into the past, back to 1862.” “I know. I’ve heard you tell it to Dad and me a million times.” “I only told you part of the story. What I never told you was that the next morning after I had spent the evening at the White House, I travelled further forward in time to April 14, 1865 to the Ford Theater and I intervened, stopping his assassination. I saved Abraham Lincoln’s life. He lived, but because he did, when I got back here to my own time, everything -- all the people, all the places and almost every major event in history had been severely altered. “Even I didn’t exist in the new timeline, because I had casually mentioned my first name, just my first name to a young child at a train station. “That young girl turned out to be my great-grandmother and your great-great-grandmother, Jennie. I named you after her, you know.” “You did? That’s where you got my name from, from my great-grandmother?” “Your great-great-grandmother. Two greats for you and one great for me. And your middle name, Samantha, comes from a man I met back in 1865 when I went back to correct everything by stopping myself from stopping his assassination. His name was Samuel Clemens.” “Not the same --?” “Yes, the very same man -- Mark Twain.” “You met Mark Twain, Mother?” “And your great-great-grandmother, Jennie, she was only eight years old at the time. Oh, she was just as much trouble as Sam was. He was a young man, back then, and I was quite a bit younger myself.” “You mean you --?” “Certainly not, Jennie! Not that I wasn’t tempted, mind you. I was older than Sam by about seven years, but don’t you dare tell your father!” “Alright, I won’t. But, there’s another reason I have to try to change 1971 -- Tommy Draper.” “Tommy? Now there’s someone I haven’t heard mentioned in this household in a very long time.” “Yes, Mom, Tommy -- our paperboy, years ago. I miss him so much! And I know you do, too. You and I and Dad never mention him, but he was just as much a part of our family. “Whether you’ve realized it or not, I’ve seen you every morning getting up very early since that time and looking out the window, half-expecting to see him coming by riding on his bicycle,” said Jennie. “With his usual ‘Looking better than ever, Mrs. Williamson,’. Yes, Jennie, I remember him, too. And, oh Jennie, the way you used to flirt with him was almost cruel.” “I loved that little guy, Mom. I never did get the chance to go on that ‘date’ of his he had planned for the two of us. Mom, I want that chance. I want him back! And I know you do, too. Unlock the full operation of the Time Bubble for me -- for both the past and the future, not just the future with a return only to this time. Let me go back to 1971. With the Time Bubble as advanced as it is now, I could--” “No, Jennie. It’s absolutely out of the question. Didn’t I just finish explaining to you what happened to me when I tried the same thing with Abraham Lincoln’s life?” “Mom, 1971 was...