With that, the farmer's face softened a bit. "Son, did you hit your head or somethin'?" he asked.
"I don't know," said Jon. "Just -- please, I guess I need some help. What's the date?"
The farmer replied, "It's, uh, March the thirtieth. 1960."
"19--" Jon put a hand to his mouth.
"Somethin' wrong? What do you think today is?"
Jon decided against telling the farmer that when he'd gone to bed, it was Monday, March 29, 2010. "Yeah, I guess that's about right," he said, with what he hoped was a disarming shrug.
"Hmm," muttered the farmer, scratching his chin. "Tell ya what -- I got some business in town. Why don't I take you to see my doctor, and you can get yourself checked out?"
"Uh, sure, I guess," Jon answered. He figured "in town" would be a better place for him to try to figure things out.
The farmer pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, and the two of them headed for the red Ford pickup in the dirt driveway of the farmhouse.
They got into the cab of the truck. Jon automatically reached behind his right shoulder for the seatbelt before realizing there wasn't one. "Name's Frank Saunders, by the way," he heard the farmer say, finally turning back around to shake the man's hand.
"Jon Madison," said Jon, and then, "Oh, I live right near Saunders Avenue."
"Haven't heard of that street. Not from around here, are you?" asked Frank, as he looked behind him to execute a reverse 3-point turn and drive out.
"Actually --" Jon started to say he was indeed from Lake Point, but then remembered that his high school was "Est. 1968," as one of the school logo said, and he guessed the rest of his neighborhood was about that old. "Yeah, not around here."
"Mind if I turn on the news?" Not waiting for an answer from Jon, Frank reached over and twisted the left-hand knob on the AM radio in the middle of the instrument panel, as he made a right turn out of his dirt road onto the 2-lane highway.
"-- and the vice-president is expected to return to Washington this evening," came a male voice from the speaker. "Meanwhile, at a speech to millworkers in western Massachusetts today, Senator Kennedy answered several pointed questions about religion, saying that if elected President, he will keep his Catholicism separate from the office; in other words, he said, he will take his orders from the American people, not from the Pope. Now this, for Winston filter cigarettes."
Frank turned the volume down and chortled. "Yeah, right."
Not wanting to get into a 50-year-old political discussion, Jon looked out at the farmland rolling past the truck, unconsciously holding on to the sides of his seat to make up for not being belted in. A sign for a highway junction went by: Route 28. Jon realized he knew where he was, but the intersection up ahead -- two 2-lane roads and a blinker light, with a gas station on one corner -- was totally unfamiliar. In 2010, it would be 6-lane or 8-lane streets; there was a McDonald's over there, and the gas station was a huge convenience store with a Subway inside, there was a Walmart over on that side --
Jon noticed Frank was slowing down. "Realized I needed some gas," he said, pulling in past the sign advertising the 18.9-cent-per-gallon price. "It'll just be a couple minutes."
Frank made no move to get out of the truck, which Jon initially thought was strange until he remembered what he'd seen in movies. A man in blue coveralls with "Ed" stitched above the breast pocket came hurrying over. "Morning, Mr. Saunders," said Ed.
"Morning," said Frank. "Fill 'er up."
"You got it," said Ed. Frank turned the radio back up to hear a sports report; Jon halfway listened to yesterday's spring training baseball scores as he watched Ed clean the windshield.
Ed raised the hood to check the oil. While Jon couldn't see out the windshield, he looked behind him and noticed that there was a telephone booth beside the gas station's service bays. It occurred to him that he could call his grandfather. Although -- he might not have the wishing rock yet. Wait, was he still in college in 1960? No, he didn't think so. He'd been out of college for a few years when he married Gram, which was in, what, 1962? Something like that. And he thought he would be in Chicago, maybe? That's where the wedding was, he was pretty sure.
Figuring that out was getting a little too complicated. Maybe instead of using the phone here, he should just go all the way into town with Frank and talk to the doctor.
