Based on a True Story

Saturday Afternoon, November 24, 1984

“I see you found my lighter,” Janer said.

“Holy Jesus man! Stop doing that.  Where the hell have you been anyway,” Boomer asked The Good Med Student Johnson.

Herman Johnson had a way of sneaking up on you.  Until today, Boomer and cube just assumed it was his buttery smooth gait.  In any event, it was pretty much impossible to get used to.  Janer had been missing for several months.  They had been last seen at the 6 West movie theater at Westroads mall in Omaha.  Janer was 2 people always seen together.  Herman Johnson and Burt Rasson. 

“Hey Burt,” Cube said as Rasson sidled up next to Johnson.  They did that.

“May I have my lighter back, please?”  Johnson persisted.  He was looking at the Zippo sitting atop Boomer’s new soft pack of Salem Lights. 

“Your lighter?  This is mine.  I found it fair and square.  Besides, if it’s yours, why does it say ‘Burt’ on … oh,” Boomer and cube finally realized who ‘Burt’ was.  But why was Johnson calling it his lighter?

“So why are you calling it your lighter, Johnson,” Cube asked.

“Have you ever thought about your future boys?  What you’ll be doing in 30 years?”  Johnson said all mysterious like.

“Hell no.  Jinx.”  Said Boomer and Cube.  Then Cube continued, “I suppose we’ll be sitting around, drinking some frosty cold beers.  High five, my man!”   And yeah, Boomer didn’t leave Cube hangin’.

Johnson was getting serious in a really creepy way, “Yeah, pretty good guess,” He said.  “But let me show you something.”

Then Rasson got all wide eyed with what looked something like terror, “Huh – uh.  No no no.”

“Don’t worry Burt.  This is one of the best lighters.  The January 8^th” 

“I’m going to show you guys something for taking such good care of my lighter, but first of all, do either of you golf?”

“Hell no. Jinx.” Said Boomer and Cube, “That’s for old fat guys.”

“What do you think you’re going to be in 30 years,” Johnson shot back, clearly losing some patience.

“Whoa there, slow down Herman.  I don’t think you should …” Burt began.

“You’re not paid to think,” Johnson glared at Burt.  Boomer and Cube didn’t want any part of a Janer fight.    Janer always got along.  Except when they didn’t.  Nobody had ever seen them fight.  At least nobody who’s still alive. 

So when Boomer and Cube wisely got up to leave, Johnson stopped them.  “Boys.  Why don’t you go back to the Card room?  I’ll see you in 5 minutes.”  They immediately obeyed.  What choice did they have?

Friday evening, November 23, 2012

“Are you sure you want another one Greg?  You appear to have had enough.  Besides, don’t you have to work tomorrow?”  Greg’s brother John (no relation) owned the little neighborhood bar in the Ak-sar-ben area of Omaha, called “Dino’s”  Greg was the golf pro at Elmwood Muni and had to be there from sunrise to sunset on Saturday.

“Stop worrying big brother.  Ain’t nobody coming in to golf tomorrow.  Cloudy.  High of 40.  Wind gusts out of the north up to 30.  Stunning college football matchups all day long.  You know how many tee times are reserved for tomorrow?  None.  Zip.  Zero.  Nada.  Auf wiedersehen.”

Greg’s breath knocked John back and slightly off balance.  Nonetheless, his brother wanted a drink.  “Last one bro.  You know you could get some walkins.”

“Walkins, schmalkins,” Greg said as his head went freefall onto the marble bar top of Dino’s

“Good night brother,” John said, bringing a blanky from the back room and draping it over his unconscious brother’s broad shoulders as he once again slept at the bar.  “I don’t envy you the headache you will have when you awake,” John said sweetly, referencing Greg’s favorite movie of all time.

Greg was wrong about no golfers though.  There would be exactly 4 people on the golf course the next day.  2 twosomes.  Both groups contending for the exact same tee-time.  It was weird.

Saturday Afternoon November 24, 1984

Boomer and Cube were sitting at the card table waiting for Johnson to sneak up on them.  Sitting on top of the table was a can of paint.  The boys thought maybe Chico was remodeling or something but still, it seemed weird that the paint would be sitting on the table.  There was a plain label on the can that said only “A Can of Paint,” which also seemed a little strange.  But these were ‘plain label’ days, so it seemed sort of reasonable, they guessed.

“Sorry about that, boys,” Johnson just appeared.

“Holy shit sandwiches!  Stop doing that!”  Cube pleaded.

 Ignoring Cube, Johnson asked the boys if they’d like to see what they’d be doing in the future.  Then there was this big long scene where they didn’t believe in time travel and Johnson talked at them and got them to partially concede that if they were correct, then there was no harm in humoring him, am I right?  Then they argued that there very well could be harm in humoring a crazy person.  Then Johnson talked about all the weird stuff that happened. Disappearances.  Marilyn leaving the scene of a Robert Duvall sighting.  Robert Duvall.  Renaud and the Zombies – which was in no way related, but it was still weird.

“What the hell?  There’s nothing to do around here anyway.  Why not,” Boomer said, exasperated as they finally agreed.

Johnson told them they were going to visit the future – exactly 28 years from today.  It’s easier in whole years, and when the calendars line up, he explained.  If you want to go to a different time or date, there’s more math because of something to do with the position of the earth, blah blah blah.  Boomer and cube weren’t really listening.  They were taking turns swinging the golf clubs Johnson had brought in.

“ … to keep the unit small enough so it could be concealed in a lighter,”  Johnson finished as Boomer put a gash in the ceiling with the 6 iron he was swinging.

“Hand me that can of paint, would you Cube,” Johnson pointed over to the table.

“You gonna paint a time machine, J?” Cube asked, handing the can over.

Both boys stepped back in response to the smell coming from the opened paint can.  It wasn’t paint inside.  It was whale fat.  “Have a nice round, boys!” Johnson encouraged as the scene shifted.

Saturday afternoon November 24 2012

“So what’s with the whale fat,” Boomer asked as he and cube unwittingly landed in the Elmwood municipal 18-hole golf course clubhouse, 28 years in the future!  Behind the counter, groggy, dehydrated and barely alive, was Greg the golf pro.  He thought Boomer was addressing him. And unfortunately, he was a little sensitive about his weight (because he was a big huge fatass).

“What did you say, you little punk,” Greg wearily challenged, raising a tired fist.

“Pipe down boss,” Cube’s cocky manner wasn’t going to help the situation.  Luckily for both boys, Greg got control of his temper and they once again narrowly averted a huge ass whoopin’, “He wasn’t talking about you.  Although … Ow,” Continued Cube as Boomer elbowed him to shut him the hell up.

In a robotic monotone, Cube said, "Take us to your leader."

"C'mon boys, whaddya need?" Greg just wanted to lay back down in the office.

“We’re here to do the golfing,” Boomer said.

Greg looked at the 2, doubtful, “You boys know how cold it is outside?” they didn’t.  But they suddenly realized how it was that Janer always managed to sneak up on people.   Time Travel.  Duh.

“Realize how cold it is,” is my middle name said Boomer to the satisfying bloodshot eyeroll of The Golf Pro.

Sighing heavily, Greg finally said, "Well, you'll have the whole course to yourself today."

Boomer said, "That's not what I heard.  Ow,"  This time he got elbowed.  

Meanwhile, across town …

Boomer arrived at Cube’s house at about 2 in the afternoon.  It was the Thanksgiving weekend and Boomer was in town for the holiday.  “So what’s there to do around here,” he asked Cube.

“Well it’s too cold to golf, so that leaves television and/or beer,” Cube explained.

“Hmm.  Too cold to golf.  Interesting.  I don’t think it's too bad.  In California, we have image of the rugged Midwesterner.  I’ll just have to go back and explain …”

“Hold up there, Boomer.  What I meant was – you’ve been in California for a long time.  I didn’t really think you’d be up for it.  Last thing I want is for you to go back home with chapped lips or something.  We Midwesterners have an image of Californians as well.”

“Hey – it’s me.  Let’s get to the links,” Boomer said.

“I’ll get the sunscreen,” Cube said, sensing with great relief they were about to do something uncomfortable, just because it was funny.  Oh and there really was nothing to do.  Some things don’t change.

Photo, Courtesy "Boomer from the past"

On the way to the Elmwood Municipal 18 hole golf course, Cube was worrying about something.  “What’s up, pussy?”  Boomer asked.

“Well, I mean, you think they’ll let us walk on?  It such a beautiful cold blustery grey day.  What if there’s a tournament or something?”

“We can at least check.  Somebody always backs out of tournaments last minute.  We can surely hop in there if we have to.”

As old Boomer and Cube opened the clubhouse door, they had to wait for a couple of kids just inside the door who were looking around like out-of-towners.  The kids just stared at Boomer and Cube for a minute until Boomer said, “You kids mind?  We’re going in.”

Snapping out of some hypnotic state, the boys blocking the entrance said “Oh sorry.  I guess we’re our own worst enemies,” as they chuckled and lugged their golf clubs to the first Tee-box.

“Couple of smartasses,” Cube observed, “I hope we weren’t like that,” he lied, admiring whatever mischief those boys were up to.  "I mean who golfs on a day like this?"

“I know, right!”  Greg the golf pro chimed in.  Boomer and Cube let that one go.  Greg was a little too old to be saying “I know, right!” -  He looked like more of a “To the Max” guy, but whatever (‘whatever’ never goes out of style).

“What happened to your forehead,” Cube asked Greg, looking at the bruise from when Greg knocked himself out on his brother’s bar.

“Oh I passed out drunk and hit a marble top bar,” Greg was way more honest than most people expected, “but hey, you should see the other guy.”

Boomer’s turn, “And by ‘other guy’ do you mean ‘your liver’?”

Greg suddenly got all pensive and shit, “Um.  Are those your kids out there on the first tee?”

The three of them looked out the clubhouse picture window at the 2 jackasses on the tee box.  One was doing jumping jacks.  The other, deep knee bends.

“At least not that we know about, hardy har har,” Cube said, mocking people who always make that joke.  Greg laughed way too much at that one.

“Can we get some cold ones from you?  I’m not going out there without some icy cold refreshment,” Cube declared, “2 Heinekens.  Boomer?  Ok, 4 Heinekens”

“If you get 5, the 6^th is free,” Greg said.

“Better make it 10 then,” Boomer upped the ante, “And lots of ice to keep it cold, please.”