"In-da-Gada-Da-Vida, Baby"

It was fascinating watching my sister interact with her twenty year old future husband.  She was nervous and seemed a bit on the defensive, although it could have been left over irritation from the hotdog-in-face incident.  Whatever the case, the atmosphere between the two of them was charged with electricity.  My thoughts drifted elsewhere while they continued their flirtatious bickering.  I started thinking about a science fiction piece by Ray Bradbury called A Sound of Thunder.  It’s a tale about a group of men from the future who go back to the past on a time travel safari.  The hunters are warned not to disturb anything and to stay on the designated trail.  Of course, one miscreant traveler steps off the path, flattens a butterfly, and this small action alters the future.  I thought the story apropos, but I decided not to mention it to my sister at this time for obvious reasons.

Claudette’s unrestrained laughter broke my reverie and I snapped back to the present.  “Sis, what is so funny?”  She pointed to Sam who was self-absorbed in a daydream of his own.  His eyes were rolled back in his head and the contorted o-shape of his mouth made him look whacked out.  He was jamming on an air guitar and his legs moved like James Brown to some tune in the distance.

“Thomas, I didn’t know you were friends with the finest guitarist in the world, Samtana.”  We all laughed at my sister’s joke which seemed to break the tension.  She chose just the right moment to pounce.  “Hey guys, Paulette and I really want to go to the party.  We’re game if you are.”

Thomas stuck his hands into the front pockets of his beige cords and shifted his weight uncomfortably.   As he gave us both the once over his face registered concern.  “Well, the party is in an old beater house in the Haight and it could get really gnarly.  I heard they are going to have a couple of bands so the place will be crawling with all kinds of groupies and hippie types.”  

Sam chimed in.  “Yeah, and I bet there will be a lot of drugs too.  The fuzz will probably show up and bust everyone.”

Claudette decided we were definitely tagging along and nothing could dissuade her.  “Thomas, my sister and I are more mature than you think.”  She turned my way and flashed a quick all knowing smirk, but only perceptible to me.  “Seriously, you don’t have to act like Bonkers the Guard Dog because we can fend for ourselves.  Just point us in the right direction.”    

Thomas absently ran a hand through his sun-bleached surf-do as he contemplated a new plan of action.  He clearly wanted to make tracks but it appeared he couldn’t bring himself to move his feet.  For a minute he wore a bewildered expression and he looked like he could faint.  Suddenly, he shook his head as if discarding a scary thought.  “Wow, that was weird.  I thought I saw this big yellow dog running at me with its tongue hanging out.  I was about to block it from jumping on me but the doggy mirage just disappeared mid-leap.  Damn, it was like something right out of Star Trek!  You know, when Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock dematerialized.   Seriously, it felt like I was tripping out.  Sam, did you spike my Coke?”

Sam vehemently denied any wrongdoing.  “No way Jose. I’d never do that to you.  Dude, are you okay?”  They put their heads together and conversed quietly.  

Claudette looked shaken, not stirred.  Only minutes before she had mentioned the name Bonkers, their furry and perpetually smiling Golden Retriever who lived with them in the future.  She quickly leaned over and whispered in my ear.  “Shit, do you think I’m tempting fate by talking to Thomas?   Why did Bonkers make an appearance in this time zone?”  

I gave my sister a comforting pat on her shoulder.  “Hey, it’s 1969, anything can happen.  I mean really, here we are talking to a young babelicious Thomas from the past.  As for Bonkers, it seems fitting that he'd show up, hence his name.  Maybe we are experiencing some kind of bleed through from the fourth dimension where our past, present, and future lives are intersecting.  Hey, did you ever hear of “The Butterfly Effect?  Did you step on any butterflies recently?”

Claudette eyed me suspiciously.  “What are you talking about?  Butterflies?” 

The boys broke huddle and saved me from having to explain myself further.  Thomas’s color had returned and he appeared to be steady on his feet.  “I just want you to know that I’m okay, so no worries.  Let’s forget about the whole disappearing dog act.  It was probably something I ate that made me go temporarily loco.  Go figure.  Anyway, if you want to go to the party with us let’s get rolling.”  

We all hunched our shoulders in unison and agreed to follow the leader.  Sam had everyone turn around and then waved us forward. “Okay, right this way mademoiselles and monsieur.”  He took us on a circuitous route through the park and headed in the direction of the Haight.  I was excited about the prospect of seeing a real homespun hippie hoedown.  I’d seen pictures of the area in its heyday, and appreciated that the boys were brave enough to take two “fifteen year olds” along on a little H & A joyride. 

Claudette spied the infamous Haight-Asbury street sign before anyone else.  “Wow! That is so iconic.”  Sam and Thomas shook their heads in agreement, but for different reasons.  

We walked another block before Sam stopped us just shy of a towering monstrosity painted a robin’s egg blue. The sickeningly sweet smell of pot permeated the air and seemed to envelope the dilapidated old Victorian in its smoky tendrils.  We watched as the densely packed veranda undulated slowly under the weight of people coming and going.  The trendy sixties “costumes” and hairstyles gave the mise en scene a carnivalesque flavor.  Sam waved his hand at the crowd.  “Voila mes amis. Have you ever seen hippies in their natural habitat?

Thomas bit his lower lip.  “I don’t know about this place.  Everyone looks kind of messed up.  I mean, I guess anyone can go inside, right?

I ran past our little entourage and elbowed my way up the front steps.  The orange lacquered front doors were propped wide open by two grimacing gargoyles.  A stop sign painted with a swirling black and white optical illusion was positioned in the entryway to halt traffic.  Printed on the octagon were the words Go ask Alice, I think she’ll know!  I turned back and yelled loud enough so my sister could hear me.  “Claudette, follow me. I’m going down the rabbit hole.”  

Claudette shouted above the droning crowd.  “Paulette, please wait for us.”  She saw me hesitate and I motioned for her to come up.

Thomas grabbed Claudette’s arm.  “Your sister is crazy.  She shouldn’t go in there alone.  Can’t you make her stop?”

Smiling, she shook her head in the negative.  Without thinking, Claudette took Thomas’s hand and led him up the porch stairs.  The three of us stood together and looked around for our fourth comrade.  My sister frowned. “Hey, where did Sam go?  He was standing next to me a minute ago.”

Thomas searched the crowd but didn’t see his friend.  “He must have gone inside by himself.  I hope he doesn’t do something radical. He is pretty wild.”  Thomas became aware that he and Claudette were still holding hands.  For two seconds they sustained eye contact, and once again I felt an electric current pass between them.  They both released their grip at the same time but neither appeared to be embarrassed over their brief connection.  

I stepped inside the foyer and turned back to get their attention.  “Okay kids, I’m going in so follow me.”  Thomas put his hand on Claudette’s shoulder and guided her through the entrance.  Someone had kindly taped paper pointing finger signs along the walls to help lead partygoers to the garden.   

The house had a labyrinth of rooms we had to navigate in order to find the backyard.  As we moved through the hallway we slowed to peer into a few rooms as we passed.  The darkened living room was filled with a more subdued group seated on large over stuffed chairs and back-to-back couches.  Psychedelic rock posters (of now long dead rockers) covered the walls and each one glowed with an eerie phosphorescence.  Black lights had a mesmerizing effect and were “so sixties.”    We moved down the hallway and passed a bedroom with a hanging beaded door.  Inside, a circle of moaning naked people were entangled in one big group grope. I kept the line moving and was glad when another pointing finger led us into the kitchen.   

Claudette had pretended not to notice the nudes and made small talk instead. “This old place is a maze and we’ve just seen the downstairs.  I wonder if there is anything here we can eat without tripping the light fantastic?  I am starving.”  

Thomas walked closely behind her.  “We had better be careful about the food.  I don’t want to end up hallucinating again.   Seeing that dog kind of freaked me out.”  Claudette reached over and gently smoothed his hair.  He didn’t seem mind the intimate gesture one bit.

The kitchen was jammed with people who were laughing and talking loudly.  At least this group appeared to be coherent.  In fact, it looked like a bunch of young college students who had gathered casually in the quad before class.  I saw a lot of denim, paisley, and long hair.  They were drinking mostly beer and wine, although a few were puffing on joints.  In a dim corner, a hairy bunch of cerebral types sat around a large picnic table and passed around a cup of brown liquid.  

I turned to Claudette and Thomas. “Mushroom tea, anyone.” 

Claudette rolled her eyes at me. “How about a beer?”  She handed me a bottle of Coors that she’d fished out of a barrel. “Colorado Koolaid, my dear.  At least this stuff should be safe. Paulette, you should stay away from the tea.  Do you remember the last time we took mushrooms together? You saw a room full of tiny twirling fairies.”  We both snickered at the memory from long ago.

Thomas’s mouth dropped open and I thought he was about to scold us for talking about schrooms.  Instead, he put his hand out. “Hey under-agers, give me one of those beers.”  My sister threw him an icy cold one with a perfect right-handed pitch.  

After my second beer I had a nice buzz on and was ready to tackle the garden party.  I had not forgotten the octagonal sign in front hallway and my curiosity was still piqued.  I wondered if there really was an Alice, and if so, what exactly did she know?  We walked into a huge backyard just as the band started their first set.  There were a ton of people outside and many were starting to dance.  Thomas and Claudette veered towards the music.  He put his arm around my sister’s waist and lead her through the throng.  I spoke out loud to myself as I watched them disappear into the masses.  “Well, this is getting interesting.”  Scanning the area I noticed a small handful of people lined up along a side fence.  I walked towards the gathering and loitered behind the last person in line.  “Excuse me, I just arrived. What are we waiting for?” 

A tall young man turned around and looked questioningly into my eyes. “Man, don’t you know?  We are waiting to see Alice, Oracle of Ashbury. 

I nodded. “Thanks for the info.  Then I guess I’m lined up to seer her.”  

He didn’t catch my pun and continued talking. Ya, it’s Grace Slick’s party and she hired Alice to tell people’s fortunes.  Isn’t that far out?”  I heard she looks into your soul and tells you where it’s at.  

I peered around the three other people ahead of me.  Seated on a red velvet chair was a very petite and pale complected individual.  She was dressed in street clothes except for a purple turban bound around her head.  As she shuffled a deck of cards our eyes met.  It was her toothy grin that sent me quick stepping backwards. I felt unnerved as I tried to place her.  My twin had a mind like a trap and I knew she would remember Alice’s face.  I needed to find Claudette in a hurry before I had to step up to the plate and have my fortune served to me by the “Oracle of Ashbury.”  

Surfer Boy

He wore tight cords and a madras shirt - the uniform of a 1960s surfer boy.  His white blonde hair swept across his forehead and his freckles spoke  of many hours spent on the waves.  He looked about twenty years old - about a decade younger than when I would eventually meet him.

"Oh my God, Claudette.  It's Thomas and his surfing buddy, Sam."  I barely knew how to respond.  The Fresca and Twinkies sunk to the bottom of my stomach and I felt a little sweaty.

"Paulette, I think we need to leave, like now.  We need to hide."

"What?  What is the matter with you?"

"I don't think it's a good idea for me to mess with the sequence of the universe, if you know what I mean."

She paused to look at me.  "Look, if you are worried about meeting your husband too early, I really don't think there is anything to worry about."

"But you don't know that!  I could screw up everything.  I mean, look at me!  I did not get the looks at this age.  Did you notice the broken glasses?  How about the pimples?  When Dad let me get contacts and mom finally got me to the dermatologist, well, you know.  I started looking good - like you, obviously.  I mean since were twins.  Shit, Thomas takes one look at my 1969 self..."

"Stop!  Stop right there.  You are beautiful through and through whether you are fifteen or fifty.  And look at them," Paulette and I both glanced at Thomas and Sam, who were at this point standing on a nearby hill, passing a paper bag back and forth - consuming a libation of some sort.  "They are boys, really.  He won't remember this moment even if we do have a conversation with them."

"Oh, no, Paulette.  We are not engaging them in conversation."  I wagged my head back and forth several times and started to walk towards the park exit.  Paulette grabbed the back of my dress.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"Are you kidding?  I'm scared to death he'll be repulsed by my present teen state and remember said repulsion and then when we meet a decade from now, he will run for the hills.  No marriage, no kids, no life."  I looked down at my sandals and closed my eyes for a second.

"Oh shit, here they come."  Paulette put her fingers under my chin and whispered, "Smile," and then twirled me around.  Thomas and Sam were right in front of us.

"Hey, I know you," said Sam looking at Paulette.  "You hang out at the beach.  Are you friends with Sonny LaChapelle?"

Paulette replied that she and Sonny's sister were friends.  While they were going through the names of various acquaintances, I studied Thomas.  He wasn't looking at either Paulette or me, but rather, he was surveying the crowd and looking bored.  He was so boyish; when I met him in 1978 he wasn't nearly as lanky or freckly.  But, he sure was cute.

I took my eyes off Thomas and took in the scene around me - the music, the smells of hot dogs and weed and the wind kicking up the limbs of pine trees. I started to feel a little less terrified.  Thomas and Sam were at the park to listen to music and drink beer.  They had no interest in a couple fifteen year olds.  I felt my breathing return to normal, but then -

"Hey, you guys want to go to a party?"  Sam asked.  I snapped my mind back to the conversation and blurted, "No."

At the very same moment, I watched Thomas lean into Sam and say, "What are you doing, man?"

Paulette, also at the same second, looked at me and said, "Let's roll, huh, sis?"  I pulled her to the side and urgently whispered to her that we weren't going to any party.  For God's sakes, we were too young to be going with these guys to a party.

Suddenly, Sam sprinted over to the hot dog stand and said, "Whoa, these dogs smell good.  I just realized I'm hungry.  Thomas?"  Thomas loped over as well, and we followed.  "Wow, 50 cents.  I can't believe they charge that much for a hot dog."  Sam and Thomas both laid out a dollar each.  And they both nearly swallowed their first dog whole.

"I guess you guys were hungry."  I don't know what compelled me to speak at that moment, but once I did, I didn't feel as scared.  Thomas looked at me for the first time since we'd encountered them.

"Hey, I don't think I caught your names.  I'm Thomas."

"I'm Claudette and this is my sister, Paulette."  Paulette gave a little wave and started laughing, which got me to laughing.

"What's so funny?"  Thomas grinned crookedly and then I saw a familiar expression cross his face - one that told of impending mischief.  He hadn't taken a bite from his second hot dog; he pointed the dog very close to my face and forced the wiener in and out of the bun.  He did this several times, all the while, chuckling and looking to Sam for an audience.  Sam laughed and started doing the same thing with his hot dog.

I pushed up my glasses to stare at Thomas more acutely.

"Wow, you are being an ass."  Paulette's expression was grim.

"You squeakers are so up tight.  Jesus, lighten up."  Thomas' laughter had died down, but then Sam started sliding the dog back and forth once more, and they both busted up again.

I had had it.

"So, like, are you indicating you'd like to have sex with me - a squeaker?  Is that it?  Are you into underage sex?  I mean, you are twenty years old, right? Is that how you get your jollies? Hmm?"

The laughter stopped and Thomas' jaw hardened.  "What ..."

I cut him off.  "Look, I don't think it's funny.  I think you are acting incredibly stupid for someone so smart."  I felt as if thought I'd been running several blocks - my breathing was heavy and my heart was pounding.

"First off, how do you know how old I am?"  I started to say something, but he cut me off.  "Just wait.  You don't even know me."

"Well, I know that your behavior is inappropriate."  I could see Paulette in my periphery, looking bemused.  "But I guess, being inappropriate isn't the end of the world."  I frowned at him, pushed up my glasses, and looked off in the distance.  Little tufts of fog were starting to skirt the tops of the pine trees.  I didn't have a sweater and the breeze was brisk.  I looked at my sister and wondered what was going to happen next.  I also wondered if  meeting Thomas at this juncture may prove to be edifying.

"So, where's this party?"  I heard myself ask.

“The Times They Are A- Changin’

~1969~

My sister and I couldn’t stop staring at our faces in the mirror.  Our initial reaction of shock quickly gave way to amazement and a fond remembrance of those bittersweet bygone days.  As newly “restored” adolescents our images reflected a genuinely sweet and guileless quality that is owned solely by the young.  It was uncanny to physically look fifteen again and yet even more incredible to have our adult intellect still intact.   The old saying, “If I only knew then what I know now,” came to mind and I wondered how we’d put that “hypothesis” to the test.”  I turned towards my youthful twin to share my excitement.  “San Francisco in '69 was... I mean, it is the nucleus of all that is happening and groovy.   Welcome to “where it’s at,” baby! 

Claudette listened with a neutral expression and didn’t seem to share my overt enthusiasm.  “Well, at least we’re back in a more familiar time zone and one we actually lived in.  Now don’t get me wrong, I think the Roaring Twenties kicked ass as an era.  I’m just glad to be moving forward along the timeline because as it stands right now, we are forty-one more years closer to home.”  She drew in a deep breath and let out a peep of a sigh.  “Oh, and I do agree that San Francisco was the “it” place in the sixties.  If someone wanted to step out of their proverbial box and into the wild....well, it sure was a jungle out there.  

I nodded. “Both eras rocked the radical, that’s for sure.  It is hard to believe sometimes how young we were during the whole 60’s shebang.  You and I were just barely teens in ’68 when the “anti-establishment” crusade was in full swing.  I remember when the national news showed Jimi Hendrix playing The Star Spangled Banner at Woodstock, dad nearly kicked in the television.  I’ll never forget the indignant expression on his face.”   

 “True, he really despised our music.  However, I think it was the entire decade of changes across the board that shortened his generation’s lifespan.  I’m still sad that in my youth I didn’t have a clue what the 60's “counter-culture movement” was setting in motion.”  Claudette pounded her fist into her other palm for emphasis.  “Revolution, evolution, institution, constitution, demonstration.... !”

I tried to redirect her stream of consciousness.  “Hey, aren’t those lyrics from The Beatle’s song Revolution?  Or maybe it was The Temptation's Ball of Confusion.   I  raised my voice a few octaves higher and quoted the Temps by singing, “Just a ball of confusion, that’s what the world is today.”  

Claudette ignored me and continued to furiously unpack her thoughts. “I only hope we aren’t heading for devolution in the near future and I mean in the new millennium.  And don’t ask me what I think about our so called counter-culture now ..in 2011!”  

 “Girlfriend, I hear you loud and clear.” I wasn’t going to risk asking my sister anything in her present mood.  Claudette had become extremely agitated and it always happened when she was hungry.  The last time we ate was, hummm, way back in the 1920’s.  I needed to locate some food and fast before she completely decompensated.  We stopped outside the bathroom to get our bearings.  The doctor who had attended us earlier was standing near the medical tent smoking a cigarette.  We waved and gave him two thumbs up.  Dr. Welby stubbed out the ciggy and saluted us before retreating back into his temporary hive.  Apparently, he thought we’d sufficiently recovered enough from our “experimental drug ingestion” to enjoy the rest of the day, unlike his other buzzed patients inside.   The joke was on him though as we hadn’t taken any drugs at all...unless Lapin and slipped us something in our cocktails back in the 20’s.  I put that thought on a back burner.

Claudette pushed me from behind. “Come on, let’s dive into this mess of flesh.” She pulled me in the direction of the field where a sea of bona fide hippies wearing bell-bottomed jeans, tie dye, and other assorted 60’s attire had amassed.  The polo grounds looked like a three ring circus on Nickel Night.  A throng of tangled folks stood in front of the empty stage and swayed in unison as if one hairy breathing entity.  They still kept movin’ and groovin’ even though the band was on break.  A disheveled hippie teen in a red velvet top hat shoved something into his mouth as he stumbled past.  Claudette observed the motion and briefly considered tackling him.  Instead she yelled, “Hey man, where did you get the food? My sister and I haven’t eaten in like.. forty years.”

The shirtless flower child stopped in his tracks having heard my sister’s plaintive cry.  He attempted to greet us by tipping his top hat but couldn’t seem to locate his head. The sight of twins must have been doubly confusing for him in his present spaced-out state. Like a cheeky monkey in the zoo he scratched his privates and gaped at us shamelessly.  While keeping his bloodshot eyes trained on our faces he returned to gnawing on whatever he clenched protectively in his right fist.  As he chewed mechanically dribbles of macerated brown goo escaped from his mouth and splattered onto his bare chest.  At the end of his dining experience he groaned in ecstasy as he licked each finger and his palm clean.  

Claudette was angry (starved) and it looked like she was going to snap his ass in two.  “Listen numbskull, I told you I need to eat.  Tell me where they sell food around here before I squish my thumbs into your eye sockets!”

I stepped in front of my sister before she throttled the poor bonehead.  In an attempt to get his attention I clapped my hands loudly by his ears.  “Hey bud, where did you get that greasy possum pie you just snarfed down?”  For some reason my words must have computed because he pointed to a school bus a few yards north of yonder.  

Claudette barred her teeth and bowed in mock gratitude.  “Thanks, you friggin’ loadie.”  

We were in the process of leaving when the hippie dude yelled something incoherent in our direction.   “Grobbs und kidkn poss, noooooo.” 

I thought he was speaking German until I realized he was in the midst of freaking out. We stopped where we were and watched as his face turned a ghastly shade of gray.   He started sniffing wildly at his hands like a dog in search of a scent. A second later, he looked cross-eyed as he stared down his nose at his own tongue which appeared to be moving involuntarily in and out of his mouth.   When he dropped to all fours his shoulders started to roll and I knew that vomit wasn’t far behind.  I took several steps backwards to protect my shoes.  “I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned the word possum.  I guess there’s nothing like the power of suggestion, eh sis?”  

Claudette put her hand over her mouth. “Oh no, I have to get out of here before I start to gag.  I can’t stand watching people hurl.  Please let’s go.”  She grabbed my hand and we made a direct beeline for the bus.  

The aged behemoth was parked sideways and its original school bus yellow color was long gone.  It was now a thing of “art” painted in a quasi-Peter Max style, canvased over with psychedelic swirls of turquoise, red, and green.   One long lone table was stationed in front of it and offered an enticing array of packaged munchies.   We quickly amassed a pile of our own and sustenance was just a bag’s reach away.   Obviously there was no bottled water as it hadn’t been invented (marketed) yet.  I grabbed two Fresca’s and opened them with a church key I’d found hanging on a nail.   We stood around for a few minutes and waited for someone to wait on us.  I called out, “Hello, is there anybody home?”  Nobody answered, no curtains parted, nor did anyone appear after I’d knocked.  I looked at my sister and knew there is only one thing left to do.  I yelled, “run Claudette run.”  We bagged the food and beat feet!     

Claudette had eaten several bags of chips and was working on a cookie by the time we reached the hub of hippiedom again.  After she had washed back the dry snacks with a few slugs of soda her color had finally returned.  She wiped her hand across her mouth and smiled. “Damn, I’m on a junk food high.  That was good stuff.”

I watched as she pawed through her stash.  “At least you didn’t grab any pink Hostess SnoBalls.  You finally remembered that I don’t like coconut.  I do see that you snitched a package of DingDongs.  Speaking of DingDongs, do you think that’s what the hippie kid was chompin’ on before he upchucked?  It’s not um..im..possumable.”  I laughed at my juvenile joke but Claudette waved the thought away in disgust.

We walked into the middle of the concert crowd where everyone seemed to be enjoying various stages of intoxication.  An array of stoned merrymakers clowned around and busily annoyed other fellow concert goers like ourselves.  A topless blond with peace sign decals stuck over her nipples screamed as one of her pasties was hastily removed.  At exactly the same moment a shrieking whistle abruptly escaped from the standing microphone situated mid stage.  Both high-pitched sounds pierced a multitude of eardrums far and wide, including my own.   A man appeared from behind the the drum set and adjusted the mic before making an announcement.  “Hey man, hang in there.  Airplane’s coming back to finish their second jam in a few.  So all you freaks out there mellow out.”  The happy and high horde of music worshipers roared with pleasure at the news.    

Claudette leaned towards me and said, “The natives are restless tonight.”  We both laughed as our father had used that quote frequently when we were growing up.  He was so not “PC.”

“Sis, let’s ditch these knuckle draggers and move closer to the front.  My dream of seeing Grace Slick perform live is about to come to true.”  Claudette and I hooked arms and waded through the thick audience in a slow moving snake-like progression.  Joints passed by us every which way and the sweet smell of weed permeated the air.  Most of the anesthetized folks barely reacted when we kindly stepped in front of them in search of an unimpeded view.  

Claudette put her hand in the air and pointed upwards just as we’d positioned ourselves in the most perfect spot. “Look Paulette, this is so awesome!”  The male band members were already in place when Slick sauntered to center stage and picked up the microphone.  

“Grace Slickkkkk!” I’d screamed her name out loud and felt like a drooling groupie, but I couldn’t help myself.  In front of me stood my favorite iconic rock goddess dressed in a dark blue kaftan and lace-up boots.  Slick’s signature dark hair/cropped bangs framed her face and made her soulful eyes appear even more penetrating.  She stared at the crowd and commanded their attention before belting out Somebody to Love in her lusty mind-blowing contralto vocals.  The band followed with She has Funny Cars, Embryonic Journey, and ended with the riveting ballad Comin’ Back to Me.  I felt like I’d melted from the power of the music and the heat of the crowd.  Even when I was really truly fifteen years old their music had a profound effect on me.  In my perspective, Jefferson Airplane’s music captured the end of the 60’s, a decade of tumultuous changes, crossroads, and new frontiers.  In that moment, I felt that those around me had the same passionate foreknowledge...  that times were indeed “a changin’.”   

Claudette interrupted my reverie by pointing excitedly. “Oh my God! I can’t believe it. Look who is standing over there and he’s not alone!” 

I shook my head in disbelief and laughed. I took this sighting as a very positive omen. 

It's About Time

My eyes were still closed, but I could tell it was way too light and way too loud outside.  I stretched from fingers to toes before cracking open an eye.  Grace Slick was wailing that I needed someone to love, and Ben Casey was in the corner munching from a bag of Laura Scudder potato chips.

"Paulette?  Who's the Doc in the Box?  And why are we in a tent?" 

"Oh my God, Claudette.  I think we have jumped ship again.  This time to 1969!  We are at a concert in the park - Golden Gate Park. The doctor says we dropped some acid, or something. Crazy, huh?"  She was in her cot and I, in mine.

"What the fuck?" I exclaimed and threw my hands, palms up.

"Young lady!" boomed Dr. Potato Chip, "that's quite a mouth you have on you."  Since when did a hippie dippy doc sound like Dick Nixon?  "You shouldn't use curse words."

Both Paulette and I stared at Marcus Welby for a moment.  "Okay, Dad," I said.  But what I thought was have some respect for your elders, Doc Holliday.  "What a jerk off," I whispered to Paulette, who started laughing.  I was still fixing my most sullen look upon Dr. Not So Steamy, when it dawned on me that I wasn't wearing my contacts.  "Paulette, it would seem in 1969, unlike 1906 or 1924, I no longer wear contacts. This is all so weird. Do you, by any chance, have my glasses?"

Hawkeye Pierce piped up, "I found your specs in your pocket."  What was he doing squirreling around in my pockets?  Perv.

"Oh, thanks."  I took the glasses from him.  I recognized them immediately as mine, but from a long time ago.  I turned them about and saw the rhinestones in the corners, the pale green patina and the telltale white tape that held the arm to the frame front.  Yep, those were my glasses, all right.  

I mumbled, "Hmm," as I peered through my glasses at my twin.

"What?"  Paulette was reclining and rubbing her temples.  Her eyes were closed.

"Well, these glasses - my glasses - are the ones I wore when we were in ninth grade.  You know..." I stopped mid-thought.  "Paulette!  You look so young, like you are fourteen or fifteen.  I mean..."

Paulette cut me off.  "Oh, you are so full of it.  But thanks for the compliment.  That's sweet of you."  She sighed and rolled to her side, keeping her eyes shut.  She was wearing a green hip hugger skirt with a wide white belt, a flowered baby doll top, and tan huarache sandals.  Her long blond hair hung loosely and was parted in the middle.  Her freckles were scattered along the bridge of her nose.

"I think we need to find a mirror."  I grabbed Paulette's hand, pulling her from the cot.  "Hey, Dr. Kildare," I hollered, "where are the bathrooms?"

"Just out the tent flap and to the left.  You can't..."  Dr. Seuss was still blathering, but we had already hit the exit, and made our way to the restrooms.  There were a bunch of hippie chicks standing in front of the mirrors, applying makeup in such a way as to make it look "natural,"  but I figured age before beauty and elbowed my way through the girls and the smoke.  Paulette and I examined our reflections in the mirror, neither of us saying a word for two seconds.

"OH MY GOD!  WE ARE FIFTEEN YEARS OLD!"

“And if You Go Chasing Rabbits.....”

Chaplin’s hand had crept above my knee just as I heard a high pitched scream from the tiers behind us.  The woman who shrieked must have read my mind as I was about to do the same to stop his lecherous groping.  When I turned in the direction of the commotion above I saw four burly men carrying a sagging form towards the lobby.  A tall brunette in a sequined gown walked haltingly behind the group.  The dimmed theater lights faintly reflected off her dress as she disappeared behind a curtained doorway.  The movie stopped rolling and the organist had arisen once more to soothe the disquieted crowd.  It wasn’t until I faced forward in my seat that I realized Claudette was gone.

Chaplin was chatting to someone on his other side when I tapped his shoulder.  “Excuse me Charlie, did you see my sister leave?”

He looked at me and raised his famous eyebrows.  “My dear, did you say you were going to heave?  Champagne does that sometimes.”

I shook my head.  “No, I asked if you saw my sister leave.

He answered nonchalantly.  “Yes, I saw her slip out of here right before all the yelling began. It looked like she was following a small man, an usher perhaps.”

I gathered my things to leave when he clutched my wrist to stop me.  “Why don’t you stay a while and finish the movie.  We can go back to my hotel room later and order some real cocktails.”  He swirled his champagne glass and knocked it back in one gulp.  “No more of this fuzzy French shit.”

I stood abruptly and extricated myself from his hold.  “Honey, I’ll be right back.  I need to go powder my nose.”

Chaplin shot me one of his famous twisted grins and slapped the chair beside him.  “I’ll save your seat.”  I could feel his eyes all over me as I escaped down the stairs.  Two lascivious Charlie’s in one night were one too many.

I hurried into the lobby and ran into a sea of people surging towards the bar.  Caught in the gridlock I bobbed along amidst the crowd unable to reach the front door. As I was swept forward I heard snippets of conversations all around me. Most folks were talking about the man who’d collapsed.  Apparently, Adolph Spreckles, Jr. and his wife Alma had just settled into their seats when he slumped forward. Two buxom women in chiffon and crepe chattered as I waited for a chance to bolt.  A strapping redhead leaned towards her friend and whispered out loud.  “Well, I can’t imagine anyone calling their husband “sugar daddy,” even if he was a sugar baron.  It’s simply vulgar.  Eunice, did you know that Mrs. Spreckles posed in the nude?  Her husband was twice her age.”

Eunice, the smaller of the two, made a face like she had smelled something sour.  “Mildred, you always know all the delicious details.  Look at that tart crying crocodile tears while they stuff her poor dead husband into the back of that ambulance.”

Suddenly energized, I reversed my direction and elbowed my way past the mass of tuxedoed men and corseted matrons.  I finally reached the exit and passed by Mrs. Spreckles on my way out.  She stood by watching and weeping into her silk handkerchief.  I couldn’t help but feel badly that she maligned by gossips whom she had probably never met.  Our eyes met for a moment and I gave her a sympathetic nod as I walked past.

Once outside I was dumbfounded and at a loss.  Where was Claudette and who was the mysterious little man in black?  It wasn’t like her to leave me high and dry especially under these precarious circumstances.  Somehow though I knew instinctively that she’d left a clue behind.  As quickly as the thought materialized I saw a small white card lying on the sidewalk.  I retrieved it from the ground and smiled already knowing that it was Mr. Harry Lapin Blanc’s business card.  Fortunately, Claudette had dropped this breadcrumb for me to follow.  I asked the man at the theater’s taxicab stand to hale me a cab and I didn’t wait long.  An old Ford taxi chugged up and I slid into the backseat.  “Take me to 329 Liddell Street and please hurry.”  The taxi pulled away from the curb and I turned back once to glance at the fading Castro theater. I knew that I would see it again in real time, or should I say, reel time?

The cabbie adjusted his mirror so that I could see his eyes.  “Hey lady, just so you know Liddell is in an iffy part of town.  You OK with that?”

I leaned forward and spoke to him over the seat.  “I’ll be fine and thanks for your concern.  I’m trying to find my twin sister and her friend.  I know this is a shot in the dark, but did you see a tall blond and a short fellow in a black tux in front of the theater?  It would have been about a half an hour ago.”

He slapped the dashboard as if to get my attention.   “I thought I was going batty when I saw you on the sidewalk.  You looked just like the pretty blond dame I dropped off about twenty minutes go.  Sorry, I didn’t mean to get too personal.   I let her off in some alley near Liddel Street and she was with a small ghost of a guy.  You were wearing a different colored dress so the puzzle pieces didn’t match up.  I notice these kinds of things in this business.  Who knew I was actually seeing double.  Twins, right?”

I gave him a weak smile and nodded.  “Listen, it’s important that you drop me in the exact same spot where you left them off.  I must find my sister as soon as possible.”

The cabbie adjusted his hat and tapped the steering wheel.  “You got it, lady.”   He remained silent for the remainder of the ride, until he took a sudden left turn and the car rolled to a stop.  “Here ya go.”  He stuck his hand out of the window and pointed.  “When I dropped those two off they went under that archway over there and ducked into that brick building. Be safe now.”

I leaned into the car and paid him the fare plus a generous tip.  “Sir, you are an observant man and the only normal person that I’ve talked to all tonight, aside from my sister.  I am so grateful.”  He tipped his hat and sped off into the night.

Lidell street was dark and deserted but I wasn’t afraid.  I inhaled deeply and tried to regain some composure before I searched for my sister.   A line from Grateful Dead’s song, “Truckin,” Lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it's been, spontaneously slipped out of my mouth like one long moan.  I sing when I’m nervous, old habits die hard.   As I knocked on apartment number 329 I spoke out loud to myself, “Mr. Harry White Rabbit you had better be home.”

I noticed the door was painted in red enamel and that the same Chinese symbol from Li’s “Shanghai” entryway was positioned above it.  I wasn’t sure if seeing it here was a good thing, but before I had a chance to contemplate further the door opened.  Standing in front of me was a very petite and pale man.  Before I could say anything he waved me in.  “We have been waiting for you Paulette.  Quickly get inside, hop to it, hop to it.”  He reached up and tugged me through the opening then slammed and bolted the lock.  “Claudette is fixing us some drinks in the kitchen.  Come sit down, sit down.”   

Lapin-Blanc invited me to take a seat on a compact sofa then he perched on a footstool nearby. I surreptitiously glanced around the room for details, clues, or any indictor as to why we had ended up in his apartment.  Every square inch of the room was filled with furniture, books, paintings, pillows, figurines, and objets d’art exraordinare. When he spoke he scrunched his nose which made his two front teeth appear even larger.  His words were accented with a slight lisp. “I see that you are admiring my collection.”

I wasn’t sure what he was talking about since everything he possessed seemed to be a collection of sorts.  “Ah, Mr. Lapin-Blanc I’m just curious how...”

He quickly cut me off.  “Paulette, don’t be so formal, no formalities here.  Please, you must call me Harry.”  As he gave me a friendly scolding he nervously took off his glasses and swiped them clean with a cocktail napkin.  It was then I noticed that his eyes were rose colored and I mean the iris part.   A politically incorrect thought popped into my head,  albino midget.  Of course, I let it pass and tried not to stare.      

Thankfully, Claudette appeared with a tray of drinks and placed a martini in front of me.  “Well, hey sis, glad you could join us.”  She faced Lapin-Blanc and handed him a drink.  “Harry, I hope you don’t mind that I added a spot of cranberry juice, I know how you love the color pink.”  I caught my sister’s eye momentarily and she raised an eyebrow in response.  She also had prepared a tray of crackers and cheese with a side of vegetables.  I was ravenous and could hardly contain myself from devouring the entire plate.  I took a handful of each before passing it to my right.

  

Claudette squeezed in next to me on the sofa and we sat mashed together like Siamese twins.  We lifted our glasses and toasted, “Cheers Harry.”   Our drinks were consumed in two gulps. She immediately poured us seconds from the perspiring pitcher of cocktails that rested on the wooden coffee table.  After a few more sips I felt blanketed in a warmth of euphoria, anesthetized by the velvet hammer known as a vodka martini.

My sister was ready to resume an earlier conversation.  “Harry, I don’t know if we can ever unravel this time travel conundrum but you said you might be able to help us.”  She turned to me.  “Harry said he knows who the players are in this game.”

I watched closely as his nose went into non-stop twitch mode.  “What kind of game are we talking about? What players?”  Harry appeared agitated as he furiously rubbed his delicate hands together.  My ex Vince had the same nervous tic.   He'd also over anxiously rub his hands like a madman when the Lakers or some other team he liked were about to score.  

Unfortunately, Harry ignored my question and changed the subject completely. “Yes, yes, I know all about your troubles. It began in Chinatown, I’m absolutely sure of it now.  Listen, I’ll explain later, later is better.  I want you both to get some rest. I’m sure the drinks have made you sleepy.  I promise to tell you what I know tomorrow. I insist that you stay the night as my guests.  I have a room ready, let me show you the way.”

Since we didn’t have anywhere else to go so we agreed to stay. Claudette and I wanted answers but at the same time we were completely exhausted.  My body felt so weighted down I could hardly get up. My sis pulled me off the sofa and I followed behind as Harry led the way.  She turned and whispered softly. “What difference does another day make?”  I shrugged and didn’t argue the point.

The darkened hallway smelled of mold and decay.  I prayed he wasn’t taking us on an underground route to bunny hollow hell.  Harry had lit a candle and the meager flame reflected our gloomy shadows on the walls as we walked in single file.  I swallowed my panic as the passageway to the back of the house became smaller and stuffier.  I held onto the back of Claudette’s jacket so we wouldn’t be separated.  Harry finally stopped and opened the door to a bedroom.  “This room is ready for you, clean and ready for my twin guests.   I have extra blankets in the closet if you get cold. Old houses do get drafty even in the summertime, no need to open the windows.  Sleep well tonight girls and I promise by tomorrow you will have a much different perspective when....

Harry had set the candle on a dresser and shut the door in mid-sentence.  As I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dusky lighting, I saw my sister sit down on something low.  I waved my hand around the room. “Well Alice, I think we’ve done it now.  We have literally and figuratively gone down the proverbial rabbit hole.  I'm sure a conversation with the talking doorknob is next.  This place reeks like a root cellar.”  I tried to peer through the only window but the gesture was useless as all I could see was blackness.

Claudette patted the place next to her.  “Come over here and lie down.  I’m feeling really sleepy and kind of dizzy.  Let’s crawl into this bed and get some sleep.  We have earned it.”

Out of no where I felt woozy and light headed too.  The cocktails and food had eased my hunger but this was a new sensation.  We peeled back the sheets and climbed into the double bed.  I pulled the down comforter up to our necks and turned onto my side.  Automatically, we moved closer together for warmth just like we did when we were children.   Claudette grabbed my hand.  “Are you alright?  I know this place bothers you.  Close your eyes now and sleep tight.  I am right here... here I am.”

She was asleep before I could answer or even tell her goodnight.  I started to do deep breathing exercises to relieve my anxiety.  To keep my sanity intact I tried not to entertain the thought that we could be sleeping in a burrow.  Anything subterranean sent my mind reeling. For the second time this evening I prayed, but this time the prayer was for merciful sleep.  As the only source of light snuffed itself out, I fell asleep and went directly to dreamland.   Later, it felt like my body had turned upside down but I hadn’t moved.  It was really warm now, and although my eyes were closed I sensed it was getting lighter outside.  I curiously watched as kaleidoscopic swirls of snowflakes drifted by and dissipated before landing.  I heard a women singing and her powerful contralto vocals easily penetrated the walls.  I struggled to wake up and heard my own voice shout out loud, “White Rabbit. Yes, that’s the name of the song. Hey, turn up the sound!”  

Someone draped a damp towel on my forehead.  I heard a man talking to me from above but I couldn’t open my eyes yet.  “Harry, is that you? I reached next to me for Claudette but she wasn’t there.  “Claudette, where are you? If I don’t get out of this rabbit hole I’m going to scream.”

A soothing hand patted my shoulder.  “Calm down, take a deep breath.  Your sister is on the cot next to you.  I think you got a hold of some really strong hallucinogens .  Did you bring your own stuff or did someone give it to you at the concert?”

I pulled the rag off my forehead and looked at the person who had their hand under my head.  “Ah, I’m kind of freaked out.  When I went to bed last night I was at Harry Lapin Blanc's house on Liddell Street.  I have no idea where I am now or who you are.  I don’ t even know what year it is.

Standing over me was a man wearing a pair of jeans, black P.F. Flyers, and a white doctor’s jacket with a stethoscope hanging from his neck.  He had brown shoulder length and a neatly trimmed beard.  “I’m Dr. Jeremy Wright and you miss are in San Francisco at the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane concert in the park.  It’s 1969, remember?  This is the Emergency tent on the Polo Field.  We take care of all the folks who are tripping out on crazy drugs.”  

I looked around the room and sure enough I was inside a large white tent.  There were several other casualties scattered throughout moaning at the unforeseen.  I sat up and found Claudette lying on a cot an arms length away from me.  She was asleep on her side with the sheet kicked off and was no longer dressed in head-to-toe satin.  As I took in her new wardrobe I realized we had somehow overnight moved about forty-five years into the future.  On her feet were a pair of leather sandals and she wore a rumpled muslin Mexican dress with embroidered flowers stitched across the bodice.  Two yellow daisies were tucked inside her headband and a smeared peace sign was on her left check.  After the first earthquake when we landed in Chinatown of yore, I’d wished that we were in the 60s.  I think my wish just came true.

I gently pulled on Claudette’s hand.  “Hey, wake up hippie chick, you are not going to believe this one.”  While I waited for my twin to regain consciousness another song popped into my head. Ironically it wasn’t music by the Dead or Jefferson Airplane.  It was a song by Grand Funk Railroad and I nervously hummed the first few lines out loud.   

     

I'm your captain, I'm your captain,

Though I'm feeling mighty sick.

Everybody, listen to me,

And return me, my ship.

I'm your captain, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

I'm getting closer to my home ...

I'm getting closer to my home..

When Folks Still Named a Son "Adolph"

I was completely discombobulated by the latest turn of events.  Here we were at the Castro Theatre, just blocks from my home, but I couldn't go home because it was 1924.

I looked up from the mysterious business card of Monsieur Lapin-Blanc to see William Randolph Hearst escorting Marion Davies on the red carpet.  "MARION DAVIES in JANICE MEREDITH," shone brightly on the marquee of the Castro Theater.  I took a glance at the movie poster:  "Produced by William Randolph Hearst."  Of course!  This would have been the time of the newspaper magnate and the movie star's illicit affair.   Miss Davies and Mr. Hearst walked by after having posed for photos.  She was exquisite in face and form; her hair arranged in a marseille wave,  her lips painted `a la Betty Boop, and her gown fitted fluidly - the color of lilacs.  Mr. Hearst was large and dressed in tails and top hat.  I coughed in the trail of his cigar smoke.  Other notables strolled the red carpet.   As Alma Spreckels and her husband Adolph strolled by, I heard Mrs. Spreckels coo to her husband,  "Sugar daddy, shall we have a little popcorn?"

My sister was resplendent in a midnight blue flapper dress, showing off her long legs.  I wore a full-length sheath in pale pink.  I smoothed the front of my frock and whined, "I want to go home, Paulette."  I was suddenly taken by an urge to bolt up the street, to see my husband, my children,  and Bonkers.

"We will, Claudette.  We will.  I think we have to talk to the good rabbit, Monsier Lapin."

"Well, could we just walk up and see?  Maybe if we go up to the house, it will have changed.  I mean, the time will be back to the present."   I was pouting and Paulette knew I was pouting.  She gently yanked on my hair, and broke into a little jig.  I couldn't help but laugh.

Just then, the lights dimmed twice, signaling that it was time to find our seats.  I was curious about the movie and nodded to Paulette that I'd hang in for the show.  The ushers were offering glasses of Dom Perignon, and Paulette and I each grabbed two flutes.  We were escorted to seats near the front of the proscenium.  Paulette elbowed me, "Look, look!  It's the organ."  Before I could say anything crass, I saw that the gold painted organ and the organist were coming out of the stage floor. "Putting on the Ritz" was filling the air.  I flung down the first of my drinks.

Paulette was seated next to yet another Charlie, this time Charlie Chaplin, who already had a hand on her knee.  What a tramp he was!  My sister was whispering something in Mr. Chaplin's ear, and he was laughing so hard he nearly spit.  The music stopped, the organ retrenched, the curtains parted and the credits rolled.  There was a great roar, especially from Mr. Hearst, when his name appeared as producer.

In the darkened theater I felt a presence and turned to see a rabbit.  He pulled at my wrist and signaled for me to follow him.  I turned to look at my sister, but she was watching the movie, and  keeping a close vigilance on Mr. Chaplin's hand.

Once in the lobby, the rabbit, who was actually a man, peered up at me very intently.  And I stared back.  He was short and very white.  He wore a pale pink waistcoat and had a giant Flavor Flav-style watch hanging off his pocket.

"My dear, you are one of The Twins, n'est-ce pas?  Good, good.  This is all very good.  We must be on our way.  Yes, yes, we must go now.  We mustn't be late.  No, no, that would not be prudent.  We mustn't delay."  The rabbit-man furrowed his brow and sniffed.

"Wait!  Who are you?  What are you talking about?"  I released my wrist from his weak hold.

"My dear!  I am Mr. Lapin-Blanc - the very same Mr. Lapin-Blanc for whom you are holding a business card.  And I gather you and your soeur need my assistance.  A little something about falling down the rabbit hole, no?"

"Well, yes, but how can you..?"  I had my doubts that a man who had pink eyes could help.

"My dear woman, we are wasting precious time!"  Monsieur stomped his rather large foot.

"I have to get..."  My words were cut off by a loud scream from inside the theater.

"Help, help!  Someone help me!  My husband is ill!"

And then, an usher barreled out into the lobby, "Mr. Spreckels has succumbed!  Call an ambulance - quickly!" the usher ordered the ticket taker. Four large men quietly and succinctly brought out the prostrate Mr. Spreckels, his bride in tow.  She looked so young and frail - so different from the woman who walked into the theater an hour earlier.

It was then that Mr. Lapin-Blanc grabbed my hand and whisked me through the doors to the cool evening air.  "We mustn't be late!"

"Paulette!  Paulette!"  I cried.