LatinosUSA

2002

Back at work, during lunch, Shoe sat with Amelia Heini, the fetching brunette he had spied days earlier and to whom he had taken a fancy. He was chatting her up when she said, “What do you think of analepsis and prolepsis, Shoe?”

Shoe, who was blissfully ignorant of these terms, replied, “They’re fine, so long as they’re cooked right.” And he grinned winningly at Amelia.

“No, you didn’t just say that,” she said, and turned back to her iPad. Amelia, he’d discovered, was an amateur writer and was always going on about in medias res and what have you. Shoe could barely keep track. Before lunch was over, she had invited him to a Wiccan event she called an outer court. She considered him an initiate and called him a didicant. Shoe didn’t care, so long as it would get him into her pants. She was a looker!

_____

Holding fast to Shoe’s hand, Amelia led him from their car up the walk to the small home, deep in the heart of the forest surrounding Hannibal, Missouri, one-time home of Amelia’s hero, the writer, Mark Twain. Amelia knocked softly and in a few moments the door was pulled open by an older–50-ish–woman. Amelia was 25 and Shoe 30. It was an uncommonly chilly day.

“Don’t stand out there in the cold,” scolded the woman in a warm, friendly voice. She introduced herself to Shoe as Vonnie, “…with a V.”

Taking their late-autumn wraps, she led the way into the living room, done up in a cozy, comfortable Early American motif. “Sit by the fire,” she told them, and the pair advanced to the sofa sitting before a blazing hearth.

“This is for the ceremony,” said Amelia, handing the older woman a loosely wrapped package. “It’s mugwort and sandalwood and frankincense.”

Vonnie made an O with her lips and pulled out several short, light green stalks laden with clusters of small white flowers. “I’ll make tea,” she said, setting the mugwort aside. “The sandalwood?” she asked, holding up three thick sticks of incense.

Amelia nodded.

Vonnie smiled in acknowledgement. “And is this the olibanum?” she asked, taking out an impossibly tiny amber-colored bottle.

“Yes, that’s the frankincense,” said Amelia.

“What’s it used for?” asked Shoe, speaking for the first time and worried that they might think him mute.

“What can’t it be used for?” replied Vonnie. “Digestive problems, skin blemishes, cancer, even. It works wonders on the skin, Shoe.”

“Um,” said Shoe noncommittally.

“I’ve used it all my life,” swore Vonnie. “How old would you say I am?” she asked Shoe.

Shoe shrugged. “I really couldn’t say, Vonnie,” he said, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

“Go ahead, guess,” she challenged. “And be honest.”

Shoe blew out a breath. “Okay, 50, 55?” he asked.

“I’m 85,” replied Vonnie.

“No!” he insisted, thinking she was yanking his chain.

“It’s true, Shoe,” said Amelia. “Vonnie is my great-grandmother’s age. That’s how I know her. They were friends back in school.”

Shoe could only shake his head.

“I’ve got some jojoba oil; we’ll dilute it,” said Vonnie. “Take off your shoes.” she instructed her young friends. “and loosen your clothing.” She turned up a small wicker basket. “Take some crystals.”

Amelia and Shoe reached in and extracted at random minute specimens of amethyst, labradorite, moldavite and clear quartz.

When Shoe stared at her questioningly, Vonnie said, “They’re all great for spiritual connection and timeline work. We’ll be using a liminal time–sunset,” announced the older woman. “Things are more…lucid then.”

“What do you mean, timeline work?” asked Shoe.

“You didn’t tell him?” Vonnie asked Amelia.

The younger woman hastened to explain. “We’re going to experience astral projection, Shoe,” she told him.

He stared at her. He had of course heard of it, but never gave it much credence. “You mean…”

“Time travel,” Vonnie finished his sentence. “Not like hopping on the subway and going from one town to the other, but rather, your spirit, your consciousness, will traverse time and space, and you will experience things you’ve never felt before. You may go back in time to an earlier you, or forward to a more mature you.”

“H…how?” asked Shoe, bewildered.

Once we perform the ritual, you will picture yourself floating up, literally. Your soul will rise and become untethered from the earth. Just think it, Shoe; embark and the astral body will follow.”

“How will I know what to do?” he asked.

“You may call upon a spiritual force or a Guardian Angel or an ancestor, to guide you. Or as Lincoln said, the better angels of your nature. When you have completed your journey, gently guide yourself back to your body with love and gratitude. And when you return, wiggle your toes, open your eyes, drink some water, take deep breaths.”

“Will I remember what happened?» he asked.

“Do what I do,” said Amelia, “and write everything down: visions, thoughts, smells, symbols, colors. Whether it makes sense or not. It may make sense later.”

“How do I…embark?” he asked next.

“Envision a gateway,” said Vonnie. “Portals, doorways, staircases, or even a light tunnel are available to you. Do you dream much, Shoe?” she asked.

“All the time,” replied Shoe. “Almost every time I close my eyes.” And even when I don’t, he thought. He didn’t mention his diagnosis of temporal lobe epilepsy, which markedly affected his emotions, language, sense of deja vu, and on and on. Eschewing medication and therapy, he was subject to its occasional influence.

“How would you characterize these experiences?” asked Vonnie.

Shoe felt a chill. “Hideous nightmares, mostly,” he replied.

“We’ll try to turn that around,” she promised. “Find a way to let you see through the gloom and discover yourself.”

“I can’t wait to get started,” said Shoe, catching the spark of enthusiasm from the others. He had long hoped for some resolution to his gruesome dreams and flights of fantasy.

“We must first prepare,” said Vonnie solemnly. “beginning with the purification.” Taking up a small metal cauldron, she burned leaves and stems and blossoms of sage and rosemary, and lavender. Shoe found the aroma of the incinerating herbs intoxicating.

“This is the smudging,” said Amelia.

The women said little and this intimidated Shoe a little. He whispered furtively, “What are you doing now?”

Amelia said, “We’re setting up the altar. It’s nearly finished.” Great strands of foliage wreathed the space before the hearth and adjacent walls. Arrayed before the altar were various curiously shaped Wiccan tools, symbols, and offerings. “This is for Samhain,” said Amelia softly. “Halloween,” she explained.

Shoe nodded. Hallow’s Eve was the following day.

“Now we cast the circle,” explained Vonnie. She marked a large circle with herbs, stones, candles, and sea salt. Vonnie beckoned, and Amelia and Shoe stepped cautiously into the ring. Speaking in a low voice, Vonnie invoked the God and Goddess, then the four Elements: Earth, Air, Wind, and Fire. Finally, Vonnie said aloud that she sought the blessings of the deities and the Elements to journey through the cosmos. The deities and elements were then formally thanked.

When the ritual was complete, Vonnie invited her friends to take their places on the sofa again. She sat in a recliner. In the background, Shoe could hear a soft drumming cadence and the sound of running water. Incense burned throughout the small home and Shoe soon found himself nodding off. When he shook himself to stay awake, Vonnie said, “No, let the energy take you far and away,” and he lost consciousness.

Projecting

Some time later, Shoe awoke and looked around. He was alone. Well, he’d had a decent nap, he thought, so no harm, no foul. But then he remembered: soaring at dizzying heights, over broad expanses. Feeling the wind in his face and passing vistas strewn out before and beneath him. The deep blue of seas. The cinnamon brown of deserts. The verdant green of forests. Had it been a dream? he wondered. But no, a dreamscape was not what he’d experienced, he was sure of it. This was far more beautiful than when he dreamed. He glanced down and spied on his shirt a small brown feather and recalled whisking through a flock of birds. He’d plunged from the sky and skimmed the waters of a lake and a river and then an ocean. Shoe’s mind spun. He was hundred of miles from an ocean.

Then he saw Shoe–himself, but older–talking to a beautiful woman: it was Amelia. They were in the kitchen of a modern home and were sharing a cup of coffee, then a glass of wine. Then they were in bed, making love. Shoe blushed, but could not look away from the image imposed on his mind. The other Shoe looked to be 40-years-old, or ten years older than reality, if that’s what this was. He glanced back at the tableau and the lovers were breathing hard and both were ready to climax. Shoe felt himself grow hard. He blushed anew.

Next Shoe was seated on a pew in a sanctuary of some sort. Although he had been born to a family of American ex-pats in India, his family had chosen the minority Christian faith. This was, he discovered, a Catholic church. A High Mass was being held. Shoe bent his head and meditated and prayed. After the church service, Shoe was commingling outside the church with Amelia and three small children–his? She touched his arm. The youngest child, a girl, clutched at his leg. Then the memories faded.

“Hi there, you’re awake,” said Vonnie, walking into the room. «We knew you were projecting, so we let you be.”

“Did you experience it too?” asked Shoe.

Vonnie shook her head. “It doesn’t happen every time, Shoe,” she told him. “I’d say you were long overdue, this being your first time.” She smiled.

What she didn’t know, thought Shoe. He smiled too. “It was….incredible,” he said, struggling for words. “Where’s Amelia?” he asked.

Vonnie gave him a knowing look. “I thought you might ask,”she said cryptically. Then she went on to explain, “In your travels, you mentioned Amelia–many times.”

“What did I say?” asked Shoe.

“I’m too old to blush,” she said, “but I just might.”

As the memory came back to him, Shoe did the blushing for both of them.

Into the room walked Amelia, carrying a pan of something she’d baked. It smelled wonderful. When she glanced at Shoe, she blushed too. “Cakes and ale,” she called out, setting the pan on the coffee table.

Vonnie turned up a bottle of spirits and they ate and drank. After they discussed Shoe’s cosmic journeys, the three sat in companionable silence for some time before Amelia spoke up.

“Shoe, I believe we should maybe be going. Vonnie might like to rest.”

He nodded. “Right.”

They all came to their feet and were effusive in saying goodbye. They had all shared a tremendous experience and felt closer for it.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality, Vonnie,” said Shoe. “and for the…experience. It was awesome.”

“We’ll do it again soon,” she said, hugging each of them tightly, in turn.

On the drive home, Amelia and Shoe said little. There seemed little to say. It was as if their future was predetermined, mapped out, and all they need do was succumb to the inevitable.

“Could I ask you out, Amelia?” asked Shoe. “I mean, like on a regular date?” It occurred to him that he had seen himself making love to the woman and she had birthed his three children, and they lived together, but he had yet to actually kiss her.

“You’d better,” she quipped.

_______

Shoe became fascinated with astral projection and time travel. He researched the Second Law of Thermodynamics and entropy and time dilation and soon talked himself into having experienced the real thing. He began alternately boring or fascinating everybody he knew with closed loops and ontological paradoxes. He also joined the small coven containing Amelia and Vonnie and two other women. Then Shoe began experiencing more time paradoxes. He viewed these, based on his extensive reading, as a consequence of either retrocausality or spontaneous time travel. He became obsessed, so much so that it affected his job, according to some.

“Eric,” said Stevenson, his boss and the only person who didn’t call him Shoe, “your extracurricular interest in time travel has begun to affect your work performance.” They were in Stevenson’s private office. Shoe had been warned by Amelia that Stevenson was gunning for him, and that he should cut back on his Wiccan proselytizing. But he couldn’t help himself.

“I don’t understand,” said Shoe. He knew intuitively what was coming, that he would be fired.

“Computer science,” said Stevenson ponderously, “is a serious profession. We can’t have you commingling your hobby with your job responsibilities.”

Shoe decided to cut to the chase. “Am I being let go, Mr. Stevenson?” he asked.

“What’d you do, Eric?” asked the other man with the ghost of a cruel smile, “look into the future?”

Ten minutes, later, after surrendering his access card and company iPhone, Shoe vacated the premises for the final time.

The temporal paradoxes became redoubled almost immediately. Shoe was piloting a vintage mid-20th century automobile down an empty boulevard, feeling the excitement and freedom of untrammeled movement. Suddenly he spied a huge policeman, decked out severely in blue, in the middle of the street. Shoe tried desperately to apply the brake but to no avail. He was going to strike the cop. At the last moment, the policeman raised his service weapon and leveled it at Shoe. The cop was his old boss, Stevenson, and he fired the weapon. Bullets shattered the vehicle’s windshield and Shoe went careening out of control.

He woke up in a sweat.

Far into the Future

Shoe found himself lying in a hospital bed, barely able to breathe. Into the room bustled his nurse, pushing a wheeled cart, laden with medicines, before her.

“Hello, Mr. Shoe,” she chirped, raising the head of his bed and checking his vitals.

Shoe found he couldn’t speak. He tried to raise a hand, but his withered fingers got only inches from the bed.

With the flip of a switch, the nurse activated Shoe’s brain-computer interface and a mechanical voice expressing his thoughts came to life. They conversed for some little time before the nurse, beset with other duties and bored with their conversation, flipped the switch of the BCI off and exited the room, giving her patient not another thought.

Shoe knew that he was in a medical facility, but the question he had was when. A mirror on the opposite wall revealed a cadaverous Shoe who must have been 100 years old and weighed no more than 80 pounds. He cast his mind back: in one iteration he was born in 1961, but at age 40 had lived with Amelia and their children…when? He calculated that he had been employed in both 2002 and again in 2057, perhaps by the same company. But, what was the valid starting point of his life? Had he been born in 1961 or 2027 or in 1932, which represented his birthdate if you counted his life when he was arrested back in 1962. Not for the first time, his mind spun.

Seeking respite, he lay his head back on the hard mattress and began listening to the cadence of the instruments to which he was attached, as a kind of chant. He envisioned a pathway, a portal, and soon he was astrally projecting.

Part 1: https://latinosenglishedition.wordpress.com/2026/02/01/shoe-part-1-by-bill-tope/