by Barbara Combs Williams

Created on: August 28, 2011

“You’re a time traveler, huh?” The waitress with the dirty apron asked the skinny young kid by the window. The kid pushed his plate away, “yeah, been traveling through time since 522.”

“Well, you don’t look a day over 19 and I should know cause my grandson is almost 19. But if you been traveling since 522, how come you speak English? They weren’t speaking English back then and wearing ripped jeans. Back then they wore robes and stuff like that.”

Good one Doris, I thought to myself. The kid said, “my time travelling machine gives me the language, dress and customs of whatever time I am travelling in. But not currency. That’s why I asked could I work off this meal.”

“Look here son, how many customers you see in this old place. Ain’t no work around here. You just better go out to that time machine and find $7.95 and pay for this meal. What do you think this is the welfare office? We in a recession around here, ain’t no free food.”

I could tell Doris was ready to blow a fuse, so I said, “Doris I got the kid’s food. He ain’t from around here; according to him he’s from 522 ancient Rome or somewhere, so cut him some slack.”

I got up from my booth and gave Doris a twenty and went out the front door. I turned around and there was the kid coming up behind me. “Hey, thanks mister, I really didn’t have any money on me, but I was willing to work it off. Anyway, it wasn’t that good, but thanks.”

The kid slung his back pack over his shoulder and hitched up his torn jeans and started off down the road. I went around back and got into my old truck and started her up. “OK girl, let’s see. The kid got me thinking about ancient Rome. What you say we make a trip there and see what’s going on.”

 “Roger that sir, setting course to 522 BC, sit back and enjoy the ride. We’ll be there in the blink of eye.”

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