You see, this is my FAVORITE story. I like this story more than even my novel. I wrote it 7 years ago and I just fell in love with the idea and the plot and, I think you'll see, the story is a bit personal for me. So, you'll pardon me if I seem like I'm overreacting.
The Sci Fi Channel has stolen my story (somehow) and has developed it into a new series for their channel. I don't know where they got the story, but they've even managed to rip off the title. I can't possibly prove that I wrote it first - though if you've got a copy of The Best of TAC 1999, you can find this story on page 174. So, if I'm not going to get a pay day out of this, the least I can do is print it here and get it out to the world first before the Sci Fi Channel butchers it and makes it something unrecognizable. If you'd like to know more about their version, its called Blink and you can probably google it on the internet.
That's enough of a preamble. Now, on to the short story... I apologize for the length of this post. The story's only about 8 pages long.
All The Worlds Disappear…
By William C. Robison III
Blink.
Bill sat on the stool with his guitar resting comfortably on his lap and tried not to look gangly. At over six feet, and skinny, sitting on a stool, dressed in slacks, a white shirt, black tie, black shoes, and buzz cut, not looking gangly was a challenge. But then it was 1965 and everyone looked about the same, so he didn't feel too out of sorts.
Somewhere, behind him on the stage, was the rest of the group - The Southwinds. Bill thought that he could almost hear them tuning their instruments, but the sudden blinding spotlight had not only disabled Bill's vision, it had hampered his hearing as well. Bill blinked hard to see the man operating the spotlight. He didn't want to be blind for this gig. Not for the Hungry I.
"Could you turn that light down a bit?" Bill called.
For a moment there was no response. In fact, it seemed as if the entire club was getting quieter and quieter as if someone had lowered the volume on a record player. Finally, someone did respond - with a challenge.
"Mister Robison?"
Bill tried to see who was asking, but couldn't make him out through the light. The voice was not familiar.
"Yes?" Bill responded.
"Mister William Charles Robison… it says Junior, here… is that correct?"
Bill strained to see through the light, but had to shut his eyes in pain after a few seconds. He still could not see the man.
Bill answered cautiously, "Yes. That's me."
"Ah… good," the man replied from the brightness, "Sorry I'm late."
"Late?" Bill countered, "I'm sorry, but late for what? Who are you? I can't see you through this spotlight."
"I'll explain in a moment, Mister Robison. In the meantime, why don't you join me for a drink?"
Bill tried to see what his fellow group members thought of the suggestion, but the light was so bright they were lost in the haze of it. And, besides, he couldn't hear them anymore anyway. They'd probably taken a break from the light. Bill decided to meet the man for a drink.
Bill set the guitar gently down next to the stool, and climbed down from the stage into the rest of the Hungry I. For the briefest of moments, as he stepped from the light, he saw the club as a gutted brick eyesore of a ruin in a vacant lot in downtown San Francisco. But when the light finally left Bill's eyes it was the same old building - only completely devoid of customers. Only Bill and the man remained.
He was a middle-aged man, slightly younger than Bill's father, with the grizzled look of the Depression about him. His hair was black and thinning and his features were sharp in contrast - well defined. He, too, was skinny, of about middle height. He dressed in a good work suit - Jack Lemmon, not James Bond. He was a rather normal specimen of the species, Bill thought, and he seemed to be a good sort. If there had been any question of it, though, the beer waiting on the bar was the final answer. Bill joined the man for the drink.
"My name is Freddy Colangelo, everyone calls me Fred," the man noted.
"Thank you for the drink, Fred," Bill replied.
"I find that it helps," Fred noted.
"Helps?"
Fred seemed to ignore the question and went on, "You might say that I'm something of an agent, Mister Robison."
"An agent? You mean like a talent scout?"
"In a manner of speaking," Fred answered, "You see, I've been sent here to make you an offer."
"An offer? To me or to the group?"
"To you, Mister Robison… though they are involved in your decision, of course."
"I've never worked solo before," Bill responded, "You can sing folk music by yourself, naturally, but its not much fun."
"It's not that kind of offer," Fred noted.
"Something other than music?" Bill wondered as he looked around the empty Hungry I. This was the place careers got started. This was the place of Bill Cosby and Phyllis Diller. What kind of agent came to a place like this to talk to a musician and not to offer him a musical contract? It certainly wasn't for Bill's jokes. Nobody liked his jokes.
"Mister Robison," Fred began to answer, "You are thinking too limited - much too limited. Allow me to open your mind a second."
This was the sixties. They had just gotten past the Beats. Now there were new freaks called Hippies. This man was starting to talk like one of them. Bill was all for having an open mind, but he preferred to open it the old fashioned way and…
Before Bill could stop him, Fred reached out and put his hand on Bill's arm. Suddenly, it was dark.
In a blinding flash of bright darkness, Bill watched his future life unfold before his eyes. It went by so quickly, he hadn't nearly the time to even catch the highlights. He knew it was his life. He knew it looked pretty good. But there wasn't the slightest particular on which to hang his hat. A split second and it was over. Bill sat motionless for a second and then nearly fell backwards off his stool.
Fred caught him but when their arms connected this time there was no reaction. Fred helped Bill back on to the stool.
"What was that?" Bill goggled.
"That was my offer," Fred explained. "Would you care to see it in slow motion?"
"Yes," Bill replied, before he could get up the nerve to ask how it was possible.
Fred said, "You'd better take a drink first - this can be rather disconcerting."
Bill did as he was told and swallowed a large swig of the cool beer. As it settled into his stomach, the beer had a calming effect on Bill as if to remind him that there was a certain amount of normalcy still trying to claim his attention. Bill turned to Fred and nodded.
Fred closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Very slowly, as slow as a teenager trying to slip his arm over his girl's shoulder, Fred raised his hand up towards Bill's shoulder. Bill watched it all the way up to his shoulder. Fred stopped the hand there, right above Bill's shoulder, and held it there for seconds. And just when Bill was about to say something, the hand dropped onto Bill's shoulder in a quick and sudden explosion of fluid bliss.
It went fast forward at first - like a coach watching the marching band at half time while reviewing game tape. It followed Bill as he left the Hungry I and lived his life normally for quite a few many days. Then it slowed down quickly to something approaching normal speed.
And Bill found himself living the moment.
"We heard you sing and were impressed," a man suddenly said, appearing out of the blue right in front of Bill.
As Bill turned around to see that he was at the bar in the Purple Onion and that there was a Scotch sitting on the bar in front of him, he heard himself reply, "Thank you, we enjoy doing it."
Bill pulled back just enough to realize that he wasn't actually involved in this scene but that he was seeing it as if he were. The words were being spoken by this future him, but not by him. As close as he could get, he was still just an observer.
"We were thinking of offering you a recording contract," the man noted, "Do you think your group would be interested?"
"I'm sorry," his future self said, "Who did you say you were again?"
And fast forward… Bill meeting with the group. Bill and the group fooling around in the recording studio. Bill and the group listening as their song is played on the radio. Bill and the group going on tour. Bill and the group playing Vegas. And then slow again…
"I'm Frank Sinatra."
"You are… well, of course you are, Mr. Sinatra."
And then fast, again. Bigger tours. Bigger shows. Bigger crowds. More money. The future Bill never seemed to slow down. He was hobnobbing with his group on stage at Carnegie one moment and skiing Aspen with a Playboy Bunny the next. He aged quickly and the sixties seemed to whirl by him in the blink of an eye and it all looked good. Then slow…
"Come on, Bill… did you really think it would last forever? The group is finished."
The future Bill stood on the balcony of his Sea Cliff home looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge and pondered his future. The present Bill stood behind him and just watched. He had not aged much in ten years. But he was living the good life. He probably should just retire…
Fast again… An agent. A solo album - gone bad. A team up with the Kingston Trio. Guest shots on the Tonight Show. Tennis with President Carter. An arrest in a German brothel - quietly hushed up. New Years in 1980, opening for the Limelighters in Tahoe. Slowing down…
"Have you considered a comedy variety show… like the Smothers Brothers? We think you'd make a great host."
Future Bill stood in the office of some studio executive in what appeared to be a fancy jogging suit. Present Bill was appalled at the audacity of future Bill but the studio exec did not seem to mind.
"I don't really need to work," future Bill pointed out.
"We realize that," the exec noted, "And you could walk away at any time."
Bill in meetings. Bill with writers. Bill interviewing guests. Bill starring in skits. Getting older. Getting funnier. Getting better material. Getting the ratings. Getting the respect. Getting his face and his name on everything from t-shirts to mugs to pencils. Stop.
"As you may have heard, Johnny Carson is retiring," same studio exec, older, "We'd like you to take his place."
The Tonight Show with Bill Robison. Bill loved worldwide. Bill travels everywhere. Bill meets everyone. Bill plays tennis with President Reagan (the actor?), President Bush, President Clinton, and President Bush. He finally marries the studio exec's ex-wife. They travel. Stop.
Kuala Lumpur. Future Bill is quite old. His health is failing and so is his memory. His wife helps him from the jeep and towards the ruins. He stares up at the ancient stairs of the lost city, smiles, and… black.
Bill found himself back in the bar a split second later. He immediately grabbed the glass of beer and downed most of the remaining contents. The beer fought hard against the sudden feeling of confusion that washed over him. Fred stood still at his side and just watched. Finally Bill regained his sense of place and his sense of self and took a deep breath.
"That was some ride," Bill noted.
"The future can often seem exhilarating," Fred noted.
"And all that can be mine?" Bill questioned, "The fame, the fortune…"
"The hard work, the effort, the practice," Fred added, "You would remember nothing of our meeting. You would still have to earn everything."
"But the outcome would be the same?"
"Yes."
"What's the catch?"
"There is no catch," Fred commented. "However, before you decide about the offer I have placed before you, I am required to offer you another choice."
"Like what? President of the United States? Hugh Hefner?"
"You'll see."
Fred reached out again and Bill was more willing this time. In a moment, Fred dropped his hand quietly on Bill's shoulder and this time, life progressed more gradually.
Bill watched as he left the club this time and went home. A meeting of the group was called for the next day and Bill found himself attending.
"We've had an offer to play the Onion," noted Bob.
"The Onion?" questioned the Bill of tomorrow - close enough to almost be Bill today.
"The question is? Do we take the offer?"
"Do we take it? Why wouldn't we?"
They turned it down and broke up at the same time. Bill seemed to recoil right out of the story. This certainly seemed to be the opposite of the life he'd been shown a second before. But life went on anyway. It fast-forwarded. Through college and tests and dates and trips to Yosemite and Reno and Tahoe and then, the next thing Bill knew, he was getting married.
Married? Bill wondered. To whom? She seemed vaguely familiar. And there was a small child. A boy. He was called David. And shortly… another boy - William III. They moved to Los Angeles. And times slowed down…
He was in the kitchen of some apartment. It was dirty and dingy. The smoggy sun shone through the windows. Bill looked around and realized that he lived here. He must not be very successful… and then he saw little William fly by the window. Bill turned his head quickly and saw little William in one of those baby walkers. He was practically flying down the walkway… right towards the swimming pool. Bill ran out the door of his apartment and flew down the exact same walkway towards the swimming pool. He needn't have worried. Little William has stopped at the pool's gate, unable to go any further.
Zipppp… An earthquake? Then a rapid move again, this time to an apartment in Parkmerced. Another child? ANOTHER CHILD? It was a daughter, Heather Noelle. Bill took accounting jobs with Brooks Cameras and watched as his children grew up. Dave went to kindergarten. William went to kindergarten. Their mother dropped out of the picture, something about a hospital. It slowed down…
"Dad?" asked little William, "Isn't mommy in the hospital?"
"Yes," Bill answered. He led the three small children away from the parking structure and across the street away from the hospital.
"Isn't the hospital back there?" Little William pointed.
"Were just going to pick her up a surprise," Bill answered as a shuttle bus pulled up in front of them.
He led them on to the Airport shuttle and they rode to the airport. When they realized that they weren't going to the hospital, their little eyes lit up in excitement, and Bill sensed that these children - his children - were happy for the first time in months.
Time sped up again… more sack lunches, more trips to the doctors, more meaningless, tedious work… Bill's world became his children's. His parents helped but not enough. Bill had moved to a new apartment complex, nearer the church. Bill watched as his world seemed to get bogged down in that of being a parent. But that didn't mean it was all boring. Time slowed down and…
They were on a train. Bill looked around. The three children were fidgeting uncomfortably on the train's benches. They were in some sort of compartment. As Bill tried to read the signs on the windows and walls a conductor came into the room and said something in a strange language.
Bill was startled to hear himself reply in German and hand over a pair of passports. He realized that they were in Germany on vacation. What sort of strange life was this?
"I think Germany is the bestest country in the whole world," Little William was saying.
"It hasn't always been this nice," Bill replied.
"Really?" William questioned.
"Once, a long time ago, there was a war between the Germans and the United States," Bill explained.
"Why?"
"Because the Germans had a bunch of enemies they really hated," Bill said, "A group of people called the Jews. And they used to take these people and burn them up in big ovens."
William's eyes got huge, "Really?"
"Yes," Bill replied, "But that was a long time ago and those people are all dead. But these Germans don't want to talk about it. So let's not mention it to them, okay?"
"Okay."
Fooom! Just as the train entered a tunnel, time sped forward again. They came home to the United States and went back to school. And William began to call himself Will, and David began to call himself Dave, and Heather began to go to school. And Will and Dave were making friends and they all visited their Mom who was in some sort of home and then they were dressing up in women's clothes and dancing with snakes and then there was a new woman, Cindy and…
They sat around the dining room table in the living room of the crappy apartment in Stonestown. Cindy sat across from Bill. Will and Dave and Heather sat at the table, dressed up in Sunday clothes. A big pot of spaghetti sat on the table. They all had a share of the food and Dave and Will were eating quickly and boyishly. Heather had half the food all over her. Cindy had just pecked at hers and Bill ate his, but couldn't help but constantly glancing at Cindy and her lack of an appetite. He was about to say something when Dave opened his mouth.
"Hey Dad," Dave said, "Since we have company over do I get an extra quarter on my allowance for doing the dishes?"
Snap! The fast progress continued. Cindy moved in. Dave went to Jr. High. Will went to Jr. High. Dave went to High School. Will went to High School. Heather went to Jr. High. They moved to a new house, down by the beach.
Stop.
Bill found himself sneaking into his daughter's bedroom. It was early in the morning, but not so early that it wasn't time to be up. Bill stood and admired her. She was spunky. She held her own with the older boys. But that didn't mean that it wasn't still fun to pick on her from time to time.
"Heather?" Bill questioned.
She snorted, but didn't open her eyes.
"Heather? Wake up and come see!"
She rolled over and her eyes slid open slowly, "Huh?"
"Come see! It snowed last night." Bill insisted.
Heather eyed him suspiciously.
"Come see!" Bill said again, "It snowed last night and Paws went out into the backyard and made snow angels."
Heather stared at her Dad for a second, and then she grabbed her robe and followed him out of the room and to the window. There, outside, was nothing but the backyard.
"You must have missed it," Bill said, "It must have melted. Oh well… now that you're up, it's time to get ready for school."
And fast forward again… Dave graduating from High School. Will graduating from High School. Starring in a church musical. Friends. Family. Trips. It all flowed by him at an incredible rate, seeming to pick up steam as he got older and older. And then, it slowed. Heather got married. Will got published. Dave… who would have thought? And then, the vision began to dim.
It ended more gently this time. One moment he was picturing Cindy sitting on the edge of the bed with the dog and then…
Bill opened his eyes and stared out across the bar. Fred still sat next to him and didn't say anything. Bill found himself reaching for the bar napkin and dabbing at his eyes.
Finally Bill found his voice, "Quite a life."
"Really, you can't go wrong."
"What about the others? What happens to them?"
"Hard to say. They either are or they're not. It is of little concern to you. The universe is a big place and has many worlds of possibilities in it," Fred answered.
"And what of these other worlds? These other possibilities? Can I ever visit them?"
"You will remember nothing of these other worlds," Fred explained. "Once your decision is made, all the worlds will disappear in the blink of an eye."
Bill absorbed that thought and nodded.
"But why? What does it all mean?" Bill questioned. "Why me?"
"We all make this decision, my friend. We all must make this choice. And none of us ever remember. That's the way it is. That's the way it's always been." Fred answered. "You only get one shot at this. Once you make your decision, it can not be otherwise. Do you understand what you've been offered?"
"Yes."
"And have you made a decision."
"Yes. I think I've made my decision."
"Very well, then," Fred replied, "When you've made up your mind, just close your eyes."
Bill smiled and finished the last of his beer. He took one last look around the Hungry I and then he closed his eyes.
Blink.
The End
© Copyright 1999 by William C. Robison III
I hope you enjoyed this story. I won't stop writing here on the blog, but this is the last you'll hear any details. I've got to keep these story ideas to myself from now on - at least until I get them published.
2 comments:
Great story, Will. Hurry up and get published so we can read more.
That's great, Dave. I'm glad you were able to get all the way through it. It wasn't my first choice for publishing, but this one is time and date stamped.
My novel goes to the agents, May 17th, come heck or high water!
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