A MIRACULOUS JOURNEY WITH THOR AND HISSTORY — CHAPTER THREE 

Within the passing month of Thor’s progress, blue roses withered in his mind; the Grand Canyon nightmare decomposed. Apart from the Museum, the garden was Thor’s favorite stomping ground. Drowning the trotting track clatter, the chorale of gurgling water from the three-tiered fountain enveloped him. Fragrant roses arrayed with a profusion of color enchanted him. He squatted spellbound watching insects of industry at work with dedicated spiders spinning fanciful webs. Lying under a shady tree in the textured carpet of grass at lunchtime, he roamed the galaxy adrift in repose until Dov Pendergast, a classmate, unceremoniously tripped over him.

 “Sorry. I didn’t see you,” Dov apologized, stepping back.

Thor sat up, frazzled, then grinned when he saw the sizable pink spider trapped in a jar Dov had brought from the Institute interior.

“Relocating the spider?”

Shy of eye contact, Dov nodded.

“Compassionate deed,” Thor commented.

Dov unscrewed the lid above a hedge. The captive, freed and unharmed, slid down a sticky silk strand and scrambled to safety in the thicket. 

 “Thor?” prefaced Dov.

 “Hmm?” idled Thor. 

 “I was wondering...”

Precluded from his catnap, Thor prodded, “Go on.”       

Dov mustered the courage to resume, praying he wouldn’t offend and be tagged a meddler. “Why do you prefer snakes and spiders to people?”

Thor was amused. “Is that what you think?”

“Isn’t that true?”

“It’s not meant to be.”    

Feeling fortified, Dov sat beside him. “You stand apart from others I’ve met. Not that I’ve met tons of people. I do prefer people to snakes and spiders,” he admitted.

Boys with a badge plied in bashfulness fostered mutual respect. Minus malice, Dov’s exuding tendril of empathy soothed Thor.

“Friends aren’t a snap for me, Dov. I don’t make them easily.”

Dov dabbled from his meekness. “Biology’s not a snap for me. I could use your guidance.”

“It’s not a snap for me, either.”

“Fooled me.”

The dialogue with Mrs. Kinchell, Thor speculated. “Oh, that.  As you said, I’ve a preference for spiders.” 

“And snakes.”

“Granted.” 

“She doesn’t scare me.”

“Who, Hisstory?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll introduce you when she’s here.”

Dov’s eyes widened. Did he want an introduction to a boa constrictor? He arose to his feet.

“Mustn’t tarry or I’ll be tardy to class. I’m a bit poky. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Thor gazed after him. Why hadn’t he noticed Dov walked with a limp? The affliction was not tremendous, nor was he slow-footed. His effort was generous to minimize his malady. The brotherly urge to protect the timid boy engulfed Thor. I’ll help him, he resolved. Kinship crept into his insular psyche. Was he a sole child or were there siblings? Family waves lapped at his island, regardless of vain attempts to squash their afternoon onset. Augmented by dusk, the rising ancestral turbulent tide submersed him as he dove into a stark whirlpool of fitful slumber. 

“Thor.” The sharp voice penetrated the sleeping teen; up he sprang. Calvin Billafort’s nocturnal snoring slammed a sledgehammer into the meager drivel of dormitory sounds. Who had called amongst the prone figures, lit by the crescent moon? Not a sign was evident. He shrugged, rose to the bathroom, and returned to rest.

A hand gently tugged the shoulder of the dozing lad. Thor bolted upright in bed, roused by the touch, tensed, his heart palpitating. Two strangers stood over him. The tall male, with vivid verdant eyes and sable hair banded into a pony tail, wore jeans and tie-dyed shirt. The brown-eyed female of medium height was frocked in floral that brushed the floor. Her auburn tresses flowed freely to her waist. The man’s hand clamped Thor’s mouth, preventing him from crying out in alarm.

“Get a grip. It’s not fear you feel. Look at us, Thor. Remember.”

The woman sank to the edge of the bed, humming a tune of elixir to his ears. Thor’s eyelids fluttered with the drowsy narcotic of déjà vu. He rode the alluring crest of her hypnotic lullaby straight into a remote past stashed in his mind. A discarded image flashed; a newborn in a crib, flanked by a junior version of the duo, ravaged his memory. The cradled babe, basking in a shower of adoration from his parents, claimed uncontested genealogy to its forsaken teen-aged counterpart. Thor began hyperventilating, his expression rapt, his hibernated heart lanced by the sandaled couple in their late thirties. 

 “He recalls,” the woman remarked. 

“Told you,” accentuated the man, removing his hand from Thor’s mouth.

“Are you… Is this...” Thor stammered.   

“Shh! Keep your voice down, son. We must whisper.” His father’s cool authoritarian utterance was peppered with paternal affection.

 “Yes, we’re alive. No, you’re not dreaming,” assured his genteel mother. “We came to warn you. The eye of the State is upon you. Be careful. Don’t draw suspicion. We can’t aid until you’re ready.”

“Ready? Ready for what?”

“To join us, darling,” his mother beaconed.

With a pinch of impatience, his father chimed, “We’re waiting for you. You’re not equipped, but it’s on the horizon.” 

Tender morsels of Thor’s makeup burst. “I’m joining you? We’ll be together?”

 His mother hugged him tightly in her arms, intoxicating him with her heavenly perfume. “Absolutely. I guarantee our tryst is brewing in my kitchen.”      

 Maternal lips pecked his cheek, smooched his forehead. Paternal hands linked Thor’s shoulders, bridging their fervent trinity. This was a binding caress no dream of his had dared inhale. Could the genial broom of locked embrace whisk away the world?

Through salty tears that spilled, he spoke, “Why did you abandon me?”

His father froze the sweeping broom.  “Couldn’t cart you where we went, or fetch you now. You’ll understand when you’re primed.”  

Thor kicked the perplexing broom across the room, receding in the debris of his tumbling galaxy, his tone speckled with demand atop dejection, “Why so secret? Where are you? How can I find you?”

Regret filled his mom. “Too dangerous to divulge, but it will be furnished.”

His dad vowed, “When it’s time, you’ll know. I promise.”

His mom was sorrowful. “We can’t stay. We have to go.” 

Thor implored, “No!”   

“Hush.” His dad was firm. “This visit is swarming with peril, wrought with land mines poised to detonate. We must bid a vigilant adieu, or misstep.”

Thor begged, “Please! Don’t desert me!”

His mom insisted, “Trust us, son. We’ll be united. Our rendezvous is imminent.”

His dad emphasized, “Don’t forget you’re monitored. When you’re prepped, come to us. Depart without delay. It’s imperative.”

His mom elaborated, “If you lag, the authorities will seize you. Once you’re prisoner, your life is forfeit. There’s no reprieve, no pardon, no parole. Complaisant you must never be if the State lays siege to your liberty. Do you understand?”   

“Yes,” Thor murmured, unable to stem the mounting swell from his perforated heart raining out his sanguine eyes. 

“Good,” expressed his parents in unison.

Paternity grazed Thor’s head, running fondling fingers through filial hair. “Have faith. Be strong.”

Maternity kissed filial lips. “Be brave, Thor. Farewell.”

“Don’t leave me again,” Thor pleaded, catching the flicker pass between them, dissolving their images. “I love you,” he fumbled too late. No trace remained. “Come back, come back to me,” he mumbled.     

Why, oh why, had he floundered in his declaration of love? Ah, but that answer he knew. The fears of being spurned by unloving parents, fears that haunted his brief span of years, had submerged him. His parents coveted the babe. He bore witness to that confirmation of his genesis, but did they adore the aftermath? Summoned by his three faltering words, would they have affirmed in reciprocation? The parental love he sought to evoke eluded him. He could not attest to their true affection.  

In a single swing of its wrecking ball pendulum, the brusque reunion pulverized Thor’s stockpiled defenses. Rhythmic beats of his grieving heart exploded devastating grenades of raw, festering emotion packed in the tailored baggage he had sidestepped for thirteen years. While he choked on traumatic sobs through the quicksand night of supreme rejection, the resilient oasis of his industrious soul capsulated the memory of his demolition, plastered the oozing anguish, detoxified the draining sewage, renovated the skeletal rubble of his fortitude, and restored his lacerated brick and mortar fortress. 

Nevertheless, tears ponded his bloodshot eyes until dawn dappled the windows. He ran to the bathroom and blew his nose. A rich, residual fragrance wafted through cleared nasal passages. His mother’s perfume, a remnant of her visit, clung to his pajamas she had touched, derailing his reality.

Shedding them, he showered body and mind, toweling them dry. Was his parents’ palpable appearance genuine or a tangible hallucination? During the day and those that followed, his inclination seized the latter explanation. Was he going mad? He quashed thoughts about his parents, concentrating on his classes. A week later, Dov approached him after biology.

“Hey, Thor.”

“Hey, Dov.”

“Study with me tonight? Tomorrow’s test is daunting.” 

Thor reflected. Helping Dov would help him obliterate nagging notions of family.

“I’ll see you when I return from the Museum.”

Dov was delighted. “Great. See you at dinner?”

“Dinner it is.”

Thor capered down the steps of the Institute and galloped to the Museum, hiking its stairs two at a time, then beelined to the rain forest enclosure. Wrapped with Hisstory, he performed multiple duties until settling at the Grand Canyon exhibit to meet with Stafford as scheduled. Sitting on the precipice stroking the boa, he watched the shifting canyon shades. Happy within this manufactured, but beauteous illusion, he closed his eyes to internalize. 

“Hi, Thor. Sorry I’m late,” Stafford’s voice boomed into his cocoon. “Interminable consultations.” 

“Hisstory and I are content here,” expressed Thor.

“Still your favorite display?”

“Definitely.”

“Perhaps you’ll change your mind with this fresh one. We’ll preview tomorrow. You should be heading home.”

“What’s it called?”

“Time Travel.”

The title elicited rapid-fire questions. “Time Travel? Is it real? Can you truly travel through time?”

“I can manage a realistic exhibit, but I’m no whiz on authentic time machines. If you gather a glimmer about time travel, then I’ve succeeded in my endeavor. Therein ends any token to genius I may possess. You’ll see tomorrow.”

Thor felt a sense of urgency. “Let’s view it now. I’m game.”    

“If you’re game, I’m game.”

Adorned with Hisstory, Thor strode through a hall alongside Stafford. The director unlocked and drew back the meddler-blocking barricade. The switched-on lights disclosed a celestial sphere swirling in spatial flotation garnished by a translucent mist of pastel-colored rainbows. Framed on the walls of the room were pictures of historical milestones. Thor surveyed the images of galaxies, solar systems, and interstellar travel. Familiar faces of pioneers landing on planets, moons, and satellites were predominant. 

“The entire universe is your domain,” Stafford explained. 

“How does it work?”

The director walked over to a set of controls situated on the wall and adjusted the levers. The hovering sphere smoothly lowered to the floor. As the mist cleared, a heretofore unseen panel slid open. Stafford motioned Thor to enter.

The leery lad regarded the dim opening. “You’re not coming?”

Stafford winked. “You and Hisstory will have much more fun minus me.”

“What if I need you?”

Stafford reassured. “Press the ruby indicator on the board labeled assistance, or call my name.”

Draped with Hisstory, Thor stepped boldly into the darkness. The panel slid shut. Green lights gleaming on the ground directed him to one of four velvet-lined seats stationed behind a luminous control board. Dotting the ceiling were tiny burnished bulbs resembling a host of glow worms. Real or not, the picturesque décor entranced.

“Presentation is everything, don’t you concur, Hisstory?”

“Hiss.”

Thor plopped into the cushioned chair and posed his pliable body against the plush padding. Hisstory fidgeted around his torso. Thor’s stroking pacified her squirm.  

The control board brightened. A soothing female voice announced, “Put on your headset; fasten your seat belt.”

The headset, a firm cap with ostentatious speakers, was attached to the back of the seat by a thin cord connected to an inlet on the board. Thor positioned it on his head, then obligingly secured the seat belt with a click.  

“Where to be? What to see? Make your selections and set time free,” boomed the voice from the speakers fitted to his ears.  

Thor studied the board. The ruby assistance indicator was obvious, as were the flashing canary pads labeled Travel and Time. Below each pad was a screen. Thor tentatively fingered the travel pad. Names of planets blinked on the screen. He positioned the pad for earth. The globe popped on an adjacent monitor, rotating on its axis, displaying the continents and the circling moon. Signage underneath read, Touch screen to pinpoint location. When the continent of North America was visible, he touched the west coast, maneuvering until his terminus was locked. The time pad was next. Dates zipped past on the corresponding screen, halting at his preference. 

A cobalt indicator labeled Begin flashed. “Press the blue indicator to begin your excursion,” resounded the voice.  

Thor’s finger gingerly topped the terminal indicator, but hit by a hunch, he wavered. Acting on instinct, he closed his eyes and relaxed, letting thoughts fluctuate until a sole impression lingered, San Francisco, California on June 21st, 1967, a site he was drawn to in history. Established in this frame of mind, he pressed the indicator to travel through time.  

Acute dizziness battered Thor, his eyes clamped shut to block interference with his fixation on San Francisco in 1967. Fighting to anchor his focus, he impulsively grasped Hisstory. The reptile tensed, tightening her snuggle. Weightlessness displaced the dizziness, a feeling of floating in space unhinged from gravity. As swiftly as they began, the sensations ceased. Normalcy returned… except for the bevy of chirping birds.

His eyes opened at the pleasant sounds. Gone was the time machine along with its trappings, headset, seat belt, luminous board, and velvet chairs. Thor was sitting on a broad boulder in a bucolic meadow sparsely dotted with trees. He stood up cautiously. The grass flattened beneath his feet. A mild wind whipped through luxuriant tree branches, whistling in his ears. Its coolness revitalized him, unlike the hot winds that slapped his face from where he came, parching his chiffon skin which had to be protected from the heat. What a contrast! He fondled the nestled boa, who had slackened her grip. 

“Do you see what I see, Hisstory? It’s so convincing. How can it not be real?”

Hisstory underscored with a strident hiss.

Stretching his arms out from his sides, Thor arched his back, flexing his fingers in ecstasy while absorbing the tranquility. The faint rumble of music attracted him. Lured by the pulsing beat of exhilaration, he ambled in its direction. Figures on the horizon converged with his path. Painted faces dominated the festive young outfitted in vibrancy, decorative beads dangling from their necks, flowers entwined in lengthy hair. Was he veritably in San Francisco in 1967? Logic said no; intuition said yes. 

Frolicking toward him was a pretty girl donning a stunning smile above her held bouquet of gerbera daisies. A floral-printed caftan attired her slim body. A garland of baby’s breath crowned her thick cranberry tresses. She handed Thor a share of her daisies and gently kissed his cheek in sweet innocence. Hisstory didn’t bother her one bit, nor did she ruffle the reptile, but blushed the boy in awkwardness at the kiss planted on his face by the lovely stranger.

She gestured to the boa. “Far out snake.”

Thor recovered from his shyness. “Her name is Hisstory.”

“Groovy, and yours?”

“Thor.”

“Out of sight. You’ve come to visit us earthlings? Where’s your hammer? I thought Thor wielded a hammer, not a snake.”

“I’m not the god Thor. I’m human.”  

“You look like a god emblazoned by your psychedelic serpent. I’m Sunburst, also human, no relation to the sun.” Noting his unfashionably dull clothing, she observed, “You may not be from outer space, but your threads aren’t local. Where’s your pad?”

“Where are we?” 

“Are you for real? Golden Gate Park.”

“In San Francisco?”

“You’re putting me on.”

“Please.”

“Yes, San Francisco.”

“What’s the date?”

“June 21st. What’s with the spacey questions?”

“I meant the year.”

“You think I don’t know? Are you a narc? You can’t bust me. I’m not holding and I’m not stoned.”

“I need to confirm. 1967?” 

Sunburst was incredulous. “Are you tripping?”

“Tripping?”

“Never mind,” she laughed. “The year is 1967. Man, are you spaced out! Going to the concert?”

“Are you?”

“Right on. That’s where everyone’s going. You’d be loony if you didn’t ‘cause you don’t need bread. It’s free. Come on.”

She clutched his hand. “I can hear Janis. We’d better hurry, or we’ll miss her gig. She’ll blow your mind. I hope Jimi jams with her. He’s not scheduled, but that cool cat can appear like magic.”

Sunburst pranced with energy. Thor trotted to stay abreast. As they reached the rollicksome crowd and source of the mesmerizing music, he could see a spirited singer wailing in the background, “Baby, baby, baby…”  Smacked by the emitted electric emotion, pure adrenaline charged through Thor. His eyes moistened; his face flushed; his heart throbbed. Is this what mind-blowing meant?

Sunburst noticed and nudged. “You feel the rush. The chick’s a turn on, isn’t she?”  

Their hands still locked, Thor brushed back the barrage of hair partially hiding her eyes and gazed into them. Her fragrance was captivating. Their lips almost touched. Embarrassed by the immediate intimacy, he glanced downward, letting go of her hand. Her necklace of blood-red beads showcasing a pendant intrigued him.

She caught his diversion and dallied with the strand, elucidating in a luscious lilt, “Coral beads culture your heart, and the medallion is a zodiac. Isn’t it cool?”

“Beautiful.” Replete in the moment, he tilted toward her cherry lips, consumed with the desire to kiss.

Without loitering, Sunburst took the temptress lead. Thor’s responsive kiss was instant.

Sunburst leaned back. “Groovy lips! Want to French kiss? I learned from my sister, who doesn’t miss a chance. She calls it tongue-tied kiss, and she should know. Paul McCartney taught her back in ’64 when she was fifteen and he was twenty-one.” 

“Paul McCartney, the Beatle?” Thor asked, amazed.

“Who else? He instructed her personally, but that’s as far as it went, in case you’re wondering. My sister drew the line, wore a girdle, and wouldn’t budge, but she doesn’t brag.” Sunburst regarded Thor curiously, “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Ditto. So where’s your pad? You never said.”

“My pad?”

“Your home.”

“Far from here.” How could he explain how far he had flown in time and space to arrive at this place? Her rash of queries, he wouldn’t face.

“You’re private, but what’s your bag? You don’t act like one of those square tourists who hang out at the Haight for free love. Do you have a nest to crash? My parents are hip. You could stay with us.”

“I can’t, Sunburst. I have to go.”

Thor couldn’t ignore the feeling to leave, a disabling sensation that he would be trapped between two worlds if he didn’t. He thought he would witness, but not participate; in the year ’67, what did he stake? He didn’t know what move to make. Questions continued to escalate. How could he fathom the right step from wrong? What would he crop into the beyond? He wouldn’t loaf in limbo for some chime to peel if his present experience was indeed real.    

Disappointment framed her features. “You’re splitting? What a bummer! I’m a blabbermouth, is that why?”

“It has nothing to do with you.” 

Sunburst shrugged, resigned to his parting, “I dig. You’re diplomatic. I’m a double Sagittarian. Honesty bordering on bluntness. Cats get uptight. They don’t want the truth. They want to play games. It’s such a drag.”

“I like your candor, Sunburst. I like you.”

She brightened. “You’re not putting me on?”

“I’m not.”

“You have good vibes. What sign are you?” She tossed her head in afterthought, “No, don’t say. A mystery is cooler in its own way. Split if you must, but store this in your trust.”

Into his hand, she thrust her necklace. “I want you to have it.”

“I can’t take your necklace, but I will remember you wearing it.”

Thor deposited the strand in the palm of her hand, folding her fingers over it, then returned the daisies. “I can’t take these where I’m going either.”

Sensing her sadness, he clasped her in his arms, mindful of Hisstory, content in her role as the centerpiece of a sandwich. As she dawdled her lips on his, Sunburst slipped the scarlet beads into a pocket of his pants without detection. Pulling away with a smile, she said warmly, “Remember me, Thor,” and danced with her daisies into the crowd, veiled from his view.

Thor retraced his movements, backtracking to the boulder. His comfort level budded in the balmy atmosphere. He nodded at the passing people trending toward the music, who greeted him in turn. The bulging boulder beaconed in the looming meadow scarce of pedestrians. Thor perched on its top, bolstered with the bountiful boa, stroking her tenderly. Faintly-glowing strange symbols bedecked the serpent’s scales where she’d been rubbed, beckoning the boy. He peered closer, but the glimpsed ornaments were gone.

“What was that?”

“Hiss.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, my friend?”

“Hiss.”

“An Aladdin’s lamp in disguise?”

“Hiss.”

“Why not surmise? Could you cough up a genie?”

“Hiss.”

“If I were to guess, that sounds more like yes than no.”  

“Hiss.”

“Let’s pledge a pact to stash this secret. You swear?”

“Hiss.”

“Ditto. Shall we concentrate on home?”

Thor shut his eyes, feeling the bulky boa constrict his torso. Deep he dived, passing thoughts, save one intent. Deeper and deeper inside this solitary impulse, he spiraled, eclipsing the twitter of birds, the rumble of music, the tonic breeze lapping his face. A succession of stimuli ensued. Calm commenced, shattered by intense dizziness, extinguished by the soar of zero gravity, erased by the yoke of human weight, bridled to the ground, chained by the chair-fastened seat belt, leashed to the prop of headsets.

Into Thor’s ears boomed the cheerful voice, “We hope you enjoyed your time travel. Please come again.”

“Hiss.”

Thor opened his eyes circled with Hisstory in the time capsule. Numbness beset him. None of this had been routine. What to make of what he’d seen? Had he been immerged in another odd dream? What to tell Stafford? Naught did he know. He had totally missed the show, but he assumed events would continue to evolve, and that this riddle most peculiar, he would somehow solve. He unclipped the seat belt, replaced the headset, and started toward the exit, shuffling in his shoes. The automatic panel slid aside.    

Stafford discerned the steps of instability. “What happened? You look exhausted.”

Thor straightened in introspection, pretending to be fine. Polite in tone with a glib shake of his head and dismissive wave of his hand, he tried to stave off Stafford’s suspicion about his condition.  

“Just tired thinking about a test tomorrow.”

A voice resonated throughout the building, “The Museum is closing in ten minutes. Please proceed to the exit. Thank you for visiting.”

“I’ll give you a lift home,” Stafford offered. “We can talk on the way.”

The remark rattled the jittery juvenile, who replied in nonchalant knee-jerk reserve, “Thank you, sir, but I need to walk to wake me up. Studying with a classmate tonight. Too sedentary today.”

The truth Thor had sworn to conceal; he worried what he might inadvertently reveal. He expected a probe, but the consummate gentleman didn’t try to pry into the recluse reason why.

“Then you’d best run along. We’ll view the exhibit tomorrow together. Good luck on that exam.”

“Good night, Mr. Klingshire.”

 Thor was relieved. With Stafford moored beside him, he wouldn’t act on instinct as he’d done today. The horizon brightened. Tomorrow things would turn out okay.