Getting It Wrong
Chapter 15: Sharing Secrets
Copyright© 2016 by G Younger
Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 15: Sharing Secrets - Hunter Jacobs is a lonely old man with a checkered past sitting in a nursing home waiting to die when a woman from his past walks in and makes him an offer. WTF? Do your worst... Hunter should have thought this one through.
School’s Out For Summer!
I bobbed my head, listened to the radio, and kicked back as we cruised down I-55. We were headed to Springfield where they had planned an auction of cars confiscated by the State Police. There was a law that if a car was involved in a drug deal it was forfeited to the state. I had been on the look-out for something fun to drive that I could pick up at a reasonable price. Bob, our lawyer, had heard of the State Police auction this weekend, which he reported was supposed to be loaded with Corvettes, Mustangs, Camaros and the like. It sounded like a good place to buy something at a reasonable price.
Bob claimed shotgun, because he’d gotten us passes to get into the auction. Zoey and I were in the back. We had finally decided it was time we bought cars. Jennifer would be off to Northwestern, and we’d no longer be able to bum rides from her come August. Uncle Dale had authorized us to take some funds from our trust for today’s purchases. Between my allowance, mowing yards and gambling, I had saved almost $1,500. My uncle had entered my bracket for the NCAA Basketball Tournament at State Farm, which netted me the majority of the money. At $5 a person, I didn’t feel too bad winning it since it really didn’t hurt anyone. I’d won $975, and with the $300 I’d won from the football game I was able to have a nice little amount saved. I only wished I’d known about the trust fund money ahead of time, I wouldn’t even had made the NCAA bet.
The auction was held at the State Fairgrounds. The gates opened at eleven, and the auction started at one. To get in, we had to put up a $100 non-refundable fee to get a bidding paddle and a printed list of the cars that were to be auctioned today. The $100 could be put towards the actual purchase of a car. It kept the lookers out of the auction. Bob went and looked at some of the older cars because he wanted a project. Zoey, Uncle Dale and I went the other direction. I didn’t want to have to work on a car, unless the price was right. Zoey absolutely wanted a car in working order.
As I walked around, I was surprised that there weren’t many buyers. Several seemed to have a team of guys who checked out the cars. I felt we had a good chance to buy what we wanted today. I went up to one of the guys in charge of a team and asked what their deal was.
“We’re here to buy for dealer auctions we have around the state. To speed things up they have blocks of 20 cars they’ll sell.”
“How can I tell which ones are part of the group sales?” I asked.
He showed me how they’d broken the auction down into lots, or groups. By the letter designation, you could tell how the lots would be sold, as a whole or individually. He told me the better cars would be sold individually. If a lot was supposed to sell as a whole and didn’t, they would break it up and sell the cars individually at the end of the auction.
“Why wouldn’t a lot sell?” I asked.
“In each lot they’ll try to slip in some of their problem cars, or lemons, so they can get rid of them. We just consider that a cost of doing business to get the larger lots. We can always sell a car for parts if we have to,” he explained. “If there are too many lemons we’ll take a pass sometimes.”
“So if you guys pass on a lot someone like me should be wary of buying one of those cars later?” I asked.
“If you see they have to push it out, I would probably pass,” he said.
I thanked him for the information. We all met up and I told everyone what he’d told me. Bob wasn’t happy when he saw several cars he’d picked out were in lots being sold in batches. Zoey had a list of cars. She’d fallen in love with a little Fiat Spider convertible. I had looked at some of the muscle cars. I found a Dart, a Camaro and a couple of Mustangs I really liked.
When the auction started, we quickly found out why there weren’t many buyers here. The big boys had deep pockets and made a point of running off the competition early on. They actually had semis with car trailers they would load as the day went on.
Bob picked up a 1953 Ford F-100 pickup that looked like it had seen better days. He arranged with one of the big buyers to drop the truck off for him on their way to Chicago since it didn’t start. Zoey won her little Fiat and I could envision her in it. It was a little two-seater convertible and Bob assured us they were easy to work on if it ever needed it. It looked like it had a sewing machine motor in the back. I remembered what cars had looked like in the future with everything jammed together they had been impossible to work on. I was sure they’d designed them that way so you had to go to the dealer to do anything to them.
I had struck out. I’d pushed the prices on a couple of cars, but my older self stopped me before I spent more than I should’ve. I wasn’t happy when they stopped the auction at five. I was ready to go home, but the guy who helped me out earlier stopped us.
“I think you might want to stay. They are going to auction off individual cars from a couple of batches that didn’t sell. I know most everyone is taking off. I saw a couple of cars in those lots that a guy your age might want to consider,” he said and gave me his list.
“What do you guys think?” I asked my group.
“You came to get a car. I’m willing to stay,” Uncle Dale said.
“I need to get back to Bloomington to take delivery of my pickup,” Bob said.
“You could ride with me,” Zoey offered.
We watched as Bob’s 300 lb. body got into Zoey’s little Fiat. She was all smiles when she left the parking lot.
“Thanks for staying,” I said to my uncle.
He just smiled and we went and looked at the cars on the list. That is when I saw it; a 1968 Ford Mustang Fastback 428 Cobra Jet. One of the State Troopers had the hood up. Uncle Dale asked him about it.
“Who’s this for?” the Trooper asked.
I raised my hand.
“Son, this might be too much car for you. Big-block Camaros and Firebirds, and even Darts and Barracudas, were kicking Mustang’s butt on the street. Ford rolled out the 428 Cobra Jet to dominate,” he said with a faraway look as if he remembered those years. “This monster puts out 410 horsepower, but Ford rated it at 335 so it would calm down insurance agents. They put the 428 into the Mustang and a couple of other models like the Mercury Cougar. This one has a four-speed manual transmission.”
Uncle Dale looked it over with the help of the State Trooper, who turned out to be a car guy. They talked about the beefed-up front shock towers and a scoop mated to a special air cleaner with a vacuum-actuated butterfly valve that funneled air directly into the four-barrel carburetor. While all that was cool, I checked out the Candy Apple Red paint finish and the black leather interior. My seventeen-year-old self’s assessment was that I would look really cool driving this car. My old self had to agree.
I asked and found out that only a little over 42,000 of the Fastbacks were ever produced, so I felt if I was smart I would just drive it for a few years and then put it into a garage and store it. In another thirty years, this would be a sought-after car, especially if I could keep it original. Someone in the future might decide to trick it out, but it would have more value if I left it alone.
I ended up winning the bid for the Mustang. On the ride home, I figured out why guys loved their Mustangs. I would never let anyone drive it but me. She and I developed a deeply personal and meaningful relationship during the hour-long trip home. We just understood one another at a level that was awe-inspiring. Uncle Dale wasn’t very happy with me when I took off and left him in the dust on the highway, but there was no way this car could be held back to the bogus 55 mph speed limit. I stopped at the auto parts store in town to get cleaning supplies and wax. I was also going to have to find a garage to park it in since we only had a two-car garage, and I would have to park my new baby on the street for now. I realized how insane I’d become about this car, but she was worth it.
The last few months had gone by much too quickly, but I tried to live them to their fullest. I was six-two, almost exactly, one year after I was abandoned here. That rapid growth appeared to have slowed down, if not stopped altogether. I woke up one day and the aches were gone. I hadn’t realized how annoying they had been until they were gone. I also found my new body craved running and exercise. Now that my ankles, knees and hips no longer hurt, I found I could run all day. Lifting weights had added muscle. I was now 185 pounds, looked long and lean, and had grown into my size fourteen shoes.
In my personal life, I was still best friends with Dave. To Zoey’s delight, he decided to go to ISU, and intended to move into Manchester Hall on the east side of the campus, near the library. The good news was Zoey could easily walk to his dorm, so they wouldn’t be separated.
My thing with dating Terry had come to an end at the end of the school year when the Wilson sisters moved away. Their dad had gotten a promotion, and they moved to Chicago. My DZ friend, Pam, graduated and took a job in Milwaukee. I would have had a lonely summer if Deb hadn’t broken up with Phil. They decided since they would be going to different colleges in the fall, that they would end things after graduation. We both knew our dating was temporary, but we spent the summer and had a good time as we hung out with Dave and Zoey. I would miss Deb when she left for Brown in August.
Before the school year ended, I took Miss Howard up on her offer for more independent study. I picked game theory. I needed a cover for any predictions I might make in the future, and have them believed.
I met Dr. Tolliver one morning about my enrollment into ISU. Aunt Marcy walked me to the quad, even though she would go the opposite direction. I was scheduled to meet Dr. Tolliver in his office in DeGarmo Hall, which housed the College of Education and the Department of Psychology. I’d arrived early, so the receptionist had me wait while everyone gathered in one of the conference rooms. When they were ready, Miss Howard came and got me.
I was a little surprised when I walked in and found Dr. Philips and a man I had never met before. Dr. Tolliver stood up and shook my hand.
“Hunter, I’d like to thank you for coming, today. Please meet Professor Saud,” he said as introduction. “We received the list of courses you wanted to take, and for POL 247 – Middle Eastern Politics, you need the permission of the instructor or you have had to have taken all the prerequisite courses. Before we can enroll you, we need Professor Saud to sign off on you attending.”
“I understand your parents worked for the Department of State while you were growing up. Where did you live in the Middle East?” Professor Saud asked.
I answered him in Arabic.
“We spent time in Iran, Syria and Saudi Arabia. I’ve actually visited most of the countries in that region, though,” I said.
With a grin, Professor Saud quizzed me on different countries in the Middle East and our experiences with the different cultures there. When he was done, he signed my pass to get into his class, and left.
“I’m still a little nervous about you taking a full load here, and taking classes at U-High,” Miss Howard said. “Why not just cut back and take three classes instead of five?”
“What classes did you decide to take?” Dr. Philips asked me.
“I want to sign up for BSC 181 – Human Physiology and Anatomy 1, MAT 145 Calculus 1, CHE 140 – Chemistry 1, MQM 100 – Statistical Reasoning, and then the Middle Eastern Politics class. If I were going to U-High, I would be taking Calculus and Chemistry anyway. This way I would get college credit for them. I figure it is the same as taking AP classes at U-High, but without having to worry about which credits will be accepted in college,” I said.
“How are we going to coordinate this?” Dr. Philips asked.
“Hunter will be taking classes here in the morning; three on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and will be done by eleven. He’ll take two on Tuesday and Thursday and be done by eleven-thirty. The plan is for him to be back at U-High by lunchtime. State law mandates that he take PE at the high school. I’ll have him for Independent Studies the rest of the day. I’ll make sure he is keeping up in his college classes and we’ll continue to work on English and anything else he wants,” Miss Howard said.
The meeting broke up and Miss Howard walked me over the Registrar’s to get me signed up for college, and get all my fees waived. I already had an ID card, so I was set. Miss Howard encouraged me to start a list of colleges I might want to go to. She promised to help me with college applications when we started the fall semester.
I’d made a commitment to get better at basketball. I started a daily routine at the beginning of the summer that had me run to Horton Field House on the ISU campus, and lift three days a week. On the other two days, I would swim. Every day I would follow my workout with a trip to the North Gym, and practice shooting. If I planned to master the pick and roll, I had to nail my outside shot.
ISU’s basketball team had stayed for the summer to improve on last year’s success. They’d posted a very respectable 20 – 7 record. They’d just missed being invited to the NIT. The goal this year was to be even better. With me in the gym while they had practiced, it allowed me to learn their drills. I found that my ball handling was much improved once I started to do the drills.
As had happened last year, I was invited to play some pick-up games. At first, they didn’t recognize me, because I’d grown thirteen inches in just a year. However, when I started to guard Del – their starting point guard – like glue, he put two-and-two together.
“Someone grew up,” he said. “I see you haven’t fallen on your face, yet.”
“Give me a few minutes. I’m sure I can do a face plant before the game is over,” I said.
He then proceeded to school me on the finer points of playing my position. He had years of experience at point guard under his belt, while I had only played a few months. My goal was to start this year for U-High. I did have some successes against him, but there was a world of difference between a college senior who had started for three years, and a high school kid. There might be a few exceptions, but Del never took it easy on me. I was actually grateful he respected me enough to give me his best game. I know it made me better.
It had been a few weeks since the anniversary of the accident that took the lives of my parents and little brother. Zoey had gone into a funk, and luckily, Uncle Dale had watched and suggested that she go back to counseling. By mid-July, she seemed to be better, again. I was surprised when she wanted me to go to a session with her.
Dr. Austin had his office in his home. It was a beautiful Victorian, with a large porch that wrapped around the sides of the house. When I walked in, it had high ceilings and plenty of the wood details you would expect of a home built around the turn of the century. I’d met Dr. Austin when Zoey had tried to commit suicide. He was a gentle man who made you feel like you could tell him anything, and it would be all right. I suppose that was a very good thing for his profession. Zoey went in first to talk to him, while I waited in a sitting room.
Right away, I could tell Zoey was nervous. She was seated in a big leather chair and Dr. Austin pointed to a leather couch for me to sit on. Zoey needed my comfort, got up, sat right next to me, and took my hand. I saw a ghost of a smile cross Dr. Austin’s face.
“Hunter, Zoey and I have been talking about the accident. She tells me that you’ve changed significantly since that day. Is it true that you have changed physically since it happened?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. I’ve grown quite a bit, but I was a late bloomer,” I said.
“Did you hair and eye color also change?” he asked.
I looked at Zoey and she squeezed my hand to let me know this was one of the times she expected complete honesty from me. I wondered where this conversation was headed. I technically wasn’t Dr. Austin’s patient, so I wasn’t sure if what I said in the session would be covered under doctor patient confidentiality rules.
“Yes, my hair went from brown to blonde and my eyes from brown to light blue.”
“Was this ever looked into? Did they discover why this happened?” he asked as he started to get a little more aggressive.
I started to get a little defensive.
“I was given a clean bill of health after the accident. At the time I had just been in a car accident, I was recovering from those injuries, and I suddenly began a significant growth spurt. The changes in my hair and eye color were just cosmetic, so we never worried about them because they didn’t impact my health,” I said.
He took a few notes and then his questions went in a new direction.
“Were there other changes?” Dr. Austin asked.
“I guess about what you would expect of a boy going through puberty. I grew hair, my muscles became more defined, I developed acne, and my voice got deeper. Like I said, there was nothing out of the ordinary.”
“How tall were your parents?”
“My dad was five-ten and my mother was five-six.” I said
“And how tall are you now?” he asked.
“I’m six-two and a half. May I ask what this is all about?” I asked.
“Please, just bear with me for a moment,” Dr. Austin said and Zoey squeezed my hand again. “Were there changes in your personality?”
I took a moment and saw where this was headed. I’d wondered if I should tell my sister what had really happened to me. I had decided I couldn’t bring myself to just sit her down and announce that her brother was a time-traveler from the future. One of the reasons I wanted to tell her was selfish: I really could use someone I could confide in and bounce ideas off of. Zoey or Uncle Dale were the logical choices. I’d considered Dave, but even though he was my best friend, he dated my sister.