It's all under control

Aaron Aardvark ramped up the time machine, pushed the Start button, and put the machine in reverse. He couldn’t wait to get to the Court of Henry VIII and sit in the audience box at the trial of Thomas More. He felt the smoke billow out from both sides of the machine, the steam scalded his face. The machine began to sputter and shake, bounce and fall, then finally lift off the ground. Aaron felt the ever cooler air of the sky swoop across his face as the clouds rolled by and time accelerated and he began to approach the white light.

And then the Abort button began to flicker, a heavy beep that quacked like a duck sounded its alarm, and the machine began to descend, slowly, then more quickly, and then finally into free fall.

“What the – oh, shit!”

The machine landed with a thud like Aaron had never experienced, not even when landing at the Nativity Scene, not even at the investiture of Louis XIV. The smoke cleared. Aaron looked about him – no, this was most certainly not the Court of Henry VIII, nor was it Thomas More’s trial. He looked in front of him, a hospital – no, a rest home – with Victorian columns, a porch, high windows, with a sign that identified it as the Shady Pines Rest Home. The lawn was manicured and bushes dotted the front yard like well-tended Chia pets. Two shiny Studebakers sat parked in the driveway.

Aaron stashed his time machine behind a tree and sauntered forward. He knew why he was here, but he didn’t really want to see her. Not after what he’d heard about the end. Aaron sighed. There was nothing to do but visit. He walked inside.

“I’d like to see Mrs. Aardvark, please.” Come this way, the purse-lipped, pointy-glassed nurse with the little white hat said to him. He followed her to the lounge area. They were all watching The Edge of Night. Aaron remembered his mother talking about that soap – it went off the air just before Aaron was born.

And there she was, sitting in a chair, rocking back and forth. But the chair wasn’t a rocker. Her shoulders curved inward toward her chest, her white hair lay on her head in a frazzled jumble. Aaron could see the bones of her shoulders, her hips, her knees, and her forearms were like sticks.

“Hello, Granny,” he said, going up to her, knowing it didn’t matter. She looked up at him and then down again.

“I’ve got it all under control,” she said. “The turkey’s in the oven, the vegetables are stewing on the stove, and I’ve put on my diaper.”