Chapter Three - The Surreal Encounter

As I left Covington’s Amoco station, I pulled back onto Hancock Street
and headed for the first parking place I could find up on Franklin Street.  
I inventoried my cash, and that was the only original bill I had with a
centered picture.  So that left me with $17.95 of spendable money should
the need arise.  I was experiencing a strange, surreal feeling that I was
somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be.  This was the first time it occurred
to me that I might have a problem getting back to the twenty-first
century.  It would be neat to convert what cash I could into these old
coins, but something was telling me that I needed to go back the way I
came and get out of this place.


Time seemed of the essence.  I didn’t have time to go out and look at my
old school, LJ Bell Elementary; it was Saturday anyhow.  I concluded I
should call my father, Michael Wilkinson, tell him my name was Frank
Wilkinson, and that I was one of his relatives.  It might be better to wait
until we were settled into talking before I told him exactly who I was.  
Since this was 1954, he had left Sunshine Biscuits and was working for
an insurance company.  With his insurance job, he didn’t have to work
Saturday afternoons, and he probably was home since I had seen a white
1950 Ford Custom under the carport.


You’d think I would have learned by now, but I got out my cell phone to
try to call him.  I didn’t remember the number, so I was planning to just
ask information.  Dang it!  Of course the cell phone didn’t work.  So I had
to get some change to feed the parking meter and a pay phone.  You
could park two hours for a nickel, but the pay phone was a dime.  I did
call my father, and told him I was Frank Wilkinson.  And, could I come
over to see him?  That was a strange situation.  I was sixty-five and my
father was forty-eight.  Little Frank (my other self in 1954) was almost
twelve.


My father did invite me over.  He started to tell me how to get to his
house, but I told him I already knew how to get there.  That probably
wasn’t too smart of me.  I drove over and turned into the driveway.  The
children stopped playing to look over my weird looking car.  My father
came out and introduced himself.  I asked his permission to take some
pictures of the children’s enthusiasm for my unusual car.  He said okay.  
I took some pictures with my video camera as they climbed all over it
inside and out.  I switched on the dash lights so they could see all the
features.


You could see on the dirt driveway where my father had spread cinders
from his coal heater to help cars get up the slight incline.  This served a
second purpose; that is, it was a way to dispose of the cinders.  My
father asked me to have a seat on the red and white glider on the side
porch that faced downhill toward the depot.  You could see and certainly
hear the trains down at the station from a couple of places on the porch.  
He asked if I were one of his Florida relatives.  He said he had never
heard of a Frank Wilkinson except for his third son.  I delayed answering
his question as long as I could.  The children had returned to their
playing.  Everything was going just great until I told him who I was.  He
was very disbelieving at first and acted as if I was a con artist or
something like that.  I then continued to tell him how I had left
Greensboro that morning looking for the old side road that eventually
brought me here.  My mother must have been listening from inside the
screen door.  She poked her head out and asked my father to come in as
she had something very important to talk with him about.  She was
furious with my father for letting me come see him without knowing
more about me.  They never did fuss much in front of their children, and
that day she tried to be as calm as she could.  My mother wanted my
father to ask me to leave.  My father finally suggested a compromise
where he would call their pastor, Rev. Vick, and ask him what to do.



They called Rev. Vick, and he said there were two other church deacons
there with him.  He suggested that my father bring his guest (me) over to
the Pee Dee Church.  Then all of them would question me to try to figure
just what I was up to.  (They probably planned to convert me.)  I told my
father that this was quite satisfactory to me.  I then asked him if I could
take some more pictures of the house.  He said I could.  I did take some
pictures of the house, but what I really wanted was more pictures of my
father and the children.  My mother never came out of the house.  After
several minutes of taking pictures, my camera indicated I had used all
the space on the disk.  Since I didn’t have another disk, I put the camera
in a safe place in the trunk of my car.  I invited them to all ride with me,
but my mother insisted to my father that he drive his own car so that
this strange man wouldn’t have to come back over to the house for the
return trip.  Young Frank had snuck back from the game that the other
children were playing, and had been eavesdropping on my conversation
with my father.  He then presented himself and said he wanted to go
over to the church with his father.  This seemed very unusual for him, as
ordinarily he didn’t much like going to church.  My mother objected at
first, but finally relented when my father promised to never let him out
of his sight.       


My father and little Frank in my Dad’s car and me in my car drove over
to the Pee Dee Church. We were met by Rev. Vick (he was almost 65),
Mr. Withers, and Mr. Farley (the last two were my father’s age).  We
greeted each other courteously, and then we proceeded into the church.  
It was almost noon.  Mr. Farley’s wife had packed us some sandwiches,
snacks, and Kool-Aid since she knew her husband and the others had
not had nor soon would have lunch.  We thanked her for her effort.


To be continued....