Witness the beginning

If you must know, the year is 2025 and my name is Pearson Finch; and just in case you were wondering, the man next to me in the mirror… is not my reflection or my twin. His name… is also Pearson Finch.

If by chance you don’t see one of me; it can only mean, that one of us is on a crazy adventure.

We were born in 2001; and we are one of the most influential and controversial artists of the twenty-first century, and one that you may never have heard of.

To give you a better perspective, I am a visual time traveler. I can travel from one point to another and create canvas moments of time no one else has seen. 

I am an oil-on-canvas painter of Portraits, landscapes and abstract visions. I did have many other types of employment; however, this one has become the most unique and my favorite.

My parents were born in 1951. My father’s name was Alex and my mother’s name was Lillian. My mother told me that they never thought they would ever have children, so I was a surprise and a blessing to them both.

My parents were 50 years old when I was born so I guess they kept on trying no matter what.

 I lost my father in 2005 when I was four. My mother and my grandparents raised me. I was an only child, and I am pleased to say she is still with me today at the wonderful young age of 75 and we still reminisce about the past and my parent’s time together.

My grandparents were simple people but enjoyed their time together with daily road trips and vacations to wherever they wanted to go.

There is no secret or sleight of hand to my abilities. I was from a normal family and that’s it.  It just all came natural to me.

It started at a very early age, and my art has mesmerized all of those who have gazed upon my public collection, my world of adventure. Yes, you heard me right, Adventure! Not imagination.

Many have asked, what is my style of art? Well, some have said “Lavish works of imagination and creativity” others have claimed them to be “Extensions of Norman Rockwell’s depiction of life” but to me; they are the “Visions of my own reality.”

My private collection consists of random art of the ages; I find and locate moments in time that have become controversial or continue to be conspiracy theories within the 21^st century. My paintings show the exact moment of controversy: a point in time when the controversy started. Just like a joke that had to have some point of origin.

For example: The moon landing.

There are many who still believe the moon landing never happened and believe it was filmed on a sound stage. The director of this so-called event was no other than Stanley Kubrick, yes the director of 2001 a space odyssey and many other great films.

Kubrick was supposedly hired by NASA to create a realistic landing to fool other countries to our superiority and the public for future funding.

Most of the times I paint for myself and sell them publicly; but the last few years have shown an increase of private collectors hiring me to get something specific.

I was once actually asked if I was considered a time traveling detective. I admit it sounded interesting, but I restrained from accepting jobs of that nature. If I was wrong someone could be wrongfully accused.

I made a promise that I would never put myself in that position and create a controversy of my own.

 I was commissioned by a private collector to assess the possibilities either way of this landing, and since I have maintained a confidentiality with my clients, I cannot disclose the full scope of my findings; However! As they all do, my depictions do not prove or disprove the conspiracy in question. It is in the eyes of the beholder.

My gift requires three things; a date, a picture of the subject and a location with a permanent fixture of some sort in the shot for the return of my shift, this can also be a pen or pencil drawn picture that is an exact copy; very tough but doable.

My client: a Grandson of a top-level NASA representative presented me with a photograph of the “Lunar Excursion Module” (LEM) in a building at Grumman Corp located in Bethpage NY. The year was 1969 and the date April 19^th. The day before the actual landing took place.

            My art work depicted in detail the LEM sitting on a stage of sand surrounded with cameras, stage lighting in a dark building: what I will not tell you is if anyone was or was not in the building at the time.

So now that you get an idea of my art, you should now be able understand my work.  

 I feel my most controversial piece is called “The Silhouette of Lisa” a painting I created which depicts Leonardo Da Vinci painting a portrait of “A figure in the dark.” Da Vinci’s painting became one of his most famous works, and to this day I feel my painting of this exact moment could cause wide criticism and scrutiny. I will never show it to the public.

Some of my other pieces included The Sistine chapel, the fight at the OK Corral, The Roswell incident, the moon landing, and my favorite one of all; a portrait that secured a connection between two people, one from the 21^st century to their seventh great grandfather; a man I was proud to call my friend.

Unwilling to change the course of history or use it for financial gain, I can however observe and interact without repercussions. I cannot Shift where I cannot exist which includes and not limited to outer space and water.

There is one more thing I have noticed about shifting. Emotional transference does not always happen or take place. The only way I can describe this is, just like when you die.

You can’t take all the pain, hate, love, regret and passion with you. The thought of living eternally with such emotions would just be unthinkable. Especially when there not even yours.  

For those who have that greedy imagination: I cannot shift into the future.

I will admit that there have even been times when I was unable to distinguish between me and myself, but that is a story for another time.

At first, they were random. A Shift happens when I least expected it. I have since learned to hone my skills, rejecting them or forcing one at will. Let me explain how it works.

There are two planes that I know of, ‘The Real World’ and what I call ‘The Shift.’ When I look into a mirror, time stops in the Real world and The Shift allows me to travel. This is all due in part to my unique eyesight. No, I don’t have X-ray vision, and I am not superhuman.

Yes. That is right! I have “Near infrared sight”, I can perceive heat signatures and warm objects, allowing me to see in the dark, detect hidden objects, and potentially even sense changes in body temperature.

I don’t know the exact reasoning for the infrared sight, but it seems to help in the projection of an image onto a reflective surface.

I also have a photographic memory; I never forget a picture or an article once I have read it or viewed it; this also includes movies film and television. Yes, it has its ups and downs and there are some things I wish not to remember.

In the end I have the ability to see, absorb and reflect things you can’t.

I have learned to store some memories away and avoid them, but once it is triggered by an event, they all come out.

I am able to project an image from my memory in front of me as if I am seeing it in person, and to me it is as tangible as if I was taking the picture myself from behind the lens of a camera.

However, this presents challenges for me; including a massive influx of data requiring my brain to adapt, and the potential for visual confusion from the overlapping of visible and infrared light.

What does that mean? It means I have an overactive brain and imagination.

I have learned to adapt my vision by staying in a dark place for long periods of time which allowed me to focus on clarity and to strengthen my vision and scenery even more. This was not a simple task and it took some years to perfect; to where it feels just as normal to me as being in The Real World.

The moment I project an image the shift begins. I think there might be an easier way to put it. Once I pick an image I am already transported to the other side. there is no hesitation.

It can only be one image at a time, but the more information I know before I choose, the better the outcome.

I found that I can look in a mirror and reflect my imagination and Shift to wherever or whenever. At first these Shifts were short and uneventful, but as I got older, I was able to lengthen the time.

In the real world it was instantaneous no matter how long I Shifted.

Just prior to my tenth birthday I felt I wasn’t any different than any of the other kids my age; mentally or physically.

My thoughts, my dreams and what I know now as an out of body experience seemed natural for a young kid whose imagination was just running amuck; but on my tenth birthday everything changed.

            My first experience was just that; an experience. It was a Tuesday and it was my birthday. It started out typical; a bus ride, singing songs and playing games on our way to school, when a bump in the road caused some school books to fall onto the floor and open.

A picture depicted on one of the pages was The London eye, a Ferris wheel in England. To a kid my age that is a Must ride… a must see place to be. I stared all day at that picture in awe.

The arrival to school left me with an unfulfilled and explosive desire to daydream the rest of the day. Whatever was happening in the classroom didn’t seem to resonate in my brain, but that Ferris wheel was my departure and escape from everything.

Mid-class, I had asked permission to go to the bathroom and on the way out I passed a mirror that hung on the wall in the back of the classroom. I saw what I thought was movement in the mirror itself, a delay you could say; as I stopped and stared my reflection felt delayed and just seemed to follow me instead of being instantaneous and for a brief moment I felt separated.

From the “Shift side” I could see the classroom as if I just turned around, I could see everything that was behind me as if the mirror wasn’t lying but something was off. I felt different, because what was behind me was not the same as what was in the mirror.

Just a moment ago I saw the classroom and the mirror surrounded with a calendar, pictures, and bookshelves, but now I see a hazy hint of grey mist all around me that wasn’t there before.

I thought for a moment that it was just from standing up too quickly and that I had a feeling of a head rush; so I closed my eyes for a split second and it all seemed to disappear as quickly as it appeared. That was my first experience of the “Shift”

When I told my mother and grandparents what had happened, they could not understand what I was seeing and thought I was joking around, their response?

“Oh, it must have been just a figment of your imagination” 

The only other person I told this to was my best friend, Alicia.

Alicia was not from my neighborhood or my school. To everyone else she was an imaginary friend, but she was very real. You could say that our relationship was very special. We would meet in the park on weekends and share our stories of the week to each other.

We never went to each other’s houses, it just never felt right to do so, but the weekends were ours to enjoy together. We became best buds.

From then on, anything we talked about remained our little secret.

About a week later a second incident occurred at home. I was alone brushing my teeth when the shift happened again; it was spontaneous but this time it was a little longer. The Real world me became perfectly still, but in the Shift I could move around.

This time there was no grey mist, but the vision of something I was just thinking about, The London eye. I started to walk towards it and it actually got closer. I could hear the sound of people laughing and the ambient noise around it was faded but still audible.

If I had to guess I would say it was a 5-6 minute Shift. As coincidental as it was, “The London eye” was the first image I produced on paper as an abstract work of art. 

It was in pencil, and it was a perfect flawless image, undeniably recognizable, but was it a memory from the picture I saw or was it real? It still hangs on my wall to this day.

It didn’t take long to figure out the pattern. The secret was the length of time between the blinks of my eyes. On the Real-world side my reflection moved and followed me, but on the Shift side my reflection did not move.

This moment allowed me to understand how to extend my time. If I shifted right after a blink, it would be longer, but if I hesitated, the shift would be shorter.

I researched eye drops that would and could extend my blink time and make it last longer, but I am not sure what would happen.

I actually thought about holding my eyes open; but that would turn out to be a bad thing for sure.

The Shift would never end.

 I have ventured through some unique and obscure places and seen things that no one else has seen or no one likes to talk about. Which leads me to my seventh extended adventure: as most of all the others were just short spurts for the thrill.

A visit to a local department store led to one of the most incredible adventures of my life.

A stroll through the aisles led me to a wall of bedroom furniture. One specific piece stood out, a mirror I never encountered before.

It was called a makeup mirror or tri-fold vanity mirror for women that folded up. It sat on top of a cabinet; when opened it had three mirrors for different angles of reflection that could be moved for any specific need. I never ran into this before or even heard of it until now. 

Just as I sat down, I thought to myself, what could I do with these? My imagination had run amuck, and I was exploring all different things, just at the moment of Shift and I mean within that split second a child running through the store knocked over a coat rack and broke one of the three mirrors.

I never really thought of what would happen if a mirror broke while I was shifting… It actually never occurred to me because I was always alone.

I know from experience that I need the same mirror and the same reflection to return, because the image had to be the same on both sides. Now I have three mirrors, I had no idea what to expect.

I think I need to clarify something. There is no mirror on the Shift side. To return from a shift I need to be in the exact location where the image was taken as if I was the camera itself. Once I get to that location the shift is complete.

What is hard to describe is how I shift back without causing a ripple in time. This effect is known as the butterfly effect; where if you change one thing somewhere, something changes somewhere else.

There seems to be a delay of time which allows me to find a location out of sight, as long as I completed my task, I can then shift back.

The last look I had on my face when the mirror broke was one of shock and disbelief.

My eyes were forced wide open, my mouth opened as wide as I could get it and my arms stretched out towards me as if I was trying to catch myself, which led to only one conclusion.

I was fucked and this was going to be one long ass adventure. 

What appeared in front of me as I turned around was a dark musty corridor with a spec of light in the far distance; this was my only source of direction. 

“What was I thinking of at the time of the Shift? And how the hell do I get back?”

“Okay, just take a moment, take a deep breath and stay calm”

Those were the first thoughts that were running through my head. I was soon overwhelmed with the obvious. Where the hell am I?

The light in the distance was a bit of a walk, and though I have had no problem before, this walk was becoming quite the challenge. 

It seems my sight was being affected. I studied the pros and cons of having characteristics of infrared sight; and low and behold I was now being affected with them; headaches, dizziness and a slight loss of direction. 

Engulfed in a cold empty space, some wood planks and damp musty dirt walls, I could not pinpoint what could be causing this reaction?

I continued to explore my surroundings as I held my hands firmly to the walls; the unseen dips and crevasses took their toll upon me making it harder and harder to walk. Eventually reaching the end, I could feel the heat of the sun as a breath of fresh air filled my body; not soon after all my senses came back to normal.

Just being one of my second natures, I reached for my cell phone only to remember that in “The Shift” inanimate objects don’t work; not even my self-winding watch… Time for me on either side is irrelevant. I never age.

For a lack of a better word, it took a few minutes for me to return to normal; subsiding to an almost calm relaxed feeling.

The sight of brilliant, almost natural pastel colors on every wall of every building; along with the sounds of horse drawn carriages, and street vendors conversing in a town square on what seemed like market day.

Out of nowhere the sudden jolt of random images seemed to overtake me in a way I have never experienced before.  Headaches I never felt before causing me to keel over in an overload in my head and my vision.

This has never happened before: these images were in front of me as if I felt I needed to Shift and had nothing to do with my current situation I was seeing. These were completely random and arbitrary.

They soon subsided. I was now slightly confused and disoriented but I eventually got my bearings straight.

Voices were now being carried amongst the walls as they echoed through these streets, but it was not English; I couldn’t tell at first but the sudden scream of a parent to their child made it all too clear to me.

“Nein, Nein! Geh von der Straße weg” (No, No…get out of the street)

Yes! It was German.

It never occurred to me to learn another language, I guess I should have listened to my parents; Nevertheless…

I was somewhere, and I needed to figure out where that was.

My attire made me feel oddly out of place, luckily; I was out of sight when I entered this Shift allowing me some time to think and work out a plan of action.

What seemed like hours slipped by as night approached, when I heard what I thought was a familiar sound.

“No. Waren closed Entschuldigung. (No sorry were closed)

Yes. It was English! It was only a few words but definitely distinguishable but where was it coming from?

A glance down along the cobblestone road revealed a Bäckerei. (A bakery to you common folk) where I saw an elderly gentleman sweeping the days crumbs from the street, as I approached cautiously, I began to speak.

” Excuse me, Sprechen Sie Englisch?”

An immediate reaction caused him to stop sweeping and look me up and down in question. A slow dragged-out phrase of words escaped his mouth.

” JA, I do… I mean yes”

It was a broken English but workable. I introduced myself and he responded in kind; as Mathias Böhm.

I proceeded to explain my dilemma of being tossed from a ship, and I was cold and hungry.

Now don’t question me; I had to come up with something! And that was the first thing that came to mind. What would you have said?

He took pity and offered some leftover bread from today’s market.

I thanked him repeatedly as we began to engage in conversation into the night.

He was born in 1734. Married in 1755, He and his wife had two children, Strauss and Urban. Urban left home years ago in search of a better life and hasn’t been home ever since with little to no communication. His wife Margaret Böhm passed away at the young age of 37.

He said I reminded him of his son Strauss that he recently lost to smallpox, and I could see it was taken a toll on him, he was now alone and working constantly to clear his mind and stay busy.

After a long interaction I offered my unlimited services for his kindness and with a smile he agreed. He offered a cot and some old work clothes he had in the shop; simple attire from a simple kind man.

Our interaction and my prying eyes led me to a conclusion. I was in Vienna Austria in 1778, but what the hell was I doing here and why now? What the hell was I thinking of at the time of my shift?

You can imagine that this was not going to be an easy task. It seems I am now in it for the long haul.

As the sun started to set over the horizon, I decided to lie down and sleep. I never slept in the Shift before; I could not imagine what lay ahead when I woke up; if I did…

The next morning brought a surprise to my eyes; it was not a dream but a new reality for me.

A few days later while relaxing in my makeshift bed, I came up with an idea to draw out my imagination. Hey, I had to try something. I needed to know what I was thinking of at the time of my shift. It sounded impossible and I had no doubt it was going to be just that.

It didn’t take long before days turned into weeks and weeks into months and so on.

Yes, my mother would be proud of me now. I finally learned how to make bread and fine pastries, and though very broken, my German was starting to come around as well.

It took almost eight months before my first break in finding out why I was here.

My idea was to start drawing anything that came to mind and see if anything made sense, but I had to refrain from looking around my current situation, I had to remember what I was thinking, not what I was seeing.

Even though I have a photographic memory; it actually made things worse.

At the time of the shift, every image I had was rushing through my head, and if you could see inside my head, you would understand.

I started by drawing three mirrors next to one another as I remembered them in the store. I started doodling in the far right one, since that is the one that broke; I believe I needed that one the most to move forward.

Line after line, Image after image I struggled to remember something, but to no avail. This was becoming a Twilight Zone nightmare! I could have been thinking of anything from mowing the lawn to shopping for apple pie, or even a California beach!

It became an endless loop of imagination that I had to work through.

The endless pencil to paper, the constant erasing day after day, night after night finally became a god send.

My repeated drawings finally revealed a secret. It turns out that if I drew a line that matched the image on that broken mirror or any of them; it could not be erased. My depiction had to be almost perfect.

The only problem was I had to start over again to find the next part of the puzzle. This was going to take some time.

Five and a half years have now passed. I started to get quite comfortable with my surroundings, but I know my time here was limited.

Mathias, my new friend and mentor, began to show signs of depression and what I knew was the beginnings of Alzheimer’s; but I couldn’t tell him that, he would have never understood.

I started working more and more at the “Böhm Bäckerei” to help my friend and to save money that I was going to need to move on. He was aware and understood our time together was coming to an end.

I had been working so hard and my continuous efforts to fill in the gaps with my depictions started to really take shape.

The image that was appearing was that of a book, and not just a normal book, it was thinner. No matter how many lines I drew, none of them were sticking. 

A few months later, Mathias’s health was deteriorating to the point where he was sleep walking and starting to lose his mental state.

This one particular evening I was continuing my research through my life, when Mathias began screaming. I was helpless to aid in his demise and the only thing I could do was comfort him the best I could. 

Returning him to his bed and getting him back to sleep was all I could do. I sat down and just at that moment I began to jab my pencil on the paper in anger. After a few short moments of confusion and despair, I stopped. I soon found myself staring down upon something unrecognizable.

I think this was the first time I have ever shed tears in the “Shift”. Emotions were running high and I was starting to doubt myself and my abilities.

The sheet of paper resembled the night sky and after a moment of reflection I began to erase my mess.

To my surprise, some of the dots were not erasing. I tried again and again. After my fifth attempt I gazed upon an unusual but familiar sight. I have seen this before, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.

A few days later, Mathias and I closed shop early and walked to his home town. He described places of interest and talked about his childhood.

We had walked through town many times before, but this trip took us into the hills of his younger days. Dementia will do this and I understood how it worked, you have your good days and then you have your bad. Today was a good day.

The stroll lasted for hours as he pointed out his childhood home, play grounds and talked about his family in deeper detail.

His father’s name was Augusta, and his mother’s name was Anna. He had one sister by the name of Olga that moved away some years ago. He never mentioned this much detail before during our conversations, so I just followed along as I knew this was a sign of memory loss or confusion.

He briefly talked about his name and how it was hard to pronounce and always had a hard time writing it out. I was confused I thought it was a simple name, Böhm. 

Oh no, that was not the case. He had told me that after he got married, he took his wife’s name because she was from a more upscale family. 

“Would you buy bread from a place called “Swartzenbegger Bakery?” 

Yeah that’s right, you heard me; Swartzenbegger… not Swartzenegger. The name was rewritten in the early 1800’s and exchanged the B with a Z, why? I don’t know; but that threw my head for a spin. I just had to laugh it off. As I found out later on, yes… it was Arnold Swartzenegger’s seventh great grandfather.

Our stroll led us back into town and through the streets of what I have been calling home for the last few years.

A crowd had built up along a wall next to a theatre. A billboard had been installed promoting a performance next week of a local artist. I approached in curiosity, when the sight of musical notes and sheet music came into view. 

That was it! I knew what the dots were on my sheet of paper. The depiction of a musical score was the answer, but why?

Amadeus Wolfgang Mozart was notated at the bottom of the make shift poster. DUH! Now, it all made sense.

I was over excited; Mathias and I made our way back to the Bakery where I let him lie down and rest. Then I got to work. Scribbling this and scribbling that started to reveal a very clear picture; when a knock on the door took my attention away from my work.

I thought it was just a local looking for some pastries when instead I was confronted by two gentlemen, who were dressed more officially. 

“Hello, may I help you?”

“Good day dear sir, we are looking for Mathias Swartzenbegger?

“I am sorry he is resting, my I ask your business?”

“We are from Milan Italy, we have been sent to inform Mr. Swartzenbegger of his son Urban’s passing during the “Battle of the lake of Capua” the only living relative we could find was from a letter in his coat pocket addressed to here. Please give him this. We are saddened by his loss for our country. Good day sir.”

In my hand I held the fate of my friend and mentor, I didn’t have the heart to tell him and if I did, he would have just forgotten within a few days.

I sat clutching a letter from his son who has been absent for years and I didn’t know what to do. 

For the first time in all this confusion I was feeling torn between the loyalties to my friend and telling him the truth.

I felt “loyalty” superseded the truth in this case. I decided to open the letter and read it.

“Dear father
I am sorry for my extended absence. I am now living in Italy and I have made a home with my wife and two children. The current revolutionary war has caused many to flee but I have chosen to stay. My wife’s family is from here and I felt the need to support and honor them, I hope you understand.
My love for you, mom and Strauss has never faded; it was just postponed. I hope you all are well and the bakery remains firm.
My family and I have decided to visit within the next few months. I hope you will accept our greetings.

Loving Son,
Urban”

The letter slipped out of my hands as these words sent chills through my body I couldn’t even describe. I stared at the wall for what seemed like forever.

My decision to read him the letter and refrain from telling him the truth became my choice.  

It took a few days to decide when I would read it, but first; a night out with my friend and enjoy an evening of music from a well-known celebrity. 

It was the day. April twenty seventh seventeen eighty-four: Mozart was now performing in our little town of Vienna Austria and what better way to enjoy a concert with no other than your best friend.

A packed theatre of spectators filled every seat. I was lucky enough to scalp tickets just outside the main entrance. Yeah, you heard me right. 

I scalped two tickets. It costs me2 florins. I got two 4^th row center seats, if you called it that; folding chairs lined up in rows.

As we sat I began to question why my imagination led me to this place and the sheet music I was drawing. I started to reminisce through the movie ‘Amadeus” when I thought of a controversy depicted in the movie.

Were Mozart’s first drafts of any musical score the final drafts; Untouched, unmarked and unchanged? That was my Achilles heel.

My imagination started to focus on a specific moment, and since it was now becoming clearer, I knew what I had to do.

I got out of my seat and began to explore the possibility of seeing him in person for an answer. Door after door: room after room with no luck in my search.

I finally approached a set of glass atrium doors lined with long drapes and curtains. As I moved them to one side, the sight of a young man, eyes closed, pacing the room as if perfecting his movements for his performance.

A glance at the music stand brought my vision to life. Every note became crystal clear. The one noticeable connection was the garbage can filled with crumbled up paper, or possibly sheet music.

I watched in awe as Mozart proceeded to rip one page from his score and re-write it. That was the image I imagined and projected on the mirror. 

Was that a lost page from The Marriage of Figaro?

I finally had my answer. 

After my moment of clarity I ran back to my seat and enjoyed the show with my friend. We laughed, we cried as we enjoyed the music of who was soon to be a legend in my time.  

Returning home I felt it was the right time to read Mathias the letter. I sat him down and told him someone dropped it off earlier today. I told him it was from Urban. He smiled from ear to ear as I began to read it aloud. He clutched his hands together as I spoke; his eyes closed and head tilted back dreaming of a happier time.

It was the perfect time, and I am glad I waited. He made his way to his room and lied down. As I tucked him in for the night I placed the letter in his hands. As I began to leave the room, he insisted that I stay.

I sat next to him… he grabbed my hand… his fingers rolled over and around mine and this was the first time I felt this close to anyone in a very, very long time.

We talked for what seemed like hours into the night. I thanked him for all he did for me and that tomorrow will be a new day for the both of us. His response was simple. 

“You have been a good son to me, but I need you to open the store tomorrow so I can rest and get ready to see my son Urban and his family.”

“No problem pop, I will take care of it.” It was the first time he ever spoke words like that to me.  

I kissed him on the forehead and said goodnight. I blew out the candle and closed the door.

I made my way to my room, lit a candle when not soon after I began to hear whispers escaping Mathias’s room. I knew the inevitable.

To remove myself from the moment I proceeded to complete the image I longed to see. Pencil to paper completed the art. The image was crystal clear, no eraser marks and a perfect rendition of what I saw.

My time here was complete. 

The funeral procession was filled with friends and locals as onlookers from the surrounding neighborhood came to watch.

All the stores closed that day in respect for the local baker who has filled many an empty soul in their time of need, mine included. His laughter, smile and presence will be sorely missed.

Laid to rest next to his wife, his son Strauss and his parents up along a hillside in his hometown with a headstone that read,

“Mathias Swartzenegger Böhm 1735-1785 A gracious man; a loving father, son and husband

A friend for the weary… your name will live on. Rest in peace”

I believe I have just witnessed the end of an era.

A week or so had passed when I was confronted by a clergyman, who stated,

I was to inherit the bakery and continue his work. Since there was no family to pass it on too; the town has accepted you as his successor.

 I accepted this kind gesture till such time arose for me to move on.

Months had passed, before I realized my next destination was not determined. Back to work. The next image needed to show me the way.

***

Two years have now passed. My first clue finally came into view. 

Santa Fe 18, were the first words. The numbers only appeared along the bottom right edge. No lines, no symbols, just the words and numbers.

What did it mean? Since it was in English, I now had my first clue.

I have been in Vienna for almost 10 years. My aging or the lack of was now causing concern, and it was time to move on.

I had a feeling Mathias would not have minded as he knew I would soon have to leave.

I decided to sell the Bäckerei to my pupil, who seemed to have caught on really quick. He made better bread and pastries than me. It was now in good hands.

I saved as much as I could, and with the selling of the bakery I continued on.

I didn’t have a date to go by. I didn’t even know if I would be where I needed to be at the right time. The only thing I knew was; I needed to get to the states.

My memory of the past is vast. Being from the 21^st century and using the internet at the time, I have always been able to plot a course to places of interest, I have always been prepared; of course my graduate’s degree in history was a plus.

I made my way north through Germany, France and Belgium finally ending up in the Netherlands. This took six and a half years, through tough terrain, amazing scenery and rough times.

There was no sense in rushing, since I didn’t know anything more about my venture; I decided to take my time, explore, enjoy and witness many amazing things along my travels.

By the time I reached the Netherlands I witnessed the beginning of the French revolution. I watched the trials of King Louis XVI of France and his wife Marie Antoinette as they were eventually sentenced to death and guillotined in the town square. Louis was executed in January, Marie Antoinette in October of the same year Seventeen ninety three.

I have always wanted to visit the highlands of Scotland. Crossing the English Channel to England was my first step; from there it was a two-year trek through the United Kingdom to the town of Edinburgh. My final destination, Loch ness!

Visiting Scotland has always been a dream of mine for years. Unscathed by modern technology; it is just as picturesque as depicted in the movies. Home of Sean Connery the original James Bond; the Man for all men, William Wallace and the start of the freedom rebellion against England and of course everyone’s favorite food, Haggis.

I enjoyed years of relaxation and soul searching. I took in the breath taking views and met the most incredible group of people. I worked as a sheep herder and attended to many of the local’s daily needs. I made friends along the way and just absorbed the culture.

Reaching Loch ness in the Highlands was a site to be hold. I passed castle after castle along the shores, as if they were built yesterday; constructed with beautiful limestone and granite.

I was soon able to gain the trust of one of the local clans, The Clan of Loch Lomond. The most famous drover, dealer, and protection operator was of course Rob Roy Macgregor;Although he was not there, his name was listed on the wall of noblemen.

Eighteen hundred and one was my lucky year. A night below the stars along the shores of Loch ness proved to me that “Those who wait, receive the riches”

A full moon enhanced the beauty of the landscaped mountain tops. This was the place of Nessy, the famous loch ness monster brought to life in the late nineteen thirties’, but even prior to that a report from St. Columba in the 6th century also claimed the site of a large surgeon beast.

This was one of those myths that was debunked years later but held its ground for many years and worth the visit.

This particular night was windless; leaving loch lake as a sheet of glass as I stoked the fire. I again engaged and reminisce through my thoughts to try to define my imagination. Hours upon hours I continued my search for another clue.

It never occurred to me to work on the third mirror, thinking they all ran in order. What if one picture came before the other? I can’t go back in time, to me everything moves forward. Was there something I was supposed to see on my journey from Austria to Scotland? I will never know.

I started to doubt myself, when the ripples appeared at the shore; these were large circular waves with no sound as if they were created from beneath the center of the lake.

A look upon the water revealed a center point to these ripples, a large black object resembling the dorsal fin of a whale or the sail of a ship with no boat below it.

A slow steady bounce began upon the water that created no sound or white tip waves; as if bobbing up and down, waving to all who could witness it. As soon as it appeared, it was gone. The ripples disappeared and the smooth lake top returned.

Did I just witness, Nessy? I am going to say, no. But I couldn’t think of what else it could have been. I was not the only observer. A glance along the shore, showed a small group of clansmen with torches gazing upon the lake. Quiet and still, they made no comment. Did the full moon have any influence upon this sighting, or was this a ritual the locals performed.

Mid eighteen oh five brought change to the Highlands, clans were dispersing to the lowlands. My time here had come to an end. I decided to make my way westward. I was able to board a cargo ship heading to land abroad.  Unsure of my destination, I accepted this ride as my only form of transportation to the new world. 

The 5 month trip was uneventful. We stopped in small ports along the way which left or held no mark of interest for me, as I needed to get to the states.

I wasn’t completely ignorant to the state of America in the 1800’s, I knew what to avoid and where. The wars were soon approaching; I needed to get as far south as I could and into the expanding mid-west.

Just around this time the industrial revolution had begun, creating a new America and taking its stronghold in the world.

As luck would have it, our final port was Virginia; though Florida would have been a better choice I felt this was far enough south to avoid the beginning of the wars.

This wasn’t a site seeing tour anymore it was now survival mode, but now I fit in. Alexandria was the port.

Naval ships being built and forming a new threat to all those who tread on us. Tremendous ships detailed and fitted for battles and future wars. I gazed upon them with a feeling of superiority and strength.

I lingered, I absorbed, and admired the sight and the beginning of our countries growth; along with all the pride these men had.

I felt the need to participate in the construction of one of these ships, out of pride and respect for our great country. Though I was just a rigger I felt proud to participate in its construction.

The U.S.S. Chesapeake was a 36-gun frigate; built in Portsmouth Virginia. A twelve hundred- and forty-four-ton beast that proudly held its own and after some years of service it soon became the flagship for Commodore James Barron.

I didn’t stay long once the ship was completed. I watched the launch and felt proud of my accomplishment. Though the rigging has been changed over the years; I knew one day I could look upon a portrait of this ship and remember my part.

My departure from the area was swift. I had little to no friends to say goodbye, and no name to be traced. 

Getting past the Mississippi river was my goal and I had no idea what lied ahead. The mid states were new to everyone and most of the war was on the east coast which allowed me some breathing room.

Eighteen hundred and eight was the year.  These were the years of venture. You could call it a dead zone in my imagination. Myth and controversy did not exist. This was history not fable. Native Indians moved from their land and pushed west. Slavery still existed but I knew it was being slowly removed from history. These were times of turmoil not controversy.

These were not images to record or to use to promote my visions and my works of art. Seeing it all firsthand really dug deep into my soul.

The trek across the mid-south took three to four years as I worked my way through. In case you were wondering I took my time. I had no time frame to follow; I didn’t even know if I would make it in time to my next calling. I was running blind, so what difference did it make.

My drawings continued to show improvement, as more and more details came into view. Every line had to be perfect; every line had to be in the right place.

The second picture had improved; it now had lines and more numbers Santa Fe eighteen N M but not enough to show the full image of what appeared to be a train, and now I wondered, why a train?

***

There are some wars you hear about and some you don’t. I guess the war of eighteen twelve had made its way to Texas and I just didn’t remember.

The state of Texas turned out to still be under Spanish rule and was part of the Spanish province of Texas. The war of eighteen twelve was a significant event in Texas history. The war was British actions against American Interests. Don’t get me wrong I heard of the war, but not where it was fought and why. I guess it never made sense to me at the time.

My travels through these tough times had me running for my life. Hiding where I could and staying out of harm’s way. I was scared and I was alone. Running into new people always worried me, but I had to forge forward and continue my quest.

Years in local towns: Settling amongst travelers from the east, as they make their way to the gold coast on horse and carriage.

The frontier as it was called left much to the imagination, endless land and open skies for all to enjoy. It made me wonder why we had to force the native Indians away. Were we that greedy?

I began to indulge more into reading local literature and stories of the times. I had worked north a bit to see the true frontier. Finally I was in eye sight of the Rocky Mountains.

Instead of trying to travel the unknown I made my way south along the eastern side. I finally made my way into New Mexico with the only clue I had before me. The year was now eighteen forty-nine.

As I made my way south, I had to be cautious. Small towns started to slowly appear, and as I knew of their reputation I tried to keep my distance; an odd way to travel but the only way I could to avoid the history I knew.

Over the final hurdle I was now a stone’s throw away from my destination. It felt like forever to reach this point; I could now look in awe at the site of an open range and a tree lined river.

A small sign next to the road with the simple words Santa Fe New Mexico. A slow slide of my fingers over the words confirmed my arrival.

The sound of running water over river stones made the noise I was hearing.

I made my way over to grab what was hopefully a drink and to clean myself up from all the baggage I carried through these many years.

Up ahead I saw an old broken-down shack along the banks that seemed to be secure enough for me to rest and prepare for whatever was next.

Amongst the dirt and remnants, I located a bed or what looked like one. My idea was to close my eyes and hope that I made it in time and that my timely extension of travel did not change my destination.

A sudden jolt out of my sound sleep only reminded me of my current predicament. It was all too real now and one I needed to work it out.

I opened my eyes to the rumbling sound of what felt like a stampede; but by the time I got up to look it was gone.

Upon leaving the cabin, I made my way along the banks in hopes to find someone to help. I was feeling hungry and my energy was getting low.

Up ahead, smoke bellowing from wooden cabins, corrals filled with cattle and horses and a main road leading to an old western town. This is what I needed to see, I wasn’t alone and if worst came to worst, I had a place to call home.

Oddly enough I was wearing jeans and a dress shirt, not too far from the times but I still felt i looked out of place.

The first place I visited was the saloon, that’s where everyone goes to unwind, so for me it was the perfect place to start.

The kind barkeep approached me and introduced himself as Wendell and since I had very little to no money and no way to pay for a full meal; I had to come up with something.

I told him I was new in town and had been robbed along my travels, that’s why my clothes were dirty and I looked the way I did. Scruffy hair unshaved face, no signs of a horse and my dirty eyeglasses.

He seemed to take a liking to me and offered me a barter to pay for anything I needed. At the moment it was some food and whatever he had to drink. My barter was to clean the saloon until closing, and so I accepted. We had a mild conversation that I was not too sure on how to answer his questions, so I had to play a game and let him lead the way.

“Where are you from?” was his first question.

“I will give you three guesses…”

As he answered me I was able to put together a picture of where and when I was and respond accordingly.

After our discussion I had concluded I was not in New Mexico but south of Denver in San Luis valley. I must have made a wrong turn or just lost my way.

What the hell was I thinking? What thought was going through my mind?

It turned out to only be a sign showing the direction to New Mexico.

Can it get any worse?

Wendell was kind enough to let me stay in a spare room he had upstairs in the back and we could talk more in the morning.

I woke to the smell of bacon and eggs that seemed to spread out through the saloon and rise to the rooms on the second floor. Without hesitation I got dressed and made my way downstairs.

Before I left the room, I saw what was to become the completion of my attire.

Hanging on the back of the door; a worn out ten gallon hat with more dust then I could describe. A few quick slaps with the hat against my leg and it began to show life.

The fit was almost perfect and along with the boots I acquired up north, my old look became almost unrecognizable.

The balcony along the second floor gave me a way to observe the tables and chairs below and take in my new surroundings.

A few locals were seated and enjoying their meals; as I passed them and with a quick tilt of my hat I secured my place.

Wendell and his wife Sarah were busy at the stove and requested my services. It seems a waiter was what they needed.

It was six in the morning and the sun had barely risen above the horizon. Roosters were making their morning chuckles and alerting the town folk that the day had begun.

Wendell approached me and offered me a breakfast I wasn’t expecting. As I looked at him in gratitude; and before I could say a word he spoke.

If you’re interested, we could use your help around here for a while. My worker quit a few days ago. I thought my wife and I could handle it, but it turns out it is more than we thought. So, if you are interested the job is yours.

I didn’t even hesitate, and with great jubilation I spoke out… I’ll take it.

The locals began to enter one by one and request a nice hot and fresh cooked meal while I greeted them with a smile

The next four years were mundane as I worked my way into this culture. The town grew quicker than I imagined, and I became a staple within the community.

During the morning, I worked for Wendell, cooking, bartending and cleaning rooms. The afternoons gave me some free time, and I took a job as a blacksmiths apprentice and learned a new trade.

I got pretty good at it, but it really wasn’t for me.

I continued my search for a resolve. I returned to working on my pictures after a few days of rest. I know that is an odd remark to say, but no matter how much time you think I wasted on this trip, you would be wrong.

Quietly I sat; trying to decipher the next line to my image. I just couldn’t find the next piece, when out of nowhere a push from behind slid my hand in an odd way just off the right of the numbers on the bottom edge of my paper.

You would think someone was trying to pick a fight with me over a bad breakfast they received, but no.

It was Daisy! Daisy was the culprit! A jenny, that’s right a female donkey. A four-year-old: She was known for sneaking up on people, braying very loudly; as if playing a joke. It was her trademark.

After a brief cuddle, a few snacks and a very sloppy kiss she was on her way. I thought of playing pin the tail on the donkey at that moment, but I think I would have lost.

As I began erasing her mess, it turns out she accidentally created a new number that appeared slightly angled from the others.

You can’t imagine the amount of time and effort it takes to create something you think you can remember. This paper was so worn out and it was very old. If I didn’t come up with something soon this paper was going to erase itself.

The next number was a six, followed by a five. Thanks to Daisy, I finally got a date.

You could imagine the relief I had. I did not miss my mark. I actually had another fifteen years… give, or take.

One day I made my way to a make shift park area along the stream the fed the town it’s water.

I rested upon a table made of scrapwood that tilted very badly to one side. In hopes to remedy the situation I took some loose stones and placed them under the one leg. It worked temporarily.

Wendell slowly approached me with a lunch plate, loaded with beans and what I believe was a chicken I just fed this morning. A raise of his eyebrow and a slide of the plate, he spoke.

You’re going to need this. I was slightly confused, until he finished off with…

I think you have been here long enough. As much as I would love for you to stay, this place is holding you back.

It is almost like he knew something was up, but he didn’t. He was just being Wendell.

He continued to speak…

I got you a job with an old friend of mine, Maximillian Max Parker. He is a rancher from Provo Utah, and he will be heading back there soon and could use a hand with his cattle run. I hope you are okay with it.

I was stunned and accepted; I thanked him over and over.

It was just about a week later that I met Mr. Maximillian Parker.

Max as he was known; was what you would call a good ole’ boy. He was 6 foot 3. A man of great stature: 300-325 pounds of pure cowboy. If he got on all fours, he would be mistaken for a Bull, and he had the balls to prove it.

If I had to pick a breed to compare him too, it would be the Charolais. 

This breed is known for its size and strength. While generally docile, Charolais bulls can become aggressive if they feel threatened or if their territory is invaded. He took no shit from anyone when it came to his cattle and his work.

Hey! Excuse me for learning a few things as I travel.

Our ride headed northwest. We were running a new herd he had just purchased. He needed to get them north, branded and grouped with the others.

Branding is quite the job, a very long job. You try branding 2500 head of cattle… Call me when you’re done.

It was 1859 our fifth year of cattle driving. I swear right in front of your eyes it all changes without notice.

As the cattle grazed in an open field, Max and I took a ride into town for supplies.

Your typical town, years of dust upon the exterior of these homes and buildings just made it all too real.

As Max entered the local store, I took a stroll round the area.

The local saloon was getting a makeover, well at least a new roof; but definitely new batwing doors. I am guessing a recent fight caused that damage.

The new train station and horse paddy being built on the south side of town was quite large, as if they were expecting a lot of business.

A final walk to the station proved absolutely priceless.

Upon the finished portion of the front wall was a placard, a poster or just the image I was looking for.

As I removed my drawing from the saddle bags on my horse, I began to shake and tremble. It couldn’t be that easy, and would you believe it, it wasn’t.

As I finished the picture I started so many years ago, the image finally came to life, but as expected it just faded in and out and would not complete itself.

Oh, it was the picture of the train, but not the one I needed. The date was missing.

A brief conversation with the carpenters revealed, that these advertisements were and will be placed on all new and old stations connected to this line.

That included Union Pacific and Santa Fe. Which again left me confused? Since this wasn’t the poster, I was looking for, where was it.

I asked them how many stations were on these tracks. They couldn’t even guess, but every town was getting a station. Talk about a slap on the face.

When we returned to the cattle, I was a bit shaking up. I still had time, so I laid it to rest for the time being.

Max had a change of direction from this point. We headed due west to a town called Castle Dale Utah, where he was asked to graze some land for future development.

We were to spend a few weeks here, so we got comfortable.

Again! The new mountain ranges and valleys were breathtaking. You think you have seen them all when out of nowhere another beautiful sight appears before your eyes.

Yes. And as always, the views are spectacular but this time it was a woman.

I have seen a lot of women in my time, but to me this one was breathtaking.

She was of American Indian descent, with long flowing braided black hair, brown eyes and skin as smooth as silk.

Her name was Aiyanna. Twenty-two years old, the daughter of the local merchant store owner; Sweet, friendly and well-read for the time.

Her older sister Kaitlyn married pretty much the last man in the area. Kaitlyn now has two children with her husband who were actually on their way back to Castle Dale from the west coast.

Kaitlyn’s husband was actually one of the first to become well off from the California gold rush until his claim ran dry.

They decided to head back and start up their life again back in their hometown.

My relationship with Aiyanna was a slow start. A few baskets of lunches and strolls later, finally led to a courtship. It was very clear that our time together was becoming serious and all around us knew it.

Aiyanna’s parents were pleased that she had finally taken a suitor.

Max had some reservations about it, but there was very little he could do. I was not his son, and the choice was mine.

If our relationship were to continue, Max worried he would lose a good hand.

Aiyanna and my conversations took no time to mold a lasting relationship. The fondness was apparent.

It was about 3 weeks later when a telegram came for Aiyanna’s parents; telling them of a tragedy with their daughter Kaitlyn and her husband,

They were robbed and killed on route from California to Utah. Their children 4 and 5 years old were left by them for what they believed were days.

The family being devastated had to go and retrieve the children from the local sheriff’s office in Lake Tahoe along the border of California and Nevada.

My conversation with Max was sincere and heartfelt. I told him that I was going to stay with Aiyanna and spend some time with her.

I Assured Max that I would finish this drive with him and not leave him stranded, but I would have to leave right away to get back and be with Aiyanna and her family.

He agreed and understood my decision.

The cattle drive was going to be over in a few days anyway, and the time it was going to take them to pick up the kids was about a week there and back; so, I hung with Max a bit longer.

I visited a few other train stations in the area to see if anything would come of the picture, but no such luck.

My return to Max’s homestead left me with a sad feeling. I had made a new friend, and yet again I had to leave. Our handshake sealed the deal as he handed me a bonus for doing such a good job.

He gave a small leather pouch of silver and full ownership and tack of the horse I had been using all these years, which went by the name of Rumble.

He told me he wished he had more like me. My response was simple. Some day you will have children, and you will be a proud father.

Thank you, Max. Thank you for everything.

I have to add this footnote for your enjoyment; on something I found out later on.

Maximillian “Max” Parker was/is the father of one Robert Leroy Parker who you might know as no other than “Butch Cassidy.” I think my final sentimental words of encouragement may have been a tad off…

Aiyanna and her family were all welcomed by the town as we prepared and stood fast to their arrival.

The children looked lost and confused, something you don’t wish upon kids of these ages.

A conversation I had with Aiyanna’s parents helped relieve the emotional loss they were feeling. I told them I would help raise the children with Aiyanna if she was willing. I would not assume to ever replace their parents, but I would be more than happy to stay and help.

The years were passing quickly, as I constantly had to remind myself, I could not interfere with history. It wasn’t so much as doing chores or growing with the times as it was trying to not talk about how I grew up. It had to be simple, and I could not falter.

Todd at 14 and Marybeth at 15 have become quite the remarkable kids. I will admit my teachings may have extended a bit in Math Science and history, but I kept it within limits. Their skills were never questioned and if they were, I told them I just figured it out with them.

My Life with Aiyanna was going well. We shared a lot of time together and after a while I started feeling as if leaving was not a good idea.

I did a lot of traveling to find that poster I was looking for; twenty-three stations from here to Provo to New Mexico, but it was never meant to be. I started feeling that this might be it for me. I felt things were no longer as they were supposed to be.

One fine Saturday, Marybeth and Todd made a beeline from the central store to the house. Their faces were filled with excitement. A carnival of sorts was coming to Provo in two weeks. Exotic animal rides, clowns, carnival games, portrait drawings and pictures.

They begged us to go. They swore they would do every chore without question, if they could go.

Surprisingly enough they kept their promise; and away we went.

As we arrived early that morning, we watched as they pitched small tents for the animals. set up tubs for apple bobbing; they also had a makeshift arena for a rodeo and a shooting gallery for the want to be outlaw.

Clowns dressed as cowboys roamed the area to entice the locals and newcomers to enjoy the show.

We enjoyed ourselves for a good portion of the day. Marybeth even won a ribbon for guessing someone’s weight. Todd got water in his ear while bobbing for apples and Aiyanna and I just enjoyed watching.

Okay I won her a stuffed sock that looked like a rabbit for throwing darts.

As we began to make our exit; we were approached by a salesman dressed as a clown, pushing the purchase of a family photo. It was those old black and white photos that literally took minutes as we stood perfectly still.

As we all pondered the thought of being memorialized in this way, the salesman opened a book of previous photographed families and the different poses they could create.

A flip of the pages led me to stop and focus on one particular shot. I had to be dreaming. As I looked closer it was the train.

            The full picture was now in view, but it was just that a photograph, with the corner ripped of only showing the two digits from the date. 18 were the only numbers there.

Nevertheless, it was clear and pristine. The image was just that! A photograph of the train: A promotional image showing our advancements in industrial revolution. IT WASN’T EVEN HERE!

I was dumbfounded; I proceeded to go through the entire book page by page to see if the picture existed somewhere else.

Aiyanna was becoming frantic. Oh, dear lord. is everything alright? Everybody around us was becoming curious to my reaction.

I eventually had to laugh it off as a joke.  “Are we really getting a train?” And I left it at that.

I pulled the photographer to the side and asked him,

Where did he take that photo?

“I didn’t. The other photographer did, but he no longer works with us.”

Why was there a date written on the corner and why was it ripped?

“The picture in the book is a photo of his photo; the date was written on it the day he gave me a copy. I ripped the corner off so we would know which one was mine. I would assume he still has his.”

Where is he now?

“Last I heard he was heading west to San Francisco, but that was almost two months ago. Sorry”

I didn’t sleep that night. My eyes were staring at the ceiling and the thoughts of what I needed to do. The thoughts brought me to a dilemma and a very big decision. I had to find that Photographer, or did I?

Within a couple of days, I made a decision. I was heading to San Francisco. Whether or not I continued after that really wasn’t the issue. It just became an obsession to finish these photographs for my own sanity.

Town after town I searched. My departure from Castle Dale was harder than I thought it would be, my time here was fulfilling, and I got to be a dad and a husband of sorts for almost 10 years.

Saying goodbye to Aiyanna and the kids for an undisclosed amount of time was devastating enough. Thinking of never seeing them again was becoming my downfall.

As I saddled up and prepared for my journey. I told Aiyanna and the family if they needed to contact me, they could use the western Union telegraph. I would be able to receive the message where ever I was, as long as they sent it to the San Francisco area.

Our goodbyes were far from tearless. This has turned out to be harder than I thought it would be, and yet after Mathias I thought this emotional ride would not have even come close.

I knew that San Francisco was booming in 1868. The gold rush was in high gear which was going to make this a very tricky task. Locating a photographer now was like finding a needle in a hay stack.

I actually had very little information to who he was. The only thing I had was his Initials K M. which was relayed to me from the carnival photographer.

By early 1869 I was a day or two away from San Francisco. I ran into many towns along the way that turned out to be gold miner towns. I don’t remember there being so many but it turned out San Francisco was just a starting point for supplies and the purchase of mining claims.

I must have been through 15-20 mining camps. There were photographers there, but not who I was looking for.

A small town outside of Modesto had just come into a new vein or track of gold. This one was a bit north of the others, but showed some promise. There must have been 25-30 miners making their way, so I tagged along.

Upon reaching the area, there was a makeshift office where new miners merged to discuss their new venture into this area. Some of them drank, some of them smoked pipes, and others talked about their families and reminisced.

The one person who stood out of place was a clean cut man from the mid-west setting up equipment for no other than photographs and to witness the new expanding California.

I walked up slowly and stood firmly in front of his table. Excuse me, may I ask your name?

“Mr. Mendall, Mr. Kristopher Mendall and yours?”

You really can’t describe to anyone, the moment you find something you lost or something you were looking for. There is a difference. I found what I was looking for.

Mr. Mendall, my name is Pearson I ran into an old friend of yours at a carnival in Provo Utah.

“Is he still wearing that clown outfit?”

Yes I am afraid he is, but that is not why I am here.

“Wow, I thought he would have given that up by now. What can I do for you dear sir?

By any chance do you have a sample book with you that show your previous work for display?

“Why Yes I do… would you like to see it?”

Kristopher is it?   “Yes. Please”

I have been told that you take the most extraordinary pictures. I would love to see them first hand.

“Let me get them”

If you could only, see the look on my face; eyes closed while holding my breath. The anticipation was killing me.

“Here you go, please enjoy”

Thank you

As I walked over to an empty table I sat and took a deep breath. I turned to the first page and proceeded to explore each picture; some pages were empty, but many more to go. I took my time as I had plenty of it. Page after page revealed a new image of families and group pictures of prospectors.

The next few pages were even more shots of people and places. I reached a section which held shots of in adamant objects; buildings, houses, barns and one train poster. I stopped. I was overwhelmed and I was in shock… I just couldn’t believe it.

The picture I carried in my saddle was now burning a hole in my pocket. As I pulled it out and finished the last few lines, the picture became flawless and complete.

I finally found what I was looking for. Two pictures down… one to go.

Would you believe that it only took me 100 years?

In a curious bit of excitement, I reached down to finish the book and see the rest of Kristopher’s work.

The turning of the next page felt different. It felt real.

As I flipped the next page and watch it slowly fall from right to left, I saw the most beautiful site I have ever seen;

A family portrait of Marybeth, Todd and their parents; taken almost ten years ago. It was them; there was no doubt in my mind. I stopped and stared at that picture and began to tear up.

I knew I had to have that picture; I was getting that picture. I had to ask him about it.

Kristopher told me it was an unclaimed picture he took some years ago. He only left it in because they were not forced smiles; they were natural smiles they held for so long, just to get the perfect shot.

I told Kristopher I wanted to buy it.

10 cents will do just fine. I thought that was a good price and I agreed. I thanked Kristopher and off I went.

As I closed the door I walked away it suddenly hit me. I turned around and had to ask him one more thing. Kris! Sorry, I have one more question for you.

 “Please ask away” Please tell me you know where this picture was taken.

“I am sorry I don’t, as a matter of fact the guy who did died about 3 years ago”

Strike two. Now that I have the image, I am helpless without a location.

 I know my face went pale as I left with my head hanging low.

As of this moment there was no new destination. I decided there was none other place to go than Castle Dale Utah.

I truly wanted to see them again, I wanted to hold Aiyanna in my arms and hug the kid’s at least one more time. I wanted to give them the picture I bought so they would know and never forget who their parents were.

Something I myself, was starting to feel inside. Though my adventures can be timeless; I can still miss them. My mother, my grandparents all safe, while I travel through the endless years.

After almost a year my arrival back home and to my family was unexpected to them and memorable for me.

The picture I bought brought tears to the children, Aiyanna and her parents. They couldn’t thank me enough. They didn’t have too.

I decided to stay in Castle Dale for a bit. There was still a third photo that had to be finished, and I couldn’t think of a better place to be and continue.

I hoped that in a few more years I would see Marybeth possibly get married while Todd may get thoughts of going off to college. Aiyanna and I could become grandparents ourselves, which I do believe would be nice.  

Three more years have gone by and it is now 1872. I have since grown a deep thick full moustache and beard to hide my non aging appearance. Aiyanna calls it “The Sleeping squirrel” and she enjoys combing it out.

Marybeth is dating and it looks serious. Todd has found agriculture as a career. I think I have raised these kids well.

I have a lot of down time now. Sketching through my last image seems to be a pastime.  A few more lines have appeared and held their ground. I am not sure if I need to finish it or not. There are debates in my head that go either way. I guess if it happens it happens, but I don’t seem to be pushing the issue as much.

Word has taken hold in our little town. Wide spread Epidemics are reaching out to the west coast that included Cholera, smallpox, yellow fever, typhoid fever, and influenza. It was a time to start worrying.

The sad part is I was immune; did the immunization work during a shift? I don’t know but I believe I have had my shots.

The question was who didn’t. Were they even available?

Todd was off to Ohio Agricultural and Mechanical College. It had just opened and he was one of the first to be accepted. His grades were good and he had a love for the field.

Marybeth is pregnant. Not married but pregnant. Boy, I tell you if it was 2025 I would be hunting this guy down with a shotgun.

I had to remember when and where I was. These times were different and it was all too normal this way. However! He did propose, but they had to postpone it. The groom’s parents were back east, and on their way home: An estimated time of arrival was approximately 2-3 months.

I can live with that.

They set a date and it was becoming all too real. Our dreams: their future.

 The Utah winter storms of 1872-73 were devastating to live stock, winter crop storage and Human health.

Fire wood was abundant but used up quickly. Many were falling ill to the common cold, influenza, and a few others.

Aiyanna contracted a bad cold at first, followed by a fever. The night sweats and weight loss came very soon after. I read about this and I knew what it was. Tuberculosis

I started treatment with a regimen of rest, fresh air, and a nutritious diet to strengthen the body’s natural defenses. I also read treatments of various substances; that when inhaled helped to alleviate symptoms. These included vapors of tar, iodine, chlorine, hemlock, turpentine, and creosote.

These methods were largely ineffective in curing the disease, which became the leading cause of death in the United States throughout the 19th century.

I can only say that I made her as comfortable as I could.

Do I need to go on?

***

Tombstone Arizona

February 1881

            If you ever wondered how I get the images I create; it’s from being in the right place at the right time. I might have to wait a bit, but I get them, because I know where to look.

Not all my paintings are commissioned by a private collector and though they are few and far between, I do have the occasional history buff who likes a good piece of history.

If you don’t already know nor have an idea what this town is about. October 26^th 1881 might help ring a bell, if not! “The gunfight at the O.K. Corral” should end your query.

I guess in a way I am a detective, but not in the sense you would think. I only observe and re-create that exact moment, and in this case there was always a controversy about who shot first.

The gunfight at the O.K. Corral pitted lawmen against members of a loosely organized group of cattle rustlers and horse thieves called the Cochise County Cowboys. While lasting less than a minute, the gunfight has been the subject of books and films into the 21st century.

So who took that first shot?

            Arriving late February, I rode into town looking for a job as a farrier. I have re-shoed my fair share of horses throughout the years, so I was pretty good at it. I also worked with a blacksmith so I could have options.

The months passed as they have done before, slow, steady and pretty mundane.

            My exit strategy is dwindling; I have one more very slim possibility. One image left I haven’t completed and I don’t even know where I am supposed to be.

October 1^st is now upon me, a few new lines have appeared on my sketch along with a date of 1955.

The image that is coming to life is quite large. It contains multiple towers at the end of a long walkway.

I can’t quite decipher it yet but I am getting close. So it seems I have some time on my hands. After here where should I go?

My recollection of the fight is only what I read. It took place on this date, around a certain time. Three men died at the O.K. Corral: Billy Clanton, Frank McLaury, and Tom McLaury. All three were part of the “Cowboy” faction and were killed during the gunfight.

The two Earp’s Virgil and Morgan were wounded and Doc Holliday was injured but survived the encounter.

I have to tell you I had front row seats to this event and didn’t even know it.

When I first arrived in Tombstone in 1881; the O.K. Corral was owned by “Honest John” Montgomeryand Edward Monroe Benson. They operated it as a livery stable where they rented out horses, buggies, and wagons. Yours truly re-shoed the horses the survivors rode off on.

It was over in less than a minute, but I got what I wanted. Let’s just say someone has that moment in history hanging somewhere in their house.

I stayed a few more years and decided to head north and visit an old friend. My cattle driving buddy Maximillian “Max” parker.

I had written him a few times and he invited me back to his home if I was ever in the neighborhood.

I knew by the time I got there his cattle drive would be over and he would be home. Provo Utah here I come.

***

July 1885, I arrived with a full beard and enough jerky to feed a small town. Never come to Max’s house without beef jerky and a bottle or two of Macallan single malt liquor. I would say aged but, that really doesn’t work in this case.

Max had a son; his name was Robert LeRoy Parker. I think he was around 19 years old. His outlaw career hadn’t started yet. I believe his first robbery was around the age of 23 in Telluride Colorado.

Our conversation went on for hours, before Max told me the trouble he was having with the ranch. Times were getting rough for him; cattle driving had been taking its toll on his health and the lack of good ranch hands. His son helped when and where he could, but he was preoccupied with his friends and not really around much.

 I apologized to him for leaving him short, but he assured me that I was not the issue.

I told him about Castle Dale and the family I raised. He was very touched that I would do something like that for someone else.

I guess he really didn’t know me. I told him I was a proud adoptive father for two great kids. He knew about Aiyanna’s passing from our correspondences. He expressed his condolences in person as well.

I started getting sentimental and thought about a visit to my old homestead, but I held off. I think the memories would hurt too much.

I told him I had time to spare and if he would like I could stay with him for a while and help around the ranch. His response was heartfelt and appreciated.

I spent the next 2 years here. We became closer friends and shared many stories, I had to make up a few, and avoid the truth of my experiences, but they were more white lies than anything else.

One windless night I decided to hang out by the fire and listened to the wolves howl. It was time to work on my final destination. I had the year but the picture didn’t make sense.

Max eventually strolled out and asked if I could use some company, he was carrying a bag of peanuts and some late night snacks. He had two glasses, whiskey and some cigars. How could I refuse? He poured a shot worth of whiskey in each glass, as he sipped; he toasted our friendship and good fortune.

The passing of lit twig from the fire allowed us to puff upon our stogies. We enjoyed the moment.

After all these years he never asked what I’ve been working on.
I told him it was a picture I was drawing of a futuristic world. He laughed and asked to see it.

As I handed it to him, his laugh became boulder at my thought of a futuristic world.

I watched carefully as he tilted himself towards the fire to get a better look and blurted out a chuckle.

What’s so funny?

“This picture; don’t you think these are out dated?”

What is out dated?

“Castles, why would you build a castle here; they went out with the stone Ages”

I took it from his hands and I took a good look.

You son of a bitch… He was right, it was a fucking castle!

I stood up and walked over to him: gave him a great big kiss right on the forehead…

“What the hell was that for?”

Oh, you have no idea! My laugh was of pure jubilation.

I was able to stay with Max for quite some time after. He never questioned my age. He didn’t seem to care or bother him.

In 1908 his son was supposedly killed in a shootout in Bolivia with his friend Harry Alonzo Longabaough aka The Sundance kid, but others have theories that suggest Cassidy survived, possibly returning to the United States under the name William Phillips and dying from cancer in 1937; one year before his father.

I actually had a painting of Max and his son, what year was it? I can’t tell you.

I could bore you with the next seventy years, but I won’t. My time was used to imagine not being able to make it home. Where I would go and where would I stay to not interfere.

I suppose the west coast would be ideal, as it would keep me the furthest from my natural existence. 

Southern California was the place to go. It was warm; friendly, quiet and 3000 miles from anyone I have ever known.

In the1940’s, Southern California offered a mix of Spanish colonial and early American historic sites, scenic natural landscapes, and booming entertainment destinations like movie studios and the music scene.

Key sites I visited included Mission San Juan Capistrano, historic buildings in Los Angeles like the Bradbury Building, and the natural beauty of Joshua Tree National Park. Other attractions included the Greystone Mansion, Heritage Square Museum, and potentially early amusement spots like Angels Flight Railway. 

It didn’t take long for me to put together the final puzzle.

The scuttlebutt in the papers and around the state was the construction of the ultimate family vacation theme park, Disneyland. Opening day; July 17, 1955

I never would have thought that this was the castle I was thinking of, but to find my answer I had to wait.                                 

            As I approached and located the exact spot from my picture, I felt relieved. It seemed that I finally reached the end of my journey. Everything was clear and it felt just right. This adventure if I could call it that: was long, unexpected and just one hell of an experience.

The one question that stilled remained was, can I and will I be able to shift back to the real world.

As I stood motionless staring at the turrets and spires of the castle. I was in awe by its appearance and all it stood for.

One hundred and seventy seven years of travel, exploring and living through some of the darkest times in this world’s history, all coming down to this place of serenity, smiles, laughs and family fun. I began to shed a tear

What a simple place to end such an overwhelming and long ride.

I found I was not the first in line and I was definitely not going to be the last for the opening day. As the line of people continued to build; we were all greeted by many of the Disney characters making their way in and out of the crowds of onlookers and spectators.

One after another they made their way through the crowds to welcome us all, making all the children laugh and smile.

We were greeted by Cinderella, the seven dwarfs, Mickey and Minnie mouse; the characters were endless and quite the site to see.

As the crowd began to move I stood perfectly still waiting for something to happen: as the picture depicted just a few people were in the shot. I waited for the crowd to disperse but even then nothing happened.

At first I thought I was not in the exact spot, so I shuffled from side to side: front to back to hopefully find that angle, thinking I might be off by a step or two.

The only thing that happened was the picture was going in and out of focus; after some time I was able to find the clearest image and version of the picture and I stood my ground.

I removed the other two images from my coat pocket and compared them to the last one. The castle on the paper was not as clear as the others were; but it was finished. It was fading in and out as the others had done, but it wouldn’t finish the process I had seen with the others.   

I was expecting a perfect photo, a black and white replica of this exact moment, but it just wasn’t happening. I did everything I could.

What was wrong!? Why wasn’t I shifting back? I stood for what seemed like hours in different spots staring at a picture hoping it would complete itself and let me go home and end this one single event.

I couldn’t refrain myself from acting out stupid things. I started with things that I knew from movies and TV shows. I pulled the old “I dream of Jeannie”, the crossed arm over arm, a snap of the neck and the blink of my eyes…. No luck.

I even tried looking for a stone to fall into… I mean really; time traveling through a stone? I never got that one. I even tapped the heels of my shoes to see if that would work, when I realized they weren’t red … but still nothing came of it.

I stood helpless and anxious in hopes something would give. I actually felt I was screaming my next statement out loud.

“Where the hell is a Delorean when you need one!?”

I guess I looked out of place to many of the people and characters roaming along the entrance; as I stood there with no camera or family, looking like a lost puppy. People would ask…

“Are you lost or looking for someone?”

I began running everything through my mind. Was I off by days, weeks or even months, do I even have the right place? I no longer had a clue, but the picture showed me otherwise.

Something just didn’t feel right… I couldn’t explain it if I tried.

Day turned into night and the park was closing. I was able to mark the spot with a piece of chalk to make it easier to find when I returned. I made my way to back and forth day after day with no change in the pictureI held so tightly in my hand, constantly waiting for a sign.

With a calmness I haven’t felt in years; this one fine Saturday: a sunny beautiful day presented itself, and for a brief instance I had goose bumps up and down my arms, A chill maybe; when a child hand in hand with his parents escaped from their clutches and approached me.

Watching the child get closer, I never took my eyes off of him. The child stopped; stood perfectly still and stared.

“What character are you?”

I didn’t have an answer except the only one I knew: the truth. I knelt down and faced him head on, eye to eye; and with every ounce of my being, when out of nowhere a comical voice took over to amuse this young boy and I replied.

“What is your name little man?”

He looked at me, carefree and innocently “My name is Alexander, what is yours?”

“My name is Pearson; it’s a pleasure to meet you… and to answer your question… I am my own character; I am a simple time traveler from the future”

The laugh this kid had, the smile on his face was adorable.

“You don’t look like a time traveler”

My reply was again simple. “What does a time traveller look like?

When he stepped closer… I leaned in and with a whisper he asked”

            “Where is your costume?”

Stunned by yet another Question I continued.

            It’s magic… I don’t need a costume; I just fit in to any place I want to go

            “That’s strange, all characters need a costume”

Oddly enough he was right. I told him; the next time you see me I will have a costume on for you.

Just at the moment the parents intervened, and apologized for his behavior. As I stood up to converse with the parents their faces seemed familiar but I couldn’t pin point it. I told them

It was not a problem and that I enjoyed the interaction.

As the parents walked away the young boy continued to stare with a curious look and a final statement.

            “I hope I see you again Mr. Time traveller from the future”

A final request from his parents sealed our deal.

            “Alexander. Let’s go”

Something came over me, the chills up and down my arms were strong, and as I stood up the faces of his parents became crystal clear. They were my grandparents. The little boy was my father.

The name did not click; I never knew my father as Alexander, it was always Alex. I stood there paralyzed by what just happened, could it be, was I dreaming, was this a fucking joke?

As he caught up with his parents and grabbed hold of their hands, he turned to me and spoke just a few simple words.

“Hey Mr. Time traveller… I like your name, don’t ever change it.”

Stunned by what just happened I became helpless; only to be approached and surrounded by Huey, Dewey and Louie, yes that’s right. Donald ducks nephews along with an odd crowd of other characters. Sleeping beauty, the seven dwarfs, Mickey and Minnie mouse; along with many others all singing “Follow the yellow brick road,” the absolute worst version I ever heard.

But the one character that stuck out the most was Goofy. He seemed to be the only one that talked directly to me and with a few words and a tilt of his head. That low goofy voice spoke. “Why are you still here?”

            Just at that moment, I removed the picture from my clutches and noticed everything came full circle. The picture came into full focus and crystal clear.

In that instance; bright lights appeared reflecting a dance of dazzling colors within a gray mist; as if multiple prisms were released. Shards of Glass bending light in all directions. Each ray of light was a different image from my memory.

This time, the past and the future were all being shown to me, a look into my imagination. Each picture was in an untimely order.

The images of that one specific moment in time when the mirror broke began to appear and reappear more often than others; as if floating effortlessly through space. It seems I had it all in front of me and I needed to do something about it.

Was there a specific order to the pictures that would return me to the real world? No. it was simpler than that.

As I heard myself screaming I began to refocus in front of the original tri-view mirror in the store. There I was stretching my arms towards an image I longed to see.

The next words I heard were not enough to verify my long awaited return, but they rang out. A mother scolding her son:

“Billy, do you have any idea what you have done? I told you about no running in the store.”

I leaned back in the chair; I tilted my head back, closed my eyes and just smiled. I made it home…

The End…