Laurie Boris

Friday is flash fiction day among the stalwart members of 2-Minutes-Go, where author JD Mader lets us desecrate his blog with our blasts of inspiration—or desperation, as the case may be. I wrote this story for last week. Just having a little fun with my recurring characters. I hope you enjoy it.

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Forty-four waited until the invited members settled in with their beverages of choice before he broke the news. Afterward, the assembled faces around the table wore a spectrum of expressions from smug to astounded.

Forty-three looked particularly incredulous. “You’re telling us what, now?”

The forty-fourth president explained again. “Melea texted me that three ‘cool old white dudes’ cosplaying in the park—with great accuracy, mind you—said they were actually Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, and John Adams. Being such a fan of history, I had to check it out. And I found them quite compelling. As it turns out, Dr. Franklin built a time machine and went to the future with Jefferson and Adams to see how their American Experiment was progressing.”

“You owe me dinner,” Forty-three-and-a-half said to her husband. She turned to Forty-four. “We’ve had a running bet that if any of the Founding Fathers had built a time machine, it would have been be Franklin.”

“You can ask him how he did it,” Forty-four said. “You want to meet them?”

“Do bears shit in RFK Junior’s trunk?” Forty-two said. “Hell, yeah, we want to meet ’em!”

Forty-four called his Secret Service guys and ten minutes later, the famous gentlemen filled the doorway of the private dining room. Three tankards of ale arrived in the empty spaces remaining at the table. Introductions were made. The questions came slowly at first, then fast and furious. Forty-two and Jefferson got deep into conversation about slavery and the South. Forty-three-and-a-half huddled with Franklin about the time machine. Forty-four engaged Mr. Adams because he had the distinct sense that the man felt left out. Forty-three’s gaze darted back and forth as if trying to listen to all three discussions.

During a rare gap in the conversation, Jefferson said he was astounded—and reassured—to know that the Council was still meeting. Silence fell over the table. Faces turned from one to the other. Forty-four had told them nothing about their organization—he’d only asked if they’d like to come to his favorite haunt to meet a few of his friends. It was not mentioned during the introductions, or the discourse.

“You started it,” said Forty-three-and-a-half, not as a question.

“Indeed we did, Madame,” Jefferson said. “After our first trip into the future.”

“You know, then,” she said. “You began it for the same reason Barack—I mean, Forty-four—reinstated it? To limit the damage caused by a particular orange menace?”

Mr. Jefferson gave a solemn nod. “Yes. In case the guardrails we’d established were not strong enough to stop a possible return to the type of government we’d been compelled to overthrow, Mr. Adams and I felt a strong compunction to—keep watch, as it were.”

More drinks were ordered; conversation continued. Forty-four surveyed the scene as if floating above his body. Seeing the empty glasses, the men out of time, the offer by Franklin to take them anywhere they wished in his machine…

“Barry.”

He turned. Expecting a question from one of his colleagues. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“I want to go back to sleep, but you keep talking.”

Holy time-traveling founding fathers. “What was I saying?”

“You said ‘Thomas Jefferson started it.’ You writing another book?”

“Something like that,” Forty-four said. “Sorry, honey. Next time, I’ll try to keep it to myself.”