Moon Walk

By Rick Hartford

Maxine sat at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette. She slowly took the Marlboro out of her mouth after a long leisurely drag and watched the long white ash drop down into an ashtray while the smoke went up to the circular fan. 

She looked over at her husband, Ace Benedict, doing a Marlon Brando with the white ribbed wife beater with a spot of ketchup on his chest.

“You know, they say that Walt Disney helped to make that moon walk movie you’re so obsessed about,” Maxine said.

“Ace didn’t seem to hear her. 

“You know,” Maxine said, “some people might cast aspirations, seeing as you’re using a self-built time machine to travel back to 1969  to prove that the moon landing was a fake.”

The irony,” she continued, looking over at the cylindrical dark room door at the corner of the kitchen.  

Ace said nothing. His mind dwelled on the series of levers and dials he was about to flick down and rotate counterclockwise in order to transport himself.

“It’s not exactly a time machine,” Ace said without looking at Maxine. “There is really no such thing as time,” he continued. “There are only wormholes between dimensions. The trick has always been how to align one dimension with the present day.”

Ace was going to do the alignment through a retrofitted 1940 Zenith radio. “When the darkroom clock strikes midnight you’re going to roll that darkroom door open and I won’t be there,’ he said.

 “According to my calculations I’ll be in an empty classroom right down the hall from the auditorium which has been converted to a movie studio where they’re going to film the hoax of the century."

“Right,” Maxine said, wondering for the hundredth time why she didn’t leave him 10 years ago. Was it because she believed he’d run her over with a car when she was back in high school? “Stop it, she said to herself. You’re getting as nutty as he is.” 

Ace was explaining to Maxine how the time machine worked. “First I set the selector to sit between Special Services and shortwave bands and then turn the dial thusly…

Maxine was no longer listening. She was wondering how Ace had gotten so far off the rail. He had seemed sane enough when she first met him. 

“Well, time to go,” Ace said, getting up from the table and turning to the darkroom door.

“Wait!” Maxine said. 

“Are you really sure you want to do this? Don’t you think you’ve gone a little bit too far already?”

“I haven’t gone anywhere yet,” Ace said, picking up his Lone Ranger lunch box which contained two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, just in case he couldn’t get anything while he was away.

He closed the door to the dark room, turning on his headlamp. Maxine could hear static coming from the radio and then a rising humming sound which got louder every second until there was a loud boom. She looked at the kitchen counter. 

Ace had forgotten his Thermos. 

She listened. There was no more sound. After about five minutes she got up and rolled back the darkroom door. 

He was gone!

Maxine got up, bone tired. She walked to the back door and opened it, looking up at the moon. “Well I’ll be,” Maxine said, gripping the handle to the door tight to keep her legs from buckling. 

There was Ace’s face, silently screaming for help.  

She sighed. Maybe the astronauts would give him a ride home, after they finished making the movie.

Maxine turned out the lights and went to bed.