Estimated Time of Arrival

Fiction / The longest stretch of highway in Maine

Note: This is fiction. But, it didn’t come out of nowhere.

There’s about 50 miles between Bangor and Waterville, but it feels like 500. It’s the longest stretch of highway in Maine. There’s not much there; just trees and unpredictable weather and the occasional deer, waiting to leap out into the road and ruin your night, or your life.

Time bends on the interstate there; or maybe it dilates, or collapses in on itself, as if you’re passing through a black hole. It should take about 45 or 50 minutes to drive from point A to point B. You emerge at your destination older than that, somehow. You expect to see gray hairs around your temples when you look at yourself in the rearview mirror.

There’s not often a reason to go to the town of Newport, but I had an assignment: The quarterly meeting of the Maine chapter of the International Magicians Association was set for the function room at the Green Dragon Restaurant, where I was heading to observe and interview the assembled magicians for a story for the newspaper I freelanced for. Why? The Maine chapter was turning 50 years old, which is big news for a small town paper. I always find magic shows entertaining, even today. And the story was easy money.

It was an inky black night in the seasonal netherworld just after New Year’s, when all the holidays are over and there’s weeks of not much to look forward to. It was spitting snow, each flake illuminated by my headlights like TV static. Winter had settled in, white and gray and brown. The highway was a tube, devoid of landmarks or streetlights. It was easy to lose your bearings. I felt like I’d been driving for an hour. It had been 20 minutes.

I finally pulled off Exit 159 and rounded the curve into Newport, and made my way down the strip of gas stations and fast food restaurants and cheap motels that comprised the downtown. The Green Dragon Restaurant’s yellow sign came into view. I hit a pothole as I parked.

For a place called the Green Dragon, everything inside was red; the walls, the booths, the tasseled lanterns hanging from the ceiling. A plastic Christmas tree sat in the corner, with fiber-optic rainbow lights pulsating on and off. An enormous picture of a Chinese dragon hung on one wall; it had a worm-like body and a toothy grin, with curling tendrils of smoke emerging from its nostrils. Only one table in the dining room was occupied, by an older couple, silently sharing a pu pu platter. The blue smoke from the lit sterno flickered in its little cast-iron pot. A man stood at the front counter, a half-smile on his face, looking directly at me.

“Dinner?” he asked.

“No, actually. I’m here for the… magicians? The magician’s meeting?”

He pointed to the double doors to his right, and smiled a little more. “In there.”

I pushed through the doors into another red room, and everyone inside it turned to face me. There were 12 or 13 men in total, plus one woman; a large, 50-ish man in a bright red blazer with a large mustache, papers in hand. He looked like Captain Kangaroo.

“Well hello there, young lady! Are you the reporter from the paper?” he asked, in a disconcertingly old-timey cadence, like a carnival barker

“I am,” I said, reaching out to shake his meaty hand. “Thanks for having me. Are you Bill?”

“The one and only Bill Wilson. The Thrilling Bill Wilson, that is. We’re just going over some old business, so hopefully this isn’t too boring,” he said. He turned to face the crowd. “Everyone, this is the reporter I mentioned in my last email. She’s going to watch the performance and then we can all talk to her for her story about the 50th. Does that sound OK?”

They nodded in agreement. Another man - younger than Thrilling Bill, presumably, with a bowl cut and a bow tie - eagerly interjected.

“Now don’t tell anybody our secrets, OK? Or we’ll have to kill you,” he said. “Magician’s code of honor.” He mimed running a knife across his throat.

The crowd laughed.

“Jeez, Andy, don’t scare her off,” Thrilling Bill said. “I promise, we don’t bite.”

I laughed, gamely. “Well that’s reassuring, I guess.”

“Help yourself to the buffet. This won’t take long.”

I skipped the lukewarm egg rolls and took a seat at an unoccupied table at the back of the room. Alongside Thrilling Bill and Andy Who Said He Would Kill Me, the rest of the assembled magicians seemed like an odd lot. One wore all black, with a goatee and gold chain, like an Anton LaVey lookalike. Another wore a shirt printed with playing cards. One wore a fez. The woman wore a red dress that matched the color of Thrilling Bill’s blazer. Was she his assistant? His wife? Both? Everybody took the role of magician very seriously.

The group discussed the logistics of their 50th anniversary magic show, which was coming up in a few weeks. According to Thrilling Bill, it was to be a grand affair, welcoming magicians from all over New England to the Governor’s Hotel & Event Center in Augusta. The Anton LaVey lookalike asked if they were getting a group rate on rooms. Thrilling Bill said he’d check on that, and then clapped his hands together with a sharp crack.

“Now, if there’s not any other business about logistics, let’s get to the main event: tonight’s showcase,” Bill said. “As you may be aware, we have a newcomer tonight. He just joined the group a month ago, in fact, and was actually the one to suggest we meet here in Newport tonight, at the Green Dragon. Insisted, really. So thanks to him, we’ve had this wonderful meal and made some new friends at this fine Chinese establishment. We’ve never actually been to Newport, have we, Sharon?”

Sharon, the woman in the red dress, shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe once to get gas.”

“This fellow here, though, he reserved the room himself. What a guy!” Bill straightened his jacket, and affected a different sort of posture; he puffed out his chest a bit, and raised his hands. The red blazer looked a little less silly. He looked less like a man in his 50s dressed like he was in a barbershop quartet, and more like a real entertainer. It was all a bit corny, I thought, but totally harmless. It’s good that these people have something fun to do outside of their day jobs. It’s good to have a hobby.

Bill gestured toward the tables in the back of the room. “So, without further ado, please welcome tonight’s showcase performer: Aldo the Eternal! Get up here, Aldo.”

A man I hadn’t noticed before stood up and made his way to the front of the room. He was small-framed, rail-thin, with long, mousey brown hair and small, dark, deep-set eyes. He looked rather avian; all angles and points and high cheekbones. He could have been 45 years old. He could have been 15. I genuinely couldn’t tell.

He faced the crowd and stood for a moment, silent. When he spoke, his voice was reedy and soft, and unaccustomed, perhaps, to public speaking.

“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. It is I, Aldo the Eternal, bender of reality, master of time. Tonight, you will be amazed as you witness things previously thought impossible. Prepare yourself for a mind-bending trip into the unknown. Look on in awe as the very foundations of reality are broken and then remade again. And, maybe, perhaps, see a magic trick or two.”

He paused, waiting for laughter. Bill looked around the room and, hearing no response from the audience, barked a few laughs, like Ed McMahon on the couch with Johnny Carson.

Aldo brushed his hair out of his eyes. The sleeves of his gray tweed jacket were a bit too long, and the tops of his fingers poked out of them like teeth. The sound of dishes being loaded into a dishwasher could be heard from the next room over. He cleared his throat.

“I see that we have a newcomer in the audience. Young lady, would you please stand up and tell us your name?”

He pointed at me. I looked behind me. There was no one there.

“Me?” I asked.

“Yes, miss, you. Stand up and let us know who you are. I wasn’t told we’d have guests, so I’m curious why you’re here.”

I stood up slightly. “I’m Emily. Um, Bill invited me? He introduced me when I came in. I’m writing a story about the 50th anniversary for the paper.” I sat back down, confused.

“Ah, my apologies, miss. I must have missed that part of the meeting,” he said. “I must ask that you keep this out of your report. I was not made aware that we would have a member of the press here. Can you keep our secrets?”

I nodded, and murmured yes. I smiled, tightly. It was weird.

“Good. Well now, time is getting away from us,” he said. “Let’s fix that.”

He put his hand in one of his jacket pockets and drew out a watch hanging from a chain, which he draped over his other hand. He again looked up at the crowd, awaiting a laugh, with a look that said “Get it?” Bill laughed again, to fill the awkward void. Aldo looked directly at me, his small, dark eyes slightly narrowing. I could feel a strangeness in the air, like when you walk into a room and you know something awkward or bad has just occurred.

“Time, as they say, is an illusion. I will show you tonight that though that may seem to be the case, it is anything but a magic trick. Be forewarned: what you are about to see may make you question the world around you. You may no longer trust what your eyes see, or your ears hear.”

“Big promises!” the Anton LaVey lookalike shouted. “This better be good. We’re magicians, not hypnotists.”

A few people laughed. Aldo the Eternal shot a glance at him. The room felt strange again.

“I assure you that I am no hypnotist. Nor am I some cheap party entertainer, hired to amuse children. I am Aldo the Eternal, and tonight, you will see something that will change your life!”

Thrilling Bill hopped up from his seat and laughed his Ed McMahon laugh again.

“OK, folks, first off, no heckling, all right there, everyone? That’s not nice. This isn’t New Jersey. This is Maine, and we’re nice Maine people here,” he said. “And, secondly, Aldo, we’re all excited to see what you’re bringing to the table. Please, continue.”

“Actually, before you sit down, sir, why don’t you come up here and join me?” Aldo said. “I do need a volunteer.”

“Me? I… well, all right.” Bill straightened his jacket again. “I am at your service. Though I will say, I am impossible to hypnotize.”

Aldo smiled, the first non-serious emotion I’d seen cross his face. “I’m not going to hypnotize you, Mr. Wilson. I’m going to show you your future.” He gestured to a chair next to him, and Bill gamely took a seat.

“Behold; a simple pocket watch. Outwardly, nothing special about it. But as with most things in life, it’s not the thing itself; it’s what you do with it.” He turned to face Bill and dangled the watch in front of him. “Please, sir, does anything look unusual about this watch?”

“Not that I can see,” Bill replied. “Looks perfectly normal to me.”

“Good,” said Aldo. “Now, observe as I make a tiny adjustment.”

He closed his eyes, and paused, as if to steady himself. He wound the stem at the top of the watch with one loud click. “Feel anything different, Mr. Wilson?”

“I can’t say that I do, Aldo.”

“Understandable.” He wound the stem again. “How about now?”

“Not particularly.”

He wound the stem three more times, and looked at Bill. Bill breathed in, deeply, a look of puzzlement on his face. The dishwashers in the kitchen the next room over sounded different; like they were on a record being played backward.

“I feel pretty good. I feel… lighter,” Bill said, holding his hands before him, flipping them from palm to top, as if he’d never seen them before. “What is this, Aldo?”

Aldo turned to face the audience. “You see, ladies and gentlemen, you just experienced something inexplicable. Something few else in the world ever get to experience. That’s why I’ve brought you here tonight. To show you what I’ve discovered, and what it can do.” He turned to face Bill. “Mr. Wilson, you’re now ten years younger. How do you feel?”

Bill laughed, and smiled. “Well, I’d say you’re a miracle worker, but I’d also say I don’t believe you. Where’s the trick? What’s the prestige?”

Aldo smiled. He looked like Iggy Pop and Gollum had a child. He wound the watch five more times, in the opposite direction. I felt something inside my body change, like the flood of hormones before your period, or the chemical rush before a panic attack. Bill fidgeted in his seat, a look of concern on his face. His wife in the red dress called out a sharp, brief yelp.

“Mr. Wilson, how would you feel if I told you that now, instead of being ten years younger than you were a moment ago, you’re now ten years older? And you have aged accordingly, both physically and mentally.” Aldo looked deeply serious.

Bill stood up out of his chair. “I’d say you’re insane, Aldo. This is not appropriate for this organization. What is this? Have you drugged me? I feel very strange.”

“I haven’t drugged you, sir. I’ve merely shown you what is possible when you realize that time is, in fact, an illusion.” He pulled a small mirror out of his other pocket. “Look at yourself, Mr. Wilson. What do you see?”

Bill took the mirror, cautiously, and held it up to his face. He gingerly touched his cheek, then ran his hand through his hair, which was now almost entirely gray. He looked terrified. “How?”

“There is something here – in this town, this place, in this specific location on this planet – that makes time move differently,” Aldo said. “It can stretch. It can contract. The closer you are to this place - this anomaly - the more pronounced it becomes. The farther away you are, the less you notice it, and eventually you leave its pull altogether. I noticed it many years ago, when I was a young man growing up here. Back then, I didn’t know what was wrong with me, or what I’d walked into. There weren’t words for it. Einstein hadn’t discovered them yet. I just knew that when I stepped into whatever this is -” he gestured around the room - “I emerged, changed.”

He took the mirror back from Bill, who stood there, agog, the color drained from his face, before dropping back down into his chair. Aldo handed the mirror to Anton LaVey. “What do you see in the mirror?”

“I see myself. And I feel the same,” he said, with a sneer. “I think you’re full of shit. I think you’ve got something hidden in this room that’s making us all feel weird. I know a bad trick when I see one.”

“It’s not a trick. If you don’t believe me, allow me to show you,” said Aldo, who stepped a few feet toward the crowd. “See for yourself.”

He tossed the pocket watch over the crowd; it hit the carpet near me, with a thud. He raised his hand and, palm up, twisted it sideways. My body felt hot, like someone had reached inside my torso and moved my organs around.

Bill, still standing, touched his face and wobbled a bit on his feet. Anton LaVey shot up from his chair; he held a clump of his dyed-black hair in his hands, and screamed. The man in the playing card shirt began to weep, loudly. Andy, with the bowl cut, stared blankly at Bill, his mouth slightly agape.

Bill’s face was now droopy; his skin sagged away from his face, and his suit suddenly seemed two sizes two big. I couldn’t see it, really, but it was there; like my eyes weren’t functioning properly, and couldn’t process what I was witnessing. I looked at my hands. My veins popped out, purple and puffy.

Bill began to pull himself up from his chair, struggling to get to his feet. His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor, with a horrible crack and a sharp cry. He clutched at his hip. His wife, in the red dress, also had gray hair now. She rushed to his side.

“What have you done?” Bill gasped. “What have you done?”

“I’ve shown you what exists in this world,” Aldo said, calmly, a note of sadness in his voice. “Now someone else knows. Now you all know.”

He glanced up, and his eyes locked on me. He seemed to move toward me, though he didn’t seem to walk. He spoke, and his voice seemed to echo in my skull, and not in the room.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he said. It was like the inside of my head was made of metal. “You’re not supposed to be here. You need to leave. Now.”

He let go of me, and I stood up from my chair. Chaos unfolded around me. Anton LaVey lunged for Aldo, who narrowly missed a poorly-thrown punch. Bill’s wife was attempting to call 911. Andy seemed to have passed out in his chair.

I backed away, toward the door, and stepped on something. I looked down and moved my foot: the pocket watch Aldo had used lay there, its face cracked. I picked it up and looked at it. It had stopped at 6:16. I looked back up, and reality set in. I needed to get the fuck out of there.

I shoved the watch in my pocket and ran out the door into the main dining room, where the man who’d greeted me when I first came in stood where he was when I last saw him, leaning against the front counter, looking blase. The fiber-optic Christmas tree was no longer blinking.

“Don’t go in there,” I said. “But call an ambulance.” He told me to have a good night. I started to ask him if he didn’t hear what was going on in the function room, but something told me he already knew.

I shoved the front door open and ran out into the cold night air, hitting the unlock button on my car key over and over again as I sprinted toward my car. I’d never peeled out of a parking lot before, but I slapped it in reverse, wheeled the car around and gunned it.

I remembered enough about how to get back to the highway that I managed to get onto 95 without taking a wrong turn. Once I was up to highway speed, I clicked on the dome light, flipped my sun visor down and flipped up the mirror, to see if I looked like an old woman. A few gray hairs that I’d never seen before caught the overhead light. I couldn’t tell if I had any wrinkles. I flipped up the visor and turned off the light.

The endless rows of trees that lined the highway flew past me as I drove, dark and formless. I felt unmoored. I disappeared in my mind, and thought of very little. When I came to, I was in Bangor, just a few exits away from home. I had no idea how much time had passed. That was usually the case on the drive back from Newport. Now, what was once boring and annoying felt terrifying.

I staggered into my apartment. I looked in the bathroom mirror at myself - same old me, nothing different outwardly. I sat down to email my editor to say that the story about the 50th anniversary of the Maine chapter of the International Magicians Association was not going to happen - should I make up an excuse? Should I tell him what happened? No one would believe me. I didn’t believe me. I’d witnessed a man age decades in minutes, caused by a weird little guy in an ill-fitting jacket at a Chinese restaurant in Newport, Maine. I’d discovered a rupture in the space-time continuum, or whatever physics term was appropriate. I didn’t know, I got a D in physics. That was the story, wasn’t it? That should land above the fold.

I felt something in my pocket and pulled it out. The watch. It was ticking again. It read 6:16 when I first looked at it in Newport. Now, it read the correct time; 7 something, I think. Maybe 8. I didn’t know what time it was. I don’t know that I ever would again.