Time Traveler

I spun around as fast as I could. Like an erratic top. My arms flung wide, my feet stomping, faster faster. I figured that if I spun faster than the speed of time I could visit a bygone era. That's how Doc sent Michael J. Fox back to see his parents as horny teenagers, right? While turning, I thought of Abraham Lincoln, so I'd be transported to Ante-Bellum America, to meet the Great Liberator. Even President Reagan was not quite as grand as Lincoln. I kept my eyes open as I spun; the blurry forms of kids playing four-square, a girl upside down on the monkey bars, a boy jumping rope, a makeshift soccer game, a race between pals made me think that I must be approaching the speed of time. Colors interwoven. But just before I could reach the speed when time stops and then reverses, I slowed, then stopped. The blurry forms continued to pass wildly for a moment. The dizzying effect convinced me that I had been within reach of Lincoln's welcoming hand. When I had recovered from the light-headedness, I tried again. Maybe this time.