1957. I ended up in 1957. I didn’t know the significance of it but my greater concern was that I was in the same place. I don’t know why I imagined I’d land back home. I landed in my back yard in Michigan. (the real estate agent lied, this house was not built in 1960 since it was there already) Now what? Am I supposed to sit here and wait? There was no precedent as to what you do when traveling back. So I searched out my kind. Not many Arabs in Michigan, those who I found were anxious to be more American than Arab.
I thought of going back home anyway, since time-travel obviously does not allow me to jump geographically, I walked. After a couple of odd restaurant, dock loading and repair jobs I had some 1957 cash to take a ship ride back to Lebanon. Luckily the $30 left in my pocket was older and passed for current.
I arrived in Italy and took another boat to Cyprus and a smaller boat to Beirut. The trip must have been weeks, I lost track of time as I was holed up in the bottom of the ship. I felt like cargo more than tourist. I couldn’t take a plane since they were very expensive and rare.
Not very familiar with my history I do remember there being some sort of US Marine landing in Beirut around this time. Was it this year or next? I couldn’t ask anyone. In fact I tried not to talk to anyone at all. I just walked on experiencing my home land as it was before my birth. It just seemed peaceful. Farmers were plenty and hopeful.
After several days of walking, I found a small village not too foreign to me and decided to seek shelter from a friendly distant relative. Those nights of sleeping outside were beautiful yet anxious and frightful. The house seemed familiar and cozy, it reminded me of my childhood, I wanted to stay.
At that point I knew I had to return to my current home, but that meant a long journey back to Michigan. Although I didn’t know how I’d travel into the future, I knew the only chance had was back at my starting point. I left, trying not to leave evidence of my visit. Not walking very fast I was still in the countryside come nightfall. I camped out under an olive tree. Just a few hundred feet away was a dark and rocky valley that I had to cross, I thought it best to leave that trek for dawn.
I heard rumblings in the distance. It sounded like a group of men coming my way. They may have been hunters. As they approached, my breath silenced. They camped a few yards away. I thought I’d approach them, since I would be found sooner or later and really had no reason to fear. They were friendly, but suspicious. But it was me who was fearful, they had all the guns, several guns, too many to be hunters. I imagined they were gun smugglers from a newly formed militia. This place in this period was about to explode and I didn’t want to be stuck here unfamiliar and unprepared. I left, not asking too many questions, not waiting for them to tell me who they really are; I just left in the middle of the night.
I was hoping for insight, for and awe inspiring revelation, for that life altering encounter, a Gulliveresque experience. It never came, and I was too afraid to seek it out.
The trip back was arduous, boring and long, long enough for me to rethink every move I’ve made and develop several regrets. When I returned home my point of return had a glow. Did it mean I was running out of time? I dove in not knowing when I’d land. I did know where. I’m not certain I would ever be able to travel again or if I’d want to. My greatest fear is that if I do, I’d give in to the urge to try to change things or have them change me.
