Time And Again

Chapter 2



"Good morning Los Angeles, all of you WKJB-FM listeners out there! This is your wake-up call with the Wizard of the 8-track, the mad genius of pop, your main man MegaWatt getting you up and groovin' this AM. For you beach goers, it's gonna be a scorcher today, so stay hydrated! I hope you liked Madonna's Papa Don't Preach because she's keeping that baby! Now we're going to go Back In Time with Huey Lewis & The News."

Tell me, doctor, where are we going this time? Is this the fifties? Or nineteen ninety-nine? All I wanted to do was play my guitar and sing. Take me away. I don't mind. You better promise me I'll be back in time. Gotta get back in time... 

If there's one thing Johnny loathes more than that fake karate kid, Daniel LaRusso, it's crappy pop music. He could have sworn he moved the dial to WCRZ the classic rock alternative. His hand reached out and smacked the radio clock. He hit it again and again, trying to get the alarm to go off, but it wouldn't budge. It's like it's stuck on suck. This can only mean one thing— Tommy's been messing with his radio again.

Please don't drive at eighty-eight. Don't wanna be late again. Take me away. I don't mind. You better promise me I'll be back in time...

Prying one eye open and then the other one, he looked at the time. The clock has to be wrong. It says ten-thirty. He'd never willingly get up this early on the weekend. Annoyance started rising up in him as his hands fisted his pillow. First Tommy changes the station. Then he messes with the time, making him wake up earlier than planned. Super. Once he gets his hands on his idiotic friend, he's going to do what he did to his alarm clock and mess him up. 

Johnny laid there stewing with his jaw clenched. The dumbass knows he's sore and tired from the tournament. Why would he do this? And if he listens to any more of this music, he's going to lose what tiny bit of brain cells he's got left. Turning to the clock, he grabbed it and flipped the switch off. 

"Thank God. Now I can think," he muttered to himself. Instantly ideas started popping into his head. Ideas that would leave Tommy crying like a little girl. Sitting up, he ran a hand down his face. Talking to himself out loud, he said, "That's weird. My neck doesn't ache anymore." He rolled it around. Another odd thing is nothing else aches either, except for his arm from sleeping on it. Who knew a handful of ibuprofen could work so well? It never has before.

He thought to get dressed since he was up, knowing he isn't going to fall back to sleep. As his blue eyes looked around for the chair, he left his clothes on, that's when it hit him. Now grant it, he's not the most obvious person in the world. But there are some things a person can't miss, like a red light, a big wave about to crash over the surf, a hot babe, that hobo on the street corner at Fourth and Main, a clown (because they're all creepy), and the fact he's in his own bedroom... at home. 

The problem with this is he wasn't here the night before. No. He was at the beach house. Of this, he's certain because he remembers the guys being there talking about losing the tournament and having a big do-over button, and watching Jedi. If he was there, then how did he get here?

There's only one logical explanation for this. He slept for longer than thought possible. It's clear he was out cold for days, many days. At some point, the guys moved him from there to here, which is why his radio clock is set to crappy music. He swears once he sees Tommy...

Moving to put his feet on the floor, he did his morning stretch. Then into his closet, he rummaged for a pair of khaki shorts and a pale yellow polo. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he headed downstairs. Hearing the sound of bacon cooking, he followed the direction of the incredible smell straight to the kitchen.