We will start boarding through Gate 11…

Abstract image of time and space

Welcome to Imagination Gate 11.  My name is J. M. Sagardia and in this serial blog  I will be sharing innovative fiction stories that will take your imagination through wondrous flights of fancy.

The first one, Time Matters, is a true story that hasn’t happened yet. A new business presentation catapults creative director Ray Young into a world without time. While doing some research regarding the prospect client’s new vision about how to better measure the passage of time he comes in contact with a dead person who knows better than him. From understanding what the present truly is, to discovering how the past is linked to the hypothetical dark matter, this adventure is a roller coaster of mind-blowing discoveries.

I try to publish a minimum of one chapter per week, so fasten your seat belts, make sure your seat back is in the upright position, and prepare for takeoff.

For more information about the author visit www.chemisagardia.com

 

Please help keep the stories flowing…

TIME MATTERS – CHAPTER 1: The Princeton Dream

Dream like image of the Princeton Campus from above

Hi, my name is Raymond Young. You can call me Ray, Raymond, Young, Mr. Young, dude, hey you… whatever suits your fancy. I really don’t care. You can even call me Rey, Señor Young or Don Raymond because even though my name sounds American, English is not my first language. I was born in a Spanish-speaking Caribbean Island within a family of Irish descent. My great-great-grandfather came to the Island as part of the Irish mass migration of the 1920’s. So, being four generations removed from my Old World ancestry my first language is no longer English but Spanish. Anyway, I’ve decided to tell this story in my ancestor’s language in order to better reach certain people who need to hear it for they are unnamed players in this timeless drama based on true events… that haven’t happened yet.

I’m writing to you from a moment gone by. By reading this you’re interacting with a physical construct that resides both in my past and in your present. Your current actions guide a creation process that in turn help materialize the specific future I have in mind.

It all started on a northern autumn Monday around 7:00 AM. I’d been up for a couple of hours already, when my partner Bob Olsen called to make sure I was going to make it to our 9:00 o’clock meeting. Back then I had a reputation of being a little too casual about timeliness.

Bob and I were partners in an upstart advertising agency called YO! (a millennial-style name selected instead of the typical and boring Young & Olsen). We met right out of college in the agency I first worked at. He was a client from Procter & Gamble, and I was an art director working for one of Bob’s brands. It so happened that he was a Stanford alumnus and I was from Notre Dame so it didn’t take long for us to start talking about the sports rivalry between our schools. One thing led to another and we became friends to the point that I was the best man at his second wedding. A sort of shotgun affair that started on the wrong foot and ended in divorce a year and a half later.

After a few years learning the ropes of the business and making the typical rookie mistakes at someone else’s expense, I talked to Bob about starting an agency of our own. I had a few clients who were willing to go with me but needed a rainmaker to grow the business. A role he was perfect for. His deep marketing knowledge combined with his good looks and charismatic personality made him irresistible to prospects.

Convincing him to join me in the venture was easy. The process of talking him into accepting that it was better to go with a name like YO! instead of Young & Olsen was the equivalent of moving your bowels when constipated without the use of stool softeners or even prune juice. Back then I realized that the world would be a safer place if I never owned a gun. Anyway, the name stuck, and our venture took off. I might even make it as Bob’s best man for his fourth wedding if it ever gets to that. I hope not; Iris, his third wife, is really the best thing that ever happened to him.

That morning, Bob was calling about a meeting with our senior staff to discuss the upcoming new business presentation to a prospect called Chronologix. The company was about to launch a new smart watch that could learn about your everyday routine in order to help you better plan your day’s activities in the future. Their approach was somewhat nouvelle but not really groundbreaking.  Just one of those accounts where you have to dress up the beast to make it look desirable. I had given the matter some thought during the weekend and that Sunday night I had a weird dream. One that, in hindsight, turned out to be the beginning of a very strange series of events.

In it, I was at Princeton University for graduation day. The main speaker, a recent Nobel Prize winner, was talking about somebody’s work as the inspiration for his groundbreaking work on the topic of time. As it usually happens in dreams, this scene morphed into another one where I was walking through the beautiful late May Princeton campus, near Blair Hall, with an alumnus that I couldn’t see but that I “felt” was my wife. I looked towards a bench and saw a white-haired man seating there reading a newspaper. I couldn’t make his face until he lowered the paper enough to show that it was Albert Einstein. He winked at me… and I woke up.

My 9:00 o’clock meeting that Monday was going to be attended by a Princeton alumnus that, at the time, had me rethinking a particular aspect of my life.

TIME MATTERS – CHAPTER 2: YO! Planning Stage

View of YO! Advertising offices

I got to the staff meeting ten minutes late. To tell you the truth, that became the plan the moment I got Bob’s 7:00 o’clock call. I can’t begin to express how much I enjoy annoying him. It’s an integral part of our relationship. I bet you he thought he was waking me up with his call earlier. Rest assured that the fact he didn’t, ruined his sunrise let’s-piss-Ray-off exercise.

My excuse for lateness was always the same: “Island time”. In the Caribbean a 9:00 o’clock start time means 9:10, 9:15… Since Bob and I have always encouraged a casual and relaxed work environment, members of my creative team decided to enhance my entrance to the conference room by performing a vocal percussion salsa version of the Mario Brothers’ song. Something they had just seen on YouTube and a tribute to both my childhood passion for the video game and my Island upbringing.

Gina Caulder, the agency’s chief strategist and the Princeton alumnus I mentioned would be at the meeting, was getting ready to start her presentation to the group. We got along well but she didn’t care at all for my antics with punctuality. After Bob expressed his appreciation for my attendance to the meeting in an exaggeratedly sarcastic manner, he passed the baton to Gina. In just 20 minutes she covered every single detail of the Chronologix pitch assignment. The tasks for each team member were laid out and everyone got up and headed back to their work areas.

Bob, Gina and I were the last ones getting out of the conference room. That’s when Bob asked me if I was going to his place the following Saturday to watch the Stanford-Notre Dame football game.

“You mean the Notre Dame-Stanford game?” I said, emphasizing the Notre Dame first sequence.

“Oh my God, that’s this weekend?” asked an amused Gina. “You two better work fast this week, or you’ll be spending YO! Bowl Day at the office.”

YO! Bowl Day was how we referred to that Saturday in the fall when the football teams of Notre Dame and Stanford clashed. It was a big thing for us, and Bob and I always had a wager on it. Not a monetary one but something foolish that the loser had to do in front of an audience.

The last time Stanford lost, Bob had to dress up as a leprechaun and sing the Notre Dame fight song in the agency’s lobby (something similar to what I had seen ESPN’s Mark May do on TV). I took a picture of him and made a blow-up that still hangs in a very visible place in my office. Anyway, I told him that I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend Saturday with a bunch of Stanford alumni and would rather watch the game in a place with a lot less red in it.

“Gina, what are you doing this Saturday? Would you like to watch the Fighting Irish beat… a color? Hey Bob, what’s with the pine tree mascot anyway? The Cardinal color wasn’t intimidating enough so you guys added a tree?” I said.

“As much fun as that sounds,” said Gina with a hint of her signature sarcasm before Bob could answer my taunts, “I have aunt duty this weekend.”

“What do you mean aunt duty?” I asked.

“My older sister will be out of town and her kids will be staying with their favorite aunt in the whole world,” she said.

“So, you’re free this weekend,” I said with a smirk. A remark that earned me a slap in the arm.

“Ok, that’s my cue. I’ll see you guys later,” said Bob as he left the room.

“I promised them we’d do some camping,” said Gina, now talking solely with me.

“I didn’t know you liked camping. Where are you taking them?”

“Oh, I hate camping. I find the whole experience extremely uncomfortable. What the kids and I do is put up a couple of sheets, tent-like, in the living room and settle under them in sleeping bags. We even watch scary movies like “Casper” and “Ghostbusters,” she said amused by the whole idea.

Gina was a very strong professional woman. A fierce civil rights activist in her spare time, she kept the softer side of her very private. The fact that she was sharing this with me made me feel special. We had dated a few times and it was always great, but there was still some hesitation on both parts. Maybe it was fear of damaging something that, so far, felt quite good. Anyway, I saw an opportunity and decided to go for all the marbles as I invited myself to a party I wasn’t included in:

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” I said. “What if I went over and grilled some BBQ food in order to add some outdoor cooking to the whole in-house camping experience? Do you think the kids would like it?”

“Well, I’m not sure about the kids but their aunt will certainly appreciate the gesture, and the help,” she said smiling.

“It’s a date then.”  Now I was really looking forward to YO! Bowl Day.

TIME MATTERS – CHAPTER 3: Professor Murdock

Image of Professor Murdock at YO!'s

I’d been back in my office for an hour and had already talked to my creative team about the pitch and how to go about it creatively when the receptionist called:

“Mr. Young, Cyril Murdock is here for you.”

“Call me Ray, Tanya.  Mr. Young is my father.  Show him in… or better yet, I’ll go get him.  Give me a couple of minutes.”

Tanya was our new receptionist. She came to the interview wearing a lilac panama hat that perfectly reflected her bubbly personality. From that moment on Bob and I decided that she and her hat were exactly the type of first impression we wanted to create on anyone who walked into our agency.

Cyril Murdock was a philosophy professor of mine in college. As sometimes happens with good teachers, we established a relationship outside the classroom based on mutual intellectual respect. I remember going to him for advice concerning my endeavors in other courses. A brilliant and accessible man, he was always very helpful. He moved to our city a couple of years ago and we had renewed our friendship. At the time, I had sought his opinion on the syllabus for a college level course I was designing. I usually would go to his place when picking his brain about anything, so it was a surprise to have him pop in at my office that day. I went over to the reception area and there he was wearing one of his distinctive bow ties.

“Hi Professor, what a nice surprise,” I said as we shook hands.

“Hello Raymond, I’m sorry to show up unannounced.”

“Nonsense, it’s always a pleasure to see you. Mi casa es su casa.”

“Thanks a lot, I literally was in the neighborhood and thought that, maybe, it would be a good idea to stop by and give you in person my feedback on your course proposal.”

“Awesome. Would you like some coffee?” I asked.

“That would be great, thank you.”

We walked to the agency’s small kitchen area for some java. On the way, I asked him about Matthew. His face lit up as he started talking just like a grandfather would when telling stories about a grandchild.

See, Matthew was his pet ferret, and for those of you who have never had any experience with these animals, let me point out that the little rascals are very intelligent creatures with a knack for mischievous behavior, and don’t have much of a sense of fear. Actually, the professor had chosen that particular name so that its full name would be Matthew Murdock, like the fearless Daredevil character in the Marvel comics and movies. While we were getting our coffees, the professor told me about this new hiding place he had discovered where Matthew had stashed away a random set of shiny objects the little scoundrel had “stolen” from him.

Once in my office, Professor Murdock gave me his assessment on the course and asked me where I was planning to submit it. A notion I hadn’t given much thought to because the proposal was just something I wanted to have ready. A platform I could use if and when the time was right for me to start a teaching career. Doing it right away was not in the cards at that moment. I told him so and his response was somewhat odd:

“Raymond, let me tell you something about time. At some point in the past, the ancient Greek mixed up two of their mythological characters: Chronos, the personification of time, and Cronus the titan. One of the products of this amalgamation was the story that had Cronus devouring his offspring to prevent them from threatening his reign over the world. I’m sure you saw Goya’s painting of ‘Saturn devouring his son’(1)  in one of your art history courses in college. I’ve always found it very disturbing, but it refers to that Cronus story which the Greeks believed represented the destructive ravages of time devouring all things.

“Ray, you should make time work for you, see it not as a barrier but as a tool for creation. My advice is: don’t wait. Go do this now. Besides, your take on creative thinking within the context of a world that is becoming more and more emotional is very relevant today.”

What I found odd was not his advice for me to pursue teaching right away, but the use of the concept of time precisely when, unbeknownst to him, I was involved in a business presentation that had to do with time planning. The coincidence was a little eerie.

The conversation with my old college professor served as a harbinger of things to come that day.

 

(1) NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: When I first saw this Goya painting in art history class I found it too gruesome and disturbing for my taste. That’s why I didn’t include a link to it in the story. Anyway, if after being warned you still want to take a look at it, you can see it here.