12/17/02’s illustrious band:

The Place Out of Time

Brought to you by a ramble in the Maine woods.

Once upon a time when I was living in Orono, Maine, I grabbed a book and took a walk on a fine summer day. I wandered into a woodsy area just outside of the town proper, which didn’t take long, and sat down on a stump to read my sci-fi novel. After reading several chapters, I looked up with a start and realized that I’d better getting back. When I glanced at my watch on the way out of the glen to see how late it was, I got quite a surprise.

About 20 minutes had passed.

I stopped, blinked and looked around. Given the number of pages I’d read, I was sure I had been there for at least a couple hours. On a good day, reading fiction, I can cover about a page a minute, more if there’s lots of dialogue. I had read over 100 pages of my book that afternoon, and it hadn’t been easy going. I should have spent about two hours on that much text. I was quite sure I had. But the angle of the sun hadn’t changed, and I wasn’t hungry yet, although I should have been.

Bemused, I hiked back home. A quick comparison with the house clocks proved that my watch was showing the correct time: about 25 minutes after I’d left.

So what happened there in the woods? Did I misread my clock by two hours before setting out? Did I misread my watch when I started for home? Did I not read as much as I thought I had (even though I remembered the whole arc of story I’d covered that day)? Would any of that explain why the sun hadn’t moved or why I wasn’t hungry for my supper or desperate for my bathroom?

On a return trip to the woods, I found the approximate place I thought I’d sat to read and tried to recreate the scene, but time passed normally. I filed it under the heading Maine Can Be Strange. But I haven’t forgotten it. This episode has stayed with me through the past 10 years (during which I’ve ceased to wear a watch, incidentally).

The house I lived in before Sensational Acres had suffered the addition of what appeared to be a bomb shelter sometime around mid-century. It was a room about the size of a jail cell (not that I have firsthand knowledge of jail cells, mind you) with thick concrete walls — and a flimsy wooden door. Clearly it was not a part of the original house. So naturally I got to thinking . . .

What if that little room were its very own place out of time? What if I could go in there and shut the door and read, and although two hours passed for me, only two minutes elapsed in the outside world? I could pop in there and sleep eight hours, then come out 8 real-world minutes later completely refreshed. I could work two jobs or juggle two boyfriends or live two lives without worrying about when I’d find time to sleep. What a tool this would be!

Of course, I would appear to age faster than normal if I kept this up for too many years, since I’d be “living” a couple extra days a week in the bunker. They would add up. My leg hair would appear to grow even faster than it already does. And people might wonder how I could go home exhausted at 8:00 but be totally rejuvenated by 8:10. And surely they’d wonder why I had to spend 10 minutes locked in the basement by myself every so often. I’m sure the writers on The Twilight Zone could find all sorts of flaws.

Still, think about it: your own personal time machine. How would you use it?