“Open that old mahogany cabinet and see what’s inside,” she said, and I couldn’t say no.

Kitty has dust on her shoes and on her shoulders, but never on her hair.  Her hair is always immaculate, and none of us have an inkling why.

But inside the Mahogany cabinet, well, tht’s a diffferent story entirely.  There’s a world of Old Grandfather in there.  It’s like he left his loves and lives in one place, hoping no one would ever stumble on them, or hoping someone would.

In 1876 Grandfather killed a bear with only a pea shooter and two thin peas.  In 1912 he rode a balloon over the peaks of Kilimanjaro and rescued a downed alien craft filled with Fish-men from Sirius B.  In 1948 he blew trombone for Glenn Miller and no man in Metropolis could match his boning.  Then in 1954 he invented time travel, then went back in time and invented it again.

I see dust and old letters and a pile of journals.  There are old photos of beautiful women and beautiful photos of old places they don’t write about in books.  Then there are devices I can make no sense of.  I’m not like old grandfather.  I live in a tract home outside a town they call Palmdale, CA.  Honestly, it’s nothing to be proud of.  There are no Fish-men in Palmdale.

Kitty sits back and marvels at the collection of Old Grandfather stacking up on the floor of the living room.  “You gonna sell this stuff?” She asks.  Kitty wants a new car and Kitty wants a new flat screen.  Kitty is my wife, despite my better judgement.

For once I look her up and down and say  no.  “No, Kitty.  No we’re not selling it.  I’m calling a museum.  Or the government.  Or the government museum,” and two minutes later I’m punching up “Smithsonian” on the Google while Kitty slams pots and pans on the stove in the next room.  “We never have nice things,” she says with her pots and pans.

The Smithonsians will come and take Old Grandfather away from me.  They’ll enshrine him in a glass case or stash him deep in a basement where no one will dare disturb his greatness.  And I will stay in Palmdale, where I sell insurance, a necessary thing in an uncertain world.

But I will sleep in a separate bedroom from Kitty from now on.

And I’m building my own time machine.

Fuck that bitch, you know?