Jukebox Time Machine-A New Day #1

Back To The Bayou

There has been a lot to process in the last few months. Since Sammy Aldridge called with the news that my Uncle Phillip had been declared legally dead, my life has been a rollercoaster ride. I was the heir to his estate, and the worth of my inheritance was my first shock. My science teacher uncle had somehow become a multimillionaire, and now it was mine. That was just the beginning. The most astonishing thing was the jukebox.

My first big surprise was the basement of Uncle Phillip’s house. He had converted the simple lab, where he entertained me and my friends with basic experiments, into what appeared to be the command center of a covert agency.

The jukebox stood on the opposite side of the basement. It was alone except for an old sofa I remembered from my youth. The contrast between the technology on one side and the simplicity of the jukebox was striking. Thinking about sitting on the couch listening to old songs was comforting. Upon inspection, I found the power supply was missing. I repaired it with the help of my high school sweetheart, who is now the love of my life. You’ve probably heard the old saying, “Everything changes with the drop of a dime.” Well, mine cost a quarter.

A single bell tone diverted my attention, and a fasten your seatbelt warning flashed above the door leading to the cockpit. A hand clapped my shoulder.

“Wait till you see it, Bobcat,” said Sammy from behind me. He and his wife, Tabitha, had seats directly behind Pam and me. Before I could reply, the pilot announced we were approaching Louis Armstrong International Airport.

“Welcome to New Orleans,” he said.

Sammy insisted we travel by air to New Orleans, although we had options to get there faster. We were here to visit a property that was part of my inheritance. Over the years, it had fallen into disrepair, and Sammy had taken it upon himself to oversee its renovation. Tabby, Pam, and I had conspired to act nonchalant, but underneath, we were just as excited as Sammy.

Once we got the signal, we grabbed our carry-on bags and entered the terminal. Walking through the crowd, I was thankful we wouldn’t have to endure the baggage area. Sammy had assured us we wouldn’t need to pack much.

We stepped out into the heat and glare of the midday sun. A black Chevy Suburban stopped before us as we stood at the curb, waiting for our eyes to adjust. The deeply tinted window lowered.

“Would you good people be needin’ a ride?” asked a voice with a distinct island vibe.

I broke into a smile. It was Pasqual and Janine. I saw Sammy give a thumbs-up. He must have arranged the whole thing. We climbed into the Suburban. The window went up, closing out the noise. We all expressed our happiness to be together again. Pasqual pulled away from the curb. As he pulled into traffic, Janine presented each of us with a cold Red Stripe, and the voice of Peter Tosh filled the interior with the sound of I Am That I Am. Pam squeezed my hand and leaned into my shoulder. If life could get any better, I don’t think I could stand it.

We did a slow crawl through the French Quarter before continuing out of town to the bayou. I thought Pasqual was intentionally slow-playing, but the Red Stripe kept flowing, and the reggae sounded good through the custom sound system, so I didn’t care. The Cheshire grin on Sammy’s face confirmed my suspicions.

There was no sign of a signal being passed, but Pasqual turned away from town and sped up toward our destination.

The heavy, secure gate leading onto the property was the first sign of improvement. Pasqual activated it with a fob, and the gate glided open, allowing us to proceed. We started down the path. What had been an overgrown mess was now spotless and covered with a thick layer of white river rock. Pasqual lowered the windows, and the smell of the bayou flooded the cabin. I turned to smile at Sammy.

“This is great,” I said before realizing how inadequate my response was. The water came into view, along with the new dock and rebuilt boathouse. The boat that hung there was a modern version of the one we saw in 1969. Pasqual stopped the Suburban. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The house was immaculate. They had replaced stilts, and the house looked new. River rock formed a parking area underneath the house, and a red Jeep Wrangler sat there. I grabbed Sammy and hugged him. “I can’t believe all you’ve done,” I said without releasing my grip on him. His entire countenance reflected the pride he had in the completed project.

Pasqual and Janine stood together at the front of the SUV. I grabbed one in each arm and pulled them into a hug. They have held a special place in my heart since they led us down the path at Antoine’s compound. I was happy to have them with us to share our joy.

I heard the door to the house open and turned in time to see a white ball of fur explode from inside. Cleo ran down half the steps before leaping through the air. She almost bowled me over and gave everyone else a little notice before going to Pam for a belly rub.

I looked to the top of the steps. Felicity Adaire, Antoine Delaheyn, and Melanie Arceneaux stood there. Sammy and Pasqual were removing a large cooler from the back of the Suburban. It appeared to be party time.

I smiled inwardly, thinking of those about to party: Felicity, a woman who has not aged a day since 1952, Antoine, the most powerful voodoo priest in New Orleans, Antoine’s mate, Melanie, who is a witch of the highest power, Pasqual and Janine, Rasta warriors in service to Antoine, even Cleopatra, our dog, whose alter-ego is a dire wolf. Add Pam, Tabitha, Sammy, and me to that list. We’re only simple time travelers. All of us are bound by the jukebox standing in my basement in Durham.

Everyone got a Red Stripe, courtesy of Sammy. We drank beer, laughed, and looked at my shiny new boat. Sammy was proud, and I was proud of him. I’ve known him since elementary school, but he still amazes me with his wit, intellect, and dedication.

After an hour, I realized I had not seen the house’s interior. I snagged Sammy, and we went inside. It was beautiful. The updates were complete, yet a rustic bayou feeling remained.

Sammy called me from the kitchen. When I joined him, he motioned toward the refrigerator, where a magnet held a single piece of paper. We stood for a minute, looking at each other. I moved the magnet, took the paper, and opened it. It read H-9, and below is a P. Instructions from Uncle Phillip in 1969. I would get Felicity to take us back to Durham tomorrow.