Time Walker

When I was a child, my mother told me a story about a time walker who was born in the 20th century but traveled through time to find her one true love and settle in the 18th century to live out her days with the man she loved and their children.

“How do you know who time walkers are? What do they look like?” I asked.

“Their second toe is longer than their first toe,” she answered with a smile.

“But, my second toe is longer than my first toe, and your second toe is longer than your first one, does that mean we are time walkers?”

“Maybe. It’s also a sign of beauty,” she said and kissed my forehead.

“But mama, I want to know how to time walk.”

“Close your eyes, think of where you want to be, and imagine yourself there. It works best while you are trying to sleep; if anything, you will have sweet dreams. Now off to sleep with you.” I would close my eyes, and the most that would happen is that I would fall asleep.

Oh, to be a child again and believe in such things. When we think of time travel, we often imagine a better past. I tend to romanticize history; the truth is, most history was not that pretty. Poor sanitation, no indoor plumbing, barbaric and dangerous medical treatment, a life of poverty, and many people died young.

Since time travel wasn’t going to be possible, the next best thing for me was a historical trip to Scotland. There is so much history in Edinburgh alone, and then there is the Highlands. On my first day in Edinburgh, I walked the Royal Mile and ended up in a pub called The World’s End. It is a historic pub on High Street, situated where the gates to the fort that once protected Edinburgh’s Old Town stood. These gates were the boundary between the city and the outside world, hence the name The World’s End.

Not far from there was another historical pub in the Grassmarket area, called The White Hart Inn. A stranger at The World’s End suggested I visit, as I had mentioned that Robert Burns was my favorite poet. The stranger said it was where Rabbie, as his friends would call him, would frequent when he was in Edinburgh, and it’s a historical spot. Little did I know it would be there at the Inn that I would pierce the veil of time.

I was having a drink at the bar when an elderly gentleman sat next to me. His name was Rory and he was a retired professor of Scottish literature. We got into a conversation about the famous Robert Burns and his humble beginnings. His passion was writing, and soon he was pursuing his literary work. Burns was a romantic, passionate, handsome, and intellectual poet and songwriter, and was very charismatic. Falling in love often, he would write poems and songs of love, leaving the ladies thinking the poem was about them. Sometimes it was, and sometimes it was just his love of women. He fathered 12 children with 4 different women, not a monogamous man, but a fascinating one. His last visit to the Inn was in 1791; a mere five years later, he died in 1796.

I said to Rory, “Oh, if I were a time walker, he is the one man I would love to meet, but just once to be in his presence, not to be one of his many love pursuits.”

“And I’m sure he would love to meet you.”

After many whiskies and topics, I bid my new friend Rory goodnight. He left through a back door, and I moved myself to a small table to wait for my taxi to take me back to my hotel. The evening was still young, but I had an early start on my sightseeing the next morning. While waiting, I closed my eyes as I listened to the sounds around me and pictured myself back in 1791, here in this pub with Robert Burns, at the same time. The noise rose louder and louder, and then I heard a voice say, “I see you are staying your post. Do you await a companion?” Opening my eyes, I saw Rory standing next to a handsome man. I looked from Rory to the young man and back again, a broad smile spreading across my face.

“Miss Sarah McBride, may I introduce you to Mr. Robert Burns? Mr. Burns, may I present Miss Sarah McBride?” Robert smiled, then bowed his head.

“May he join you, Miss McBride?” asked Rory.

“Yes, please sit.”

I quickly looked around, realizing I was no longer in the same pub, or at least my surroundings had changed. The smell of ale and pipe smoke was all around me. The clothes of the patrons, as well as mine, were of a different time. Robert sat down, while Rory placed two drams of whisky on our table and left us to our privacy.

“The professor said you are traveling? Whereabouts do you come from?”

“I’m visiting from America.”

“I have a steadfast devotion to your nation and the principles upon which it was established,” he said, and then proceeded to recite a poem softly.

“When Guilford good our pilot stood,

An’ did our hellim thraw, man,

Ae night, at tea, began a plea,

Within America, man,” He stopped and looked away as if looking for other words to add.

“I’ve never heard that poem before,” I said.

“That’s because it has not been published, nor have I finished it….hopefully, one day…..May I inquire if you are a great reader of poetry?”

“Yes, I am.”

“If you were to recommend a poet to a dear friend, who would you choose?”

“Yourself, sir, who else?”

An intimate smile swept across his sensual face, “I am flattered by your kind words. You do me a great honor.”

I blushed and wasn’t sure what to say next. Robert’s eyes bore into my own deeply. I felt he was reading my soul and could see every detail of my thoughts.

“These emotions I am feeling for you are like that of a red rose that has just bloomed, new and beautiful,” he said.

‘A Red, Red Rose’ was my favorite Burns poem, but the year I was in was 1791, and Robert did not write the poem until 1794. The evening was passing too quickly; I didn’t want it to end. He told me I was different from any woman he had ever met, with my speech and outspoken thoughts. He wondered if that was how all American women were. Robert would be in Edinburgh for a week and wanted to spend as much time with me as possible. He gently kissed my hand and kept it warm within his as he continued to speak.

It was nearing midnight, and I said I needed to get back to my hotel. He kissed my hand once more and made me promise to return the following evening. He walked me to the door and bid me a good night’s rest. I stepped closer to him to kiss his cheek, and my eyes closed. When I opened them to look at him one last time, he was gone, and I was back in the pub in my own time. Looking around the room, no one seemed to notice me, and everyone was chatting and just having the usual good time.

“What just happened to me?” I said out loud. Rory was back and sitting at the table I had just left. The room grew quiet, but only for him and me; everyone else was still chatting and drinking.

“You are a time walker, Sarah McBride. I knew it the moment I met you, you are one of the lucky ones. Don’t attempt to want more; that’s when the trouble begins. See it as a holiday, but always return to your time. You never know, sometimes proof of your travel will show up somewhere in the timeline of history.”

“But I want to go back. There is so much more I want to share with Robert.”

“Isn’t it enough that you have inspired him to eventually write The Red Red Rose? You now know you were one of the inspirations for it. Besides, wasn’t it you who said you would not want to be one of his many love pursuits? After all, he is still married to Jean.”

“You’re right, of course. I take it you are a time walker, too?”

“Indeed, I am. How about we go and meet Henry the 8th? Now there’s an interesting amorous man. Married eight times” he said chuckling.

“Oh hell no............... how about Casanova?”