‘What in the hell was going on, indeed’? 

Totally flabbergasted – I fell asleep at the computer desk, or so I thought.

The next morning I awoke in my bed; Jeanne was already up and in the bathroom as I raised one eyelid, and spied on the world from my vantage point under the covers.

It was the same old world I’d been looking at for years; the dresser with the picture of my mother-in-law with her 3^rd or 4^th husband, I really didn’t know, nor cared.  The television on the rickety table on wheels, with the clothes Jeanne had taken off last night getting in bed, draped across it.  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen it on, and occasionally I’d wonder if it still worked or not.

Of course I was contemplating last night’s adventure on the computer; finding out that history was not the way I knew it to be was hardly something I could forget.  I’d decided just before slipping off to ‘sleep wonderland’ that I would call Leo this morning after waking up instead of then.  "Then" had been one-thirty in the morning; highly unlikely that Leo would of answered the phone, especially since acquiring ‘Caller ID.’

Leo was not a baseball expert, nor did he love the old time Yankees like I did, but he knew who won the 62 World Series, and who made the last out.  In fact, he knew better than me, cause he’d actually been at the ballpark that day and seen everything in person. 

Rolling out of bed and asking Jeanne if she’d made coffee, although I knew the answer - was one of my routines, which I continued this morning.

“No,” was the single-word answer I got, which continued our tradition completely.

Leo was the 75-year-old barber that had cut my hair for the last 12 years; he held down the ‘right chair’ in Fred’s and Leo’s Hair Salon, although the left chair (Fred’s) was full of magazines, books, and assorted cardboard boxes.  No, Fred wasn’t dead as you might of guessed, he’d simply went fishing one day about 2 years ago and never returned.  Leo kept saying he’d come back and take up cutting and talking again, but that day hadn’t came yet.  Once, Leo had received a postcard from him; it was postmarked Potsville, Georgia.  Leo said he thought Fred had a son there, but wasn’t sure.

Making coffee while the phone was ringing Leo - on speaker - I looked out the kitchen window at the gloomy winter morning, and wondered why in the hell we didn’t just buy a motor home and leave this god-forsaken winter wonderland. 

“Leo’s.” 

Leo had finally dropped the ‘Fred and Leo’ line just a few weeks ago, but he still opened the shop every morning except Sunday and Monday, at 7 a.m. sharp, although few customers ever showed up for a haircut that early, which hardly bothered Leo, since he was drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and reading the morning paper. 

Without preamble I went straight to it, ‘who won the 62 World Series?’

“Yanks.” He said, and without pausing, pronounced the conversation over by saying, ‘got a customer, got to go.’  The ‘click’ in my ear - echoed out the other ear, as I said, ‘Crap-Ola!’

Sitting down at Jeanne’s computer desk, I mouse-dinged the history drop-screen down, looking to click on ‘Willie McCovey’ from last night.  To my consternation – there was no ‘history,’ so I had to type in Willie McCovey, and after doing so, I mouse-clicked and sat back waiting for the magic screen to appear.

When it did, I almost wished it hadn’t, for what I got for my trouble was more crap, even though it was redemption from last night, just like my favorite movie "The Shawshank Redemption."  Where did they get that name I mused... while staring at the computer moniter.

‘History’ had reverted to where it’d always been.  “McCovey had lined out to Bobby Richardson, of the Yanks, to end the 1962 World Series.”  So said the computer - and... so sayeth Leo, I said out loud to nobody in particular. 

..and then after a pause..

‘what the hell is going on here?’