Was walking across the street yesterday in Jackson, Mississippi and my right foot fell into a pothole. Trying to avoid twisting my ankle, I stepped quickly to the right — and fell toward another bigger pothole. I stumbled and fell head-first into it.
My body dropped uncontrollably. As my arms flailed, the light of day began to fade. Blackness covered me like an inky quilt.
Then mysteriously, I could see again. A weird green light illuminated a strange world.
I noticed relics from the past: A 1963 Pontiac. A 1953 Corvette. A skeleton of a horse and a buggy.There was even a Civil War cannon. I saw Jimmy Hoffa playing cards with Amelia Earhart who was wearing one of Elvis’ jackets. As I fell, whole cities of gold appeared perched on cliffs of Yazoo Clay. Their broken foundations made them look as distorted as a Dali painting. Broken water pipes squirted water into the air, creating massive fountains that squirted streams of water joyously across the green sky. A giant, dormant volcano loomed in the distance. It was a giant underworld filled with millions of small, black holes.
Each hole was a tunnel to a different time. I could go into the 1941 tunnel and warn the President about Pearl Harbor. Or I could head into the 1967 tunnel and see myself being born. As I fell, I took inventory of each time on each tunnel. Then I saw the one I was looking for — and I flapped my arms to push my way toward it. The guard scrambled as I was sucked into it. Time and light bent like a kaleidoscope. I felt my whole existence being sucked back in time.
I emerged from the tunnel and was standing right in the middle of Pascagoula Street, just seconds from when I stepped into the pothole. I looked down, avoided twisting my ankle and walked on to my car.
The moral? Watch out for potholes in Jackson, Mississippi. They’ll either twist your ankle, suck in your car or take you to a wormhole back in time.