Pete Howard’s book “Rosebud Dreamworld” is pictured.

Dopamine is the chemical in the brain responsible for how we sense pleasure. It’s what tells us that we feel good when, for example, we taste something sweet, or win a prize, or solve a puzzle, or get high on some drug. The problem with dopamine is that while it provides us with a sharp focus and a strong motive to achieve something that is rewarding to our senses, it also can easily be thrown out of whack, leading to obsessive behavior and addiction. It is the scientific explanation for the old metaphor about the sword that cuts both ways.

With some reluctance, I broached the topic of addiction in my novel for young readers, “Rosebud Dreamworld.” First, it is from the perspective of the character Jack, who lives with a grandparent because his parents are junkies. Later, it plays a larger part in the underlying theme of the story: Raif, the main character, has lost his father in an accident involving a time machine. In the following excerpt, Raif learns from a mysterious guardian about the machine and the Pandora’s box it might open.

“Your father, Luke Williams, was part of a team of neuroscientists and visionaries who believed that whatever was in the past still exists somewhere in the present. He believed that the human brain has the capacity to store memories containing experiences that go beyond the vague recollection of images and events. And he was certain that there was a specific place in the brain where memories are stored in great detail, but they are inhibited by neurotransmission processes that instinctively prevent them from being consciously activated.

“To put it more simply, humans have the ability to “relive” parts of their past. And his machine can tap into the part of the brain that holds all memories, and is able bring them into the present experience. This machine, his greatest experiment and the bane of his dreams, is why we are here at this time and in this place.”

“Something’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?” said Raif. “And that is why I’m here.”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes going dim, as she seemed to disappear within herself for a moment. “But before we discuss that, I want you to experience what this machine can do.”

Raif agreed, feeling at once exhilaration and dread.

She motioned for him to sit in the chair. “First, put on the headset. Now, enter a specific date and starting time from your past. A special day, perhaps a holiday. The screen will then lead you through the activation process in which you must – and this is very important – you must indicate how long you wish to stay in that memory. This can be anywhere from one minute to one day from the start time to your return to the present.

“Depending on the season of the year, the appropriate window will open. South is for summer, north is winter, east is spring, west is summer. This is a flat window – two dimensional. At the bottom of the window there will appear a set of three steps leading upwards, into the window. Those three steps will take you into what appears to be a three dimensional world of the time you have chosen. You will then lose awareness of your true, present self as you begin to relive a piece of your past. As such, you will not be able to change anything that happened. You are there exactly as you were according to your memory.”

“But how will I be able to come back to the present?” asked Raif.

“Your return is automatic. You will have chosen it in advance, from a minute to a maximum of one day. After your time is up, the machine shuts off and you are returned here. It will feel like you just had a dream, but one that you remember much more clearly than normal dreams. Now Raif, are you ready to experience the full effect of what your father created?”

Raif entered his eighth birthday, on June 10th, at 8:00 a.m. and he would stay for just thirty minutes.

The south window opened, and Raif walked up three steps and through the threshold. There he stood, in the living room, wearing his polka dot flannel pajamas. His mother and father were seated and smiling as they motioned for him to open the presents that were in a small pile by the mantel. The joy he felt was indescribable as he began tearing the wrapping paper off the gifts. He was overwhelmed with joy when he opened the box that contained a miniature snowmobile that his father had made for him. It was equipped with all the parts necessary to travel across the snow by remote control.

Raif was smiling broadly when he returned, and the feeling lasted a few more minutes while he reoriented himself to the present time. His guardian was there, smiling with him.

“I don’t understand,” said Raif. “That was such a wonderful, magical time. And I was so happy then. What could be wrong with being happy”

“Yes,” she said softly. “And that was what your father envisioned when created the machine. But now I must tell you the rest of the story.”

Pete Howard, author of “Rosebud Dreamworld,” lives in Dunkirk.