Microstory 244: Perspective Nineteen

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Perspective Eighteen

I’ve been on shift for far too long; even longer than usual. My eyelids are dropping, and I can feel memories floating away from my brain. I mean that I’m consciously thinking about what kind of medications to give to my current patient, but as I’m trying to focus on them, they disappear. Fortunately, we write everything down, so I’m at very little risk of messing something up, but still. I just need a little sleep. There’s this corner just inside the backroom where no one can see me, including the cameras. I often stand there and rest my eyes, and I swear it helps. I think I’ve successfully taught myself to sleep standing up. But someone is in there right now. My boss sends me a text message, telling me he’s taking me up on my offer to go on the cruise. Wait, what? No, that text is from my uptight mother. My boss is summoning me to his office. That makes more sense. I glide upstairs and enter the office, plopping myself down on the chair. I stare out the window where his face should be. He must have stepped out for a second. No, that’s not right. This isn’t his office. Where the hell am I? I reluctantly get up and head for the right place. He goes on and on about being a team player and contributing to the successes of the group, and blah blah blah. I’m not listening. He’s so long-winded and aggravating. Can’t he just shut up and let me sleep? But then I catch a few words in his speech that don’t fit; just between us, and being a good girl, and maybe a raise. He would never mention giving me a raise, and what was that about a pillow? I roll the back of my head back and forth against the chair then let my eyes close completely. I don’t want to get fired, but I just can’t take it anymore. Even nurses need sleep, believe it or not. I feel myself being dragged over to the couch, and I carelessly try to fight him off. Sleep and let it happen, or run. Yes, run. I have to go. Straight to human resources.

Perspective Twenty

Microstory 243: Perspective Eighteen

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Perspective Seventeen

I’ve been called a “wretched busybody” by different people, on multiple occasions. Such a strange phrase, so people must be talking about me behind my back. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be sweet and understanding, and even a little submissive. That all stopped when my husband revealed to me that he’s been having an affair with the same woman for the entire fifty years of our marriage, and then some.  I never really liked the man, and was a little relieved that I finally had a reason to let him go. I actually wish he had told me the truth sooner. For the first few weeks, I felt free and alive. I even went out to the clubs a few times. I stuck out like a sore thumb at an amputee convention, but I had a lot of fun. Pretty soon, though, the novelty of single life wore off, and I reverted into the bitter, irritable old woman I was destined to be. My neighbor feels the brunt of my wrath. He runs a small business out of his home, selling custom wares with a cadre of hoodlums and delinquents. They all seem like nice people, but they all have problems. I don’t know if any of them have been to jail, but they just don’t look right to me. I don’t trust them, and I worry that their presence is bringing down property values. I had a real estate appraiser come out and confirm as much about neighborhood small businesses. Okay, that’s a lie, but I still heard that it’s true. He’s a great guy, and I’m glad he’s helping those kids out, but I just don’t think I should have to suffer them. Sure, they’ve not done wrong by me...per se, but they might. You don’t know. My daughter says that I should hold onto the youth I was recapturing just after the separation. She’s been not so subtly emailing me information about cruises, saying that women my age do this all the time. Apparently there’s this entire subculture of old people who just live on cruise ships for the rest of their lives. I’ve always found that kind of thing to be rather pathetic, but now it’s looking a bit appealing, to be honest. She recently sent me a brochure about a cruise for older singles. I’m still thinking it over.

Perspective Nineteen

Microstory 242: Perspective Seventeen

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Perspective Sixteen

I kind of hate my job, but I kind of love it. I’m known in certain circles for taking in employees with personality disorders or other emotional problems. Some of them qualify for assistance from the state, while others simply applied and earned their positions independently. I’ve seen how hard it is for people diagnosed with disorders and syndromes. They can sometimes have trouble interacting with others, and so neurotypical employers tend to just not bother with giving them a chance. I didn’t start my business with the intention of supporting my community in this way, but when I saw how hard it was for my autistic nephew to relate to his classmates, I guess I had this instinct to reach out. I didn’t realize how tough this industry would be, or how much I would learn to absolutely detest the work. Make no mistake, helping people in need is extremely rewarding. It’s just all the other stuff that I’ve stopped caring about. We sell custom merchandise. You want your company’s logo on a mug; on a sweater, on a pencil? We’ll do it. Ya know, as long as we have the time and the resources and the capital. So many other businesses handle this sort of thing, and I just can’t stay afloat. I thought it would be interesting, and that every day would be a new challenge, but it’s turned out to be so incredibly tedious. What I’ve discovered after working with these people is that I want to make it my job to help them get other jobs. But that requires education, training, and for me to close the business, which would mean putting the people I already am helping out of work. I’m working on a way to step one foot on the boat while keeping the other on the dock, so I don’t fall in. But that’s even more difficult than you would probably imagine. There’s not really a way for me to slow down production, while one by one letting my people go, because I feel an obligation to find them other work beforehand. And so I laugh, because at this point, I’m the one who needs a state counselor to help me figure out what I’m going to do to achieve my career goals.

Perspective Eighteen

Microstory 241: Perspective Sixteen

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Perspective Fifteen

There he is; the guy I have a crush on. I feel like I’ve been staring at him through the diner window for hours. I can’t see very well through the glass, but people inside can see me clear as day. And they’re all talking about me. I need to make a decision to either go inside or move on. He’s approaching the son of one of our coworkers who he can relate to because he has a low level of maturity. And that’s what makes me feel so bad. He told me that he was diagnosed with borderline intellectual something. I can’t remember the full term, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bigoted, or anything. I just don’t know if I’m allowed to be attracted to someone like that. He’ll always have that learning disability, and I would always be explaining things to him, just like I already do. But is it fair to be in a relationship with someone who’s not smart enough to fully grasp what that relationship means? Or does he understand it, and I’m just being ignorant. Is it bigoted to not be in a relationship with him because of his condition? Oh man, I feel like such a bad person for these thoughts, but I can’t help it. It is my curse to overthink things. I actually have a medical condition of my own, which is probably what attracted me to him. Most people really focus on the compulsive part of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, but those compulsions are not the underlying problem. People have stray thoughts all the time, but I have them all the time. In every situation I encounter, I think about every possible outcome, and every choice I could make. This sounds like science fiction, but it’s all about consolidation. I don’t literally think through each potential future. I just consider the possibilities and what kind of choices I would have to make for those to occur. The problem with that is most of the possibilities are extremely remote. The person I’m talking to is probably not going to turn into a vampire, and there probably won’t be a meteorite that will give me superpowers, but these kind of possibilities just consume me, and I have to work extremely hard to ignore them. I realized my condition when I was pretty young, and I developed coping mechanisms to help me function in the world. I’ve gotten pretty good at acting like a normal person, but I still stand out. That brings us back around to my crush. He doesn’t judge me or question me, and I could really use more of that in my life. But not right now. If I go in now, I’ll likely slip on the floor and break my back. I’ll talk to him tomorrow at work.

Perspective Seventeen

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 5, 2059

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The Cleanser had been right about “the next Reaver” coming. Mateo just didn’t think he meant so soon. Though, to be fair, it was technically a year later. And it could have been even longer from any other salmon’s perspective. He woke to find himself in the middle of the woods with Leona and Prince Darko. It was the dawn and their phones were nowhere to be found.

“What’s going on?” Leona demanded.

“Why are you looking at me?” Prince Darko asked, astonished. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Oh yeah, right,” Leona scoffed. It was becoming a bad habit.

“Leona, you can’t accuse him with no evidence.”

“He shows up and now we’ve been transported outside of our pattern.”

“That doesn’t mean that I’m the one who brought us here. I wouldn’t have a clue as to how to do such a thing.”

“Puh-lease.”

“Leona, stop. We have to work together to figure this out.”

“Oh, you would take his side.”

“There are no sides. There’s only survival. There’s bears in these woods,” Prince Darko said ominously.

“Bears can be dealt with,” Leona said. “They don’t attack humans as much as you would think.”

“I’m not talking about animal bears,” Prince Darko clarified. “I’m talking about bears that eat salmon. Everything is a danger.”

“Oh, ha!” Leona laughed sarcastically. “Good one.”

“I’m serious,” Prince Darko complained.

“We need to find some help,” Mateo jumped in, trying to defuse the situation with logic. “Or maybe not. Don’t they say if you’re lost in the forest, you’re supposed to stay put and wait for rescue?”

“That’s for when people know you’re there. We don’t even know where we are,” Leona nearly yelled.

“Hey, he’s just trying to get through this!” Prince Darko yelled back.

“Both of you shut up. I hear something.” Mateo didn’t really hear anything. He just wanted a few seconds of silence. But then they actually did hear something. It was a zipping sound that flew past their heads and landed in a tree. An arrow.

“Oh my God,” Prince Darko grumbled, “we teleported into a horror movie.”

Mateo was determined to fix the problem. It was probably just a hunter who didn’t realize that they weren’t deer. “It’s probably just a hunter who can’t see us very well.” Mateo stood up straight and started waving his arms.

“Mateo,” Leona whispered urgently, “please get down.”

“Hey! Don’t shoot!” Mateo pleaded. “We’re human!” He could see the hunter up ahead, and he was definitely close enough to hear Mateo’s cries, unless he was wearing headphones or something. Mateo realized his folly far too late. Another zip came and forced itself into Mateo’s heart. They were the ones being hunted. It wasn’t clear whether the hunter was actually intending to kill them specifically, or if they just happened to be the ones he found while on his hunt. Mateo was able to eke out one word as he was falling towards his back. “Run.”

Everything froze. Mateo stood from the side, staring at his own body, hanging in midair. Leona appeared to be on her way to catching him. Prince Darko was eyeing the hunter with violent rage in his eyes. But no one was moving; neither were the leaves or the wind or dark clouds in the early morning sky. Time was standing still.

“Mister Matic,” came a voice from behind Mateo’s temporary figure. It wasn’t the Cleanser.

“And you are?”

“They call me The Rogue.”

“What is it with you people and nicknames?”

The Rogue laughed. “I dunno. But they call me this because I don’t follow their rules. I’ve gone off on my own.”

“I’m pretty sure that position has been filled.”

“Yes,” the stranger nodded his head in understanding. “The Cleanser and I are very much alike. But his intention is to wipe us all out. Mine is to have fun.”

“From what I’ve been told, that’s exactly what it means to be a choosing one.”

“That’s true,” the Rogue admitted. “However, they are trying to shape the timeline according to their liking. I don’t care about the timeline. I just like to watch the struggle.”

“You’re trying to create a bad timeline,” Mateo posited. “Leona would actually probably call it the darkest timeline.”

“That’s right,” the Rogue said. “From your perspective, at least.”

Mateo massaged his temples. “I am so tired. I haven’t been doing this for very long, but I don’t wanna go any further. If I agree to let you do what you want, will you cancel mine and Leona’s pattern?”

“What about your brother?”

“What about him?” Mateo felt himself not caring. Prince Darko was obviously trying to strain his and Leona’s relationship. He should have been taking the moral high ground and tried to save them all, but he couldn’t help but just not care anymore. “You leave my family alone, and Leona’s, and I’ll let you go.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll have to defeat you, just like I did Horace Reaver.”

The Rogue thought about this for a long time. Or rather, for literally no time at all. “Interesting proposition. You didn’t seem like the kind of person who would forgo the world, just for your family.”

“Before all this, I wasn’t.”

“That’s fair, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” Mateo knew he would do this. There was no way a guy with the power to stop time would agree to end his game so quickly. He was obviously a psychopath, and needed to be stopped. But Mateo couldn’t do that if he was acting like himself. These people knew everything about him. There was even evidence that they could read his mind. He had to remain as unpredictable as possible. He had to keep them guessing; rule number eleven.

“So, what are your plans for us?”

“To make your lives hell. One day at a time.”

Mateo apathetically turned his head to look at his real body, still hanging in the air, on the verge of death. “You don’t have much time.”

The Rogue laughed again. “Tis but a flesh wound.”

“I feel myself dying.”

“You want me to correct this? You want me to give you a pass?”

“Just this once.”

“Very well, but there will be more tribulations. Wanna see something cool?”

Yes, definitely. “Not really.”

“Pull the arrow out of your chest.”

“Doctors will tell you not to do that.”

“Just trust me. Make sure you take it out in reverse.”

Mateo had no choice, and he was curious to see what was going to happen. He took hold of the back of the arrow and begin to pull on it. The arrow didn’t move right away, but his own body did. Once he was back upright, the arrow began to slide out of his chest. He looked over and could see Leona crawling backwards and Prince Darko turning his head away from the distant hunter. Mateo pushed the arrow back in and watch the scene play out in slow motion. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. The faster he moved, the faster the scene moved. He was manipulating the passage of time with his hands. That was cool.

“All right, you’ve had your fun. Pull the arrow all the way out, and then you can adjust its path so that it avoids you altogether. All you have to do is think about changing time, rather than reversing it.”

Mateo had a better idea. “I have a better idea.” After the arrow was all the way out, and his wound had magically sealed back up as if it had never happened, he moved his own arm up. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the arrow and clasped it tightly.

“Leona and Prince Darko are gonna know something’s up if you catch a freaking arrow in midair.”

Mateo shrugged. “Somehow I don’t think that will bother me.”

The Rogue shook his head like he was watching his dog chew on a shoe. “I can’t reverse or slow velocity once we step back into real time, so you’re going to have to match it with an equal opposing force. Leona would understand this better,” he added with a sigh.

Mateo thought about it for a second then reversed the arrow a few more inches back to give himself more time to slow it down. “There.”

“There,” the Rogue agreed. He snapped his fingers and restarted time, placing Mateo back into his real body.

The arrow tried to keep moving, just as the Rogue had said, but Mateo was able to hold onto it before the tip could pierce his skin. He had succeeded in making it look like he had superhuman reflexes. He looked over at Leona and Prince Darko who were shocked by this.

“Buffy,” Leona whispered.

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Overwritten: Train Train Go Away (Part IV)

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As I’m waiting to board the train, I can hear the woman who sells tickets get into it with a guy who is trying to purchase one at the last minute. As she’s giving him a hard time about his identification, I realize that I recognize him. His name is Mateo Matic. He first disappeared mysteriously in 2014, and then again in 2015, almost exactly one year later. Ever since then, I’ve spotted him hanging with Reaver’s alternate timeline wife, Leona Delaney, but only once a year. I was watching her before Reaver was paying me for it. He must be some kind of time traveler as well. I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but Reaver probably has dastardly plans for him. They might could be friends, but I highly doubt it. If he feels threatened by Mateo when it comes to his theoretical love, then only death will follow. Are my plans failing? Is Reaver falling into the same pattern as before? What am I going to do now?

I board the train, cautiously sit behind Mateo, and flip on the tablet that Micro gave me. She never told me exactly where they want the train to be, or when they want it to be there. I’m just supposed to let the program she wrote run and do absolutely nothing else. But I am going to do something else. I’m going to monitor Mateo and get a better sense of who he is. If I fear that his death is imminent then I’ll pull the plug on the whole operation. I’ll only be able to do this once, though. After I make that move, Reaver will no longer trust me. He doesn’t go on his killing spree in the alternate timeline for the better part of two decades. Anything could happen. Man, I really hope I don’t have to burn this bridge.

Mateo does nothing of note throughout most of the trip, but then someone gets on the intercom and claims that all the frequent stops are just as annoying to them because they have to be there too. Yikes. I adjust my body into a defensive position, worried that they’ll find out that I’m the one causing this. Micro assured me that no one would know, that these kind of scheduling issues used to happen all the time, but I’m still worried. Maybe I should have gone ahead and taken that stage combat class. A man on the other side of the aisle reacts to the announcement, “the difference between us and the crew, is that we are paying for the misery, while they are being paid.”

“So true,” Mateo answers.

“What’s your final destination?” the man asks. Who is this guy? Is he another time traveler? Another investigator? A threat? An ally? Does he know something, or is he just a stranger on a train?

Mateo takes a long time to answer. Either that or he’s ignoring him. I don’t have a great vantage point. I should have sat behind this dude’s seat so that I could secretly see Mateo from there. Rookie mistake.

“I didn’t know it was a trick question,” the man says with a laugh.

“No, sorry. It’s Grand Junction, Colorado.”

“Business or pleasure.”

I see Mateo take a deep breath. “New life,” he says with conviction.

“Ah, interesting. Running from, or just running to?”

Mateo tilts his head and pauses again. He must just be a thoughtful character, not wanting to answer inaccurately or rashly. “Both.” Nice answer; short and sweet.

“Well, I’m rooting for you. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks,” Mateo says, but it doesn’t sound genuine. The train lurches and begins to move again. “What do you do for a living?” He doesn’t sound all that interested.

“I’m a physicist. The name’s Duke Andrews. I assume you don’t have a career at the moment. What’s your name?”

“Mateo. I don’t have a last name anymore, though.”

“Full commitment,” Duke says back. “I respect that.” He really does sound like he respects the decision, if that really is what Mateo is going for. If Mateo’s struggle to buy the train ticket is any indication, his last name is no longer relevant. To perhaps his family and friends, he’s been missing. To the world, and particularly the government, he would no longer exist. Once you’re gone for long enough, they’ll just decide you’re dead. Mateo probably hasn’t reached that point yet, but he will relatively soon.

After another delay, I look at my watch and see that we’re about nine hours behind schedule. I wonder if that means we’re on schedule. I can hear Mateo open a paper map. A paper map. Paper. Guy still uses paper; what a weirdo. Eventually, he stops moving. I have this strange thought that the program I’ve been running does more than just manipulate train movements. Or maybe it doesn’t do that at all. Maybe it’s been sending out a magic signal that’s programmed to rupture Mateo’s brain stem, or some crazy science fiction like that. I stand up and head towards the front of the train so I can get a look while I’m heading for the lavatory. Crap. The lav is behind us. What will my excuse be then? I’m overthinking it, and no one is watching me. Yes, they are. Duke eyes me with suspicion. Or maybe it’s curiosity. I just need to leave. I could have business in another car. What does he know? He doesn’t know. Screw him! I’m going to another car, and he can’t do anything about it. Is the food car up ahead, or is it behind us? No, it doesn’t matter. Just keep walking. My only threat is Duke Andrews, and he can go to hell!

But he’s not the only potential threat to my life as a train schedule hacker. With each subsequent car, the chances that the food car is up ahead decreases. Soon, I realize that it can’t be, and I’m walking forward for no reason. There are other people here, and they are all watching me. They’re all cops, and judges, and time travelers, and “Reaver Enterprises” spies. That’s right, this entire train is full of people who work for Reaver. This is all a big test, and I’m failing. Shit, I have to get back to my seat. But how’s a man gonna turn around? If I just stop in the middle of one of the cars and start heading in the opposite direction, people will be like, dafuq is that guy doing? Because, like I said, they all work for Reaver, so they’re all watching me. Doesn’t matter. If I’ve failed, then I’ve failed. All I can do is go back and keep my head down from now on. Sure, I might be headed towards my death, but I knew that from the start. This train may very well be on a collision course. It could have been designed to kill Mateo, or to kill me. But that would be ridiculous because all the other people on the train work for Reaver too. Surely he wouldn’t kill so many of his own employees. No, stop thinking like that. That’s called paranoia. They don’t all work for him. Maybe half. No, shut up! Nobody works for Horace Reaver. Well, except for me, of course. And maybe someone else. And probably one more for good measure.

I sit back down in my seat and take my anxiety medicine. After a while, I can hear Mateo moving around again. He’s alive. For now.

Duke shuffles his newspaper. He uses paper too. “Welcome back.”

“Where are we?” Mateo asks. He sounds panicked.

“Don’t worry. You’ve not missed Grand Junction yet,” Duke answers in a very comforting voice. It even makes me feel better about possibly sitting in a death tube. “You can go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up.”

“No, I made a mistake. I meant Glenwood Springs. I’m supposed to go to Glenwood Springs!” His voice seems to wake other people in the car. A baby starts crying. Such a terrible mother bringing a baby to a death tube. Oh that’s right. This is not necessarily a death tube, and she does not necessarily—I mean, probably does not—work for Horace Reaver.

“Oh, well you’ve missed that. But it’s okay. You’re starting a new life. Does it matter where? You won’t be that far off course either way.”

“What time is it?” Mateo gets up and desperately looks at his watch. “Oh my God. It’s almost midnight.”

“No, it’s eleven o’clock.”

“I mean a different midnight!” He’s right. It’s almost midnight central time. Maybe this is everything the train schedule manipulation has been leading to. Are we where Reaver wants us to be? Am I okay with that? If we’re not, will he blame me? I can handle myself. What I’m really worried about is him blaming his hacker, Micro. She has no clue what kind of guy Reaver is. She doesn’t know he’s a murderer. I need to get back to Kansas quickly, just in case. Or maybe I’ll call Brian and burn his cover. No, it’s too early. I have to stay in the shadows, but ya know, in a visible way.

The tablet Micro gave me beeps and the train comes to an abrupt a halt. That is definitely not a coincidence. We are where we need to be, which means we probably shouldn’t be here.

“We apologize once more,” says a different the voice on the intercom. “We’re not sure why the train stopped this time, but we are looking into the matter and will have you back on track in no time.”

“I have to get off!” Mateo screams. Yeah, we’re here. He’s scared of this place, wherever it is.

“You won’t be able to,” Duke says. “We’re on a bridge over the Colorado River.” That makes sense. Bridges are dangerous places for trains. Just ask any action movie. This is it. It’s time time to die. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

“I’m still on the upper level!” Mateo jumps up and tries to pull his bag from under the seat, but is unable to. He gives up on it and runs for the door, but doesn’t make it. At exactly midnight central, he disappears from sight. Some of the crowd screams while others shudder while others didn’t seem to be looking at him at that moment. Yeah, Mateo is most def a time traveler. I look over to Duke who clearly didn’t know that was going to happen, but isn’t all that shocked by it. He did say that he was a scientist of some kind.

Mateo’s bag. There might be incriminating evidence on it. I can’t let the authorities get there hands on it, but I don’t want Reaver to see it either. I can protect Mateo, even if I don’t really know why. I can keep this secret, if I decide to trust the only other person on this train with any interest in what happens. I sneak over while everyone’s freaked out about a man disappearing in thin air. I take my time and release the bag from its grip on the seat’s frame. I sidestep over to Duke and hand it to him. “This is his. Keep it safe.” My God, I sound like a spy on a park bench. “Tell no one about me.”

“Who are you?” Duke asks.

“Nobody.”

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Microstory 240: Perspective Fifteen

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Perspective Fourteen

I’m not the brightest tool in the shed. This has made my life real hard. I wasn’t good at sports, and I don’t do crime, so I’m stuck feeling like a loser, and money is hard to come by. Unlike the jocks, I’m not dumb just because I’m too busy with other things. I’m legit not smart, and things people say don’t make sense. My parents took me in to get tested, see if I’m tarded, but I’m not. At least that’s not what I gleamed from the meeting. They never said I was tarded, she called me borderline intellectual functioning. And what that means is that I don’t understand what people say very well, and sometimes I say things multiple times because I can’t remember if I said it before. But then after saying it again, I’ll remember that I said it before, and I’ll be upset with myself about it, and then I’ll start to stammer and ramble because I’m just trying to figure out how to finish my thought without sounding like I don’t know what I’m talking about. And that’s funny because the stammering and the rambling end up making me sound like I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s hard to explain to people what my thing is, because the thing is that when they think of people with mental disabilities, they think of someone, like, drooling over themselves and, ya know, like, swinging their arms around and stuff. That’s not what it is. That’s not me. That’s not what I do. Like I said, I’m not tarded. I just have trouble learning and remembering things. I want people to know that I do have a job and they gave me the job after I talked to people at this special center, but I got the job. I did get the job, and I earned it, and I’m very good at it. I actually found out about it from this kid I went to high school with. He was always really helpful and patient with me. His girlfriend had a kid when they were still in high school. He’s had a really hard life, and I feel really bad about it because I boned his girlfriend when we were in high school, and I never told him about it. Nobody else knows because she died later on and I don’t think she told anyone about it. I feel bad about it because he got me this job at this small business that sells custom clothes and other stuff. I get to fold the clothes and put the things we sell in boxes for customers around the world. The guy’s son sometimes sits in with us and he reads his school books to me because I don’t like to read myself and I’m not good at it. We’re a lot alike. We both like video games and he actually looks a lot like me. I’ve just walked into the diner where the other place his father works. He’s there working on his homework. I’m going to see if he wants to talk, though.

Perspective Sixteen

Microstory 239: Perspective Fourteen

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Perspective Thirteen

I think I’m in love. No, that’s not right; I definitely am in love. My father’s friend comes into his diner all the time, and I get to watch her from afar as I pretend to do my homework. She’s absolutely stunning and perfect. My heart skips every beat when I see her. The way she looks at the menu every single day, even though she always gets the same thing. Country fried steak and eggs with a side of hash browns, and extra browns in place of the short stack of pancakes. And a coffee she takes black, like a badass. What an angel. My friends think I’m idiot for going after an older girl when there are plenty of girls my age who’ll go out with me. But those are all basic bitches. I need a woman who’s been there. I need a woman who has that experience. I need a woman who knows what’s up. Sure, she’s twice my age right now, and I get that she doesn’t have eyes for a fourteen year old, but it won’t be like that forever. Ain’t nobody gonna be complaining when I’m sixty, and she’s seventy-six. She’s just come into the diner like she normally does, but something is different. She’s dressed up more than usual, and she’s wearing a ton of makeup. I’m not into that. A woman is beautiful as she is, in her birthday suit. There must be some reason? Is she into my father? Is she trying to impress him? Gag. No, that can’t be it; she’s being just as dismissively polite to him as she always is. He’s so clueless. I love the guy, but he’s a dummy. I redirect my attention back to her and realize what’s happening. Another woman has just come in and they’re hugging. It’s like they haven’t seen each other for years, and their tight embrace lasts just a second too long. Great, now I actually have some competition. Who is this woman? She can’t give her what I can. I haven’t ever seen her before, so she must not be important. But still, she has to go.

Perspective Fifteen