Time is a fickle thing. Life is a fickle thing. And grumpy, untethered gods concerned about their own existence can be equally fickle. Combine the three at once, and things aren’t ever really as expected. I remember the silence. The light. The warmth. The quick quick temperature change. Strong contact. Stillness. Movement. But it isn’t a memory. More a dream. Why, I know not. I have suspicions, but I cannot know. What is is all that matters, not what was. Nor what will be. Except that’s only partly true. This time. I remember what will be. Or, more accurately, I have yet to forget what will be. Be that because I am yet to come into being in the now, or because time is concerned, I cannot know. Only continuing my wandering will tell. But to wander I must move. I must awaken. Perhaps today, I will be able.
Time is frustratingly constant, once more. It makes me happy that it no longer isn’t, and yet, it still seems to march onward always. I do wish it might pause for me. Just for a bit. Long enough for whichever of the many forces that gently and subtly guide my wanderings to finish its business and let me awaken. And yet, time is. And I am not unstuck in this moment. Which leaves me where I am. Frustratingly unawake.
Life is truly a miracle. Not in the divine sense. In the incredibly unlikely sense. Not my life, of course. My life is a different thing entirely. But life in general, that it happened ever much less. That it is still here in spite of what we did. That it will be here unto eternity. Life is a fascinating impossibility. But life is activity. So, lying here, wherever and whenever here may be, however I may now be lying, I can’t help but think. Can’t help but wonder. Am I truly yet alive?
My dearest father is back. I can tell. He’s once more woven into the fabric of everything. I suspect that was the warmth I felt. Tying himself into realty would be a very energetic process. Energy is generally warmer, right? But if he’s back in full, I can’t help but wonder why I am not. Time wants me here and now, else why would I be here. So he wants me asleep to tie himself into reality. But if he is tied into reality since I fell here, why am I not awake. Unless time hasn’t passed on. But it has. I can feel it moving around me. Am I missing something? I have to be.
I have been still for too long. My body feels the need to move. It feels. I can feel my body. Perhaps it’s finally ready. Perhaps I can awaken now. I try to force myself up. Awake. Move. My eyes open. The first thing I notice is the absences. The air is static around me. At first I think I may still be asleep. Until I feel the next absence. There is some kind of harsh polyester fabric weave touching my skin. I check to see why. My arms move. My hands feel bare skin. I don’t seem to have any clothes on. I can move. I’m awake. I begin to move myself out from wherever I am. The fabric turns to metal and air. A cot of some kind. I was laid out atop an uncovered cot. My feet hit concrete. Not outside. I look around. It’s dark, but my eyes start to adjust. A basement. But there are cabinets. Files. Someone works out of here. “Salu?” I hesitantly say aloud. Just in case.
There is no answer. More importantly, there is no movement. No one trying to ready themselves against the intruder, or moving to check on the corpse they found in the woods. Whoever has been working out of here isn’t here. I begin to look through the files. The darkness makes it harder than it should be, but I don’t want to turn on a light. In case I am not supposed to be where I am. In case I awoke somewhen problematic. The files seem to mostly be the Light’s. That tells me nothing. They’re mostly focused on North America, so I would guess I’ve wandered there. But it does not give me a when. I find a file on ownership of a building in Miami laying out on a table. Must be what whoever uses this space is using currently. It goes through the most recent owner purchasing the property in 1998. Which means one of two things: We’re looping, which would explain the upset reaction of Papa about our arrival, about when he was retied into reality, which would also mean I don’t have much time before I wander away; Or we’re after my last wandering, after the implosion, I mean thirty years is long, but not excessively so for property ownership, which would have some different concerns regarding the long sleep. Or there is always the most terrifying option. That the rules are different now then they are normally. That I am overlapping myself. An impossibility that leaves only truly terrifying concepts in my mind.
I look around for any kind of clothing. Any of the three possible scenarios are not clothing-optional worlds. There isn’t any. This clearly is just a basement workspace, not a basement living space. There’s a jeep with power cables running out of it and up into the building above. The only thing even vaguely clothes-like that I do find is a blanket in the back seat of the jeep. Likely to use with the cot. I wrap the blanket around my waist to at least give myself the semblance of dignity. Hopefully it’s enough until I can find clothes. Slowly, I make my way up the stairs towards the only door in this basement. The only way out. I don’t love that idea, but it is what it is. The door has a lock on it. I unlock the door as quietly as I can. Before opening it, I press my ear against it. Listen. It’s hard to hear anything. Everything sounds muffled. I slowly open the door. It creaks slightly, but not loud enough for someone to notice if they weren’t right on the other side of the door. As it finishes opening, I almost immediately see why the noises were muffled. The door opens right up to a wall.
I take a beat to just stare. Something out there has a cruel sense of humor. Is that why I was forced to remain un-present for so long. To bring me here for some cruel joke. Perhaps, but that is a concern of the past, not the now. Or perhaps the future. The concern of the now is the bricked up doorway. I feel around the edges. It’s not a complete seal. There’s some airflow. Should make it slightly easier to break. I start to feel the bricks, seeking out any irregularities. As I do, it begins to shift. I pull my hands back. Standing in front of me is a face I recognize. Older, sure, and more weathered, but he’s one of my proteges. So it’s not a loop. That’s good, right? “You’re awake?” Randy says, a look of surprise crossing his face that he doesn’t even attempt to hide.
“You look terrible,” I joke. How long has it been, I can’t help but wonder.
He chuckles. “It’s been a hard few years,” he replies.
“Hard enough few years that clothing is no longer socially required? Otherwise I feel like this discussion can wait until after I am dressed.”
Randy holds out his wrist. The watch on it begins to move. “What happened to yours?” he asks.
“Nowhen is far more restrictive of its guests than the Everywhen. And given the nature of Valeria’s suits, I’m not sure they would even make it into the Everywhen,” I explain perfectly logically.
Randy cocks his head as his watch wraps itself around my own wrist. “And which nature is that?”
I can feel the suit. It really is only the watch. Randy must not go out much anymore. I will it into a set of clothes. A loose fitting cotton shirt and a pair of workman’s jeans. It begins to expand out over my body. “The lack of one,” I over-explain.
Randy shakes his head. “I forgot what talking to you is like,” he complains, “Come on.” He begins to walk away.
“Come where?” I ask, following him as my clothes finish forming around me.
He leads me into an almost empty bar. “Katie,” he says to the woman behind the bar, “I need a drink and he’s going to need something to eat.”
The woman looks at me. No, not looks, stares. Like she’s sizing me up. “Wait, is this your naked friend?” she finally says as she turns to grab a bottle for the now older Randy. “I’m kind of disappointed he isn’t still naked.”
“Stay disappointed,” Randy tells her. He takes the bottle from her hand, pours himself a drink, then he turns to me. “So, have you been anywhen since you were last now?”
This Katie looks concerned, but she just heads back towards some kind of kitchen. Randy must have many suspicious meetings. “Just nowhen and everywhen. No other whens in particular. From your Katie’s reaction, I’m guessing I didn’t fall into your basement. How much now-time I unconscious? Hours, days?”
“Months. Near half a year. Why?”
Something about that concerns me. Like I know why I’m now, not at a different time. “Something is gnawing at my mind. A memory I forgot from a time I wasn’t a part of.” I think hard. All I remember are flashes of dreams, from while I was out. Flashes of a few of the others, alive. Flashes of a threat. Just flashes, but flashes are more than my usual memory of the Everywhen from outside it.
“Understandable. I assume you’ll be leaving soon,” Randy replies to my statement. He knows the pull of my wandering. I suspect from below he also feels that pull, though his wanderings are that of the mind more than the body.
“Yes. Will you be joining me?”
Randy shakes his head. “No. My work isn’t done, and is far too important. Too many things have been going missing. Something is at play.”
“It may not be something bad. There are those that play with fire to watch burn things down, but also those who play with fire to learn how to cook. You need to see whether the flames lick at something better for the world untouched or something better for the world well heated,” I helpfully advise my studious accountant. The chaos of our old actions have turned the man very cautious. He needs to figure out for himself if he is overly so.
Katie returns with some eggs. “Mèsi,” I thank her for the food and get to eating.
She nods. So I am somewhere that at least some bastardized French is common enough to be understood. Assuming Randy didn’t boat anywhere, that essentially means Canada or Louisiana. She asks, “So, what are you chatting with my boss about, old formerly naked friend of Randy?”
I smile as I eat. Randy replies for me. “Cooking.” Then, with a smirk adds, “He’s not trying to take your position or anything, it was a metaphor. I think.”
I nod.
“For what?” Katie presses.
Swallowing. I look up at her. “That would be doing the work for him,” I explain.
Randy shakes his head. “I want that back before you leave,” he tells me, taking another drink.
“I wouldn’t want to risk wandering with it anyways. Do you have any actual clothing that I can take?” I ask
“Actual clothing?” Katie interjects, confused.
“Down the hall, third room on your left, my stuff should be just finishing drying. It’ll be a little tight on you, but I’m not sure many people will mind,” he says, ignoring Katie.
I choose not to ignore Katie. Leaning in, I stage-whisper to her, “It may not look it, but right now I’m basically naked. His watch is just tricking us into thinking I’m not.”
Randy laughs at my honesty, and Katie just looks more confused. Satisfied with that response, I pick up the breakfast plate and head down the hall to get dressed. I feel the tug, urging me to move, complaining at my stagnant present. There is something happening. Something subtle. And the only way I can find it is if I’m not looking. If I’m not waiting. If I simply let myself be. Simply let myself wander.
Commentaires