3 A.M. Eternal
It was a pretty bad breakup. The worst.
No. No, that sounds ridiculous, cliché. He held down the backspace button and waited impatiently as the cursor removed his insipid words. When he was done, and felt he’d also blown sufficient air out through his lips, in order to express his frustration to…no one in particular…fate…he tried to begin typing again.
I wish we could start over.
No. Gay.
Delete.
I wish…ha, sure, I wish. I wish things had gone differently. Wish I knew what the fuck I was doing, but I don’t. And tomorrow, I know I’m probably going to try and apologize, fool that I am, even though she’ll shoot me down seven ways from Sunday and burn me at the stake.
Well, as much as I love getting ripped into shreds by women, I’m a fucking coward too. I don’t want to face her. Don’t want to even face her on the phone. Yeah, fuck, I just said that. Well it’s a blog, and you’re the dumbass who’s reading it. Fucking deal.
Point is, I guess I’m looking for a way out. Like, can I send an apology text and hope the answer is a good one? Promising enough to make me call, at least? But what kind of man goes that route?
Damn. I guess what I really wish is that this night would never end. I’d never have to face the consequences of twenty-odd years of mistakes that my life is filled with. Never have to face her wrath, never have to live this all down.
Who gets to escape responsibility, though, right? Well, fuck it. I’m done.
Jeremy saved the entry and decided to call his friend Heather, to see what advice she would have for him. He pulled up her name in his phone and pressed the button to call her while he paced into the bathroom and back into the bedroom. Her phone didn’t ring. It went straight to voicemail.
“Hey, Heather,” he began as he clicked “refresh” in his browser. “It’s Jeremy. Just needjer advice about something. Call me when you can. Bye.”
The screen had reloaded to display a response to his blog while he was leaving his message. He scrolled down to read the whole thing, brief though it was.
Hey Jeremy. Interesting read! You seem depressed. Desperate. Well, I think there’s a solution to your problem and we can give you what you want.
It was less than verbose. Far less than informative. As Jeremy leaned back to try and figure out who this asshole was who knew his name and seemed to be mocking his plight, he started pulling up another tab. Checking his email might yield something from her, explaining what he had to do. But, nope, nada. He rolled back in his computer chair, swiveled slightly to the left and stood up with a jerk. This night was going to be nothing more than a sleepless, tense wait. As soon as nine or ten rolled around, he could try calling her, but there was no guarantee she’d want to talk. Checking the time briefly, he saw that it was three a.m. There was a long time to go, and as much as he wanted to get something done, he couldn’t focus. So, grabbing his jacket and his keys, he strode out of his room toward the front door, and stepped into the brisk night air.
It was pretty quiet outside--no surprise there--but this quiet was different than normal. It’s not that there wasn’t even a breeze blowing, because there was. But as he descended the stairs to get to the first floor, he noticed that it was unusually steady. Yet, looking up once he reached bottom, he saw that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
He told himself it shouldn’t bother him. There obviously wasn’t a storm brewing, it was just a great night to be outside. Not too hot, not too cold, but refreshing and easy to walk in. Jeremy liked his night walks more than almost anything in the world. It was a chance to escape from his life, into a world where absolutely nothing was happening, changing…it was peace.
His pace, in this peaceful world, would not reflect what he felt to a casual observer. And, sure, a part of him was upset, boiling with grief, and anger that he didn’t know where to direct. Every once in a while he would mutter to no one in particular about the things that were bothering him…most of all his breakup with Heather, which may or may not be permanent, although it sure as hell looked that way.
Then there was his employment status, such that it was. Jeremy was a deejay, or at least he pretended to be when he got the chance to perform, spinning up discs of Vietnamese trance and occasionally European stuff too, though the Euro stuff was pretty crappy by comparison. He preferred to promote his fellow Vietnamese, but he told himself that wasn’t why he mostly hated the Euro stuff. Nah, they were just too cookie-cutter. And oftentimes it was really gay. So he practiced his stuff whenever he could, whenever he could work up the enthusiasm to focus on it, and the rest of his time was spent between working at the local price club and sleeping, or wasting time blogging and screwing around on the internet.
A few blocks away rested a convenience store, and this was the only place he could think of to retreat to for even a little while. Sure, there might be some bars and lounges still open, but he felt that if he started drinking, he wouldn’t know when to stop, and it wouldn’t improve his mood, only worsen it. So as usual, he would buy some food and, perhaps a cup of coffee or an energy drink, and then head back home. It was a mostly useless trip, but one he decided he was already destined to make.
That’s when his phone rang. He pulled it out immediately, even as he determined that if it was Heather, he wouldn’t be answering…he’d listen to the message once he’d screwed up the courage to do so. But it wasn’t Heather…instead, the number displayed was all zeroes…
“What the fuck…?” he mumbled incredulously.
Now there was no chance he’d answer, not yet. Instead, he looked all around him at the buildings which housed various stores and restaurants, but all of their lights were off except for the store names above the entrances and the occasional neon ad. Aside from seeing someone lurking inside, he figured there was a chance to catch someone standing on a rooftop or along the sidewalk on either side of the road, or perhaps in one of the parked cars. So, with each car he passed, he both admitted his insanity to himself and peeked inside to see if anyone was sitting there.
His pace doubled.
When the call stopped coming in, he checked the time. Three on the dot; he hadn’t wasted all night walking yet, though the possibility still existed. And what would he do when he returned home? Undoubtedly he would waste gobs of time eating, drinking and commiserating, but he wasn’t ready for bed yet. When he needed to sleep to make sure he’d be up on time to go somewhere or do something, he would lie down, unless fatigue finally washed over him.
He had plans with Heather. Well, not anymore.
Fuck it all. As he marched on past closed store after closed store, he thought about who he might meet at this time of night. Viewing his reflection in the darkened windows next to him, he admired himself. Strong Asian features, but with a squarish jaw and large, expressive eyes, he was unique and handsome, or so he told himself. He believed that thinking oneself handsome won half the battle for a man, and the other half was in what one said. The rest were mere details. He wasn’t sure he fully believed this, but these things took time to take root.
Time was something he seldom had.
He glanced at his watch once more. Three a.m. He had the slightest sense of déjà vu, but it passed, and the store loomed bright in the night, with an oasis-like aura about it. The whiteness of the sign coupled with the overhead lights inside, all at full power and reflecting off of bright floors and racks, was enough to make it all the more appealing to a passerby. Jeremy already knew he would be going inside, even if he were broke, even if he were dead tired.
The door chimed as he pushed it open, and the cashier didn’t seem the least bit interested in him. It was Ramadan, so he was otherwise occupied with eating his dinner, something that he would only be able to do while the sun was down. Besides, rules about pursuing and/or stopping shoplifters were so strict that he probably figured he might as well not even concern himelf.
Jeremy walked like he had a purpose, even though he had none. Regardless, he caught out of the corner of his eye the morbidly obese person of about his age, with a mop of curly blonde hair reading some type of video game magazine. Despite Jeremy’s passing interest in video games, he didn’t bother finding the time lately to read any magazines.
Whatever.
He turned down the aisle with the candy bars and idly stared at a few things, turning them over in his mind and asking himself what he was in the mood for. After a minute, his phone went off again.
Who would be--ahh, what the--same number! What gives! This is some shit, man.
Pocketing the phone once more, he thought about it for a long time. It took less than ten seconds before he was compelled to pull it back out and make sure he didn’t miss an alert that he’d received a message.
Nothing.
Whoever it was, they were either playing with him, they were government stalkers, or it was like something out of the Twilight Zone. Whatever the case, he really had no desire to give in and answer, though he feared what might happen if he did just as much as he feared what might happen if he didn’t.
Upon determining that there were no messages, he looked at the time once more. He had planned on immediately pocketing his phone again, but this time he stopped himself. 3 a.m. again! He got the sinking feeling that his phone was broken, because, upon reflection, it had been showing him the same time all night.
Approaching the counter, he cleared his throat and got the cashier to look up. Locking eyes with him, Jeremy asked, “Excuse me, do you have the time?”
The cashier had a practiced look of urgency as he entered “service” mode, and he stepped to his right to lean and glance at a clock across the store, up on the wall above the beer.
“It is three o’clock, sir.”
Jeremy nodded with a smile. “Thank you.”
Now he shook his head as he walked away, deciding that he would select some food and be on his way. Maybe it was a dream, and it would pass. But this certainly didn’t feel like a dream. Then again, that was a perfectly acceptable thought to have in a dream, he mused. He could have the same dream every day for a week and think the same things every time without remembering the time before until he woke up, and then the dream would slip from his conscious mind within five minutes, and his conscious mind would forget it too, except for the fact that it recurred. The details would be lost.
So, too, would be his sanity unless he got this mess figured out. Was it perpetually three a.m. or what? As he passed between aisles opposite the cashier, he pinched himself to no effect. The guy was still at the magazine rack, not paying attention to anything, and the cashier was still eating from his brown paper bag of…whatever it was.
Well there’s a lot I can do if it’s gonna be three forever. I mean, I can sleep and get fully rested no matter how long it takes, which I think is a pretty relative term right now, and then when I get up I won’t have to go to work…I can just…do whatever. But shit, what the hell do you do when you’re awake in the middle of the night and time isn’t passing? Let’s face it, if I was useless before, what the hell am I gonna do with myself now?
Well alright. Like it matters. I’m probably gonna drive myself nuts if I keep thinking this is real.
He blew out some air and tried to relax his body in a single motion, pushing down with his hands as if to shunt the tension out toward the floor. Then he grabbed a moon pie, and then his phone buzzed once more. He ignored it. He proceeded to take an energy drink and a bag of chips, and he approached the register. He waited patiently for the cashier to notice him, but nothing happened. He figured maybe the guy would sense that someone was standing within his peripheral vision, but…nothing.
“’scuse me, I’m ready to check out.”
The cashier turned with the “urgent” on his face and walked over to ring him up.
Once out of the store, he took out his phone, only to confirm that it was a call from…that number.
“Fuck ‘em.”
He got home, set the bag down and went to the bathroom, then came back out and sat at the computer, thinking about watching a movie as he pulled out the drink and popped it open.
“Well do I want to sleep now, or drink this?” He was mumbling, not wishing to wake his roommates with a slew of out-loud musing. He stood and paced. “This can’t be real. I mean, I’ve got tonight, and then it’ll pass, and…” He stopped, moving his mouse to stop the screensaver and glance at the computer screen, which displayed the time--3:00 AM.
“Uh…w--okay. If it’s a dream, the energy drink won’t matter, because I’m not really drinking anything. The best thing I can do is--well it doesn’t matter--shit! I could be in a coma or something!” With a wry expression and a tilt of his head, he added, “Well I guess that means I wasn’t dumped, then.”
A moment passed as he paced once more in both directions without speaking.
“But that’s still really bad! I’d rather have been dumped than be stuck frozen in time!”
He stroked his chin.
“Alright, I’m going to bed. Maybe that’ll fix it. Take that, reality-bending asshole, whoever you’re gonna turn out to be.”
He was no stranger to sleeplessness, but this was absolutely infuriating. Not only was he simultaneously restless and tired, but it wouldn’t pass no matter how many hours it felt like he stayed in bed. He started to believe that he’d be able to develop bedsores long before he managed to fall asleep. So finally, with a violent kick that sent his sheet and blanket sprawling, he swung his feet up and then to the floor, upon which he sprang with more enthusiasm than he felt. It was purely rage and frustration driving him at this point, determined as he was to figure out the source of his problems.
At first he didn’t know what to do. He paced back and forth like a caged animal, bursting with energy but having nowhere to direct it. It wasn’t as if he was on some kind of schedule and likely to fall behind, miss an opportunity or whatever, but by the same token, the longer he failed to act, the longer he would be stuck. Any kind of change, for better or worse, rested on his shoulders.
The phone rang. Trembling by this point, he looked at it, saw the number he expected to see, and came very close to throwing it against the far wall.
“Not yet. Not…fucking…yet.” Allowing it to go to voicemail once again, he checked the blog for another message, reasoning that this would at least feel safer than talking to whoever it was on the phone. At least they would not be able to talk to him directly. However, the blog remained devoid of any new posts, and the one he’d read earlier was still there, with its unchanged timestamp reading “Just now!”
Sputtering with frustration, he got to his feet and left the building again, this time heading into town with the intention of, maybe, engaging someone in conversation about what the hell was happening. The bars suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea. At the same time, he could get drunk and forget about it.
Suck it, he thought at no one in particular.
Stalking down the sidewalk with a purpose, the first bar he came to was called The Long Night, and he stepped inside without a hint of hesitation, approaching the counter and requesting a Sandleson beer…the damn people at the place he played at got him drinking it, and it might have tasted like piss, but it was addictive. He still hadn’t determined why.
He turned to the girl he’d sat down next to and said “Hello.”
She was a white girl, kind of thick…he didn’t think she’d respond very amicably to him, but he was wrong.
Any other night, I might hit on her. Things might be working out with Heather, and I gotta get this night over with. That’s all that matters now.
“Hey,” she shyly smiled. She’d had a few.
“Hey,” he smiled awkwardly back. “So I know this is gonna sound like a crazy question…”
“Yeah?” She tossed some blonde hair out of her face and looked at him with as much concentration as she could muster.
“What time do you have? Is it still three?”
She fumbled with removing her phone from her purse, then operated its touch screen and said with an exaggerated nod, “Yeah, three o’clock.” Getting progressively louder, she added, “That really wasn’t a weird question…”
“Yeah, well here’s the weird one. How long has it been three?”
She pursed her lips and cocked her head a moment in thought before answering. “Uhh, like a minute? No! Wait! Less than a minute!” She started to look and then interrupted herself. “What’s up with this anyway?” She started to laugh, and Jeremy took that as his cue to leave. He glanced at the wall clock, which read 3:00, and then took off after leaving some money to cover his tab.
“Okay, fuck,” he mumbled when he hit the cool night air. “I mean, shit. What do I do, where do I go?” He glanced back inside the bar, where everyone was sitting right where they were when he walked in. The television was still airing the same crappy program, which he’d only been half paying attention to. Not that he’d been in there very long, but he was getting the distinct feeling that they were never going to air any commercials, or show anything else. Not unless he could jump-start time again.
Didn’t anybody notice or give a damn that time had apparently stopped? There had to be somebody, anybody, in the entirety of the world who’d noticed it besides him. He briefly considered simply breaking into a gun shop and starting a killing spree, just to see if that finally caught everyone’s attention.
But no, that’s retarded. Next thing I know I’m gonna be locked up and the whole world’s gonna see me as just some mad shooter, like those dudes who take their lives at the end, and then they find out he was nuts. Like, the dream’ll end and I’ll try to explain it, but nobody’ll believe me. Nah, shit, if I’m crazy then I’ve gotta fix it, and that’s just giving the fuck in.
So instead he chose a much saner course of action. He wandered beyond city limits, which took a considerable amount of “time” and left him with sore legs. It was a walk of quite a few miles that finally brought him to the outskirts of the city, to the suburban sprawl which went on for a few miles more before giving way to the closest thing to the open road that he would encounter for a considerable distance.
Just like me, huh? Running away. Not like the problem’s in one place where I can see it and be like ‘okay, let’s get to work’, but it feels so much like I don’t wanna deal with it. This isn’t something that goes away. I never got anything done by procrastinating, but it seems to be all I’m good at.
He growled at himself and turned on his heel, back toward the city.
It was an arduous walk, as he was wearing himself out steadily by degrees. He’d not walked this far in a long while. Desperately wishing that he had some bouncy techno to stride along to didn’t make it so, but he ran different songs around in his head to make the time pass a little faster. As he did, he found that he was devising some great ideas for how to improve his set.
Like anyone important’ll hear it.
Before long he was in the city again, and he was very hungry; walking so much had helped him to work up an appetite. He checked his pockets and his wallet and found that he had no money. He already knew there was nothing in his account, but he had to fill up his skinny furnace of a belly--his metabolism was incredible.
He went into the convenience store. If the clerk was surprised to see him back, he gave no indication of it. He’d been looking at the guy at the magazine rack when Jeremy walked in.
Dude’s still there? Do something with yourself, man!
Jeremy snagged a bag of chips and started eating.
“Sir, you must pay before you eat food from the shelf,” came the voice of the clerk.
Jeremy ignored him and went over to the refrigerator to grab a soda, to go with his chips. He opened it and took a swig.
"Sir, I will call the police if you do not stop."
"Yeah, sure, let me know when they get here."
The clerk went away, picking up the phone. He stood there for an eternity as it rang, and Jeremy went about his business. Then Jeremy's phone rang once again.
"Oh, this is crazy." He pulled it out. The same number. "But wait, okay, so this one person who's calling me...they're not stuck with the rules of this...whatever...just like me. Okay, I gotta talk to 'em. Maybe they can end this shit."
He answered with trepidation. "Hello..."
"Come outside," said a very ordinary voice.
"Who is this?"
"Nobody in particular. Come outside."
Jeremy started walking even though he really didn't want to. He felt it was a bad idea, but his legs were already moving and he didn't know what else to do.
"I really hope you're gonna tell me who the fuck you are."
"Like I said, nobody in particular. You've been talking to me all night, you know who I am."
Jeremy hit the door and once again felt the cool night air caressing his face. It really was great to be outside again, even in these potentially dangerous circumstances.
"Okay, I don't see you, dude. Where you hiding?"
"The alley around the corner. Come on."
"Dude, no way am I stepping into an alley with you."
The voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but the sense of urgency he got from it told him that this was important. "You really should come. I've got important things to tell you. They'll change your life."
Again, Jeremy's legs were in motion before he was actually comfortable with the idea. He looked all around him as though expecting an attack, or something else, from anywhere around him. Who was this guy? What was he?
"So basically, you've been fucking up my world and now the only way to fix it is to do whatever you say?"
"I only want you to hear me out. What you do after that is entirely up to you."
So Jeremy entered the alley as instructed and walked cautiously to the middle, looking behind him as he went. His heart was pounding and his breath was coming in short bursts, and he put the phone away as a man emerged from behind a dumpster.
The guy was ordinary in every way. If Jeremy were to try and identify him later, even tell someone what kind of person he met that night, he would be hard-pressed to do so. The guy had brown hair cut short and parted to one side, gray eyes that were dull even in the moonlight, and he wore a simple white shirt with brown pants. He was average height and weight, putting him at a little taller and bigger than Jeremy, and his face betrayed no emotion. He inclined his head slightly at Jeremy, who stood stock-still in response, staring him in the eyes.
"What's this all a--"
Nobody put a finger to his lips. "Shhhh...."
"Wh--"
"Shhhhhhhh..."
Jeremy looked around as though expecting something. When nothing happened, and all he heard was the beating of his heart, he didn't know what to make of it. This was the situation for almost a minute, if time was indeed passing at all.
"Do you hear it?" Nobody asked.
Jeremy shrugged. "You mean nothing? I hear it just fine."
"It's not nothing. It's peace. You don't know peace, do you?" At Jeremy's skeptical look, Nobody gestured expansively and said, "This world is a machine. When you stop, it keeps going. Right now, it's stopped and you've kept going. How do you feel about that?"
Jeremy shrugged, admitting to himself that he had no choice except to go along with this man's insanity. "It sucks."
"Why?"
"I feel like...I can...do anything, and it doesn't matter. Because it doesn't change anyone but me. I can have anything I want, go anywhere I want, but it's gonna be the same forever anyway."
The man held up his index finger. "An excellent point. The machine has stopped moving, and one of the cogs is still trying to force the rest of it into motion again. Grinding against the rest and getting nowhere, because they won't respond to you with equal force. They're stuck."
Jeremy wanted to ask "What are you getting at?" Instead, he listened. He knew it would be explained. Something about this man assured him of that, but he was eager now.
"You've been making your way through your life feeling as though you're a broken cog; the machine functions, but you don't move. The world keeps changing while you remain the same. You believe you should be a big success right now, pumping out albums and playing clubs, and getting married to Heather, but secretly hoping for a five-foot-ten white supermodel. Am I correct so far?"
Jeremy couldn't hold back his astonishment. It took him a moment to answer, and when he did, he was partially breathless. "Yeah..."
"So what happens when you become the big important, powerful, fast-moving cog in the machine? The machine speeds up, right?"
"I think so...?"
"Why would the machine speed up? You've been surrounded by people who are getting ahead, moving faster and faster, succeeding and making changes. Has this affected you?"
"Yeah, it's made me realize that I need to get my act together!"
"It's made you ashamed, Jeremy. The other cogs can't make you go any faster. All they can do is grind against you until you get tired of it and decide to make a change. And then, is it worth it? I've shown you what happens when you go too far. Your friends aren't here. Not yet. But there are people in the world for whom time has essentially stopped. Oh, sure, they'll get old, they'll get sick, and they'll die. But by that point it will be the merciful end to an existence that has been painfully dull and repetitive. Once you reach the top, Jeremy, you have no choices except for two: slow down and lose everything you've become accustomed to, or keep going, faster and faster out of habit, tire yourself out and at the end of the day, not be able to enjoy your earnings. And all the while you’ll grind against your friends, your family, anyone who’s not as ambitious as you, and you’ll lose touch with them. They are humanity, Jeremy.”
“So what can I do? Are you telling me I should stay where I’m at, be a loser nobody with dreams he’ll never reach?”
“I’m not telling you what to do at all, Jeremy. But if you’re asking for my advice…” he looked to the side, as if too shy to push his views on Jeremy, who said insistently, “Yeah, give it to me.”
“Okay, but I’m only going to say this once, and then you’ve got to remember it: Jeremy, you want things out of life, whether you act like it or not. Sure, it’s been a rough road and it’s difficult to drag yourself out of bed everyday to do what has to be done in order that you can do what you want to do, but if you want these things, you have to do what’s necessary to get them. Nobody’s saying you have to be a go-getter. Nobody’s saying you have to be the best at everything and that life’s some sort of cut-throat competition that’s destined to make everyone high-strung and spoiled. If you’re going to do these things, Jeremy, then do them. Do them because you want to, do them your way, but do them, and don’t be afraid. Hold on to your love of the simple things, the quiet life. Think you can manage it?”
Jeremy was nodding profusely through the last bit, and slowly he came to say “Yeah, I get it. I think I can manage that. I hope.”
The man actually laughed at that. “Well that’s all anyone can do. Okay, Jeremy. That’s all I’m here for. Tell you what--go home. Once you get there, lay in bed and give this all some thought, you’ll fall asleep and morning will come. And once it does…it’s a brand new day.”
Jeremy opened his mouth to ask a question, but he was cut off and it was answered.
“Don’t worry about the guy at the store. He won’t remember.”
“Or this was a dream…”
“Dream or not, you learned something. Now go home.”
And he did. He was exhausted when he got there. It was amazing how wiped out he was, although in retrospect, he had no idea how long he’d actually been up. The clock still read three right before his head hit the pillow, and right after, it was eight, and he felt incredible.
“Time to get to work,” he said to no one in particular, rubbing his hands together as he sat up in bed. “But…after breakfast.”
No. No, that sounds ridiculous, cliché. He held down the backspace button and waited impatiently as the cursor removed his insipid words. When he was done, and felt he’d also blown sufficient air out through his lips, in order to express his frustration to…no one in particular…fate…he tried to begin typing again.
I wish we could start over.
No. Gay.
Delete.
I wish…ha, sure, I wish. I wish things had gone differently. Wish I knew what the fuck I was doing, but I don’t. And tomorrow, I know I’m probably going to try and apologize, fool that I am, even though she’ll shoot me down seven ways from Sunday and burn me at the stake.
Well, as much as I love getting ripped into shreds by women, I’m a fucking coward too. I don’t want to face her. Don’t want to even face her on the phone. Yeah, fuck, I just said that. Well it’s a blog, and you’re the dumbass who’s reading it. Fucking deal.
Point is, I guess I’m looking for a way out. Like, can I send an apology text and hope the answer is a good one? Promising enough to make me call, at least? But what kind of man goes that route?
Damn. I guess what I really wish is that this night would never end. I’d never have to face the consequences of twenty-odd years of mistakes that my life is filled with. Never have to face her wrath, never have to live this all down.
Who gets to escape responsibility, though, right? Well, fuck it. I’m done.
Jeremy saved the entry and decided to call his friend Heather, to see what advice she would have for him. He pulled up her name in his phone and pressed the button to call her while he paced into the bathroom and back into the bedroom. Her phone didn’t ring. It went straight to voicemail.
“Hey, Heather,” he began as he clicked “refresh” in his browser. “It’s Jeremy. Just needjer advice about something. Call me when you can. Bye.”
The screen had reloaded to display a response to his blog while he was leaving his message. He scrolled down to read the whole thing, brief though it was.
Hey Jeremy. Interesting read! You seem depressed. Desperate. Well, I think there’s a solution to your problem and we can give you what you want.
It was less than verbose. Far less than informative. As Jeremy leaned back to try and figure out who this asshole was who knew his name and seemed to be mocking his plight, he started pulling up another tab. Checking his email might yield something from her, explaining what he had to do. But, nope, nada. He rolled back in his computer chair, swiveled slightly to the left and stood up with a jerk. This night was going to be nothing more than a sleepless, tense wait. As soon as nine or ten rolled around, he could try calling her, but there was no guarantee she’d want to talk. Checking the time briefly, he saw that it was three a.m. There was a long time to go, and as much as he wanted to get something done, he couldn’t focus. So, grabbing his jacket and his keys, he strode out of his room toward the front door, and stepped into the brisk night air.
It was pretty quiet outside--no surprise there--but this quiet was different than normal. It’s not that there wasn’t even a breeze blowing, because there was. But as he descended the stairs to get to the first floor, he noticed that it was unusually steady. Yet, looking up once he reached bottom, he saw that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
He told himself it shouldn’t bother him. There obviously wasn’t a storm brewing, it was just a great night to be outside. Not too hot, not too cold, but refreshing and easy to walk in. Jeremy liked his night walks more than almost anything in the world. It was a chance to escape from his life, into a world where absolutely nothing was happening, changing…it was peace.
His pace, in this peaceful world, would not reflect what he felt to a casual observer. And, sure, a part of him was upset, boiling with grief, and anger that he didn’t know where to direct. Every once in a while he would mutter to no one in particular about the things that were bothering him…most of all his breakup with Heather, which may or may not be permanent, although it sure as hell looked that way.
Then there was his employment status, such that it was. Jeremy was a deejay, or at least he pretended to be when he got the chance to perform, spinning up discs of Vietnamese trance and occasionally European stuff too, though the Euro stuff was pretty crappy by comparison. He preferred to promote his fellow Vietnamese, but he told himself that wasn’t why he mostly hated the Euro stuff. Nah, they were just too cookie-cutter. And oftentimes it was really gay. So he practiced his stuff whenever he could, whenever he could work up the enthusiasm to focus on it, and the rest of his time was spent between working at the local price club and sleeping, or wasting time blogging and screwing around on the internet.
A few blocks away rested a convenience store, and this was the only place he could think of to retreat to for even a little while. Sure, there might be some bars and lounges still open, but he felt that if he started drinking, he wouldn’t know when to stop, and it wouldn’t improve his mood, only worsen it. So as usual, he would buy some food and, perhaps a cup of coffee or an energy drink, and then head back home. It was a mostly useless trip, but one he decided he was already destined to make.
That’s when his phone rang. He pulled it out immediately, even as he determined that if it was Heather, he wouldn’t be answering…he’d listen to the message once he’d screwed up the courage to do so. But it wasn’t Heather…instead, the number displayed was all zeroes…
“What the fuck…?” he mumbled incredulously.
Now there was no chance he’d answer, not yet. Instead, he looked all around him at the buildings which housed various stores and restaurants, but all of their lights were off except for the store names above the entrances and the occasional neon ad. Aside from seeing someone lurking inside, he figured there was a chance to catch someone standing on a rooftop or along the sidewalk on either side of the road, or perhaps in one of the parked cars. So, with each car he passed, he both admitted his insanity to himself and peeked inside to see if anyone was sitting there.
His pace doubled.
When the call stopped coming in, he checked the time. Three on the dot; he hadn’t wasted all night walking yet, though the possibility still existed. And what would he do when he returned home? Undoubtedly he would waste gobs of time eating, drinking and commiserating, but he wasn’t ready for bed yet. When he needed to sleep to make sure he’d be up on time to go somewhere or do something, he would lie down, unless fatigue finally washed over him.
He had plans with Heather. Well, not anymore.
Fuck it all. As he marched on past closed store after closed store, he thought about who he might meet at this time of night. Viewing his reflection in the darkened windows next to him, he admired himself. Strong Asian features, but with a squarish jaw and large, expressive eyes, he was unique and handsome, or so he told himself. He believed that thinking oneself handsome won half the battle for a man, and the other half was in what one said. The rest were mere details. He wasn’t sure he fully believed this, but these things took time to take root.
Time was something he seldom had.
He glanced at his watch once more. Three a.m. He had the slightest sense of déjà vu, but it passed, and the store loomed bright in the night, with an oasis-like aura about it. The whiteness of the sign coupled with the overhead lights inside, all at full power and reflecting off of bright floors and racks, was enough to make it all the more appealing to a passerby. Jeremy already knew he would be going inside, even if he were broke, even if he were dead tired.
The door chimed as he pushed it open, and the cashier didn’t seem the least bit interested in him. It was Ramadan, so he was otherwise occupied with eating his dinner, something that he would only be able to do while the sun was down. Besides, rules about pursuing and/or stopping shoplifters were so strict that he probably figured he might as well not even concern himelf.
Jeremy walked like he had a purpose, even though he had none. Regardless, he caught out of the corner of his eye the morbidly obese person of about his age, with a mop of curly blonde hair reading some type of video game magazine. Despite Jeremy’s passing interest in video games, he didn’t bother finding the time lately to read any magazines.
Whatever.
He turned down the aisle with the candy bars and idly stared at a few things, turning them over in his mind and asking himself what he was in the mood for. After a minute, his phone went off again.
Who would be--ahh, what the--same number! What gives! This is some shit, man.
Pocketing the phone once more, he thought about it for a long time. It took less than ten seconds before he was compelled to pull it back out and make sure he didn’t miss an alert that he’d received a message.
Nothing.
Whoever it was, they were either playing with him, they were government stalkers, or it was like something out of the Twilight Zone. Whatever the case, he really had no desire to give in and answer, though he feared what might happen if he did just as much as he feared what might happen if he didn’t.
Upon determining that there were no messages, he looked at the time once more. He had planned on immediately pocketing his phone again, but this time he stopped himself. 3 a.m. again! He got the sinking feeling that his phone was broken, because, upon reflection, it had been showing him the same time all night.
Approaching the counter, he cleared his throat and got the cashier to look up. Locking eyes with him, Jeremy asked, “Excuse me, do you have the time?”
The cashier had a practiced look of urgency as he entered “service” mode, and he stepped to his right to lean and glance at a clock across the store, up on the wall above the beer.
“It is three o’clock, sir.”
Jeremy nodded with a smile. “Thank you.”
Now he shook his head as he walked away, deciding that he would select some food and be on his way. Maybe it was a dream, and it would pass. But this certainly didn’t feel like a dream. Then again, that was a perfectly acceptable thought to have in a dream, he mused. He could have the same dream every day for a week and think the same things every time without remembering the time before until he woke up, and then the dream would slip from his conscious mind within five minutes, and his conscious mind would forget it too, except for the fact that it recurred. The details would be lost.
So, too, would be his sanity unless he got this mess figured out. Was it perpetually three a.m. or what? As he passed between aisles opposite the cashier, he pinched himself to no effect. The guy was still at the magazine rack, not paying attention to anything, and the cashier was still eating from his brown paper bag of…whatever it was.
Well there’s a lot I can do if it’s gonna be three forever. I mean, I can sleep and get fully rested no matter how long it takes, which I think is a pretty relative term right now, and then when I get up I won’t have to go to work…I can just…do whatever. But shit, what the hell do you do when you’re awake in the middle of the night and time isn’t passing? Let’s face it, if I was useless before, what the hell am I gonna do with myself now?
Well alright. Like it matters. I’m probably gonna drive myself nuts if I keep thinking this is real.
He blew out some air and tried to relax his body in a single motion, pushing down with his hands as if to shunt the tension out toward the floor. Then he grabbed a moon pie, and then his phone buzzed once more. He ignored it. He proceeded to take an energy drink and a bag of chips, and he approached the register. He waited patiently for the cashier to notice him, but nothing happened. He figured maybe the guy would sense that someone was standing within his peripheral vision, but…nothing.
“’scuse me, I’m ready to check out.”
The cashier turned with the “urgent” on his face and walked over to ring him up.
Once out of the store, he took out his phone, only to confirm that it was a call from…that number.
“Fuck ‘em.”
He got home, set the bag down and went to the bathroom, then came back out and sat at the computer, thinking about watching a movie as he pulled out the drink and popped it open.
“Well do I want to sleep now, or drink this?” He was mumbling, not wishing to wake his roommates with a slew of out-loud musing. He stood and paced. “This can’t be real. I mean, I’ve got tonight, and then it’ll pass, and…” He stopped, moving his mouse to stop the screensaver and glance at the computer screen, which displayed the time--3:00 AM.
“Uh…w--okay. If it’s a dream, the energy drink won’t matter, because I’m not really drinking anything. The best thing I can do is--well it doesn’t matter--shit! I could be in a coma or something!” With a wry expression and a tilt of his head, he added, “Well I guess that means I wasn’t dumped, then.”
A moment passed as he paced once more in both directions without speaking.
“But that’s still really bad! I’d rather have been dumped than be stuck frozen in time!”
He stroked his chin.
“Alright, I’m going to bed. Maybe that’ll fix it. Take that, reality-bending asshole, whoever you’re gonna turn out to be.”
He was no stranger to sleeplessness, but this was absolutely infuriating. Not only was he simultaneously restless and tired, but it wouldn’t pass no matter how many hours it felt like he stayed in bed. He started to believe that he’d be able to develop bedsores long before he managed to fall asleep. So finally, with a violent kick that sent his sheet and blanket sprawling, he swung his feet up and then to the floor, upon which he sprang with more enthusiasm than he felt. It was purely rage and frustration driving him at this point, determined as he was to figure out the source of his problems.
At first he didn’t know what to do. He paced back and forth like a caged animal, bursting with energy but having nowhere to direct it. It wasn’t as if he was on some kind of schedule and likely to fall behind, miss an opportunity or whatever, but by the same token, the longer he failed to act, the longer he would be stuck. Any kind of change, for better or worse, rested on his shoulders.
The phone rang. Trembling by this point, he looked at it, saw the number he expected to see, and came very close to throwing it against the far wall.
“Not yet. Not…fucking…yet.” Allowing it to go to voicemail once again, he checked the blog for another message, reasoning that this would at least feel safer than talking to whoever it was on the phone. At least they would not be able to talk to him directly. However, the blog remained devoid of any new posts, and the one he’d read earlier was still there, with its unchanged timestamp reading “Just now!”
Sputtering with frustration, he got to his feet and left the building again, this time heading into town with the intention of, maybe, engaging someone in conversation about what the hell was happening. The bars suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea. At the same time, he could get drunk and forget about it.
Suck it, he thought at no one in particular.
Stalking down the sidewalk with a purpose, the first bar he came to was called The Long Night, and he stepped inside without a hint of hesitation, approaching the counter and requesting a Sandleson beer…the damn people at the place he played at got him drinking it, and it might have tasted like piss, but it was addictive. He still hadn’t determined why.
He turned to the girl he’d sat down next to and said “Hello.”
She was a white girl, kind of thick…he didn’t think she’d respond very amicably to him, but he was wrong.
Any other night, I might hit on her. Things might be working out with Heather, and I gotta get this night over with. That’s all that matters now.
“Hey,” she shyly smiled. She’d had a few.
“Hey,” he smiled awkwardly back. “So I know this is gonna sound like a crazy question…”
“Yeah?” She tossed some blonde hair out of her face and looked at him with as much concentration as she could muster.
“What time do you have? Is it still three?”
She fumbled with removing her phone from her purse, then operated its touch screen and said with an exaggerated nod, “Yeah, three o’clock.” Getting progressively louder, she added, “That really wasn’t a weird question…”
“Yeah, well here’s the weird one. How long has it been three?”
She pursed her lips and cocked her head a moment in thought before answering. “Uhh, like a minute? No! Wait! Less than a minute!” She started to look and then interrupted herself. “What’s up with this anyway?” She started to laugh, and Jeremy took that as his cue to leave. He glanced at the wall clock, which read 3:00, and then took off after leaving some money to cover his tab.
“Okay, fuck,” he mumbled when he hit the cool night air. “I mean, shit. What do I do, where do I go?” He glanced back inside the bar, where everyone was sitting right where they were when he walked in. The television was still airing the same crappy program, which he’d only been half paying attention to. Not that he’d been in there very long, but he was getting the distinct feeling that they were never going to air any commercials, or show anything else. Not unless he could jump-start time again.
Didn’t anybody notice or give a damn that time had apparently stopped? There had to be somebody, anybody, in the entirety of the world who’d noticed it besides him. He briefly considered simply breaking into a gun shop and starting a killing spree, just to see if that finally caught everyone’s attention.
But no, that’s retarded. Next thing I know I’m gonna be locked up and the whole world’s gonna see me as just some mad shooter, like those dudes who take their lives at the end, and then they find out he was nuts. Like, the dream’ll end and I’ll try to explain it, but nobody’ll believe me. Nah, shit, if I’m crazy then I’ve gotta fix it, and that’s just giving the fuck in.
So instead he chose a much saner course of action. He wandered beyond city limits, which took a considerable amount of “time” and left him with sore legs. It was a walk of quite a few miles that finally brought him to the outskirts of the city, to the suburban sprawl which went on for a few miles more before giving way to the closest thing to the open road that he would encounter for a considerable distance.
Just like me, huh? Running away. Not like the problem’s in one place where I can see it and be like ‘okay, let’s get to work’, but it feels so much like I don’t wanna deal with it. This isn’t something that goes away. I never got anything done by procrastinating, but it seems to be all I’m good at.
He growled at himself and turned on his heel, back toward the city.
It was an arduous walk, as he was wearing himself out steadily by degrees. He’d not walked this far in a long while. Desperately wishing that he had some bouncy techno to stride along to didn’t make it so, but he ran different songs around in his head to make the time pass a little faster. As he did, he found that he was devising some great ideas for how to improve his set.
Like anyone important’ll hear it.
Before long he was in the city again, and he was very hungry; walking so much had helped him to work up an appetite. He checked his pockets and his wallet and found that he had no money. He already knew there was nothing in his account, but he had to fill up his skinny furnace of a belly--his metabolism was incredible.
He went into the convenience store. If the clerk was surprised to see him back, he gave no indication of it. He’d been looking at the guy at the magazine rack when Jeremy walked in.
Dude’s still there? Do something with yourself, man!
Jeremy snagged a bag of chips and started eating.
“Sir, you must pay before you eat food from the shelf,” came the voice of the clerk.
Jeremy ignored him and went over to the refrigerator to grab a soda, to go with his chips. He opened it and took a swig.
"Sir, I will call the police if you do not stop."
"Yeah, sure, let me know when they get here."
The clerk went away, picking up the phone. He stood there for an eternity as it rang, and Jeremy went about his business. Then Jeremy's phone rang once again.
"Oh, this is crazy." He pulled it out. The same number. "But wait, okay, so this one person who's calling me...they're not stuck with the rules of this...whatever...just like me. Okay, I gotta talk to 'em. Maybe they can end this shit."
He answered with trepidation. "Hello..."
"Come outside," said a very ordinary voice.
"Who is this?"
"Nobody in particular. Come outside."
Jeremy started walking even though he really didn't want to. He felt it was a bad idea, but his legs were already moving and he didn't know what else to do.
"I really hope you're gonna tell me who the fuck you are."
"Like I said, nobody in particular. You've been talking to me all night, you know who I am."
Jeremy hit the door and once again felt the cool night air caressing his face. It really was great to be outside again, even in these potentially dangerous circumstances.
"Okay, I don't see you, dude. Where you hiding?"
"The alley around the corner. Come on."
"Dude, no way am I stepping into an alley with you."
The voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but the sense of urgency he got from it told him that this was important. "You really should come. I've got important things to tell you. They'll change your life."
Again, Jeremy's legs were in motion before he was actually comfortable with the idea. He looked all around him as though expecting an attack, or something else, from anywhere around him. Who was this guy? What was he?
"So basically, you've been fucking up my world and now the only way to fix it is to do whatever you say?"
"I only want you to hear me out. What you do after that is entirely up to you."
So Jeremy entered the alley as instructed and walked cautiously to the middle, looking behind him as he went. His heart was pounding and his breath was coming in short bursts, and he put the phone away as a man emerged from behind a dumpster.
The guy was ordinary in every way. If Jeremy were to try and identify him later, even tell someone what kind of person he met that night, he would be hard-pressed to do so. The guy had brown hair cut short and parted to one side, gray eyes that were dull even in the moonlight, and he wore a simple white shirt with brown pants. He was average height and weight, putting him at a little taller and bigger than Jeremy, and his face betrayed no emotion. He inclined his head slightly at Jeremy, who stood stock-still in response, staring him in the eyes.
"What's this all a--"
Nobody put a finger to his lips. "Shhhh...."
"Wh--"
"Shhhhhhhh..."
Jeremy looked around as though expecting something. When nothing happened, and all he heard was the beating of his heart, he didn't know what to make of it. This was the situation for almost a minute, if time was indeed passing at all.
"Do you hear it?" Nobody asked.
Jeremy shrugged. "You mean nothing? I hear it just fine."
"It's not nothing. It's peace. You don't know peace, do you?" At Jeremy's skeptical look, Nobody gestured expansively and said, "This world is a machine. When you stop, it keeps going. Right now, it's stopped and you've kept going. How do you feel about that?"
Jeremy shrugged, admitting to himself that he had no choice except to go along with this man's insanity. "It sucks."
"Why?"
"I feel like...I can...do anything, and it doesn't matter. Because it doesn't change anyone but me. I can have anything I want, go anywhere I want, but it's gonna be the same forever anyway."
The man held up his index finger. "An excellent point. The machine has stopped moving, and one of the cogs is still trying to force the rest of it into motion again. Grinding against the rest and getting nowhere, because they won't respond to you with equal force. They're stuck."
Jeremy wanted to ask "What are you getting at?" Instead, he listened. He knew it would be explained. Something about this man assured him of that, but he was eager now.
"You've been making your way through your life feeling as though you're a broken cog; the machine functions, but you don't move. The world keeps changing while you remain the same. You believe you should be a big success right now, pumping out albums and playing clubs, and getting married to Heather, but secretly hoping for a five-foot-ten white supermodel. Am I correct so far?"
Jeremy couldn't hold back his astonishment. It took him a moment to answer, and when he did, he was partially breathless. "Yeah..."
"So what happens when you become the big important, powerful, fast-moving cog in the machine? The machine speeds up, right?"
"I think so...?"
"Why would the machine speed up? You've been surrounded by people who are getting ahead, moving faster and faster, succeeding and making changes. Has this affected you?"
"Yeah, it's made me realize that I need to get my act together!"
"It's made you ashamed, Jeremy. The other cogs can't make you go any faster. All they can do is grind against you until you get tired of it and decide to make a change. And then, is it worth it? I've shown you what happens when you go too far. Your friends aren't here. Not yet. But there are people in the world for whom time has essentially stopped. Oh, sure, they'll get old, they'll get sick, and they'll die. But by that point it will be the merciful end to an existence that has been painfully dull and repetitive. Once you reach the top, Jeremy, you have no choices except for two: slow down and lose everything you've become accustomed to, or keep going, faster and faster out of habit, tire yourself out and at the end of the day, not be able to enjoy your earnings. And all the while you’ll grind against your friends, your family, anyone who’s not as ambitious as you, and you’ll lose touch with them. They are humanity, Jeremy.”
“So what can I do? Are you telling me I should stay where I’m at, be a loser nobody with dreams he’ll never reach?”
“I’m not telling you what to do at all, Jeremy. But if you’re asking for my advice…” he looked to the side, as if too shy to push his views on Jeremy, who said insistently, “Yeah, give it to me.”
“Okay, but I’m only going to say this once, and then you’ve got to remember it: Jeremy, you want things out of life, whether you act like it or not. Sure, it’s been a rough road and it’s difficult to drag yourself out of bed everyday to do what has to be done in order that you can do what you want to do, but if you want these things, you have to do what’s necessary to get them. Nobody’s saying you have to be a go-getter. Nobody’s saying you have to be the best at everything and that life’s some sort of cut-throat competition that’s destined to make everyone high-strung and spoiled. If you’re going to do these things, Jeremy, then do them. Do them because you want to, do them your way, but do them, and don’t be afraid. Hold on to your love of the simple things, the quiet life. Think you can manage it?”
Jeremy was nodding profusely through the last bit, and slowly he came to say “Yeah, I get it. I think I can manage that. I hope.”
The man actually laughed at that. “Well that’s all anyone can do. Okay, Jeremy. That’s all I’m here for. Tell you what--go home. Once you get there, lay in bed and give this all some thought, you’ll fall asleep and morning will come. And once it does…it’s a brand new day.”
Jeremy opened his mouth to ask a question, but he was cut off and it was answered.
“Don’t worry about the guy at the store. He won’t remember.”
“Or this was a dream…”
“Dream or not, you learned something. Now go home.”
And he did. He was exhausted when he got there. It was amazing how wiped out he was, although in retrospect, he had no idea how long he’d actually been up. The clock still read three right before his head hit the pillow, and right after, it was eight, and he felt incredible.
“Time to get to work,” he said to no one in particular, rubbing his hands together as he sat up in bed. “But…after breakfast.”
