Than and Now, Page 2

Tires on blacktop. People talking, conversations almost understood. Birds chirping. The unfamiliar noises were a lullaby in reverse, a gentle floating up to the surface. Michael woke up. He had a smile on his face. It took him several minutes to understand the meaning of all those quiet noises coming through the window. Then he saw his previously pointless alarm clock, and understood immediately: he was late. Very late.

  With no time to think, Michael jumped out of bed, had a quick shower, got dressed, and sprinted out of the apartment (…). He started collecting his thoughts during the subway ride. He felt rested and refreshed (…). He hadn’t slept this well since…since he could remember.

  While Michael rode the subway, across the city Dr. Than examined her newest acquisition. “What have we here?”

  Michael ran past the front desk and finally got to his office, several hours late. He immersed himself in the digital moment as he tried to contain the deluge of information that had accumulated while he slept. He barely had time to remember who he was (…).

  The small hand lets go of his grip. The green blur is already barely visible when he drops the grocery bags and bolts after the child’s winter coat. Small yelps of pure joy as the two-year-old runs full speed, marveling at the novelty of snowflakes all around him…

  “I see,” said Than to herself, as the silence at the end of the nightmare still resounded.

  At the end of the workday, Michael decided to walk back home and give himself a chance to go over the day. It had been a very strange day (…). Frantic, as he tried to recover the time lost to the morning sleep. But also something missing (…), something that he could not quite put his finger on. Inevitably, Michael’s feet led him to the coffee shop halfway home. For no reason that he could remember, Michael opened the door and stepped inside.

  “And now for the good stuff.” Dr. Than anticipated the sweet feeling of old memories on her taste buds.

  Michael looked around. People with laptops, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, an old style cork board with its business cards and laser-printed posters for local bands, the “take one” ads for guitar lessons, roommates wanted, or lost pets. Something was missing (…). Michael had no memory of ever being here, but he could tell that something was missing. “There is nothing here for me,” he told himself as he nearly ran out of the place.

  The rest of the walk home was excruciatingly slow. At every block, every corner, every step, Michael slowed down, trying to capture something (…) like an old tune, something he knew he knew, something at the tip of his tongue. It was no use, but still each pause was longer than the last. “If only,” Michael thought to himself, “if only (…).”

  Michael climbed through molasses up the steps up to the building entrance. The elevator ride seemed to take forever and the wooden box inside of which he found himself seemed to shrink with each passing floor. “If only” had been replaced by “What for?”

  Finally Michael finds himself standing in the small living room of his apartment. He turns around slowly, N-E-S-W, his eyes falling in turn on each of the small number of impersonal things (…) surrounding his life.

  Michael is in the focus of an infinity mirror where each meaningless day reflects a smaller version of himself, until the illusion is lost in the endless curve. “All these years,” he is thinking, “and not one worthwhile thing to show for it.” It is all useless. All for nothing. He knows he needs to get away, and the only way out is through the mirror. Through the glass.

  “I’m the luckiest man alive,” was all that he could feel when Amanda said yes. No matter how long he lived, he knew he would never forget the look on her face right now.

  Dr. Than moaned in delight as she consumed that long gone moment.

  Michael is surprised at how easily the glass shatters under the momentum of his running body. The outside of his building is oddly familiar at this height, and the shattered window is already out of reach, receding faster and faster.

  “I’ll confess something,” Michael told his brand new wife. “Before we got together I hated to do groceries.” “Me too,” she replied, and they both laughed as they continued to point out interesting things to each other at the supermarket. They used to laugh a lot when they were together.

  Dr. Than reached for the dripping juice of each delightful laughing moment.

  Michael turned around to face the sidewalk rushing up to meet him. “No more time,” he thought. “No more time to fix anything.” His last conscious thought was regret. Deep, unresolved, bitter regret.

  “It’s positive,” Amanda was jumping up and down, “we’re going to have a baby!” Michael could barely contain himself, but through his broad grin and uncontrollable giggles, he managed to say “I love you so much.”

  Ahhhhh… Dr. Than closed her eyes and tasted that particularly sweet, sweet memory.

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  About the author:

  Yuri Csapo writes as a hobby. “Than and Now” was written with the hope that it brings you a few minutes of contemplation.

  Connect with Me Online:

  In English: https://besta.yuricsapo.com/?cat=5

  In Portuguese: https://besta.yuricsapo.com/?cat=3