Time Manipulation

Eddie sat askew on the edge of his unmade bed and cried into his hands. The ticking of his new clock echoed in his mind. You've been crying for an hour, it informed him. Only reminders surrounded him. Here, he saw a photo which was taken seven months ago. There, he observed a necklace given to him three months ago, and among the sight of the other knick-knacks of emotional value, he would weep and sob. This was your choice - why cry? tick, tick. Dirty clothes littered the floor, used dishes populated any flat surface available, take-out boxes were upright and knocked over and crushed. He hadn't been out of his room for more than fifteen minutes in days. Open a window, air this place out.

He did. He got up, maneuvering around his crowded floor and opened the window. The smell of rain filled the space, and Eddie could already breathe easier. Now maybe a toke will set you.

"I don't want a toke—" He stopped himself, realizing he was talking to no one.

I think you do.

A toke did sound nice.

It'd probably be nice to clean with the edge off.

No it wouldn't. He sat again, and looked around and realized he wasn't crying anymore, but it felt wrong not to cry, so Eddie cried again. Holy fuck, buddy, get yourself together.

"You don't…" He sighed. It spoke to him, and he might as well reply. "You don't know what it feels like."

Sure. But you're being a little dramatic, don't you think?

He wiped a tear off his cheek and took his bong. He filled the bowl and lit it and inhaled, and for a few seconds the bubbling water drowned out the endless sounds of his clock. A large cloud escaped his lungs. He took a deep breath.

There. Better?

"I shouldn't smoke in here." Now Eddie wondered why the hell he would have taken the toke. He took another one. He got up. "Okay," he said, picking up a pair of gym pants he had worn for too many days and threw it on top of the already overflowing hamper.

Wow, you're actually going to clean? Genuinely surprised.

"It was your idea."

Don't put words in my mouth, now, pal. I mean, you already took the toke, you may as well enjoy it. Don't you have ice cream in the freezer?

Eddie did, but he wasn't hungry and he was tired of the mess, the state of turmoil of his bedroom. However, ice cream did sound soothing. And, you know, maybe you deserve a little treat.

He ate his ice cream. The phone rang.

Who is it?

"What do you care?"

I'm just saying, you seem peaceful - do you really want someone to disturb that?

"It's just my mom."

Oh, come on. You know she doesn't like it when you're high. She'll nag you and then you'll feel forced to get out of your comfort zone. You don't want that, do you?

"I am feeling a little better."

Let it ring.

With hesitance, he set the phone face-down. The ringing eventually stopped. The rain fell harshly.

Eddie woke up, the room still a mess. Last week's ice cream stayed where it was left. The time was nine-twenty-three and he got up with a start. "Nine-twenty…" he muttered as he stood and took a large step toward his door and remembered the interview was at eight-thirty. "Fuck!" His head tortured him in waves of pain and he was thirsty and his ankle hurt really bad.

Where you going in such a hurry, party boy?

"The interview!" he yelled, kicking at his desk with his bad foot, injuring it more further. He exhaled and crouched and sat on his littered floor. He cried, sometimes holding his face, sometime his ankle.

You shouldn't have gone out yesterday, eh?

Where did he go yesterday? He met with a friend, sure. Trent? Yes, it must have been. He hadn't seen or spoken to him in a few weeks. They usually spoke every other day, so they drank enough to make up for lost time. They had met at a bar, but he remembered lights and loud music and a bustling crowd of people, with whom he'd usually get along with, but last night was different — he felt like a castaway. Clubs weren't his scene anymore. Eddie got used to his bong and his bed and his unkept room.

After the lights and crowds, he remembered very little. He didn't end up taking any drugs, did he?

"It was your idea," Eddie accused.

The hell it was.

"You said," he sniffled and stopped crying. "You said it would be good for me."

I said no such thing—

"You did!" Eddie burst with anger. "You said it could be nice to celebrate my new job."

I never said you had to blackout and take god knows what and miss your goddamn interview. That was your choice. Don't try to blame me, buddy.

Eddie realized it gave nothing to argue. Either way, he couldn't blame anyone but himself, really. Trent knew about that interview. He did. But it wasn't his responsibility—

He shouldn't have let you drink so much. Whose idea was it to go to the club?

"He did mention it first—"

I bet he bought you a whole lot of drinks, and, really, try to remember, was he the one to buy the drugs?

Eddie ran through the events of last night in his mind. "Maybe he did."

Even if he didn't, he shouldn't have let you. Do you think it was intentional?

"No!" he dismissed this idea quickly. "Trent wouldn't do that."

How do you know?

Maybe he would, he thought. "It really wouldn't be like Trent"

Sure, but you can't blame yourself. You were drunk when you got there, you couldn't make good decisions if you tried to.

"You're right…" Reluctance painted his words.

Do you really want to be friends with someone like that, someone who would fuck you up?

"I don't…" Eddie put his face in his hands. "I don't know."

I do. And you shouldn't. All you need is yourself.

An older gentleman took his order. He tried small talk, but Eddie only nodded. Did he even say thanks? He certainly didn't tip, money was tight. He got his black coffee and sat outside, simultaneously observing his surroundings and getting lost in his thoughts. The sun was beaming and he didn't have a shred of motivation, the birds were singing and yet he felt so alone. He sipped his drink. People walked passed him, often speaking to whomever through their phone. They talked about their lives and how the kids were getting so big and the mortgage would be payed off in a few years and next week they're going on vacation. Next week Eddie would remain exactly where he was this week, and nothing would change.

Among the scramble of pedestrians, Eddie thought he saw a familiar face. Many people look alike. He must have been wrong, but oh! there it was again. Is that—

"Trent," Eddie whispered to himself, and got up and began leaving as soon as his friend entered the same coffee shop where he was, what a coincidence, but was it really? He and Trent often came to this exact cafe, but Eddie never thought to see him there. Well, he thought there may have been a chance, but it was a slim one, and either way Trent wouldn't call to him if he saw him, so kept walking away, and he didn't look back until he gladly, regretfully heard his name through the crowd. He kept moving away, but the voice was getting louder — closer, and he felt a hand on his shoulder and his momentum was disturbed and he turned around and sure enough it was Trent, he had gone through the trouble of weaving through the crowd only to talk to him. Little Old Eddie who was clearly walking away, escaping a conversation which was, at once, long overdue, and terrifying unmarked territory.

"Eddie, did you hear me, man?" Trent looked a little worried that his long-term friend seemed to be avoiding him — how strange.

"Hey, Trent." Eddie couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes, so he only looked down at his shoes and up at the pedestrians who didn't have to deal with this particular situation.

"I haven't heard from you in a while, Ed." he searched for Eddie's eyes, but he couldn't find them.

"I haven't had much to say." Finally, he met Trent's gaze. "I've been busy, I guess."

"Too busy to reach out for a few minutes?" Eddie shrugged off Trent's hand and began to turn away, but Trent stopped him in his tracts. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, Trent, I'm fine." Maybe that'll get him off the hook. "I just — I gotta go."

Trent's hand finally slid off his shoulder, and he was able to make a few steps in the opposite direction.

"Hey!"

Trent stood where Eddie had left him. Eddie stopped but he didn't turn around.

"What's going on with you? I mean, you're dodging my calls, my texts. We haven't talked in weeks." He took a few steps toward Eddie. "You've changed, man, and I don't know if it's for good." Now he seemed to be hesitating. He lowered his voice, "you left Melissa because —"

"Don't talk of Melissa." He turned to face him, now.

"Okay," he took a step back, putting his hands up. "I won't." He looked at Eddie. "I just don't get it, that's all."

"Maybe it isn't for you to get." Trent was silent. "People change. I've changed."

Workers and customers swam all around them, in all directions, with no consciousness of the two friends. Ignorance is bliss. A car flew by them, followed by another a few seconds later. There were business meetings to attend to and people to hire, fire, suspend or promote — there were responsibilities to take care of.

"You're like my brother."

"I'm sorry."

Eddie's routine felt as comfortable and lonely as it always did. After his third bowl, he didn't think of Trent. He didn't think of himself, or his room. He never thought of Melissa anymore. She was a subject he always buried deep inside. He hadn't cried in a week. An interview and a job didn't concern him that night, and as long as he could ignore it, he would. All that filled his mind was his clock, its reminder that time came and went. It stretched out in front of him and dissolved behind him. The ticking echoed in his mind. How about another toke, chum?