Lunch at Chez Diane – A Fiction Short Story by Carina Magyar

This is another one of those Groundhog Day things. Yes, it’s been done before, but always with a time loop generous enough for

This is another one of those Groundhog Day things. This one’s different. It’s not a whole day. Instead I’m reliving the same few

Groundhog Day, just like that, but this time, instead of a day, I’m doomed to relive the same five seconds over and over, which is

Groundhog Day, but five seconds. Took me a few minutes to figure it out. I burp at the beginning of each segment so at first I

Groundhog Day, five seconds, burp at the start of each one, which made me think I just ate something super weird, psychedelic or

Five second loop, each one starts with a burp, because I’m at lunch, and I vaguely recall swallowing a mushroom, so I thought

Five seconds, burp, every time, was it the mushroom? Am I tripping? Took me forever to think to look at my watch to see that

Five; loop; burp; maybe drugs. It’s just enough time to look around the room once quickly and notice everyone is in the same

Five; loop; but I don’t get dizzy and I don’t feel queasy even though the sensation is that of spinning. I can almost resist the

I’m in a five-second loop and I know that I can make things continuous but there’s a powerful urge to restart with every

Burp, so that was five seconds again, the same ones, which ones? My watch just says 12:42. Do I have time to tap it to see the

Five seconds again. The burp tastes like balsamic vinaigrette. My mouth is dry. The time! The time is 12:42 and how many

Burp; Groundhog Day; 12:42 but no jaunty song. Even if there was one it’d be little enough for fair use. I’m a lawyer so I know. Oh, the

The time is 12:42 and oh my god I tapped the wrong button no here we are no that’s the stopwatch dammit where’s the second

Time loop, no escape, and I suppose it doesn’t matter which five seconds I’m reliving, not nearly as much as figuring out why this

Time loop, no escape, five seconds, the woman behind me clinks her soup spoon every time, and it should give me a headache, but

Time loop, no escape, my body resets. I burp, I taste the dressing, I feel the exact same annoyances and fears in the exact same

Time loop, no escape, mustn’t let my mind succumb to it, fall into the vortex of repetition, I can bridge the loop if I just

Time loop, no escape, five seconds, if you can hear my thoughts please help. “Help!” Everyone looks at me. That’s all I have

Burp. Wait. Let’s do better next time. Let’s belch. Really deeply. Nobody will expect a well-dressed lady to do that and I’ll get the

Burp. Too quiet. Can I make another? “Help me!” Everyone looks. A few people pause in their eating. But the restaurant hubbub

Burp. Missed it. Should I start counting? Should I know when it’s going to happen? Too late this time. Seems like it will be

Burrrrrrrrp. I threw up a little. What do I do with it? Spit it on the table. How did this become such a disgusting situation

Burp. Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. Six

Burp. Okay. Did I count too fast? Or is it five and a half seconds? My stopwatch! Where was that. Tap and swipe and then

Groundhog Day but it’s five seconds. I’ve mentioned that, right? I’ve had this thought? Who am I thinking to? Myself, but also

Five-second loop. The God of it, I suppose, needs to hear my prayers. I’ve never prayed much, but now I see the value, because

Burp. There’s not enough time for me to say anything of value to the people around me. I barely have enough time to drop my

Burp. I drop my fork. On a quick impulse, I sweep my arm across the place setting in front of me and glassware and bowls tumble

Time loop. Like Groundhog Day. But it’s five seconds. Why? What am I supposed to do with this moment? It’s not enough for

Five seconds. That’s all I get. It feels like nothing. It feels like a blink. I’m slumping, my jaw is open. I must look like a mule.

Five seconds. That’s all I get. But it’s becoming an internal rhythm. Like a heartbeat. Like the inner clock of a drummer. A man

Five seconds. “Yaaaaarrrghghghgh!” They see me. “Help me! Somebody! Take me away!” But to where? Where is time not a

Burp. “Yaararahrahrahrahrhraerhaaraaraggh! Yaaaa! Yeeehahhahaaaaa! Yaaaaaaa!”

Burp. As if nothing happened. As if nothing ever happens. That damned soup spoon, like a hammer to my brain. I’m getting

Burp. I’m getting hungry. That’s strange. That’s so strange. I’m eating. I’ve just swallowed a bite. But I guess that was

Burp. I guess I haven’t eaten in a few minutes now and my body is wondering why. Or my mind? Is my body even experiencing

Burp. No. My body burps each time. My body is okay. This is a torture for my brain. My consciousness. My conscience. My

Burp. Five seconds. If I run next time. Can I get ready to run? No, my body can’t. But I can mentally prepare. On your marks, get

Burp. I’m running, knocking past chairs, making my way to the door, but it’s the bathroom door, that’s not where I

Burp. Get up, look around, find the exit, run toward that. Or move quickly. It’s too crowded to run. I’m scooting between

Groundhog Day but it’s a five-second loop. There’s no way five seconds can be enough to do anything. Maybe I shouldn’t do

Burp. Anything. Slow down. Touch grass, so to speak. Surrender to the experience like waves on a beach. If I can just relax…

Burp…

Each time the soup spoon behind me clanks the bowl, it’s like the second-hand on a clock that’s five times too slow.

Burp…

That, burp, that last time I almost dozed off, which is crazy. I don’t need sleep. I’m not tired. I’m quite comfortable, actually.

Straight, burp, ahead. Stare straight ahead. There’s a couple. They aren’t talking. At least not in my window. For them, it’s five

Burp. Now to the left. Several tables. So much to take in. Could take several loops. But what do I care? I have all the time in

Left, burp. Several tables and the hallway into the kitchen. No servers disappear or reappear in my world. What do the cooks

Left, burp. What do the cooks in there do in my world? Do they toss the same shrimp scampi endlessly? Chop the same onion?

Left, burp, no right. Right. Right is a window. It’s an overcast day. The palms look ridiculous in the gray. A red car goes by.

Right, burp. But first a blue truck. And a flower delivery van. There’s a long gap in traffic. Truly dismal weather. There’s the red

Right, burp. I have until the red car goes by. That’s all I have. That’s all I’ll ever have. Goodbye flower van. Peace. Red car.

Straight ahead, burp, same couple, not even looking at each other, but I can’t judge, we can’t fill every five seconds with love and

Burp… Maybe I could throw up…

Burp…

Oh no oh no, I feel a panic coming on. I’m immortal, aren’t I. My body is fed and reset. I’ll never die. So this five seconds is Hell. I’m in

Oh no oh no. I’m in Hell. This restaurant is Hell. This seat is the very throne of Hell. That red car, when it comes, is the Cerberus of

Oh no oh no. It’s not even enough time to start to cry. I want to cry. I can feel myself breaking down now, but here, just as the

Oh no oh no. I’ll never cry again. I can’t get it going efficiently enough. Even the sadness feels willed, not felt. Only my mind is stuck.

Just my mind. Everything else loops peacefully, without friction. Well besides that damn spoon on the bowl. “Excuse me, would you mind?”

Burp. Clank. “Excuse me, would you mind?” She looks startled, confused, and now gradually offended, though she still doesn’t

Burp clank straight ahead silent couple left silent kitchen right flower van down lap up ceiling behind me bathroom nowhere else

Burp clank nowhere else exists. There’s nowhere else I can get to. There’s nowhere but here and nothing but now. Zen Hell. Haha.

Groundhog Day. But it’s only five seconds. No room for redemption. No lesson to be learned. No action to perform, nor relationship

Just, burp, clank, this. Just this just this just this. Four Mississ-

Christ. I don’t even know how long five seconds is anymore. Sometimes they’re fast, sometimes they’re slow, or does the loop

Burp. Does the loop vary? Is it wobbly? Can I probe the soap bubble skin of its limits and pop it? Where does it begin and end?

“Open the, [burp], open the door! Quickly! I need some air! Let me see the outdoors! Open it! Open it now, damn you! Yes you!”

Clank. There’s a low murmur of conversation that by now is extremely familiar even as it’s shapeless. There goes the red car.

And here comes the blue truck followed by the white flower van. Is five seconds enough time to die? Can I use this knife to

No, no. No that’s not what I want. And it’s not enough time. It’s barely enough time to gather my thoughts each time. Stupid.

No, no. No, I can’t kill myself. I’m immortal. Remember? This is immortal Hell. The sky is gray outside the window. Red car.

No, no, no. I just need to think. I need time to think. I know time is endless but the reset, it interrupts me, makes it impossible to

Burp…

Burp clank…

Clank…

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