Miles Gets Another Chance

The sounds of car horns and squealing brakes joined the morning light filtering through Miles’ window. The phone alarm rang but he didn’t stir until an airhorn blast from the street startled him awake. Miles jumped and almost fell out of bed but recovered and sat on its edge until his heart slowed from a Buddy Rich drum roll. He silenced the electronic alarm and looked around the efficiency apartment: a small room furnished with a lumpy bed, a plastic covered sofa, and a kitchenette. Nothing hung on the walls.

Miles laid back on the bed and cupped his hands around the back of his neck. This morning, like most, he thought of Rita. Today should be their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. He missed her and wished that he could somehow go back in time and say ‘no’. The office affair wrecked his marriage, estranged his family, and cost him his management position. Other consequences of his decision showed up every morning in the bathroom mirror: hair loss, wrinkles, and the inevitable midriff expansion.

Rita eventually forgave him, but his daughters despised him for what he’d done. 

Miles rolled out of ‘Mr. Lumpy’, shuffled into the kitchenette, and brewed a coffee.

He dressed, sat down at the small kitchenette table and picked up his phone to check the headlines. The lock screen on the phone showed the date and a digital image of an analog clock but for some reason, the second-hand moved backwards. Miles gritted his teeth and shook the phone. He looked again. The second hand still moved backwards but seemed to be rotating faster. “Piece of junk,” he muttered and powered the phone off. He then pressed various buttons until an image of what many consider ‘forbidden fruit’ appeared.

He looked at the wall clock. Its tick sounded normal, but the second hand also moved counterclockwise. Miles stared at the clock, scratched his head and realized he was still wearing a hat for the cold Toronto nights. He removed the nighttime tuque and mussed his hair.

Hair? He had hair!

Miles flew out of his chair to the mirror.

“I have hair!” Amid the excitement, he noticed the wrinkles flaring out from his eyes were shorter and less deep. His face looked a bit more full. 

What’s going on here?

He looked at his phone. Even after the reboot, the clock moved backwards.

His head whipsawed to the wall clock causing a brief pain in his neck. The clock’s hands moved the wrong way even faster. He ran to the window. As usual, cars clogged the city street, but they moved in reverse. A stream of pedestrians walked confidently backwards.

I’m in the twilight zone!

Miles looked back and forth between the phone and the wall clock: both moved counterclockwise, increasing in speed until the hands were a blur. 

Then, both clocks abruptly stopped. Miles almost dropped the phone.

He slowly raised up the device: the date was precisely five years earlier than when he woke that morning. The second hand moved forward at normal speed. The apartment was freshly painted and in better condition. The kitchenette shined and there were wall hangings that Miles didn't recognize. 

The implication struck him: Before the affair!

Miles ran out of the apartment and caught the TTC bus towards the house where, pre-affair, he’d lived with his family. He jumped off at the nearest stop and walked up to the house just as the front door swung open.

“Hi Daddy, did you go for an early morning walk? It’s sure cold out. I’m off. I love you!” His middle daughter entered a friend’s waiting car and drove off; she smiled and waved to her father. He watched the car until it turned a corner, his mouth ajar.

“Miles! You silly. You’re going to be late for work!” said Rita.

He looked at his phone; time moved forward at normal speed. 

Am I getting another chance?

He went into the house. Rita hugged him, kissed his cheek, and said: “You’d better hurry! We have a lunch date for our special day.”

He paused looking tenderly at his wife. “Thanks Rita, I missed you.”

“Missed me? You’ve been gone less than an hour.”

“An hour can be an incredibly long time.”

Rita smiled. “Whew!” she said, rapidly waving her hand. “Make sure you take a shower.”

Miles arrived at work and made his way to his cubicle only to find someone else working there. He stopped and scratched his head.

“Good morning. Is everything okay?” said a young man.

“Umm, yes. Just heading to my desk.”

He went to the office he’d occupied as Operations Manager and was surprised to see his name on the door.

This is crazy. I am getting another chance!

Miles set his briefcase on the desk. The office was just as he remembered and it felt wonderful to be back. He heard a knock on the door. He turned.

“Oh… hello,” said Miles.

It’s her.

“Hey handsome! You promised to take me to lunch today. I dressed for the occasion,” she said and spun around like a runway model. “What do you think?” 

Her dress clung tightly and the high heels did their magic. Miles almost choked.

Another chance…

“No, I can’t. My wife's picking me up for lunch. It’s our anniversary today.”

“What? You promised.”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“Well, you obviously don’t know what you’re going to miss” she said, smiling as she spun around again.

“As it turns out, I know exactly what I’ll miss: divorce, living alone in an efficiency apartment, estrangement from my daughters... The cost is too high.”

“Huh? What cost?” she said, her hands on her hips. “Well, okay then!” The door to his office closed hard, shaking the walls.

Miles checked his phone: the digital clock raced forward and in mere seconds, arrived at the day he’d woken up alone in the efficiency apartment.

He heard another knock on his office door. Rita stood there. “Ready for lunch? Twenty-five years today!”

Miles reached out to his wife. They hugged; she ran her hand through his very thin hair.

“Happy anniversary, wife of my youth,” said Miles. “You are lovely.”

“Happy anniversary. I love you!” she said. “Oh, grab your hat, it’s cold out.”

Miles put on his tuque and they left his office. Rita took his arm and as the husband and wife walked to the elevator, the entire staff saw Miles smile.