On Second Thought

Sunlight came through the cheap plastic blinds in narrow bands, one of which had managed to land across his eyes with enough precision that he suspected the universe of doing it on purpose. Corey rolled away and pulled the blanket over his face, determined to sleep until his alarm went off, but something occurred to him just as he was about to drift away. The sun shouldn’t hit his face in the morning.

He sat up and looked around his bedroom. The dresser was where it belonged. Two cardboard boxes he hadn’t gotten around to unpacking sat where he’d left them, one marked BOOKS, and the other filled with enough randomness to make labeling it useless. His laundry was neatly folded in the basket next to the closet. Everything exactly where it should be, except the bed.

Corey had only been in the apartment for a week, and this had been the spot he’d imagined placing his bed when he’d taken the tour before signing the lease. But it wasn’t until his brother, Ronnie, had helped him lug the mattress and disassembled bed frame up multiple flights of stairs that they’d realized the bedroom window was east facing. Of course, that came after they had assembled the damn thing and placed it where it inexplicably sat now. Ronnie hadn’t been amused.

“You couldn’t have figured that shit out before we put it together?”

Corey had laughed. Ronnie had called him an asshole. But then they had done the hard work of dragging it across the carpet to place it under the window. Until this morning, that is.

He reached for his phone and found it on the nightstand that had also made an as of yet unexplained journey across the room.

8:06.

He turned off the alarm that should have woken him at 9:00, sat on the edge of the bed, and tried to work his way through yesterday. It had been his day off. He’d slept in, run errands, done some shopping and finally gotten around to washing the pile of clothes that had accumulated as he’d settled in. He’d made dinner when he got home, watched some TV and had a few beers. And…

That was it. He did not remember going to bed. Had he drunk that much?

Corey stood and waited for his body to revolt, but he did not feel hungover at all. No glaring headache. No nausea. Nothing to suggest he’d consumed enough to drunkenly rearrange his bedroom furniture and not remember doing it.

The call of nature prevented him from dwelling on it any further, though as he walked to the bathroom, he did notice that there were no indentations in the carpet. Had he vacuumed too? If only sober Corey were this productive, he thought, a small grin dawning on his face. 

With the first morning necessity handled, he walked to the kitchen for the other. Corey started the coffee maker. He heard it sputter to life behind him as he opened the refrigerator to grab the milk. He saw the twelve-pack he had bought yesterday on the bottom shelf and took a quick accounting.

Six remaining.

He looked toward the trash can, then crossed to it and stepped on the pedal to lift the lid.

Six empty bottles.

Corey lifted his foot to let the lid fall closed and scratched at the stubble on his chin. He hadn’t been drunk enough to even slur his words on a six-pack since he was a teenager, much less drunk enough to forget rearranging an entire bedroom. Still, what other explanation was there? The bed had moved. He didn’t remember moving it. Therefore, he’d gotten drunker than he’d thought and done something that he regretted immediately upon waking.

On the long and distinguished list of stupid things Corey had done while drinking, this barely registered.

The first cup of coffee made him feel better. By the time he’d finished the second, the mystery had already started shrinking into one of those weird incidents that got funnier the further away from it you got. He’d tell Ronnie about it later and for the next ten years, it would be thrown back in his face every time Corey opened a beer, and God forbid he ever asks him to move furniture again.

Whatever.

Corey spent his unwelcome wakefulness putting his clothes in the dresser, unpacking his books, and generally setting his new home in order. He was suitably impressed with how much he was able to get done and briefly considered waking up at this time every day. Just as quickly, he chalked that idea up as the internal ravings of a madman and dismissed it outright. Sleep was life. 

He showered, dressed for work and checked the time while buttoning his black shirt. 

9:44.

He’d been waiting tables at the same restaurant for three years and while the move had taken him farther from family, it cut down on his commute time by nearly half. If traffic cooperated, he’d be early to his 10:30 shift.

The new shoes he’d bought yesterday were still in the box, sitting on the bench in the hallway. He sat down, pulled off the lid, and immediately knew something was wrong.

The shoes inside were not the shoes he’d purchased yesterday.

He lifted one out and turned it sideways. A transparent air cushion ran through the heel. The salesman had recommended these to him after Corey mentioned spending most of his day on his feet. He had tried these on, but ultimately he’d chosen another pair of the same shoes he’d been wearing for the last six months. He just hadn’t liked the way the air cushions looked. He remembered putting them back, picking up the replacement pair, and carrying it to the register.

Maybe he’d grabbed the wrong box?

Same brand, same section, probably damn near identical boxes. Easy mistake.

He shrugged and begrudgingly put them on his feet. That bastard salesman had been right. They were comfortable.

“Fine,” Corey said. “You win.”

He grabbed his keys from the counter and opened the hall closet door to grab his jacket. The door was almost closed again when he glanced down at the shoes on the floor. He pulled the door back open slowly.

His old work shoes were right there, exactly where he’d left them. They were filthy, the soles were a half-hearted jog away from falling off, and the bleach stain on the right toe was in the same spot it had been since they’d been splashed by the mop sink. These were his shoes.

Except there were air cushions in the heels.

He bent and picked one up. He knew that these shoes were not supposed to have air cushions. He had specifically chosen an identical replacement to the ones he remembered because, despite the wear and tear, he’d liked them enough to buy them again.

A feeling of not quite deja vu swept through him. It was a sense of unrealness carrying an undesirable urge to giggle, which Corey steadfastly held at bay. He sensed a wrongness in that reaction at a time where he was trying to grasp for what was right. He just kept running his thumb over the transparent chamber that had no rightful place on this shoe or in his world.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He managed to pull his attention away long enough to pull it free and check his notification.

 Serj

Since you’re already late can you go ahead and pick me up a Red Bull on your way in? I’ll cover for you as long as you get here before we open.

Corey looked at the time.

10:34

“What the fuck?”

He dropped the shoe and kicked it into the closet, slamming the door closed before just as quickly pulling open the front door and locking it behind himself. He rushed down the stairs, grateful for the momentum as he left the weirdness in the apartment behind him. He fired off a text confirming the request and slid into the driver’s seat of his Elantra. 

Thoughts of the day ahead took front and center again. What section would he have? Who would he pay to do his sidework? He wanted to talk to his friend Alex too. Maybe he’d be able to make sense of all this.

–

Corey pushed through the side door of the restaurant holding a cold Red Bull in his hand and time to spare. The morning huddle was already underway near the bar, the opening servers and kitchen leads gathered in a loose semicircle around Serj. Corey had barely gotten both feet through the door before Alex noticed him.

“Well, look who decided to show up.”

The entire group turned and applauded.

Corey stopped just inside the door, extended both arms wide and bent into an elaborate bow. The applause grew louder and some whistles joined the chorus. Corey straightened, blew a kiss toward the group and walked over to them with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you all. This means more than you could ever know.”

“Clock in,” Serj said.

Corey handed him the Red Bull.

Serj looked down at it, then back at Corey. “All is forgiven.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You see this, people?” Serj said, addressing the group once again. “When you screw up like Corey here, never show up empty handed on my shift.”

Corey slipped behind the group and clocked in at the terminal, then grabbed an apron from beneath the service station and tied it around his waist while Serj continued. There was a reservation of twenty coming at eleven-thirty, the soup of the day was chicken noodle, and the dishwasher had called in again so they would all be responsible for catching up the dish pit once the dining room slowed down.

Corey felt himself relax. He hadn’t realized how tightly wound he’d been until he was surrounded by friendly faces. Serj continued to talk while opening his drink, pausing to take a sip before threatening to fire anyone who forgot to pre-bus their tables. Corey listened while checking the floor chart next to the POS.

Section four. Not bad. Four booths along the windows and three four-top tables. He could make money with that. He moved to stand next to Alex as Serj finished talking.

“Any questions?” Serj asked.

Heads began to shake as bodies slowly started to drift away.

“Beautiful. Let’s make some money.” Serj pumped his fist before adding, “Oh, and uh, push the fish, it’s about to turn.”

There was a brief silence followed by a collective groan.

Corey looked at Alex. “Always inspiring.”

“Freshness you can taste.”

Serj pointed at them with the Red Bull paused halfway to his lips. “I didn’t say it was bad.”

“You said it was about to be bad.”

“Which means it’s currently good.”

Corey laughed and followed Alex toward the server station. The clock above the kitchen doors read 10:58. He grabbed his server book from the cubby where he’d left it and shoved it in his apron. He grabbed three pens from a container of them and dropped them in another apron pocket. Then he leaned on the counter next to Alex.

He’d spent most of the drive trying not to think about the apartment and had been surprisingly successful at it. Driving in the city required attention, especially when running late. There had been traffic lights and idiots who didn’t understand how turn signals worked. Now that he had a minute with his best friend, he didn’t see how he couldn’t bring it up.

“You ever remember something wrong even though you’re completely fucking sure you’re remembering it right?”

Alex looked at him with a perplexed face.

“That sentence made my brain hurt.”

“Never mind,” Corey said, shaking his head as though to clear it.

“No, go ahead. This should be good.”

Corey glanced down at his shoes. “Well, it’s the craziest thing. Do these–”

“Showtime, everyone,” Serj yelled as he walked briskly to the front doors with his keys in his hand.

“Later,” Alex said. “We’re open.”

“Yeah.”

Corey pushed himself away from the counter. Later was better anyway. Maybe by the time the shift ended he’d have figured out how to explain his morning without sounding like a basketcase. He watched a middle-aged couple walk inside. They were dressed in business attire and he judged them in the way that servers do to be good tippers. Serj grabbed some menus and led them to a booth near the back of the restaurant. Damn. He’d been hoping for the first table of the day and that would’ve been a good one.

He grabbed a clean towel and started wiping down the tables in his section. The closers had done a decent job the night before. Salt and pepper full. Sugar caddies restocked. He finished straightening the chairs before moving to the booths. He was halfway through wiping the second booth when something began bothering him.

He looked around his section. Nothing appeared wrong. He looked toward the bar, then the kitchen doors, trying to figure out what had snagged his attention and then slid away.

Nothing. Everything was in order as far as he could tell.

“Corey.”

He turned to face Serj who was suddenly standing next to him. He recoiled, surprised he’d managed to sneak up on him like that.

“Jeez, man.” Corey laughed. “Don’t sneak up on a guy like that.”

“You feeling okay?”

Corey saw the genuine concern on his face, and he felt some of the earlier tension returning.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“I was trying to get your attention. You were staring into space for a while there. You got the first table.”

Corey glanced around again, blinking rapidly. The couple he’d seen walking to the back just a second ago slowly resolved into his awareness, already seated at the first booth he’d wiped down. They were looking at him with a mix of amusement and trepidation.

Years of training kicked in all at once as he briefly apologized to Serj with a smile on his face before turning to the couple, setting some beverage napkins on the table as he introduced himself and apologized for the wait.

“Long night?” the man chuckled. “I remember those days.”

“Yeah, I suppose it was.” Corey chuckled back. “What can I get you both to drink?”

Corey dropped into his rhythm at the table and ended up getting their entire order before walking away, promising them a smooth experience from here on out. By the time he had placed their order and dropped off their drinks, the hosts had done a full rotation and he had already been sat again.

The rest of the shift offered no more surprises, including his assumption that the first couple were exceptionally good tippers. That ended up being his biggest gratuity on the day and he managed to crack two hundred bucks by the time he was finished taking tables and the night crew had cycled in. He ended up volunteering to catch the team up on dishes as long as he didn’t have to marry the ketchups. There was nothing in the world more tedious than marrying ketchups.

Corey walked away once the closing dish guy showed up, who rightfully thanked him for not leaving him buried back there. Alex caught him as he was washing his hands. He was holding Corey’s jacket.

“So, you going to finish that sentence from six hours ago?”

Corey dried his hands, and as he and Alex made their way out to the parking lot, he told him everything. The bed. The shoes. The missing fifty minutes he had apparently spent examining a shoe. By the time he got to staring through his first guests of the day, Alex was smiling.

“You’re imagining things.”

“Fuck,” Corey clenched his teeth. “I knew you’d say that.”

“You drank last night, slept like shit, and lost track of time.”

“And the shoes?”

“Dude, those are your shoes. Same as always.”

Corey stared at him.

“What?” Alex laughed. “I’m being serious, man. I’ve never seen you in a different pair at work.”

Corey continued to stare for a moment, then looked away and exhaled slowly. He didn’t know what to say to that at all.

“Just call Ronnie.”

“What?”

“He helped you move the bed, right?” Alex reasoned. “So he’d know what wall you dragged it to originally.”

Corey nodded, then pulled his phone out. He found Ronnie’s contact and tapped the phone icon. He put it on speaker. On the fourth ring, he picked up.

“Hey, dickhead.”

Alex smirked. Corey rolled his eyes.

“Hey, assface. Quick question. When you helped me move, where did we put my bed?”

“Seriously?”

“Just humor me, okay?”

“Which time?” Ronnie asked with a sigh. “When we built it or when we dragged the fucker?”

“Both.”

“We built it under the window, then you made me help you move it to the opposite wall. Something about sunlight waking you up.”

Corey hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

Alex looked at him.

“That’s…” Corey said. “That’s not what happened.”

Alex said nothing.

Corey’s phone vibrated. 

Ronnie

What the hell was that about?

Corey thought about going back to his empty apartment and almost shuddered. He had considered briefly moving in with his brother, and now he regretted not doing exactly that. His phone vibrated again. 

Ronnie

Can you stop on your way home and pick up some beer? I already drank the six you had left in the fridge from last night. There’s leftover pizza for you though.

Corey felt another wave of uncertainty crash through him, even as he held his thumb down on the text from his brother and tapped the heart emoji. He looked at Alex.

“Hey, Alex. You want to come over tonight?”

“Sure. Is Ronnie already home?”