Bending Time Ch. 01

There's a field of study within Psychology around the perception of time. The basic concept is that we don't experience time in a constant way so every minute in a person's life is not perceived equally. There are various catalysts for this shift in perception and most come from subjection to overwhelming stimuli or stress. For example, military personnel report of time speeding up or slowing down in combat and fire fighters report the same when entering a burning building. Obviously, it isn't just people who work in extreme careers that have this experience; regular folks like us also occasionally are exposed to its effect by just dealing with everyday life.

Personally, I've had the experience of distorted time on many occasions. However, nowhere has my perception been as skewed as it was sitting in a small, tropical themed, hotel bar near the San Diego airport. In fact, I'd say the whole hotel was a veritable time-distorting wonderland. Similar to one of those roadside attractions in middle America claiming to hold a "Gravity Vortex," I'm convinced this nondescript building complex must be built upon some sort of strange geological anomaly that science has yet to explain.

Emma and I found ourselves staying at this particular hotel as part of an industry conference that she was asked to speak at. Her conferences are often dull affairs, held in mediocre airport hotels in the most bland destinations that this country has to offer. However, I decided to tag along for this one when I found out it was being held in a warm climate. It was the middle of a bitterly cold northeast winter I needed some respite.

The evening after her talk, which was the last day of the conference, we were attending something of a social mixer in the hotel ballroom. The point of this event was to offer an opportunity for attendees from different companies to meet and network. Normally, I would avoid this kind of activity like the plague but there was an open bar and I honestly didn't have anything else to do. There's only so many hours a man can lounge by a hotel pool.

Obviously this event was for registered guests only, which I was not, but I was able to sneak in with a badge that I borrowed from Emma's colleague Jason who had decided to skip the shindig and explore the city before his early flight the next morning.

At first I was a bit nervous to pretend that I was an attendee. I was afraid that someone would ask me something related to this field that I knew nothing about and I wouldn't be able to bullshit my way out of the situation. I would be exposed for the charlatan that I admittedly am and thrown out on my rear.

That fear was unwarranted because most of the conversation had very little to do with work and for the few questions there were, I just spoke in broad generalities. "Yes, yes, that is something we'll need to consider." I'd say or "You know, I'm not convinced about that but, by all means, give your argument. I'm not opposed to changing my mind." And only once did my wife need to come to my aid to answer something specific that I was floundering with.

Within an hour I actually starting to enjoy playing Jason. I slowly started to pull further from the orbit of my wife and mingle solo — it felt like I was part some post-modern, long-form improv acting troop, where I got to take great liberties with Jason's life, which i knew nothing about. I told people of my two kids and my passion for fishing. I found out later that Jason has no kids and is vegetarian. Obviously none of that mattered because we'd presumably never see these good people again.

Besides having fun living in someone else's skin for a while, I very much enjoyed seeing my wife in this environment — I always knew she was brilliant but I've never had an opportunity to truly see her in her element. I could see from across the room that she had a semi circle of people around her that held on her every word. I knew most were focused on her knowledgeable opinion but I also knew that she's just an extraordinary person to be near — she radiates positivity and excitement. Additionally, and I know I'm a bit biased here but, she's an absolute knock out. I could sit and watch her all day. This evening, she was wearing a smart but simple black dress that had just the right amount of flow of the fabric that moved when she animatedly spoke.

Eventually the open bar had closed on us. And with no more free booze to drink, everyone started to mosey to the exits. The small group of people who were speaking to my wife during that slow exodus suggested that we all grab a bite at the hotel bar to continue the conversation.

When we all reached the bar, we were informed that they were unable to accommodate the size of our party but instead could seat us in two groups - one table of three and the other of four. The two available tables were unfortunately not near each other so we all started an awkward game of musical chairs. The seats with my wife filled first and I found myself at the second table with two other losers on the far side of the room. It wasn't all bad though. They were good company and we had a decent view of the television which was right above the table where my wife and her party sat.

The three of us stuck eating at the kid's table made small talk during the meal; mostly chatting about the ineptitude of the Cardinal's front office as we watched St. Lewis get throttled on national television. None of us knew each other so at least we were all on equal footing with nothing to talk about besides the TV.

After the food arrived, one of the two men lifted his arm, motioning toward the other table and said "you know, your colleague and that guy sitting next to her sure seem to be hitting it off."

I focused my gaze on our separated group and asked "what do you mean?"

"Look at 'em, look how they're facing each other — like the other two people aren't even there."

I started to respond but my other friend at the table, perhaps worried to be left out of the conversation, beat me to the punch. "Oh and see how she lightly touched his arms as she laughs; that's a tell tail sign." — nodding to the two of us — "Yep. Those two are spending the night together tonight. I'd put money on it."

I'd already forgotten both of their names but luckily they wore laminated cheat sheets on their chest. Looking at the name tag of the second man who spoke, I replied "$50 says you're wrong, Brian. That man is sleeping alone tonight."

"What makes you so sure?" he asked.

"I know her and she's a very happily married woman." I confidently replied.

"If that's the only inside information you have, you have yourself a bet." Brian dug into his wallet.

We all spontaneously started to awkwardly laugh. Besides the general boorish activity of placing money on people's fidelity, I felt bad to take this bet considering that I did indeed have more inside knowledge than I led on. At the same time, I was already lying about my identity and just about everything else this evening and I figured this is what Jason would do. I had to stay in character.

After two minutes of awkwardly starring at the other table, I started to get a sinking feeling that my two tablemates were at least right that she was innocently flirting. It was challenging to untangle flirting from her normal bubbly personality but considering it was only directed at one individual, flirting seemed like the correct diagnosis.

I started to feel a bit anxious; my knee was jiggling under the table and I started obsessive opening and shutting a box of tic tacs that I carried with me. I needed to get some air so I excused myself to the bathroom.

My anxiety quickly created a surplus of energy but I couldn't think of a productive place to direct it. Without a better idea of what to do with my purposeless energy, I decided to text my wife. Standing outside of the men's restroom door I started with one message:

ME: you having fun?

Almost immediately she replied:

EMMA: I am but a bit too tipsy. Thinking we should call it a night. Where r u?

ME: I went to the bathroom. You seem to have made a friend. What's his deal?

EMMA: Who's deal?

ME: the guy sitting to your left.

EMMA: Nothing — we're just chatting. He's very funny. Interesting tidbit, he went to Amherst too, but was a couple years ahead of me.

ME: That is interesting.

EMMA: Anything interesting from your table?

ME: Funny you asked. The gentlemen at my table noticed your flirting and are convinced that he's going to bed you tonight.

EMMA: WHAT?!? I AM NOT FLIRTING

ME: You may not be but they both think you are and I have $50 bucks that says you'll keep your honor tonight.

EMMA: You're not serious

ME: Serious as a heart attack babe

EMMA: OMG this is literally horrifying. Who are these guys?

ME: LOL don't be horrified! It's honestly been fun to watch — it's been quite the turn on watching you work your magic :)

EMMA: For the last time: I. AM. NOT. FLIRTING.

ME: Whether you are or not, I found the experience pretty damn hot

EMMA: hmmm... Well I never knew you you liked the idea of my flirting with other guys.

ME: I thought you weren't flirting :p

EMMA: Ha! What are you Parry Mason?

At that second, I experienced a moment of clarity. All of the emotions that I experienced for the last hour finally distilled down into a single desire. After feeling jealousy, excitement and anxiety, I knew what I wanted and I knew it was the same thing that she wanted.

ME: Listen. I want to lose the bet.

EMMA: Wait. Wait. Wait. What are you saying?

ME: I think you should go for it

EMMA: Go for what. Are you saying that you want me to sleep with him?

ME: I am saying that, if you want to, I think you should.

Emma: Why?

ME: Because I think you will enjoy it and I know that I will.

ME: Just think about it. I want you to know that if this is something you want, it's something I want.

ME: Now, don't be rude and ignore the poor man. I love you.

EMMA: I love you too.

Strangely a wave of relief washed over me as I walked back to my seat. As I sat down, I immediately noticed that the other two people at my wife's table were gone.

Looking at each of my new friends I asked "what'd I miss?"

A shrug of the shoulders from Brian and the other said that "your colleague was on her phone and the other two, presumably bored out of their minds, excused themselves. I don't think it's a good sign for your cause."

For the next hour, the three of us were entranced in their subtle interactions and provided opinions on the developments like sportscasters. Internally, I was questioning if this development was mere theater for our benefit or a manifestation her true desires.

Regardless of the motivation, she was absolutely radiant — she looked so happy and excited everything around her was aglow with her energy. Taking everything in from 20 feet away was intoxicating I couldn't imagine being any closer to it.

As the evening wore on, the subtle became the unmistakeable. What was earlier light touches of the arm and slight head tilts had turn into more. He had his arm around her and they were sharing whispers. As there was less to interpret, the commentary at my table became far more intermittent.

Me and my fellow onlookers were taken aback when Emma stood and came to our table. Like an actor breaking the fourth wall and walking to the audience she stood in front of us. She smiled and politely said "hi" to my new compatriots then put her full attention on me. "Do we still need to finish our proposal tonight, Jason?"

There was emphasis on the last word in that sentence as if I somehow had forgotten my new identity. I also knew there was some sort of hidden message that she was trying to convey but I wasn't exactly sure what it was — moreover, I wasn't sure that she knew what it was either.

My face contorted into a some mixture of horror and confoundment, I responded by asking "I don't know, what do you think?"

She paused then said "if you want to work on it tonight, you and I should probably go now so we can finish at a reasonable hour. If you don't think we need to work on it, then Robert" — she paused for a moment and gestured behind her — "wanted to show me a paper he was working on that relates to the talk that I gave earlier."

Three pairs of eyes set directly on me. I opened my mouth but I couldn't speak. I needed a minute to think but before I could get my bearings. She added "It's important to remember we both have to live with the decision. I know it's a pretty crazy ask and I completely understand if you think we need to finish the proposal. I mean, if you think skipping it will cause issues at work."

After another few moments I replied. "Well it is serendipitous that Robert is writing a paper on the same topic as your talk. This kind of thing doesn't happen very often. I guess you're excited to read it?"

She paused and looked over her shoulder at the table she just left and said "yes I think I am." Her eyes widened and she nervously turned a bit flush.

"Then I think you should review it. Who knows, maybe skipping this proposal could be good for us back in the office."

"Are you sure?"

"I am. Let me know how it is. The paper that is."

She smiled, took in a deep breath and returned to the other table with Robert.

It's astonishing that one of the most important discussions that we've had as a couple was conducted in a poorly constructed code in front of onlookers. What's even more fascinating to me is that I don't think the conversation could have taken place any other way. The real words of what we conspired to do were just too hard to say.

At that moment I had tunnel vision on my wife and her new friend Robert, the rest of the room didn't exist. I heard unrecognizable vocalizations from my two friends at the table. If they were speaking to me, nothing registered.

From what I gathered by Robert's expression of restrained delight was that she just informed him that she was relieved from whatever fictitious work obligation that she told him about. He quickly flagged down a waiter to settle the bill while she grabbed her purse that was hanging from behind her seat.

A few minutes later, I could see him place his hand on the small of her back and lightly usher her towards the exit. She looked back at me with a sweet smile just before turning the corner. That smile somehow completely communicated the nervous excitement she was experiencing. After that, she was gone from my view.

My mind felt like a ship with a crack the hull and was rapidly taking on water; I was sinking. A moment later I was jolted back to reality by the vibration of my phone against my leg. It was a text from my wife that said "I love you. Are you really sure about this?"

Excusing myself, I stood from my chair and briskly walked out of the bar into the hotel lobby.

Just as I rounded the corner, past reception, I saw the flowing hem of my wife's black dress enter the elevator. I sprinted forward but the elevator door shut just before I reached them. My eyes fixated on the shadowed line where the two elevator doors met. I turned my attention up to the digital display above the door. An arrow pointed up and the flashing numbers comminuted the elevators ascent: 4...5...6... and finally stopping at 7. "Lucky number seven" I thought.

I pressed the up arrow and a moment later the elevator behind me opened it's doors. I couldn't move and without detecting a passenger the doors eventually shut. Not knowing what to do next, or why I ran after her in the first place, I replied to her text "I am absolutely sure."

I waited a minute for a reply, but it didn't come so I decided to go back to the bar.

When I reentered that familiar room, my two friends were exactly where I left them. After I sat, Brian asked me "is everything ok, Jason?"

I assured them both that I was fine but just nervous about not writing that proposal that Emma mentioned. I made up some story about running after her for some piece of required information that I needed for work.

That seemed to satisfy their curiously and after an awkward silence, Brian said "So what do you think of our bet. You don't think she's reviewing his writing do you?"

I thought for a moment, even though I didn't need to, and replied "no, I do not believe her visit is business related."

That comment led to their uproarious agreement. "You're damn it isn't!" said one and the other "that's definitely not the look of a couple leaving to read."

They noticed that I wasn't as outwardly enthusiastic about this turn of events as they were and unclear about the cause of my pensive expression, Brian said that they "were obviously joking about the bet" and that I "shouldn't worry about whatever proposal that needed to be written. No work is that important."

"No, no. A bet is a bet. I'm just a bit tired, that's all and I think I should call it a night" and with that, I handed Brian his winnings and enough cash to cover my dinner and drinks. We all shook hands and I wished them a safe trip back back home in the morning.

When I arrived back in our hotel room, the comforter was neatly folded, the empty water bottles had been replaced and one bedside light was illuminated — all evidence of the maid's presence for turndown service. I paced around the room for a moment before reaching for the remote. After ten minutes of SportsCenter I couldn't take it any more. I was haunted again by that nervous energy with no outlet or relief. I needed to do something. Anything.

I left my room, walked down the hall to the elevator, stepped in and pressed "7."

The elevator door opened and I stepped onto the seventh floor. The layout of each floor was just a simple loop of a dozen or so rooms circling the elevator shaft in the middle. Holding very still I could hear the faint distant sounds of televisions coming from the various rooms. I slowly walked counter-clockwise around the floor. As my feet softly stepped over the carpeting, my heart was audible in my ears. It wasn't exactly beating quickly, just beating in a way I was constantly aware of it.

As I reached 708, I heard something of an external syncopation to my heartbeat. I stopped and listened and just as I did the noise disappeared. Moments later, the sound returned, this time at a slightly more rapid but uneven pace. I tilted my head in an attempt to triangulate the origin and I determined it was coming from one door down, room 707. I swiftly moved to the door and could hear the sound more clearly and I identified it as compressing bedsprings. Then I pressed my ear to the door and could hear the soft muffled moan of a women — it was Emma.

The experience was overwhelming. Unconsciously, my hands darted into my pocket to ineptly try to manipulate myself through the layers of cloth. The experience of hearing them was so intense that my lack of finesse didn't change the inevitable outcome and within seconds my boxers were soaked with warm fluid.

Before I had time to regain my senses, I heard a door knob start to jitter from around the corner so I quickly backtracked to the elevator. I frantically pressed the down arrow over a dozen times but before the elevator met my plea, a young woman who I recognized from the mixer came to stand next to me. We exchanged pleasantries, and once the elevator arrived, she pressed 'L' and I pressed '3.' As the elevator slowly worked it's way down, I strategically folded my hands over my crotch to shield from view any wet spot that had formed by this time. I said good night before exiting on to my floor and walked back to my room.

Perhaps it was the orgasm, but this time in the room I felt far more calm and clear-headed than when I left. I looked at the clock before turning my attention back to SportsCenter. It was 11:15PM which means I could perhaps expect my wife back in the room before 12am.