Me, Myself, I

"I think it's the mirror-image effect that throws you," the stranger said. "If I was Dale, recognition would be instant. But I'm opposite of what you expect to see and that scrambles your perception. Not to mention your mind's absolute refusal to accept the obvious: I can't be here, so I defy recognition. For a while, at least," he said, shrugging. "If you'd trust me--" The stranger raised his bafflingly familiar eyebrows. "I can clear this up for you in a second."

"Clear what up?"

Events were flooding over the edge, water down the face of a damn. Pretty soon the concrete would start disintegrating and huge chunks would explode outward behind the mounting pressure

The stranger said, "I've discovered things are different than we had thought. I'm wearing different clothes; I didn't just walk over and grab your hand; you're not as confused looking as I was. As I felt, anyway. I guess I'm not as diffident as I was last night, either." He snorted. "I guess the future isn't as immutable as we thought."

This was too much. Dropping the iPhone on the end table, Todd advanced on the stranger with frustration-fueled anger. Surprised, his quarry backed hurriedly into the dining room, hands upraised in a Whoa, take it easy gesture. Todd was having none of it.

"Please, Todd," the stranger pleaded. "Hitting me won't get us anywhere."

"Get the fuck outta my apartment," Todd growled. His fists, deprived of punishment for way too long, raised threateningly, the right fist drawing back expectantly.

"I won't fight back," the stranger said. "It'll be one-sided."

Todd backed him against the dining room table. He planted a hand in the stranger's chest, keeping him there. Rather than afraid, the stranger looked perplexed, confounded, almost distressed. A voice in Todd's mind hollered--no, bellowed--for attention. Todd ignored it momentarily. And then faltered.

This couldn't be right, he thought. Troubled, becoming alarmed, Todd examined the stranger's face in minute detail: the eyes, his nose, the light sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks, the part in his hair, the slightly protruding ears, the small mole on the left lobe. Compulsively, he reached up and grasped his own left lobe between his fingertips and felt a corresponding mole with his forefinger.

Relieved, the stranger began to smile. And then tentatively, as Todd's resolve dissolved into confusion and bewilderment, he removed the hand from his chest, clasped it in his hand, and led a supremely confused Todd into the bedroom.

* * *

Todd said: "I would have thought this is impossible."

His bed partner pushed into a sitting position against the headboard, raised his right knee and scratched it idly. Todd felt a mirroring itch on his right kneecap and but pointedly ignored it. This was too weird to begin with.

"Remember that movie, Time Crimes?"

Todd did, but didn't follow the correlation. His partner, whom he had already started thinking of as Monday, continued.

"The guy did everything possible to duplicate the events he'd seen in his earlier configurations, remember?" He snorted derisively. "It was so cool at the time. Everything had to be just right." He laughed. "Remember him twisting around with his fingers surrounding his eyes so many time? How many times did he do that; four?" Todd nodded uncertainly. "Anyway, between last night and tonight, I did a lot of thinking on the subject and decided it was completely impossible that every action would repeat. How could it? I'm supposed to remember every last detail? Theoretically, just moving my little finger the wrong way would start an avalanche of changes. The only explanation was the future isn't immutable at all, but highly elastic."

Todd vaguely remembered Monday muttering something along those lines earlier. Of course, earlier was pretty much a nonsensical mishmash now. He still could not wrap his head around this shit. Monday continued.

"I'm no physicist, so this could just be so much shit blowing out my asshole. I think-" He scratched his right knee more energetically. "Fucking things been itching all night."

Todd noticed his own right knee had a developing raw spot and realized with some embarrassment that it was a rug burn, or in this case, a burn from the comforter on his bed. He was glad Monday couldn't see his face redden in the semi-darkness.

"So I decided to wing it and see what happened tonight." He glanced over at Todd, now rubbing his own right knee. "It almost didn't work out. I'm glad it did though," he said, laughing softly and patting Todd on the thigh. "You almost punched me out. That would have been interesting."

Todd understood the irony in Monday's voice. He postulated a theory of his own: "I think--and of course, I could be just as wrong as you are about this..." He looked up and laughed at Monday's wry expression. "Maybe it's only flexible to a point. It can absorb all the small changes we make, like a sponge soaking up water, but eventually its limit is reached and that's it. No more capacity, no more changes. Or it rolls with the punches, something like that. Either way..." He pushed up to lean against the headboard alongside Monday. "Either way, we stay within the overall framework and details take care of themselves."

Monday nodded thoughtfully. "You have a wonderful mind, Todd."

Todd laughed. "As do you."

"Inherited it from genius, I assure you."

"You are so flattering," Todd rejoined. Lit by the dim illumination sneaking in from the parking lot, Monday's flaccid cock lay shriveled up like a worm, as did his own. How utterly mind blowing the last two-and a half hours had been.

"What about you, last night?" he asked curiously.

Monday scratched his knee again. He looked over, as though expecting a reprimand, to be ordered to stop. But Todd was a bit short on confidence for that.

"Pretty much the same thing you did tonight," Monday confessed. "I was a bit more confused than you were though."

"The guy-you're Monday-just grabbed you by the hand and dragged you in here?"

Monday nodded. "Not a word. I was too shocked to resist. I did recognize him faster than you did me, though. I don't know why," he added when Todd furrowed his brow questioningly. "Things are bizarrely variable here. I guess it couldn't be otherwise, or so much for free will and self-determination, huh?"

Todd rubbed his chin, also a little bit raw, as was his right cheek, right shoulder, and definitely, his poor asshole. "So, what from here? Will you do it again tomorrow?"

Monday shrugged. "Don't know yet. Not sure I want to perpetuate this, you know? Could turn into something unmanageable. I'll tell you the same thing he told me though: No kibitzing. When Sunday shows up tomorrow night, no discussing the past 24 hours with him. I'm pretty sure that is one of the immutable rules. And it applies to any future occurrences too, not that I'm sure any more will happen. You'll have to decide that yourself, just like me." He considered a moment. "Thinking about the future starts to bend my mind a little bit, you know?"

"A little bit?" Todd asked mockingly. "Is it even possible, though? Is Siri capable of a second jump?"

Monday shook his head and touched a forefinger to his lips. "No questions, dude. Find out for yourself. I will tell you one thing though, because Monday told me this: After Siri takes you back, you'll ask the logical question and the answer is both yes and no. Siri is capable of it, and you don't want to do it under any circumstances, Todd. None at all."

Todd frowned. "What?"

"You'll figure it out. You probably already have. Just remember; the answer is don't do it."

"You're talking about going backwards in time," Todd stated.

"No comment."

"What happens if you do?"

"No comment."

Todd sighed in exasperation. "This is ridiculously frustrating, you know that?"

"Welcome to the world of time-travel, Todd."

* * *

Two hours later, Todd lay alone in bed, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. He was no closer to wrapping his head around this thing than he'd been two hours ago. He wondered--with a sudden rush of loneliness--what Monday was doing right now. He was alone also, Todd guessed. Or would be, in a little over 25 hours.

Todd looked at the clock: 11:16 PM. He'd left Monday's apartment at 12:15 AM, returning to his own apartment moments after he left. As Monday had warned, his first question of Siri concerned retrograde time-travel.

"It's not recommended," Siri advised.

"I know that," he replied. "I'm asking if you know why."

"Sorry, I do not. I recommend that you turn me off or attach me to a power supply very soon. My battery is down to 10% now and you have less than 2 hours of power remaining."

"I don't have a charger," Todd said in confusion.

"I would recommend that you purchase one right away online, or from the appropriate electronics store."

Todd said in aggravation: "You haven't been invented yet, Siri. How am I supposed to find a charger for something that doesn't exist yet?"

Siri replied in her unruffled voice: "That is an issue, Todd. I was unaware of my uniqueness."

Todd grumbled and returned to his original question. "You can travel backward in time, correct?"

"That is correct. I returned you from Tuesday, May 8th 2001, to your departure time plus 2 seconds."

Todd didn't bother with the 2 seconds issue; there was a reason for it he was sure, and he was also sure he wouldn't understand it.

"Why does bringing me back not create a problem? I'm traveling backward then, too."

"That is correct, but you are not transgressing the current origin point."

"The origin point being the instant when you moved me forward?"

"Yes, Todd."

Now he understood the 2-second rule. It kept him from violating some temporal canon. Who's canon, he wondered. It finally occurred to him that he had the answer for Dale's baseball scores conundrum. Boy, did he ever.

"Siri, could transgressing the point of departure, actually going into the past, cause some kind of...um, mental or physical issue for the traveler?" He remember how put off Dale was by his visitor, how revolted, not even wanting to touch an index card he'd handled.

"I have no information one way or the other, Todd. I was only programmed with the knowledge that it was bad."

"But you possess the ability to travel retrograde, however far back you want to go."

"In theory, yes, although I'm limited by battery considerations. My programming prohibits me from traveling any farther in one direction, than would exceed my ability to return to the starting point, including a safety margin of 10%."

Todd considered this thoughtfully. "Give me a guess. Based on a fully charged battery, how far in either direction could you go?"

Siri answered without hesitation: "Approximately 406 years, 3 months and 17 days...or 148,292 days to be exact."

Todd felt gut punched. "406 years?" he croaked. He backed up, needing to sit down, and almost missed the edge of the sofa.

That certainly put the event in mind within reach, he thought disjointedly. He'd guessed the man's age at the accident in 1997 as plus or minus 50 years old. Todd was 21 at the time, which gave an exceedingly comfortable margin of error of 376 years. The events of that day, coupled with Dale's conundrum over the impossible sport's scores, informed him that Dale and he both, had been visited by the time traveler.

Disgruntled, Todd sat up and leaned back on his hands. Then he lay back down again. Then he bundled himself under the covers and turned on his right side facing the wall. Then he turned on his left side, facing the vanity nook outside the bathroom. It had long bothered him that interior designers were mostly women, and they designed bedrooms with other women in mind. He punched the pillows and readjusted the blankets under his chin. There was no getting comfortable for Todd. He wanted a beer.

Naked except of his socks-Todd wore socks year round--he padded down the short hall to the dining room and then into the kitchen. Todd's apartment was a one-bedroom with den, designed around a central kitchen space. Todd appreciated this layout and determined the architect was a man, because a man knew the importance of a centrally located kitchen. The beer should always be centrally located, he thought. Since the lights were off, Todd ignored the open windows,

"Heineken, my Heineken," he muttered, opening the fridge. Extracting a bottle from the six pack, Todd threw away the cap and guzzled half the bottle in a gulp. He leaned against the counter, enjoying the buzz of surprise in his belly. Belatedly, he thought his host showed poor manners in not offering his guest a cold beer, and then wondered if there had been any beer to offer. What he did here, directly affected the situation tomorrow night. Gazing at the perspiring bottle thoughtfully, he thought: I have to be careful what I do.

Vertigo over the night's events made his head spin and he closed his eyes and breathed deep. How was any of this possible?

Dale would be absolutely flabbergasted, he thought. But there was a difference here, and a big question: Did his actions tonight-on both sides of the temporal fence--classify his as gay, a dreaded homosexual? He didn't know. Just as he was unsure whether guilt or pleasure was the proper emotional response to what had happened. To his amusement, Old Rex stirred between his legs.

"You didn't get enough tonight, then?"

A slightly facetious question, as Old Rex had been pretty much confined to his doghouse for the duration while other parts of Todd's anatomy got used. He guessed it made sense though, Monday being in charge. He had a better understanding of the game and, by virtue of his experience and 24-hour age advantage, was the senior partner. Besides, he'd been Sunday himself before, meaning that Rex would get his workout tomorrow night. Tonight; he corrected himself, looking at he clock. He was Monday now, and Sunday would come visit in approximately 20 hours.

For the first time, it dawned on Todd that he'd jumped exactly 24 hours ahead. He'd spent four hours with Monday and then returned to his own place at 8:15 P.M., two seconds difference notwithstanding. It troubled him, knowing he'd not put something that obvious and elemental together earlier. But then, he'd had his hands quite full already, hadn't he...along with everything else. He sighed, feeling guilty; he couldn't help it. This was a quantum leap over the innocent sexual play he'd indulged before tonight.

Rex gave up the ghost and went back to sleep. That was okay with Todd, who planned to join him shortly. He was so damned tired, mentally, and physically both. Who knew that time-travel was so exhausting? Of course, the travel aspect had little to do with his physical state; that was Monday's doing. He grinned, thinking how quickly he'd adopted the name. And now he was Monday.

Finishing the bottle, he sat the empty on the counter and headed off to bed.

* * *

The charger was a real problem. Todd checked the Apple website and found nothing remotely like the female connection in the phone. An inspection of CompUsa's website, the one for Best Buy and finally Amazon turned up nothing compatible either. He wasted an hour and a half of the company's time looking, and disgusted, went back to work. At 5:00 PM he left, ignoring a scowl from the boss, and looks of disapproval and surprise from everyone else. No one ever left the office before 6 PM.

Todd was becoming antsy. 3 hours to T-time and he was no more prepared then he was dropping off to sleep last night. His underarms itched, and so did his palms. The one he dug at compulsively with his fingertips, the other he rubbed incessantly on the seams of his jeans. He kept panicking, deciding to flee to a movie theater and catch a double feature. He went as far as stopping by 7-11 for a paper and checking the listings. In the end he went home, on the verge of hyperventilating.

I don't understand, he thought dejectedly. How could Monday be so calm last night? I'm sweating rings under my armpits and Monday was absolutely cool. What did he know that I don't?

The thud of his heart was so pronounced that it made him want to smack a fist into his chest, telling it to shut up. He had to pee constantly. He started looking at movie times again.

And then, around 7 o'clock, a thought occurred to him: Sunday is you, Todd. He'll come through that gate (he'd started imaging a gate, a physical construct to wrap his mental concept around) just as confused and vulnerable as you were last night. Monday was so calm because he knew exactly who was coming to visit, and what activities would ensue. Now he was Monday, with that same knowledge beforehand. Breathing deeply, he went to the bathroom to shower.

* * *

Would Sunday just show up, wink into existence like a witch on Charmed? Or would he, Todd, experience the same reality bending effect as last night. Eyeing the corner where Monday had waited, arms casually folded and one ankle crossed over the other, Todd wondered if that were far enough away. It was 8:01 PM.

He'd followed Monday's example and worn different clothing. Where Monday had chosen a blue t-shirt and cargo shorts with sandals, Todd picked his favorite gray and white rugby shirt, jean shorts, and dilapidated old Nike sneakers with no socks. His nervousness returned and grew steadily worse the closer the it got to 8:15. He channeled Monday's calm, and that helped some. So did knowing Monday wasn't as calm as he'd act. At 8:10 PM, someone knocked on his door, and then banged the knocker.

Fuck! Who is that? he wondered, startled. Racing to the front door, he stopped and peeped out the hole. It was Regina, his next-door neighbor. Nearly frantic, he shot a look back to the dining room and then released the chain, twisted open the dead bolt and opened the door.

Regina grinned at him slyly. "Expecting an invasion, Todd?"

Todd drew a blank and then understood. "I do that when I'm preoccupied," he said joking nervously. "My feminine side takes over and locks us both in. If there were a bar across the door, she'd probably drop that in too. What's up?"

Todd knew she liked him, but her boyfriend was half-ape, half-Viking pillager, so he kept the acquaintanceship strictly vanilla. Grinning, she lifted her right hand. In it was a rectangular cardboard box.

"This was in my mailbox," she said. "Maybe they thought I was your female half. It came on Saturday, but we didn't get back until late last night, so I hope it wasn't something hypercritical, like a lottery payoff or something."

"That's exactly what it is!" he exclaimed, grabbing the box theatrically. "They pay off in cash now, you know." He pretended to inspect the edges hyper-carefully. "You take your 10% did you? A finder's fee?"

Regina laughed. She really was a nice girl, despite her so-so looks. Short and slender, almost breastless, Todd guessed her age as plus or minus a year of his own. An unfortunate complexion, true, but with pretty green eyes and freckles and curly red hair, with a terrific smile that lit up the surrounding area, as well as her face.

Todd begged off, claiming he had someone inside on the phone, thanking her for the package. He dropped it on the foyer table alongside his keys and rushed back to the living room, just in time to take up position against the dining room/living room corner, crossing his arms and ankles as the air started to shimmer. It looked exactly like heat rising invisibly in a mirage, distorting everything behind. The walls stayed put, however, and remained the same tepid blue, while the floor and ceiling held stubbornly in place. Soundlessly, an exact replica of himself shimmered into existence and solidified, trembling violently. He gawped at Todd in disbelief, asked "Who are you?" and then looked around the room, including up and down, his expression almost comically startled. Then he looked at the phone in his hand.