Time Difference Pt. 01

Part 1 - A Lucky Cat & Cold Stir Fry

//Astrid//

I first stopped time on a drippy Thursday morning in March. At home in my apartment, I'd been drinking my coffee and looking around without too many thoughts rising in my mind. City hums and raindrops reached my ears. My auburn hair was tickling the skin just past my nape. I was still wet from the shower and I had yet to put on more than my underwear. My form was thicker in the thighs and middle than I believed was desirable. My skin was only mildly freckled but every spot showed up bluntly on my pale skin. I took small sips of milky instant coffee and gradually started to consider what I had left to do before leaving for work.

Somewhere on the top of the TV shelving unit I had left my phone bill. I frowned in that direction. I would be damned if they got one nickel more than what I owed... so I opted for finding that previously discarded bill. There was already a pile of mail up there, sitting between a variety of nick-knacks. On display I had a collection of three-dimensional wooden puzzles, a handmade Venetian masquerade mask and a ceramic Lucky Cat coin bank. It would have been an easier job if I had set down my mug... but I hadn't had much of that coffee yet and I was somewhat groggy.

I lifted an envelope from the pile, something heavy from the bank, and saw my quarry beneath it. I tossed the bank's mail to the side and it slid along the smooth white vinyl of the shelf. With just enough momentum to cause a disaster, the corner of the envelope hit the Lucky Cat figure. The empty coin bank was light enough to be tipped over. It rolled away from the row of puzzles and went over the edge. My stomach clenched. There was no stopping it.

"Shit!" I swore as I heard the figure breaking with a stark crash against the hard, tile floor. I backed away from the shelving unit, scanning for the nearest spot to put down my mug. I turned and set it over on my meager dining table. I went to look at the damage, moving slowly towards the crime scene like a guilty driver in a fender-bender.

"Shit, shit, shit." It was a hazardous mess. The bottom of the cat was scattered in jagged chunks on the floor. The face and waving paw were still in one piece and I had the impression that I was being stared at woefully. I stared back, regretting all the clumsy, stupid steps that had led to that mistake. It was just a trifle. Just a whimsical Lucky Cat that reminded me of being younger. I will never know why it sparked that change.

As I stood in that speck of my Thursday morning, I felt the ambient sounds of the city retreating. Something unfurled in the center of my mind. I looked at those ceramic fragments and I thought: 'No, this isn't what happened.' There was a pause to everything, as though the world were taking a long steadying breath.

The pieces slid across the floor, bunching back into their proper places. With the surreal swiftness of a film playing backwards, the Lucky Cat sprang from the floor, slowly spinning on its journey. It rolled back over the edge of the shelving unit and stood in its place. The bank letter was sucked back onto the top of the mail stack.

And that was it. Done. Or, I guess, undone.

"Oh," was the only thing I could say.

My brain was sparring with itself. What had happened? Did I believe my eyes? Or did I question my reality? My dreams had the capacity to appear quite real, but there was always a tone to the waking world that I could never replicate in them. No, this was real. How it was real, I had no idea.

~

//Mendax//

Nothing was wrong, except I was probably losing my mind.

I think it was safe to assume that was the case, given that I kept seeing a face that wasn't there. A woman's face, a stranger in her mid-twenties with a passive expression, had begun to periodically blind me at random points throughout the day. I had yet to have any true disaster with this problem. It never seemed to happen when I was crossing the street, or using a box-cutter, for instance.

It was early enough that day for me to cook up a decent breakfast. I sat on the inner side of the kitchen's little bar, enjoying eggs, sausage, toast and a tall mug full of chai tea. It may have been a bit indulgent, but I wasn't exactly watching my figure. I knew I was getting away with having an average form. More from genetic good fortune than design, I felt neither too heavy in my mass nor too weak in my frame. I supposed I didn't fit the more desired definition that made a guy "built", but I wasn't concerned.

My eyes were directed out the window, barely focused on anything. The woman's face faded into view, blocking out the span of neighboring buildings. I took in the sight and failed to grasp the strangeness of it. I might have even taken a sip of tea while blinded by the apparition.

I had no way of knowing if I had seen her somewhere, or if she was a complete fantasy. She had a lovely face, whoever she was. She had grown her dark red hair to her shoulders. Her elegant, pale features were decorated with light freckles and underlined by a slightly pointed chin and jawline. She had a small, sweet mouth and grey-green eyes that would have drawn me in, even if I could look away. I found myself growing curious as to how she would look when smiling or laughing.

When she faded away again, my line of sight shifted and I caught instead the blurry picture of a dark-haired man with a lightly tan face. He held a mug halfway to his mouth in a comical daze. I made a sour face at my reflection and set my tea down. I shook my head and decided I clearly hadn't woken up all the way.

The most alarming thing about it was the increasing occurrences. The first flash of it, I could chalk up to some sleepy afterimage. Brief daydream, nothing to worry about. Days went by and there was no repeat performance.

That was March. By mid-April I was getting them several times a day. Always the same woman, filling my sight for a span of maybe fifteen seconds. She faded in, she stared into me, she faded out. There were no sounds, nothing else to it. Even so, what else could it be called but a hallucination?

~

//Astrid//

"Astrid, you're late," Matthew put his hands on his hips and tilted them, exaggerating his mock irritation for my benefit. He was a tall, muscled figure with dark skin, his head shaved clean. He might have been intimidating if his strong features ever clouded over. Instead, his eyes were always gentle and his wide mouth was constantly softened in mirth.

"I'm sorry, my bus didn't stop for me. A few times. They were full of teenagers herding to school. I ended up walking," I passed him as he resumed stocking the shelf against the wall. When I got closer, he turned and brandished a package of catnip at me.

"Mhm? Total bullshit, milady," Matthew sassed me as I fled into the employees' break room.

The strangest part about being able to manipulate time was how shy I was about using it. A new universe of potential was open to me, but honestly I wasn't getting grandiose plans of how to take advantage. I wasn't interested in robbing banks, fighting crime or fooling random strangers. It had been about a month since the Lucky Cat event. But still, I rewound time. It was a lot to handle and for the moment I was coping by going about my daily routine.

Every so often, simply to reinforce my credulity, I did use it. This time, I let the tap run in the small sink in the corner of the break room. As the water flowed, I called up that memory of the world taking a breath. The unnameable sense that allowed me to take hold of time manifested and I thought: 'Slow. Slow it down.'

The water's flow changed as I watched it. The speed had been wound down and the stream seemed to waver, like a jelly that had begun to wobble. I kept the time lazy and the water oozed out of the flow into the bottom of the sink, spreading like syrup. Yes. I could still do it.

I released my grip on the moment and the proper pace of the world resumed. The rush of water out of the tap was as it should be. I turned it off and got back to my work prep. I swapped out my shoes for the non-slip ones. I tied my hair in a low bun, loose but enough to keep any coppery strands from getting in my face.

I came back out to the store, walking up an aisle. A customer was looking at the beta fish, standing directly in front of the shelf of little bowls. He was slender, a bit older than Matthew or myself, with short, icy blond hair and an expensive suit that made him quite out of place. He must have wandered out of one of the government or corporate buildings up the street. Strange of him to be here on his coffee break. Why would he bother stopping here? It wasn't as if he could bring a fish back to the office, could he?

He stared with narrowed, pale eyes at the betas for a few minutes and then turned to meet my gaze. He smiled at me without any warmth and I stopped short.

"Excuse me," I said by reflex. He nodded. Without saying anything, he chose to walk up the aisle ahead of me, making his way to the front door. He left, without having made a purchase, I noticed.

"Astrid," Matthew waved me over once the man had gone. He stood by the counter, the L-shaped surface that had a register at one end and a rack of handmade dog biscuits at the other. He was straightening a small, black case at the far end, behind the biscuits. It looked like an instrument case, perhaps for a clarinet? There were rounded metal corners and a plain handle on one side.

"Know what this is?" Matthew asked me, smirking and very pleased with himself. I glanced down at the case and tilted my head as if carefully considering it.

"A MacGuffin?" I ventured.

"A what?" Matthew's brow creased in bewilderment.

~

//Mendax//

I was sitting at the cash, scribbling on the back of a homemade band poster. Rachel didn't normally have me working this directly with customers, and we both liked it that way. It was just the two of us working in Spin Off today. The used record store was Rachel's cramped little piece of heaven. She was in her element, while I was happy to lug boxes for a decent human being like her. She was out having her lunch, so I manned her post, as best as I could. This was consisting of warming her seat while trying to render on paper the face that had begun haunting me the month before.

I was liking my effort so far. The sketch looked a lot like her in the places where I had filled in the details. Her mouth was a work in progress, but those captivating eyes stared up at me from the page. A shame they didn't have the same colour to them. Never quite knowing how her hair was done, I had given her my best approximation, shoulder length with a few wisps loose here and there.

"This is scratched!" I looked up. A squat old man with wiry grey hair and a grumpy expression etched on his face was holding a record up for the world to see. He marched over from the bin he had fished the record from, all consumer fury.

"It's scratched!" He barked again. I felt myself shrink back from this ridiculous man and did my best to quash the motion. I had to deal with him, I couldn't just fold... or let him carry on.

"Uh, that's from the 'as-is' bin," I observed, making a conscious effort to straighten on my seat, "it's ninety-nine cents. Or three for two-fifty."

"This is garbage. Why are you trying to sell me garbage?" He demanded.

"It's 'as-is'," I repeated. Irritation started simmering in the back of my mind. "Ninety-nine cents."

"I don't want it!" He snarled at me. I couldn't tell if the guy was drunk, unstable or simply looking for an argument to entertain himself... but this was aggravating. I became aware that I was gripping my pencil much too tightly. I let it drop on the counter.

"Then please put it back in the bin," I said, keeping my voice even.

"People like you are always trying to peddle crap to make money," he said in a lower tone.

People like me? I only frowned for an instant, but it was enough to register and the customer saw it. He sneered at me. This was getting ugly and I didn't know how to avoid it. He wanted a rise out of me and he was getting it. Damn it.

Before either of us could say anything else, the front door banged shut. My attention snapped in that direction. I hadn't heard it open. A tall, mature woman with flowing tawny hair was glaring at this little troll of a man. She crossed her arms over her chest: an angular, imposing figure.

"People like you aren't welcome to buy the 'crap' I peddle," she said frankly. She moved between the low rows of record bins and plucked the offending item from the customer's hand. She stepped back, allowing him a clear path to the door.

"I-" the old man tried to reignite his ire, but she wasn't having it.

"You can leave," she ordered, waving her hand sharply towards the exit. His face had gone very red, and I wasn't sure what he might do, but ultimately he shuffled off. He muttered obnoxiously his entire way out, but at last he was gone.

"Thank you, Rachel," I said with complete sincerity. She shrugged, her sterner expression vanishing. Instead her blue eyes glinted and the faint lines of her face displayed good humour.

"Don't mention it," she said. She went to the 'as-is' bin and deposited the record. "Oh Mendax, don't let that runty bastard back in here, either."

"No ma'am," I said. I fished out the order forms from a drawer under the counter. Time to resume digging through our stock for the items that had been requested by phone. I got up to give Rachel her seat as she came around the back. She noticed my sketch, sliding it towards her and taking a closer look.

"Hm, pretty," Rachel remarked. She handed it to me. "Who is she?"

"I have no idea," I said.

~

//Astrid//

At home, as the sky lost its final traces of blue, I drew the curtains on the vista of city lights. I wanted my privacy. For no reason that I could definitely pin down, I could feel my libido shifting gears. I had the urge for an interlude of pleasure... a sweet moment that would clear my mind and relax my body. Alone and with no potential partner, it was up to me to make it happen.

I admit, it would have been nice to have another body close to mine. To engage in passion and to plunge over the edge along with me. I could handle being without... but that missing element was something I did want, and more than sexually. I had the desire to find an ally in the world. Someone I could trust, someone who would learn my details as eagerly as I learned theirs.

I was sentimental. Perhaps that was a derogatory term, but I chose to own it. I had a penchant for getting attached. To people, to objects, to memories... I would rather hold things dear than shrug them off. Not everything stayed dear, of course, but it was possible that nothing ever would. With enough time, everything changed and many things faded.

For now, there was nothing wrong with a little personal fun, was there? I shed my clothes, draping them over the back of a chair. I passed by the full-length mirror of the closet door. The view of my own naked body gave me slight unease. I tried to imagine another person's eyes looking at me instead, taking in my bare flesh and becoming aroused by the sight.

Would they enjoy the shape of my breasts? Not overly large but full without the decline that further age would bring me. Would their eyes linger on my rosy nipples, puckered from exposure to the cool air? Did my hips seem too wide? Would another be stirred by the curves that led to the downy hairs on the private place between my legs? I passed my hand over my chest, down along my middle, passing lightly over this last, precious zone. Reversing my path I retraced my touch up to my breast, indulging in a light tweak to the sensitive tip.

I turned off the light and settled into bed. A novel from my collection would have helped speed up the process, but I was in no hurry. I let my thoughts drift with the concept of a lover kissing me on sensitive spots along my body. With my eyes closed, my fingers brushed those spots. I touched my neck, my collarbone, and marked a path between my breasts. Down along my stomach these phantom kisses traveled, wandering off to one of my hips.

It had been a few years since my last encounter with another person. I thought of there being someone now who wanted to taste me all over. To kiss, to lick, to nibble me with an addicted passion. Someone who was driven on by my hums, sighs and moans. A lover that would learn my needs and guide me in theirs.

I let out a sigh and brought both hands up to tease my breasts. I began palming and kneading my flesh, giving light tugs to my nipples. I smiled in the dark to myself, relishing the excitement this treatment was stirring in my nerves. Warm tingles had begun to blossom below my waist. My hand found its way downwards again, rubbing in broad touches before I let my fingers explore the moist areas of my soft flesh.

~

//Mendax//

I swirled the shrimp and veggies together in the pan, just enough to warm the shrimp and blend its flavour in. The smells and the sizzle were rousing up my appetite. There were noodles already waiting in a bowl set on the counter. I turned off the heat and reached for the serving spoon. It was going to be a satisfying meal.

I heard the buzz and clamor of my cell phone on the coffee table. Who was that? Allowing for the notion that it might be Rachel, calling about work, I decided to grab the call. I had taken three steps away from the kitchen towards the living room when it began.

The woman's face was in my vision. As always, blurred at the edges, though the faded green of her eyes was in vivid relief as she stared at me. I could check off another instance of my lunacy, I supposed. I stood still, waiting for my eyes to clear. I had no clue what else I was in for.

"Oh, god," I gasped as a wave of pleasure coursed over my body. There was no feeling of contact. No source to pinpoint this sudden heat in my blood. A switch had been flipped inside me, and it was sending signals of lust up into my nerves.

"Ah, fuck!" My hallucination faded out, but the sensations were rising. The stimulus might have only been to my brain, but it was triggering other reactions. I dropped the wooden spoon to clatter against the floor and stumbled sideways to my couch.

I couldn't stifle the long, low moan that escaped me. I sat at an angle on the couch, one hand clenching the top of the backrest. Before long, I was hard and aching from the strange phenomenon, my mind clouding with the need for release. Somehow, I hadn't started touching myself. I couldn't pull enough clear thoughts together to consider the idea.

The elation uncoiled inside me. It built up so gradually I thought I might go crazy... but finally the ecstasy came crashing down. So sweet, so desperately needed. I groaned and gasped from the intensity of my orgasm, panting and then sighing in the minutes that followed. When my awareness of the world came back into focus, I shifted and reached mechanically for my cell.

"Damn it," I grimaced with the motion, becoming keenly aware of the stickiness in my jeans. There was a voicemail message and Rachel's number was at the top of the call history. I really didn't feel like talking to my boss in this condition. Getting cleaned up was paramount. I rose from the couch, noticing the spoon on the floor as I did so. I glanced over at the kitchen. No doubt my stir fry had gotten cold.

So, I had hallucinations and uncontrollable arousal now. Okay. Should I be worried?