“In a time of drastic change it is the learners who inherit the future. The learned usually find themselves equipped to live in a world that no longer exists.” - Eric Hoffer

Charles Hamilton

Past and present, past and present. Futurefuturefuture.

It’s like a bad techno song, thumping along in my head. I feel the ache all the way in my temples. Throbbing and throbbing. It never shuts up. Like an all night disco.

It’s worse when I sleep, so I try not to.

There’s a belief out there, and I believe it’s a Buddhist one, that says all three are now. Past, present, future: they’re all happening right now. What you learned when you were a kid helps you as the person you are in the present, which can either better or worsen the person you’ll be tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow. And the tomorrow after that too.

It’s a big timeline of now. One string just trucking along…but you have to wonder, is that string tied in a circle?

I’ve always had this…problem, I guess. This knack or gift or curse. Or talent—whatever. They thought I had a photographic memory when I was younger. I could read to you the ingredients on the back of a ketchup bottle, straight from an image in my brain at age six. I could recite bible passages after just glancing at the page at age seven.

At age eight, I could go into great detail about the way my father looked, in a suit and tie lied out in his coffin with tacky orange and yellow carnations tied about a big dark funeral home. And yet, my father didn’t die until when I was fifteen.

Strange. It was always like that for me. Not a Christmas went by I didn’t already see what gifts I would get. Not an exam I took without already knowing how I’d do. Not once surprised. Never astonished.

Life could get pretty boring.

Her name was Lucille Vaudmen, she was going to call me at 9:42 p.m. on Saturday, and I already knew I disliked her immensely. I had no idea what she would say to me, but I had a good guess at why some stranger would call me. She had heard about my talent and needed my help. Like Superman…

Now I just had to wait for the call.

Waiting. It seemed like I was always waiting.

I sat in my truck, Friday night, with a cup of black coffee from the gas station. Waiting outside of said gas station. Just waiting. Earlier that morning, while eating cereal, I had seen an image of my truck’s digital clock glowing 3:19. In the picture, of what was to come, I had seen my dashboard and the artificial glow of the 24-hour Quik-Wick behind it, nighttime. This meant something would happen. At 3:19, I would stare pointedly at the clock, trying to give my past self an incentive for staying parked outside this long.

So…I turned on the radio. Nothing but scratchy jazz and some mumbled static talk show, playing at the same time. There was no such thing as good radio reception in this town.

2:59. Sip of coffee. Headache. Pop an Aspirin. Sleep? Nah…too much caffeine.

Read an old newspaper? Play tic-tac-toe against oneself? Scratch left ear?

Decisions, decisions. I watched, bleary-eyed, outside my window for the next fifteen minutes. A truck pulled up about three parking spaces beside me. Loud, angry death metal pounding inside of it. Was this what I was supposed to see?

Two guys got out of it. A tall one with his back to me and a tiny, wiry looking guy that looked on edge. I thought I knew them. Probably graduated with them.

The tall one looked my way and I realized exactly who he was. At that exact moment, the driver got out and I knew exactly who he was too.

Jay Murphy. J-Dog. JD. J-I’m-A-Fucking-Retard-Please-Congratulate-Me-D. I liked to call him JIAFRPCMD.

There were people I didn’t like in this town, and then there were people I thought deserved to die. Him and Ewan-what’s-his-face came pretty high up on that list.

So JD and the little guy in this retarded amigo trio walked into the gas station without glancing my way. Ewan, still dumb and tall and stoned as ever, waved at me. His eyes were glazed over. He mouthed something, but I couldn’t hear, and then walked in after his friends.

I glared at the clock. 3:16. Am I supposed to slash their tires or something?

I groaned and leaned back in the seat. A minute passed, and I heard Jay’s truck door swing open, followed by the sound of shuffling. I peeked out of my window.

I knew her as Jay’s kid sister, but it took me a minute to really recognize her. She was facing away from me, but the second I saw the profile of her face I knew it had to be her. Those pale little white scars on her nose. They really glowed on her otherwise forgettable face. She was a freshman the year I graduated. Before I knew her last name, and subsequently whose sister she was, I knew her from those scars. That’s how my brain described her: the freshman with the scarred face.

It was mildly surprising when I found out she was Jay’s sibling. Not life shattering of course. Just weird. They didn’t look anything alike. She was tall and pale, always kind of sick looking, and he was this short, blonde douche I despised. The fact that they were siblings confused me. Looking at her gave me some kind of awareness. There something about her that was so…familiar.

She looked like me.

At 3:18, I watched her trying to hop out of the monstrous truck. She was flailing about and cursing, or so I guessed. I couldn’t really hear her, but she looked unhappy. And she was having such a hard time getting out of the truck. She wasn’t using both legs.

Finally, she managed to get to the ground on one leg, hopping around oddly. She swung the other leg out and I…well, she had my attention.

It was bruised and swollen looking. Purple and blue in spots. She was only wearing these yellowing shorts—boxers?—and I could see the veins colored black through the skin on her leg. Her hair, swinging about like a flag all over the place, kept covering her face. I realized then it was windy outside.

She hopped around, leaning against the truck for support, then one-legedly and painfully hopped to the gas station entrance.

My hand, I saw, was reflexively on the driver’s side door handle. I took a momentary, confused glance at the clock: 3:19.

My forehead creased. I saw the top of her head from the gas station windows, ducking around shelves of junk food, moving to the freezer section. The others gathered around her. The clerk, at the counter, was staring at them lazily and suspiciously.

The smaller guy was out first with two bags of food and drinks. Following him, Ewan had the girl on his back, piggy-backing her to the car. I stared at her leg, still puffy and swollen, and felt some sort of anger. How’d that happen? Was she going to get that looked at? Did any of them care?

Jay came out next, a pack of cigarettes bulging from his front pocket. He was this compact, tiny guy who wore jeans and flannel like it was going out of style. And he had the stupidest grin I had ever seen.

And now, attempting to peal the saran wrap off a novelty lighter—in the shape of a gun—he glanced up, noticed me, and gave me a face that was half-grin and half-scowl.

This guy—he had given me shit since I first came to this town in tenth grade. He was, by all classifications defined by Hollywood cinema, the archetypical bully. And six years later, he was still a jackass. A short, weasly jackass.

My teeth grinded together convulsively and I started my truck, pulling out of the parking lot and letting my head lights guide me on the dark highway. I didn’t glance back, though I felt an itch to. To see that girl again.

Nowhere to go. Three in the morning. No need to sleep. Nothing to do.

In my mind, I saw Lucille and I sighed. She was frowning at me, standing outside of her door in what looked like pajamas. There was makeup smeared all over her face and four numbers painted on the door behind her. An address. I looked farther back in the…vision…and saw what street this was on. It was only a few miles from here.

I knew where I was going and was very disappointed in myself. I usually tried not to aggravate the future—there’s usually bad side effects.

Whatever.

Driving to my new, much undesired destination, I saw something else. As if reflecting in the blackness on the side of the road. Illuminated by the headlights.

That girl, with the scars, in my head. Looking my way. It was just a brief little glimpse of a vision. It was just nothing.

But I saw it all the same. Somewhere, sometime soon, for some reason. I would see her again.

El Noté: Okay. Evacuation:over. This story:still just for kicks. Like, I'm not even trying anymore. Hahaha! Stupidella.

BBBBIIGG OL' THANKS TO rowaniana, Aleksy The Flying Onion, and GrannyP. You are all quite pleasing and great!