by Patrick Ness
Ryan is through the black coffee he’s ordered and is awaiting a refill before finishing off the diner’s eponymous burger with bacon and, for exoticism’s sake, a slice of provolone cheese. He is a motorcycle messenger on his lunch break, spending a little more than usual for a sit-down lunch for no other reason than another plain-wrapped-flour-tortilla with assorted-vegetables-and-chicken-bits eaten while standing seems a failure of justice after five straight hours of trips to and from a single, indecisive company with offices in Venice and downtown. In any other city, he’d be a plain bike messenger, but Los Angeles, for good and ill, isn’t any other city. It is a place where a mere bicycle is no good to anybody.
Ryan has recently broken up with his girlfriend (Clare, Sagittarius) after she discovered an occasion of infidelity on his part with a secretary from a delivery destination. Said liaison lasted a single night but left behind enough evidence (smear of non-Clare-coloured lipstick on an off-white sheet) to send Clare packing. Ryan tries not to mind, especially seeing how the pertinent liaison was merely one among a larger undiscovered number of infidelities that Ryan saw himself the victim of, but he had been fumbling towards loving Clare, loving her full behind and dyed-goth hair, loving her leather knee boots, her spangly wrists and even her permanently-in-estrus Siamese, Poo-Tee-Tweet. Such sentiments, offered authentically if inarticulately, were not enough to keep Clare from removing her toothbrush from Ryan’s bathroom.
The waitress (in vintage waitress miniskirt and ironic fishnets) refills Ryan’s coffee, and Ryan re-commences the burger, dripping burger juice onto one thigh and rubbing it absently off the padded leather that is the uniform of the motorcycle messenger. He glances at his watch and requests the check. It is $8.75. He leaves a crumpled ten-dollar bill with ‘Jamie’ written on it in blue ballpoint, grabs his helmet and leaves the diner as that Split Enz song about a leaky boat begins to play on the jukebox.
Seven minutes later, Magda (Subject 2) enters the café.
Realities 2–84, 22 July, 12:34–55pm (various)
As above with the vagaries of Southland traffic altering the duration of Ryan’s lunch and the difference between his exit from the diner and Magda’s entrance from a maximum of thirteen minutes but never less than a minimum of five minutes.
Reality 85, 22 July, 12:47–58pm
Ryan decides to buy a newspaper to read at lunch, reducing the time difference between himself and Magda to ninety seconds.
Realities 86–207, 22 July, 12:33–59pm (various)
As above with the vagaries of Southland traffic altering the duration of Ryan’s lunch and newspaper-reading and the difference between Ryan’s exit from the diner and Magda’s entrance from a maximum of seven minutes but never less than a minimum of 28 seconds.
Aberrant Realities 89 & 171, 22 July; 12:01pm & 11:58am (respectively)
Twice, the clutch on Ryan’s motorcycle sticks while on the 10 Freeway; on one occasion (89) forcing him to call the Auto Club and therefore never reaching the diner. On the second occasion (171) Ryan loses control of the motorcycle and skids into a guardrail, cracking his helmet and nearly decapitating himself. He is mourned by a Polish-immigrant mother and a mascara-streaked Clare. Both Realities removed from sample.
Reality 208, 22 July, 12:56–1:00pm
Magda (Subject 2), an intelligent girl and therefore punished by society, is vastly underemployed as a bookkeeper for various small businesses up and down Beverly Boulevard. She wears her hair in a short bob that swoops forward to tightly bracket her face, and she usually dresses in mostly black with pale pancake make-up. It is a full-body mask she wears to keep at arm’s length her (mostly friendly) employers: the laundrymen of various exotic ethnicities, the Honduran florist, the Algerians who own the vegetarian restaurant. She started dressing as a goth (with the occasional Stevie Nicks influence) at 14, felt comfortable behind it, and never saw any reason to change as she grew older.
On a Thursday (today), she looks through the weekly accounts of an arty video and DVD rental store (called 24 Times Per Second, an expensive trademark that Magda has successfully disguised as a legitimate-looking business expense). Magda leans more than slightly towards Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, a trait which has made her, at 25, a stunningly capable book-keeper, but which has also segregated her day into rigid sections. Every Thursday, she finishes 24 Times’ books at exactly 12:58pm, allowing her a two-minute walk to the diner down the street (a self-consciously retro and hip representation of the fifties mixed with an updated punk feel that in itself is probably ten years past). She arrives at the diner at 1:00pm exactly, sits in the same booth, reads whatever paperback she’s selected from her to-be-read shelf (currently Lolita, formerly Girl in Landscape, soon to be The Man in the High Castle), and orders the same large chicken Caesar salad. She is aware that she does this as a ritual, but she does not feel compelled as yet to address it as a problem.
It is only by a mistake that begins in this Reality (208) that she arrives at the diner one minute and 22 seconds early. The source of this mistake is this morning when, during her daily habit of setting her watch to the ticker running across the bottom of the news network she has on in the background behind her regimented breakfast (frosted cornflakes, two pieces of buttered white toast, a ‘tropical’ blend of fruit juices and sugar), she is unaware (as how could she possibly not be?) that the computer news ticker has suffered a brief power surge during the night and that a lazy intern has re-set the ticker to his own (fast by one minute and 22 seconds) watch rather than the Greenwich Mean Time clock meant to keep the entire international news team synchronised. The error is corrected while Magda is at work, but of course, this is too late for Magda.
Today (Thursday, 208, ibid), Magda arrives at the diner 82 seconds earlier than in Realities 1–207. Ryan, newspaper tucked under one arm, helmet in hand, brushes past her as they come through opposite sides of the entrance to the diner. He turns as she moves past him. She doesn’t acknowledge him, but he recognises her. He opens his mouth to speak but realises he cannot remember her name or where he knows her from. He watches as she moves to her regular table and orders her regular dish.
He shrugs and walks to his motorcycle.
Realities 209–755, 22 July, 12:56–59pm
This Reality repeats itself an unusually high number of times with only negligible variation (the amount of powder on Magda’s face, the phrasing of a punchline in a single comic in Ryan’s newspaper (‘Look, I can’t see what’s so hard about this’ becomes ‘Look, I don’t see what’s so hard about this’ and stays that way)).
Aberrant Realities 311, 417 & 685, 22 July, 12:58pm, 9:21am & unknown (respectively)
In 311, Magda is the victim of a gunshot wound when 24 Times Per Second is mistaken for an amphetamine lab by an over-eager police recruit who has mixed up his addresses. She survives but obviously does not make it to the diner. In 417, a left-on deep-fat fryer finally ignites after an entire night of simmering, burning the diner and the adjacent hotel to the ground in under ninety minutes. Ryan eats at McDonald’s. An upset Magda returns home and doesn’t leave the house again that day. In 685, an evolutionary disaster has disallowed the existence of all life forms larger than microbial. All Realities removed from sample.
Reality 756, 22 July, 12:59–1:01pm
Ryan watches as she moves to her regular table and orders her regular dish. He shrugs and walks to his motorcycle. As he is pulling away, recognition dawns and he says, ‘Magda,’ to the inside of his helmet.
Realities 757–1,310, 22 July, 12:59–1:01pm (various)
Recognition for Subject I arrives at various intervals for 553 realities as the sugar and caffeine levels in his brain and bloodstream move up and down due to slight variances in diet from the previous night through to the morning. For each of these 553 Realities, Subject l’s recognition of Subject 2 as someone he knows comes too late in the process of walking to his motorcycle for him to try and catch her attention. And then, it doesn’t.
Reality
1,311, 22 July, 12:51–58pm
The one thousand, three hundred and eleventh time, Ryan (Subject 1) sits alone at the booth, nodding his head absently to Peter Gabriel on the jukebox (someone has chosen ‘Games Without Frontiers’ from the CD offerings), looking through the window to the outdoor tables on the other side, angling his view just so in order to appear not to be staring at four rich-looking Hispanic teenagers (pleated khaki trousers, woven leather sandals) out for an afternoon bite with a dog (pit bull, mottled), no doubt on their way to or from the beach during the current summer break, sitting out under a blue sky spattered with dribbled clouds.
Ryan is through the vanilla shake he’s ordered and is awaiting a glass of water before finishing off the café’s crispy club sandwich. The waitress (in an ironic but sexy re-interpretation of a mechanic’s jumpsuit) brings Ryan’s water, and Ryan re-commences the sandwich, idly flipping another page of the sports section (he perversely supports the ne’er-do-well basketball team of the city’s two and is pleased beyond words to read that they’ve beaten their over-paid, over-arrogant, over-featured municipal rival). He glances at his watch and requests the check. It is $9.25. Ryan leaves a crumpled ten-dollar bill with ‘8/7/1992’ written on it in blue ballpoint along with a few coins, grabs his helmet and leaves his seat as ‘Message to my Girl’ comes over the jukebox.
Magda, meanwhile, is walking from her bookkeeping job at Flicker Fusion (a video and DVD rental store that Magda secretly feels is too up its own cinephile ass for its own good) down Beverly Boulevard to the diner where she always eats on a Thursday (also slightly up its own ass but with decent food and unspeakably good poppyseed cake). Her shoulder-length hair swoops down over her face as she stares at the sidewalk, ignoring the sun as much with her glance as she has with her wardrobe. She holds The Verificationist under one arm to read over lunch, though it is a short book and she has a copy of The Names in her purse should she finish before the hour is over.
She is two minutes and one second early in all of her dealings with the day due to computer error on the ticker of the financial network by which she sets her watch each morning. The error is fixed while Magda is at work, but Magda, of course, does not know this. It would upset her to a degree that would embarrass her if she found out, and it is lucky for the purposes of this sample that she does not.
Today (Thursday, 1,311, ibid), Magda arrives at the diner 121 seconds earlier than she normally does. Ryan, newspaper tucked under one arm, helmet in hand, looks up as he opens the door to leave. He turns as she moves past.
‘Magda?’ he says.
She stops, curious, slightly annoyed that her lunch is being interrupted. She arches an eyebrow as a shield. She cocks her head.
‘Brian, isn’t it?’
Reality 1,311 (continued), 2 May, 11:31pm
They have met before but only very briefly, introduced fleetingly by friends of friends of friends at a party. She catches his eye because she is carrying a beer bottle in one hand and a book in the other (remarkably enough, The Recognitions by William Gaddis, all 954 pages of it).
‘Who brings a book to a party?’
It is the wrong thing to say, and he knows it as soon as it leaves his lips, as soon as it reaches her face.
‘I do, obviously.’
He is slightly drunk, so he is unable to muster a response as he watches her walk away.
Realities 1,312–1,407, 22 July, 12:58–59pm (various)
As Reality 1,311 with negligible variation.
Aberrant Reality 1,348, 22 July, 12:59pm
In Reality 1,348, Subject 2 is a lesbian. Though she and Subject 1 end up at the diner at the same time, they take no notice of each other whatsoever. Reality removed from sample.
Reality 1,408, 22 July, 12:59–1:11pm
‘Ryan, isn’t it?’
‘You remembered.’
‘So did you.’
‘Yes.’
‘So. How’s it going?’ This said with slight hostility, as Magda is eager to carry on with her pre-planned meal.
‘Good, good, good. Just had some lunch.’
‘Fancy that, coming out of a diner at lunchtime. Who’d a thought?’
‘Okay. Catch you later then, all right?’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
As he carries on out into the sunshine, Magda frowns to herself. She feels she has been rude but can’t quite remember why she should have been to this boy with the ring in his eyebrow. She assumes that it’s because her lunch has now been delayed by precious seconds and chides herself for once again being such a slave to her internal regime.
She is still in a state of mild fret when her entrée arrives.
Realities 1,409–1,633, 22 July, 12:58–1:01pm (various)
Over the course of these 224 Realities, Subject 2 displays a nimble mind and seems especially responsive to variations in reality stimuli (certainly more than Subject 1). Subject 2’s Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (undiagnosed) should be noted. Following are samples taken at random from the above subsection.
Sample Reality 1,417, 22 July, 12:59–1:01pm
‘Ryan, isn’t it?’
‘You remembered.’
‘I did, yes.’
‘Yes.’
‘So. How’s it going?’
‘Good, good, good. Just had some lunch.’
‘Fancy that, coming out of a diner at lunchtime.’
‘Okay. Catch you later then, all right?’
‘All right.’
Sample Reality 1,491, 22 July, 12:59–1:01pm
‘Ryan, isn’t it?’
‘You remembered.’
‘That party at Adam’s.’
‘Yeah.’
‘So. How’s it going?’
‘Good, good, good. Just had some lunch.’
‘Who’d have guessed?’ (But the intonation has lowered its sarcasm and raised a (slightly) friendly tease.)
‘Okay. Catch you later then, all right?’
‘Yeah, okay.’
Sample Reality 1,576, 22 July, 12:59–1:01pm
‘Ryan, isn’t it?’
‘You remembered.’
‘That party at Adam’s.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘How’s it going then?’
‘Good, good, good. Just had some lunch.’
‘Who’d have guessed?’ (And this time an actual smile.)
‘Guess so, yeah.’ Ryan smiles in return. ‘Catch you later then, all right?’
‘Yeah, okay.’
Reality 1,634, 22 July, 12:59–1:12pm
And then Subject 2 elaborates.
‘It’s Ryan, isn’t it?’
‘You remembered.’
‘You were at that party at Adam’s.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘And you made fun of me for carrying a book.’
Ryan glances at the book she currently has under one arm (Mao II) but says nothing.
‘Did I?’
‘You did.’
‘God, I’m sorry. I must have been drunk.’
‘Must have been. Look, I’m kind of in a hurry …’
‘Okay. Catch you later then, all right?’
‘Yeah, okay.’
As he carries on out into the sunshine, Magda frowns to herself. She has been rude but she is wondering whether it was correct to do so. She assumes her irritation is most likely because her lunch has now been delayed by precious seconds and chides herself for once again being such a slave to her internal regime.
She is still in a state of mild fret when her entrée arrives.
Realities 1,635–2,113, 22 July, 12:58–1:14pm (various)
The ensuing 478 Realities display a similar loop as the cycle of Realities 1,4091,633, when the following occurs:
As Ryan carries on out into the sunshine, Magda frowns to herself. She has been rude but wonders whether it was correct to do so. She assumes at first that her irritation is most likely because her lunch has now been delayed by precious seconds and chides herself for once again being such a slav
e to her internal regime.
She is still in a state of mild fret when her entrée arrives. Before even taking a bite of her Salad Nicoise, she decides that she was in fact rude to Ryan and makes a mental note to apologise to him should she ever run into him again.
Reality 2,114, 22 July, 12:51–1:05pm
The two thousand, one hundred and fourteenth time, Ryan (Subject 1) sits alone at the booth, nodding his head absently to XTC on the jukebox (’Senses Working Overtime’), looking through the window to the outdoor tables on the other side, angling his view just so in order to appear not to be staring at the Hispanic teenagers (ratty blue jeans, cut off tees, all with mobile phones) out for an afternoon bite with a dog (blue-grey mongrel), no doubt on their way from the beach during the current summer break, sitting out under a blue sky towering with cumulonimbus clouds approaching from off the ocean, clouds that will threaten and threaten but never quite rain.
Ryan is through the black coffee he’s ordered and is awaiting a refill before finishing off the café’s eponymous burger with bacon and, for exoticism’s sake, a slice of gorgonzola cheese. The waitress (in a vintage mini-skirt but wearing plastic red devil horns) brings Ryan’s refill, and Ryan re-commences his meal, dripping burger juice onto the sports section of the newspaper he is reading. He glances at his watch and requests the check. It is $8.50. Ryan leaves a crumpled ten dollar bill with ‘Cumbria’ written on it in blue ballpoint, grabs his helmet and leaves his seat as a Finn Brothers track he doesn’t recognize comes on the jukebox.
Magda, meanwhile, is walking from her bookkeeping job at Chiaroscuro (a video and DVD rental store) down Beverly Boulevard to the diner where she always eats on a Thursday (slightly too fond of itself but with decent food and peculiarly excellent iced tea). Her bobbed, dyed-red hair swoops down over her face as she stares at the sidewalk, ignoring the sun as much with her glance as she has with her wardrobe. She holds The Sot-Weed Factor under one arm to read over lunch.
