Reasons Only Time Allows

by Micah Thomas

  Something changed in the spinning ball of energy that was the three of them. Like an escape pod, something small and golden ejected. It burned out like a shooting star into the atmosphere. That was me.

  The mental movie ended and he stank of sweat. Thelon heard the attendant knocking on the door. With a fistful of paper towels, he dried his face and hurried to exit the lavatory.

  “Sir, please return to your seat,” the attendant said with worry in his voice.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m cool.”

  The fact that police weren’t waiting for him was a total win because he had no idea if he’d been screaming like a banshee in there or not. Back in his seat, the old lady snored without pause and her breath reeked; dried spittle flecked the corner of her mouth.

  Normalcy. Thelon grappled with the absolute emotional nothing with a rare reflection. I was freaking out. I was about to be sick. I had an experience. Now what, nothing?

  He probed at his mind, desperate but rationally wanting to understand. Eyes closed, he focused on that confusion. I saw something. A memory of Henry and me.

  As he breathed slow and calm, the experience of the memory sank into his body. His limbs and torso knew the truth of it without words. While Thelon slowly came to understand things, he accepted it.

  With all his accumulated knowledge, his memories of Henry were incomplete, but organized. Henry had been homeless. He’d been in an experiment in that other world. He’d become dangerous and powerful. Like Tony, he could be rich and respectable now. Nestor said Henry was in Seattle, but that’s not enough information to fucking find someone.

  With all this on hold in his mind, Thelon let the stillness of not feeling anything sit on him uncontested. Hands in his lap, he looked at the passing clouds and relaxed into the strangeness that was his life. This should have felt strange, but he was passive, inert.

  I’m dead.

  The thought intruded his calm but made no waves. He wasn’t even sad. Thelon pictured himself dead and moving through a scripted series of actions. I’m dead and on a carnival ride, moving wherever the little car carries me along invisible tracks.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE CITY SPARKLED as they descended: bodies of water and glistening skyscrapers clothed in glass and steel. Pockets of mist were illuminated by sunbeams, punching holes through silver clouds. I'm just a dude on vacation.

  This perspective, one he’d latched onto once arriving, was a lie Thelon could not sustain. How can I be important? I’ve never been important. Finding Henry? How could that be important?

  He bargained and rationalized until his thinking returned to Nestor. Except Nestor is real.

  Once upon a time, he’d read that ambivalence meant believing two contradictory things at the same time. And so, he believed he was dead and this was an irrelevant dream. Yet he was also aware that this was real and profoundly serious. Contradictions were accepted in his disconnected and floating passivity; Thelon walked through the airport.

  He rode the conveyer belt walkways, a physical echo of the on-rails sense of his existence. Thelon picked up the keys to his rental car while still feeling normal, blank, automatic. The annoyance he saw in his fellow travelers, the apparent stress, was all an external thing which could not penetrate his bubble.

  Once in the car—a large SUV—things got real for Thelon. This wouldn’t be on the rail; he had to drive. Thelon spent lots of time adjusting the mirrors and seat height, testing his foot between pedals, and Finding lights and wipers. Okay. Okay. I can drive.

  His body relaxed, comfortable, but his mind needed a minute to get with the program. Fuck. I’m like, I don’t know…so God damned detached. Still, part of him wanted to sit in the warm, comfy seat without moving. He did sit for a long time, holding the steering wheel, gaze unfocused, lips slightly parted.

  With a quick exhale, he snapped back into movement and put the gear into reverse. The SUV lurched too fast backwards and Thelon considered canceling everything and going home as he rode the brake. Why me? Nestor should just call Henry and Cassie if they are so fucking important. Why me? What was the line? Lord, take this cup. I should—

  The cellphone buzzed in his pocket and he screamed as pain ripped from his asshole to the nape of his neck. His back arched and his foot lifted off the brake, sending the car rolling backwards. The pain ended as abruptly as it started, and he got the message loud and clear.

  I can do this. Driving isn’t going to be the thing that stops me. He took a deep breath and adjusted himself to the pressure of the gas pedal as he navigated out of the airport and followed GPS instructions to get himself aimed towards the city. Rain misted the windshield and sunspots erupted blindingly, but Thelon drove fine, even noticing there were worse drivers out on the road. He’d stay in his lane for now.

  The activity of directing attention away from himself, driving, and reacting to brake lights, turn signals, and mergers gave him purpose without inner debate.

  His mood fell when he saw he was close to his destination. Thelon pulled off the highway and onto a series of interlocking ramps leading to downtown.

  He allowed his car to be parked and his bags were rolled. He was once more a passenger in his head, resting upon a body that glided around getting serviced. But in his mind, a separate conversation began.

  Get your bearings, Thelon. Get situated. Find Henry. Nestor is watching. But how? He didn’t have a plan, but he had an idea. He’d walk the streets. Get situated. Ask around. Use street smarts. Yeah, right. He was no detective. The rational parts of his mind saw only doubts, but the other—the passive part—assured him that he occupied a gear in a machine of life that moved without him having to think about it.

  The swanky hotel glistened in the wet sun. The shine of a big brand name reminded Thelon of T’s luxury and apparent wealth. I’m rich, but I don’t feel rich. I don’t feel like anything.

  This was not true. Naive and vulnerable, Thelon walked through the lobby to the front desk. He froze after giving his name and confirming his reservation.

  What am I supposed to do next? Is there a ritual thing? A thank you? A tip? Do I pay now? Thelon’s imposter syndrome bubbled up, telling him he didn’t belong here, making the smallest of social interaction a terrible event. He didn’t know how to be a person.

  The clerk smiled and said, “Elevator’s to the right, the bar is to the left. Enjoy your stay.”

  And that was that. In Thelon’s separate conversation, he wondered if he should check with the police and file a missing persons report on Henry, but he didn’t know Henry’s last name. Nestor will guide me.

  As he thought it, he hoped it wasn’t true. Something about the phone, the calls and texts from Nestor, triggered him. Thelon could not rationalize his anticipatory dread. I want to do this without Nestor, but fucking how?

  Thelon reached his room and plopped down on the bed. Through the large window, he saw a body of water and many cranes. The city was tall but compact. The scintillating light and Eden-like quality held his attention. A memory hovered in the periphery of his mind. His breathing sped up with an emerging panic attack. A pressure in his sinuses told him that he would cry. How? Fucking how am I supposed to find one person in a city? Especially a homeless person. Is he homeless, though? How did I know that?

  He knew something. Henry will be on the streets. That has a consequence. I can’t look him up. He’s out there, somewhere.

  Thelon craved movement then—he needed to walk let his body find the path. If there was an invisible yellow brick road, he’d find it. His body knew something he didn’t. No. That’s not right. I’m choosing to walk around, man. He talked to himself and failed to notice it. Answers came to him, equally without awareness.

  In the lobby, he saw guests coming in with umbrellas wet and some bent inside out from fierce winds. Thelon realized he didn’t have one. Fuck it. He marched out into the rain, his hoodie pulled up against the elements. Throngs of people of all ages filled the sidewalks. He sprinted between slow moving crowds
and observed the city like a living thing. Noises were alive in the air. Protestors chanted unintelligibly. Sirens blared. Traffic squealed. A fresh breeze smelled of clean water, temporarily blasting a sour, beer-piss smell from the street.

  After an hour of aimless wandering, toes pruned wet in his socks, he hadn’t approached anyone about Henry. In his mind, he rehearsed what he might say, but he was embarrassed. The longer he didn’t say anything to anyone, the stronger his hesitation grew.

  He’d learned the geography: that there was a Downtown, a Pioneer Square, Capitol Hill, Fremont, and assorted other areas within the city characterized by themes like International District with Asian markets and shops. Given his brief survey, Thelon’s money was on Henry being somewhere Downtown or in Pioneer Square. In these places, he’d seen encampments of homeless—smelled them before he saw them. It hurt his heart to see men and women having a tough time, especially because the city had this the general affluence. Even in the sketchy areas, he saw tech kids, laptop bags; it looked like a college campus. They stepped over sleeping bags, not even looking up from the ever-present phone in hand. The juxtaposition made Thelon nostalgic for Eden, where no one went without food or shelter.

  I feel invisible. No one had so much as given Thelon a nod or smile. He was some dude with nowhere to go in yet another city where everyone was going somewhere. When he squinted, he thought he could almost see invisible lines or train tracks out in front of people, that they weren’t really in control of their own directions. The illusion never quite fully materialized, but he sensed truth here. All I have to do is find my track.

  He chose a small coffee shop where he could sit and overlook the body of water—Thelon wasn’t sure it was a lake, a sound, or what.

  He sat, thinking about Henry, and looked at the local paper, The Stranger.

  An itch on his shoulder. Thelon twitched and turned to scratch at it. As he looked around, he saw he wasn’t alone anymore. A young woman, white, blonde curls with the ends dyed pink, sat beside him. She pulled a stack of comic books out of her backpack and arranged them on the narrow countertop, almost spilling Thelon’s coffee.

  “Oops. Sorry about that.”

  “Naw. It’s cool. I thought maybe I was invisible today, so it’s nice to actually hear you.”

  She gave him a sideways smile and he realized she was very pretty and not as young as he’d taken her for at first glance.

  With a wink, she said, “You’re not invisible. Unless my superpower is to seeing ghosts and you’re a ghost and don’t know it.”

  She’s flirting with me. The notion made him blush. “Like in that movie. You see dead people.”

  The girl cleared her throat and gazed at him with a scowl. “Do you think you’re a ghost?”

  Her eyes were blue and so bright.

  “Maybe you’re the ghost. Ever think about that?” Thelon replied with an effort to match her tone.

  “All the fucking time. It’s funny you should mention it. A couple weeks ago, I felt fine. Then I had one of those Wizard of Oz dreams. You know?”

  “No,” he lied without thinking, but he knew exactly what she meant.

  “It’s the one where you wake up and say, ‘and I had a dream of another place, and you were there, and you were there, but you were a lion, or a tinman, and it was you but now you’re different and that couldn’t be possible, but here we are’.”

  Hadn’t I just been thinking about a yellow brick road? “All right. Okay. Yeah. I’ve had that dream. Let me ask you something. If you were homeless, an addict, where in the city would you hang out?”

  She clasped invisible pearls at her chest. “Do I look like a homeless drug addict?”

  Thelon worried that he’d offended her. “No, no. You’re fine. I mean, hypothetically.”

  Chin propped in her hands, elbows on the table, she was close to Thelon now. “Are you homeless?”

  He leaned away from her. Don’t flirt. Not now. “No. I-uh…I’m looking for someone. A friend of mine.”

  Her eyes lit up as if she’d had a sudden revelation. “Oh, okay! A quest. Got it. I’m the NPC that helps give you directions—for a price.”

  Thelon was confused. “What?”

  “Like,” she made her voice funny and deep, “Brave apprentice, go seek five herbs and on completion of the quest I shall provide a clue.”

  “Herbs? You want me to get you weed?”

  “No!” She laughed and it was like music. “You don’t play video games. All right, fair apprentice—journeyman wizard—on this, the beginning of your path, the man you seek will be on Pike and Fourth. That is if you act now, or else seek him down below the aqueducts.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I take the bus to school up on Capitol Hill. I’m in college for art at Cornish. I see a bunch of people hanging out by the stop there all the time.”

  “All right. Hey, thanks,” he said and got ready to leave.

  “Don’t mention it. When you find your friend and you gear up before heading into the underworld, make sure you save before the boss fight.”

  The words tickled his mind.

  “Video games. I’m making a video game joke,” she said.

  “Right. Laters.” Thelon gave her his best smile.

  She’d delivered a glimmer of hope and he liked thinking about his quest as a game. Back on the street, Thelon walked with optimism and his grin took a long time to fade.

  The sun burst from behind clouds, giving the midday more heat and humidity that Thelon expected. Everyone said it rained all the time in Seattle, but he was noticing more mist and far more sun. He unzipped his hoodie and stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked downhill towards Downtown.

  As he waited for a crossing signal, it barked, “WAIT, WAIT, WAIT,” at regular intervals. His fingertips found something in his pocket: a scrap of paper the size found in a fortune cookie. In his own handwriting, he read the single line: “Thelon, Next time you dream, find your hands. – T.”

  This is some note from T to T? Or is it from T to me? Thelon shoved it back in his pocket but couldn’t push it out of his mind. Thelon. It says Thelon. This note is to me. He felt a jolt and it was a positive one—the opposite of the way Nestor and the phone triggered him. This note was a message to him from T and that meant something. Holy shit.

  ~

  THELON WAS TIRED when he got back to his room. Though his body was fit, walking those steep hills made his calves sore. He rubbed at the knotted muscles and ordered some food.

  Room service came up faster than he anticipated and he devoured his burger, fries, and pickles from bed in front of the TV. News blabbered on. Ugly talking heads repeating the same points, not even bothering to pretend to hide their brand of bias. That Energy Portal was being hooked up to the grid now. More and more cities would have endless power. Thelon wondered how that extra utility cash would aid people. Is this gonna help the homeless, though? Will people spend the scratch buying shoes, or more tokens for their smart phone gambling addictions? He tuned it out and finished eating. There was a stillness in his mind; he had a plan and all he needed to do now was wait.

  Stretched out on the bed, he leaned over, set a timer on the clock, and fell into a deep sleep.

  Thelon dreamed.

  A house party scene materialized around him as if he’d only blinked and he observed his hand reaching for a bowl of tortilla chips. Woah there, Thelon.

  This felt real. He felt awake.

  The note! Find your hands. Well, there they are, T.

  Music thumped loud and young people danced, but Thelon willed himself to focus on his hands, drawing them together before his eyes. The details in the dream blew his mind. These were his hands, not some squiggle vision where things fluttered and changed out of focus.

  “Thelon, you gonna eat something or just stand there?” someone asked from behind him.

  He glanced over his shoulder and there he was. Himself. Bearded and tidy, Mr. MBA, the infamous T.

 
“I see you are shocked. Want to go upstairs and talk in an empty bedroom? And no, this isn’t going to be a weird sex dream.”

  Thelon followed T—followed himself—stepping around couples making out on the stairs.

  “Where are we?” Thelon asked when they entered what appeared to be a teen girl’s bedroom. “Who are you?”

  “Never mind where. It’s time we talked. I’m you. I’m the you who belongs here. You are in my clothes and I’m in your dreams.”

  Thelon glanced at the cork board above the vanity. The blonde girl from the cafe was in every photo of the collage. I’m dreaming.

  T repeated himself, “I said, never mind where we are.”

  Thelon sat down on the extremely soft bed and sank a bit in the middle. “T, I’m out there fucking up your life, man. For real.”

  T shrugged. “You’re a mess. We don’t have much time—we do, but we don’t. Hey, here’s something important if you don’t remember anything else: don’t seek out weird shit just to be morbid. Don’t indulge in this strangeness. You are a real person, doing a real thing, and it’s going to stay weird, but you aren’t going to get lost in it.”

  Thelon wanted to trust T. “Are you still in my head somewhere? Buried in my subconscious or whatever?”

  “No. Not exactly. More like the ghost of Christmas present.”

  “Man, what?”

  “This is one of those things you are going to have to accept without understanding. Like, I knew you were coming. I took measures to prepare a place.”

  “Am I going to find Henry? Really? What’s this all about? Are you Ne—”

  T shouted and flickered with a visual static like a bad reception on an old TV. “Do not say his name!”

  “Who is he?”

  “Don’t even think about him. Put him out of your mind.”

  “Dude, that’s impossible. It’s like saying don’t think of an elephant!” Thelon tried to do it. But Nestor. Nestor and the phone.

  T frowned. The volume of his voice dropped to inaudible. “Not for my sake, but yours. To think on him will remove meaning from you. All that is you will fall, and your little amount of power will be drained. You will die.”