The Hidden Future

I stared into the depths of the mirror in my bathroom and saw a gleaming reflection of a boy much more mature than he had ever been. A soft smile was chiseled onto his face; a smile he had been practicing in front of this mirror for a long time now, as well as how else he would present myself to the interviewer later today. I checked to see if the buttons on the blazer were tightened, and he did the same thing, strutting a confident and affluent look that seemingly no New York businessman could match. I adjusted my tie, though I knew it was firm and tight-fitting; my expertise in tie-tying could only be corroborated by the amount of “professional appearance” videos in my YouTube browsing history over the past week.

“Really?” I said gazing into the mirror once more. “I got the job? I was the most qualified candidate?” I ran my greasy hands through my hair one final time before rinsing them in the basin. I quickly tossed the hairbrush back into the cupboard which also contained a myriad of variety colored toothbrushes and half-used flossing toothpicks; conveniently, it also doubled as the mirror I had grown so accustomed to using.  “I’m flattered. I really am.”  I only hoped my fake countenance and conversation now would foreshadow the real conversation I was bound to have later today

I quickly slipped down the stairs and traced my hands across the wall next to me; smooth granite, with a diamond lattice design which ran all the way from the bottom of the railing to the top. It was a custom design by the renovator, one that I had become very fond of while living in this apartment. The fact that I could become just as immersed in staring at the burgeoning side-way squares as compared to staring at the NYC skyline every time I woke up in the middle of the night highlighted the epoch of a life I could only dream of a kid living in bucolic St. Augustine, Florida.

This fact only added to the list of reasons why I needed to get this job. 

I flicked on the kitchen lights, a series of four bulbs which ran across the ceiling but only three of them bothered to allow me to see as far as the microwave. I opened the fridge and rummaged through the greens and the reds until I found the crumpled-up McDonald’s bag which sat in the far corner. I was relieved to see I had beaten him to the bag, and became more proud when I saw it was practically untouched since last night; a couple of dry-soggy fries and a half-eaten chicken sandwich which still only contained my bitemarks. I carelessly dumped the contents of the bag onto the plate, and threw it into the microwave, setting the timer for one minute and fifteen seconds. 

Everything seemed to be going just as planned. 

As if trying to signal me, my phone suddenly lit up with a notification from photos; one of the annoying features was that it sent a photo taken on the same day a year ago, or even two years ago. I looked at it, and to my surprise, it was a photo of my dad and I standing together at a family reunion. We looked like complete strangers; our hands weren’t around each other, but mine was stuffed into my pockets, and his hand was loose by his side. He was smiling, but I knew it was for the photo, so I didn’t bother doing so at all. I stared at the photo with abhorrence unmatched to anything I ever felt. It was just days after he had condescended to a level which no father was supposed to go and insulted me in a way I would always remember.

“You never thought I'd get anywhere in life,” I boldly said as if he were right in front of me. “Look at me now. I’m about to land a lead job, and I'll make sure you don’t get a single penny.” I paused and stared at the photo as if I was expecting a reply to come. “Do you have anything to say? I mean, you always have something to say, don’t you? Why don’t you say it?” Still, silence only. “What, do I still seem like a failure to you? Am I still never going to get anywhere in life?”

BEEP. I turned back in defense and felt immense chagrin when I realized it was only the microwave. BEEP. I stared at the photo, and deleted it quickly, putting down my phone on the kitchen counter and clasping my face with my hands in stress.  “What am I doing,” I murmured. BEEP. I opened the microwave and took out the sandwich, before sitting down on the table. Just as I was about to savor my first bite, the door suddenly burst open, and a young man ran in.

He was broad and tall. Loose tussles of wavy hair dangled from his forehead, occasionally covering his hazel eyes as he looked around rapidly before suddenly spotting me sitting in the darkness and eating a McChicken. He let out almost a sigh of relief as he began to approach me. I could now distinctly see he was sweating, and even in the darkness I could tell his face was somewhat pale. He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.

“Jaison,” I said looking at my roommate with a slightly weird expression. “I thought you were sleeping on the couch?”

“I was somewhere else, but that’s not important,” he said out of breath. “Terry, you need to listen to me right now. What I’m about to tell you is-”

“I’m sure whatever you have to say is really important,” I said through my last mouthful. I rubbed my fingers against the worn tablecloth and got up leaving Jaison sitting at the table alone. “But I have somewhere to be right now. Can you wait till I get back?” I was about to turn my back to him and walk away.

“Listen!” he yelled. I turned back and I could see a touch of regret in his eyes, probably from lashing out at me. But I also saw something else; fear. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this anymore, but dude, I have seen the future, and I cannot let you leave this apartment under any circumstances.” For a moment, there was a moment of silence between us, except for the low breathing of Jaison who still, out of breath, was struggling to recollect it.

“Future?” I questioned. “Do you mean that as a figure of speech? Like a bad omen? Or are you trying to say-”

“I’m really from the future!” he blurted, interrupting me. “I’ve lived this same day at least a hundred times now, and I am telling you that you cannot leave this house.” His eyes cajoled me to stay silent and accept that my best friend in college who worked as a cashier at Starbucks was also a part-time time traveler

“How many beers did you have?” I asked, staring at him. He groaned as if I was struggling to understand a basic concept. 

“Ok listen,” he finally said. “You’re going for a job interview as a lead data engineer at X - Tech, at a time slot at 12:30. Tell me how I would know that considering you never told me.”. Pure confusion washed over me as it began to set in that I had indeed not told him about my interview; it was supposed to be my shining moment when I got the job, after which I would release the news 

“Are you going through my emails?” I said, looking at him strictly. “Because that is a serious breach of my-”

“Wait shut up!” he interrupted. His head suddenly turned to the clock above the door frame which entered the kitchen. His pupils began to rotate in sync with the second hand, giving every tick and tick a deep analysis as if he was waiting for something to happen. “In thirty seconds you are going to get a call from a telemarketer. He’s going to ask you if you are interested in invisible fencing for a dog.” He stopped momentarily. “Any minute now.”

“No,” I said. “No, dude, I am not waiting. I have somewhere to be, and-” I paused. I could suddenly hear the cadence of “River Flows” slowly growing in presence until it began blaring from my front pocket. For a moment Jaison and I stood silent, letting the tune continue to flow melodiously amidst the eerie silence which had suddenly appeared. “Hello?” I said slowly into the phone. My throat started to become desiccated as I held the phone to my ear and listened to the man who couldn’t have been older than twenty inquire about my day and my name, and I found myself holding my breath when he asked if I wanted to purchase an invisible fence for a dog I never had.

I dropped the phone to the ground, and looked at Jaison; his face still remained nonchalant and held a certain smug look.

“Listen, this happens every time, and it’s the same reaction. I’m not going to sugarcoat this anymore, but you need to listen to me. You cannot leave today.”

“Why?” I asked

“Because every day at approximately 12:02 AM you leave this apartment, and you die” he said. He said it as if he had rehearsed it a million times, his eyes culpable of seeing something which I hadn’t seen; yet.

“How do I die?” I asked quickly, half outraged that I myself was showing deference to his story, and half interested in what he was going to say. Although it seemed completely inappropriate considering the situation, my mind registered I had ten minutes to leave to ensure I caught the subway in time

“Yesterday, by subway,” Jaison said. “Luckily it was amongst the scenarios where they were able to retrieve your body.”

“Then I’ll walk,” I said, trying to negotiate with the harbinger of my death. “Or I’ll take a cab, but I cannot miss today.” 

“Why don’t you understand! It doesn't change anything!” he yelled. “If you walk, you get mugged. If you take a cab, you get in an accident with a truck. Nothing you do changes anything!” His shoulders sagged with a derogatory notion to my resistance to cooperate. 

“No,” I said. What he was saying couldn’t be true; not on my big day. “You’re wrong. Today I finally have a chance to prove myself, and you’re saying I can’t?” My eyes zoomed onto the clock, and I realized I only had five minutes left before I had to leave. “You aren’t from the future, and I will never die. You’ve always coveted my success Jaison.” I suddenly went off on a pernicious tangent. “You’re just like everyone else, seeing me as inadequate to do anything but be a disappointment.” I shoved the chair into the table, the four legs causing a cacophony as they scraped across the floor. Within the next few moments as I approached the door two things happened.

The first was a loud sound, like the popping of a firecracker and the whizzing of a bug that zipped past your ear. The second was the loud crash of the vase in front of me as it exploded into a million pieces, all now scattered across the rug. I turned back to see Jaison holding a pistol up, his hands shaking but still accurate enough, and it didn’t seem he planned on lowering them. But I also saw something else; tears. They streaked down his face like ice cream melting off the cone, making a circuitous path along his cheeks down to his chin. I wasn’t an empathic person, but even I knew that when people cried it was because they cared

“Please,” he said slowly. “Please don’t go away again.” I didn’t know whether to feel honored that someone had shed their tears for me, or scared that his gun was still pointed right at me. I doubt even if I had left that he had shot me, but he had proved his point. I gave one less hopeless glance to the clock; whether or not he was telling the truth, I couldn’t leave him like this

“Okay,” I said slowly. If he had been so adamant to stop me from leaving that he had shot me, I was ready to listen. “Okay, I won’t go.”

“Trey,” he said slowly. He started to lower his hands to his side. “Do you want the job to prove something to yourself, or to someone else?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

“When did you ever want to ever be a data engineer?” he said slowly. “You loved to draw and write. You talked about publishing a book and having your work featured in museums, man. Ever since you came back from that fight with your father after winter break…” his voice began to trail off. 

I felt my heart slightly sink as I began to recollect that day. Just a few days before Christmas. I had felt my whole life that my father was disappointed in me, to the extent that I stopped trying to please him. He had never supported my creative aptitude but was always subtle about it until that day. I could never forget watching the flames dance upon the work I had spent so long trying to perfect. Folders and stacks of scripts transform into an ashy pile. Characters who I had one day hoped to cast died with plots I had never gotten to finish. The slow crackle effaces the ink from the paper. I lost two things that day; years of work I had worked on, and my relationship with my father

Before I knew it, I suddenly felt something familiar roll down my eye, just as it had rolled down Jaison’s moments before. My feet felt just as weak as my heart had been for the past few months, as I struggled to overcome the pain from someone who I had tried to please for so long inflicted on me. By now Jaison had dropped the gun, and he approached me slowly, though I wouldn’t have minded if he had shot me too. I had been so exposed, yet so blind, to what I really wanted to do with my life, and I thought trying to prove something to someone else would make me more of someone, at least in their eyes. 

“It’s fine,” Jaison said. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

                                                              * 2 Years Later * 

“Trey, I’d like you to meet someone special,” I said. I held her hand as I guided us past the crowd, eventually spotting Trey sitting aloof from all the conversations as he had tended to a lot recently. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he appropriately got up from his chair as I approached him. “This is my sister, Lindsey.”

“Hi,” she said. She extended her hand towards Trey, who returned it with a firm handshake and a soft smile.

“I’ll leave you two together,” I said. As Lindsey’s eyes drifted towards the side, I gave Trey a quick wink, and quickly left the scene. 

“So,” Lindsey said. “Trey told me a lot about you.”

“What did he say?” Trey asked.

“He said you were extremely supportive of him,” she said. “That you and he worked together to form this company. What’s it called again?”

“Two Minds,” Trey said back. “We’re all about helping people who’ve had issues with mental health find the employment and support they need right here,” he continued. “Nobody deserves to keep all the pain in the world to themselves.” Lindsey nodded, gazing into Jaison’s eyes

“Tell me,” she said after a short pause. “Trey always mentioned this story involving you, and I have to ask about it.  About two years ago, you told him that you were from the future, and you almost shot him. There’s no way that’s a true story right,” she giggled. She had simply wanted to start a conversation with the handsome young man, but what she had done was more than that.

“Do you want the truth, or the story that I told everyone else?” she stared at him, giving a confused look.

“What’s the real story?” she asked.

“Well, you see, I was from the future. I told Trey that if he went to work, he would die, but that wasn’t exactly true.”

“What do you mean,” she said.

“Trey made it safely to the interview, and safely back. The next day he would get a call that he didn’t have a job, and within the next hour he killed himself.” Trey paused. Lindsey didn’t dare say anything, unsure of how to even respond, in fact. “Lindsey, your brother was very, very sick. I constantly found him talking to himself about the fight he had with his father, and how he had to prove himself. He completely threw away a part of him that used to be so important; his love for art and literature. When he didn’t get the job, it broke him and scared him so much that he ended his own life. Lindsey, I lived that day so many times, and every day I watched his motionless body lay in front of me. I failed to stop him from killing himself so many times until that fateful day.” Jaison’s body started to shake, his hands almost vibrating. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you-”

“No,” Lindsey said slowly. She held Jaison’s hands, and slowly they began to slow down. “I really believe you.”