Sticky

“Quick! It’s back on!”

Eddy kicked down the bathroom door from within its belly and stormed, unwashed hands and all, through the labyrinth of salted peanuts and Sour Patch Kids and Oakley potato chips–a regional favorite–and dove over the counter.

The cowboy, Lancaster, is in a shootout with Redeye, a vigilante who’d long ago taken a bullet to the eye and lived, his eye turning a brilliant red in the process. Lancaster alternates between clutching at the bullet hole in his thigh and firing desperate volleys over the flipped table. Redeye saunters towards him, his victory all too assured as he inserts the lucky killing round into his revolve–

BANG! A glass bottle shatters behind the counter, microscopic shards flitting in all directions as wine drips from the shelf. Redeye’s nonchalance shoots out through his pores as cold sweat, the loathsome ranger snapping his revolver towards the counter. But it’s a diversion! Lancaster takes his chance, jumping from behind cover and BLAM! Lancaster and Redeye fire at nearly the same time! The world stops revolving…

Lancaster’s bullet charges towards Redeye’s riposte… and the two collide!

“Oh, fuck that.”

The two are stunned… But Lancaster less so, firing the last bullet in his chamber before the failed shots hit the ground.

“I guess lightning can strike the same place twice,” Lancaster says as the searing lead finds the red bullseye on his enemy’s grisly face. The movie ends.

“That’s some bullshit,” Greg groaned. “Redeye had that in the bag.”

He popped open his wallet, reaching around for a dime. He settled for two nickels, dropping them into Eddy’s hand as he powered the small CRT TV off.

“You gotta stop betting on the villain, man,” Eddy said as he stashed his winnings in his pocket. “House always wins.”

“The payoff’ll be massive, just you wait. I’m robbing you blind next time.”

“Whatever you say.”

Eddy glanced at the alarm clock set on the counter: 3:59 AM.

“One more minute and we’re free…”

5 more seconds, actually. The clock didn’t display seconds.

4…

3…

2…

1…

3:59 AM.

“Greg, I think your alarm clock’s broke.”

“It’s been five seconds, give it a minute.”

Eddy counted the seconds, enumerating where the clock couldn’t.

“That was a minute.”

“You counted fast.”

So then Greg counted a minute.

3:59 AM.

“Well, shit.”

Eddy turned the TV back on–the Wild West had fractured into thousands of fireflies that flickered uncontrollably, forming white noise vomit. He pulled up the program guide–Redeye and Lancaster were still plastered on the screen alongside legions of 3:30 half-hour programs.

“Woah. I think time’s wrong.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno. Like, time stopped or sumn’.”

“Well, I’m leaving, come hell or stopped time,” Greg said as he rose from his lawn chair throne. “Go out front and let Leanne know you clogged the toilet before she finds out the hard way.”

Eddy climbed over the counter and walked to the front door. His advance was curtailed by an unexpected obstacle.

“The door’s locked.”

“It’s a push door, Eddy.”

“Yeah, and I pushed.”

“Then shove.”

He threw his weight onto the door, but it held steadfast.

“It can’t lock from inside,” Greg said. “Here, lemme try.”

Greg climbed over the counter–less gracefully and with a few unwanted pops and cracks–and ambled over, ramming into the barrier.

“That’s impossible.”

“I’m telling you, dude. Time freeze.”

“I’ll try the back.” No luck. Greg had no choice but to accept the circumstances around him. His method of coping with the conundrum of space and time becoming desynced: grabbing a beer from the freezer section and sitting back down in his lawn chair, his butt print from a long night of watching TV welcoming him back like an old friend. He reached over to the counter, the bottle opener teasing the tip of his middle finger.

“You think we could break a window and get out?” Eddy shouted from the opposite end of the gas station.

“No, that’s strictly against company policy. What’s more important is you getting the bottle opener for me.”

Eddy looked askance at the forty-five-year-old slumped in his chair. “You seriously drinking right now?”

“We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“...I’m gonna get one too.”

“Go ahead.”

Ahead of him was an uncharted universe of possibility: the beer section.

“What does ‘IPA’ mean?”

“I don’t think that’s up your alley. Maybe go for a… Mike’s Hard Lemonade, or whatever your generation drinks now.”

“What’d you get?”

“An IPA.”

He removed an IPA from the same four pack Greg selected from, leaving a conspicuous two-bottle void.

“You know what, just bring the whole thing over.”

Eddy set the pack down in the space between their two chairs, and lowered into his–

“Eddy, wait! The bottle opener!”

Too late. He had already sunk into his chair.

“Don’t worry,” Eddy assured him. “Man always finds a way.” He gripped his bottle by its base, and using the edges of the corrugated cap snagged onto the bottle opener like a fish to its hook, reeling the prize into his arm’s breadth.

“Haha! Genius, Eddy!”

They popped their bottles open. Greg was quick to take a sip, but Eddy hesitated.

“Never had beer before?”

“Nah. Maybe like a sip or two.”

“Well, go on.”

He tilted the neck of the bottle, allowing a rivulet of alcohol to ooze downwards. It atrophied as it ran its course, leaving only a dollop to well at the rim; it straddled the fine line between one world and the nex–

“Jesus, just drink it already.”

He gained a surge of confidence, raising the bottle at once and bringing the deluge downwards through the floodgates. It rushed down his tongue, Eddy closing his lips and puckering in response as he swallowed.

“Well?”

“...Tastes like shit.”

“Hmm.” Greg paused. “Let’s try this: you have any major regrets yet, Eddy?”

“Nah.” He thought for a moment. “Wait. There was this one girl back in high school I never—“

“There, there, my friend. Spare me the details. Just let the beer do the talking, and soak in the oil of misery with me.”

They clinked bottles and each took a prolonged swig.

“...”

“Well?”

“Still tastes like shit.”

“You’re hopeless.”

***

Eventually they chewed their way through the four pack, Eddy stomaching one-and-a-half bottles and leaving Greg to finish the remaining two-and-a-half.

“Greg.”

“Yeah?”

“Should we actually work?”

“No.”

“You think the cameras are still recording?”

“No.”

“But the red light’s on.”

“Shut up.”

Eddy jumped to his feet, a second wind filling his lungs.

“I’m gonna go do something.”

He grabbed the mop and bucket from the backroom and took them into the bathroom. He scrubbed at the pervasive yellow stains on the floor with a renewed fury, meticulously coating every square inch in soapwater. Once he was satisfied, he unsheathed the plunger in the corner from its holster and got to work undoing the clog he’d made.

“You gotta plunge faster,” Greg said, leaning on the doorframe. “You’re doing, uh, Wake Me Up When September Ends, when you wanna be doing more American Idiot.”

“...Gotcha. Holy shit, a cockroach!”

It sprang from within the sink, landing in Eddy’s hair.

“That’s my guy right there,” Eddy said, picking it up and resting it on his shoulder.

“...Uh-huh. I, uh, got you some of those mini powdered donuts. They expired in 2006, but–”

“2006? Damn… I was still a junior in high school then. Seems like… more than two years ago. Where were you back then, Greg?”

“In a marriage.”

“Oh.”

He went back to plunging to the tune of American Idiot.

***

Greg was back in his chair, in the lagoon between lucidity and REM.

“Greg!” Eddy yelled. “You’ve got your cell phone, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“Did you try calling someone yet?”

“No. It’s dead.”

“No way.”

“Battery’s fried.”

“Show me.”

“I told you, it’s fried.”

“Prove it.”

Greg reached for his pocket, then stopped, snapping to life.

“Would you get off my case, Eddy? I mean, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for a day like this. This is the kind of shit I’ve dreamt about. Nobody telling us what to do, or where to be, no bills to pay, and you’re trying to be rescued?”

“...Sorry, dude.”

“You’re fine. Just… chill out. Try to enjoy it.”

Eddy paused, clearly lost in deep contemplation.

“Wanna fight?” he blurted out.

“What?”

“Wanna fight?”

“Why the hell would we fight?”

“I’m bored, man. And I’ve never gotten in a fight before.”

“And I won’t be complicit in your first.”

“C’mon. You told me you used to fight all the time.”

“That was a different me. And I probably got my ass beat as many times as I beat somebody else’s ass.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That means you won, like, half the time!”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“C’mon. You’ve got the experience and technique, and I’ve got the age advantage, and uh, some other thing.”

“...Fine. But go wash your hands first. It’s been hours.”

“Ah, but how do you know that? Time’s stopped, remembe–”

“Wash your damn hands, Eddy.”

***

One trip to the freshly-cleaned bathroom later, Eddy was ready.

“Do we say our catchphrases now?”

“That’s just the movies. Every time I got in a fight either I ran at them or they ran at me in a blinding ra–”

“Yer not makin’ it out of this saloon alive,” Eddy interrupted. “Uh, yer past is starin’ you in the face, Redeye.”

“...”

“...”

“Too bad my eye’s too bloody to see it, Lancaster.”

Greg lurched forward, his fist meeting face in an instant. Eddy crumpled to the ground.

“...Eddy? H-holy shit, Eddy!”

Greg dropped down at Eddy’s side, grabbing his arm and checking his pulse. But Eddy was still alive and even conscious, his lips curling into a smile as a cockroach escaped his sleeve and landed on Greg’s face.

“AH! SONUVABITCH!”

Eddy seized his opportunity, nailing Greg in the right cheek and scrambling backwards into the snack aisle. He divested a rack of its beef jerky, the packs scattering across the floor, and lobbed trail mix at the raging bull in front of him. The fusillade did little to stop his advance, but the jerky spillage sent 220 pounds of drunken idiot careening into Eddy. They crashed to the ground, rolling back and forth. Greg had him pinned, but his opponent marred the tacit fighting code as he kneed him in the balls.

“GAH! YOU–YOU FIGHT LIKE A GIRL, EDDY!”

He rose to his feet and grabbed Eddy by the shirt, dragging him back out into the main aisle. Eddy hammered blow after blow into Greg’s face until being shoved against the front doors.

“Is that all… you got..?” Greg asked between heavy breaths.

“Uhh… probably…”

Eddy swung at his right cheek again, with enough force to actually break his stance.

“Guess thunder–shit, uh, lightning… can strike the same place twi–” He was cut off by Greg’s response, which broke his stance and then some.

“Enough… about that stupid movie.”

They fired a desperate punch at the same time, their fists colliding in midair as they dropped to their knees and sprawled out supine across the dirty doormat. 

“That was… so sick,” Eddy mumbled.

“...Yeah, I guess it was… kinda fun. Except for you kickin’ me in the nuts. The hell was that about?”

“Sorry… gut reaction.”

“Yeah, well tell your gut to have some class.”

“Hey! Don’t talk to him like that…”

The sun beat down on them, frying them in place as it hummed and flickered.

“Greg…”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want time to unfreeze anymore.”

“Why?”

“Remember that girl I was telling you about?”

“...No, actually.”

“She was the one, man. She was into me, too. And I never asked her out. And… and I never did anything back then. I wasted high school, and–and now I’m gonna, I’m gonna be stuck working here forever, and–”

“Oh, quit feeling sorry for yourself, Eddy.”

“...What?”

“Look. I’ve been married twice now. First it was to the woman of my dreams, and I let her slip away and I curse myself every day for it. Then, it was to someone who didn’t give a damn about me, but I was too bent up about the first divorce to realize it and leave her when I should’ve. And now I’m in my mid-forties, I’m fat, I’m an alcoholic, and I’m stuck here just like you.”

“Sounds about right.”

“But you know what? I still get up every day, and I still bring myself here and fuck around with you. By all estimates my soul should’ve been crushed a long time ago. But here I am, and tomorrow–well, whenever ‘tomorrow’ comes–I’m gonna be back here again, betting on westerns, sweeping the floors, pretending to stock shelves. If I can get back up, so can you. And me, I’m at rock bottom. You’re not even close.”

Eddy stared into the light.

“Greg,” Eddy said. “You’re… the coolest guy… I’ve ever met.” And immediately after he fell asleep.

“That’s… kinda sad,” Greg said to himself as he fell asleep too.

Just then the 4 AM alarm went off, but it blared too late to rouse the two. And so when Leanne walked in five minutes later for her shift, she saw her two coworkers half dead on the floor and the store a mess.

“Oh, not again.”