The Hours I Met You

“I just never thought this would happen.”

           Hearing him say those words, I can’t figure out which ‘this’ he means. Does he mean our becoming a couple years ago? Or does he mean the argument we just paused? I try not to look him in the eyes, knowing doing so will eradicate any emotional resolve I have left. We stand in silence for a few minutes before I find my voice. 

           “Jack, I wish things were different,” I say, my voice quivering, “If only I had gotten this job opportunity before your promotion. Or if your position had relocation options.” 

           “Don’t say that Chloe. We have no idea how our lives would be if any one thing was different. It might have led to us not getting together or maybe not even meeting at all.” 

           Tears form at the corners of my eyes then. I turn away from him so he can’t see the liquid as it starts to fall. I sniff loudly, the sound echoing in my ears. I hear Jack breathing in and out softly behind me. The noise’s rhythm is steady, but I’m so fractured, I don’t know how to react. I wipe my eyes and under my nose. I take in and let out a deep breath of my own. I’m three-quarters of the way turned back to him when he speaks again. 

           “I’m going to stay with Gary for a few days. I need to clear my head.”

           He squeezes my hand, a brief feeling of pressure. He does it to say goodbye with as little of physical contact as possible. The touch is so quick, I feel like I have been burned and he doesn’t want to get scorched himself somehow too. His steps move to our front door and then out through it. After the door clicks shut, I let out the sob that had been creeping up through my chest. Its power brings me to my knees, and I wail into my hands. 

           I don’t know how much time passes after my outburst. I know when I open my eyes, I see I’m in a fetal position on the floor. I blink rapidly and try to decide my next move. My stomach makes rumbling noises that ordinarily I would have heard as a sign of hunger. 

I wipe my eyes again and feel relief that they are dry. I drag myself through a quick morning routine of a shower and hastily made sandwich lunch. I leave our apartment knowing I can’t stand to see its emptiness. I find myself driving toward an antique store I have seen for years but never gave a second thought to. Until today.

           I park my car and walk inside. The musty, and well there is no other word to use in description, but old smells hit my nose right away. I walk until I come across a clock collection. The one that catches my eye the most though is an upright grandfather one. It’s in amazing condition though with noticeably less dust than the other items I’ve seen so far. 

           I run my hand over the sides and back. My hand catches on a latch on the backside and a door slides open an inch or two. I move quickly to make sure I didn’t break anything. I see that a paper has fallen out. It’s in gorgeous script, written in with a quill pen is my guess. Some of the words are faded so only a partial sentence is there, “hours will take care of themselves.”

           “Hmm, how interesting, almost suspicious even.”

           By then, the store owner has come around and caught my interest in the clock.

           His voice is screechy, “I’m asking a hundred for that ole thing.”

           I ask if he is willing to help me load it into my car.

           “That’s the only way I’ll be able to get it in there,” I explain.

           Twenty minutes later, I’m back in my apartment’s parking lot and feeling grateful for being in a first-floor apartment. I’m even more appreciative of my building’s manager being around after checking another resident’s plumbing issue. Together, we get my new purchase into my living room. After he leaves, I start to give the clock a thorough cleaning. I spray wood polish only a few inches of the clock at a time and then wipe, deciding impulsively to do a very thorough effort. Along my path, it amazes me how detailed the woodwork is. Getting about halfway up my path, I notice the hands on the face read three o’clock. Hmm, that’s not right. I make a mental note to make correct the time after I finish my work. 

           I kneel back down to start the left side. My hand falls over the latch to the door like in the store earlier. The door falls open again, and this time, two papers fall out. One I recognize from before. The second page has a tear at one end matching the jagged edge of the first.  I put them beside each other and read the words. 

           “I recommend to you to take care of the minutes; for hours will take care of themselves.”

           A flash of light erupts from the clock and even though it’s behind me, I have to close my eyes to lessen its blinding nature. When I’m able to look clearly around again, I’m not in my living room anymore. 

           “Callie!” A voice calls out to me. 

           I turn around to the noise and politely correct the comment, “Chloe.”

           Nanette, who, after saying hello, makes a point to specify to not abbreviate her name, gestures for me to follow her. I quirk an eyebrow at the curtness of her introduction but follow orders. She points out various sections I may be helping organize eventually. 

           “I’m glad to have you with us as an intern this summer Callie.” 

           I bite my lip to keep myself from immediately replying with bitterness, “Thank you. Nanette. I’m glad to be here.” 

           We end my ‘tour’ with a few more instructions and ‘Callie’s’ before arriving at stairs leading to what she calls an ‘employees only hallway.’ 

           “Thank you, Nanette. Would it be okay if I put my lunch in a breakroom or kitchen?” 

           She nods with a wrinkle to her nose, but nods with a pointed finger and details of where to go. 

It’s not like I have anything intensely odorous in my bag. 

           I find my sought-after room and put my bag in the refrigerator and sniff. The coffee machine and its glorious liquid contents invites me to get a cup. I look for one along with sugar and cream accompaniments. I’m not immediately successful as I hear someone walk into the room behind me. I turn and see a guy about my age. He smiles and I return the friendliness before going back to my search. I do so with some distraction since his smile hits something in my memory, but I can’t locate out the specifics. I mumble to myself as I open a cabinet. 

           “I don’t think it would be too much. Personally, I’d be fine if those points were transferred to me as chivalrous ones.” 

           I jerk my head in his direction. He holds up a cup and some Sweet N Low packets. 

           “Asking for help with finding precious coffee is never unfeminist,” he says, almost apologetically, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your mumbles. My hearing is a blessing and a curse in its strength sometimes.” 

           I smile and accept his offered gifts. I make my drink and sigh with contentment. I see him smile at my action too. We start to chat a bit as he gives me what he jokes is the inside dirt on the library and all its inhabitants. I’m pulled away about a half-hour later. Nanette wants to brief me on the online search engines that patrons will be sure to ask me how to use in finding materials. Before my walk away with her, I see the guy, James, make exaggerated faces to mime Nanette’s way too serious mindset she takes toward her job. I stifle my laugh, but inside I feel warm with the feeling I may have found at last one ally for the summer in him. 

           The morning progresses on without major incident, good or bad, so I take it as a win. I walk back to the breakroom and pull out my lunch bag. I debate to stand and eat my snack of a meal. I’ve heard you actually lose a few calories if you do that.

           “Hey Chloe, wanna have a nice view of something while you eat your first lunch here?” James’s voice calls from the doorframe.

           “You mean besides your handsome mug?”

           “Oooh, I’m flattered, but yeah. There’s a neat park a few blocks down. It’s quick enough to get to that you’ll still be back by the hour’s end.” 

           I grin and nod before excitedly sprinting to him at the door.

           “Great. I mean, I figure with the world the way it is, us feminists have to stick together.” 

           His comment reverberates in my ears and I stop in my steps through the hallway. The recognition hits me all at once. Jack said the exact thing wanting to be on my trivia team the night we met. And both guys’ smiles…

I look up and suddenly the lights from another room are shinning in, blinding me from a clear path forward. I take a step, but I don’t know if it’s taking me away from James. I try to blink to clear my vision. 

           “So, how are the cheese sticks working out? Good decision?” A man to my right asks me. 

           I feel a little dizzy and can’t answer. Another male, one to my front left answers instead. 

           “Oh yeah, great recommendation dude,” he says, and I feel my vision and mindset start to defog. 

           I look around, noticing I’m not in the library anymore. Instead, I’m in a restaurant with a fully stocked bar. Turning to the guy who praised the food, I see him smile at me and I feel a rush of emotions. I grin back but still feel somewhat uneasy as some details connect. I’m on a first date. I met this guy through an app a few weeks ago. No idea how I got from the library to here though.   

           “You okay? You look kind of dazed. I hope it was okay telling the server that the food was fine.”

           I shake my thoughts away, “Of course yeah. Sorry. I guess I drank some of my ale too quickly.” 

           The conversation gets back on course even if I still don’t feel fully cognizant in it. I’m reminded that the guy before me is Julius. We met when I took a chance and messaged him about his support of liberal protests that had been going on about a month before. He was impressed at my forwardness. We discussed the limitations of our generation’s ‘wokeness.’ 

           “That’s how it was learning with Dr. Irwin though. She had this enormous ego at times, but with her long list of experiences, she’s more than legit. Like her work on disease vaccines, that’s the real deal.” 

           I snap my head in attention. The detail he says hitting a note in my memory. Outside of a great, late, crocodile hunter, I only know of one other major person with the last name Irwin who made such an infamous impression on people. 

           “I’m sorry Julius, I’m sure we discussed this before tonight, but can you remind me where you went to college?” I ask, pretty much knowing his answer already. 

           “Golden Valley College, why?” He responds like it’s the most innocuous question ever. 

           “That’s what I thought,” I stumble, “I guess Irwin is just such a unique name that you only hear certain ways when it comes to science.” 

           Julius laughs. The server returns then and I think I hear him ask if he can take our appetizer plate. My listening muffles by then and I feel like I’m in a tunnel. To my right, I see the silhouette of the server. There’s a light from a table behind him that keeps him just an outlined shape though. Blinking a few times, the scene changes so quickly that I jerk back. 

           I don’t hit the softness of the restaurant’s booth. Instead, I feel nothing. I try to process my two recent experiences. Did I hit my head somehow? I mean I was standing upright when I read the clock’s quote, right? How did I get back to my internship from grad school? And Jack wasn’t even in that degree program. Neither was a guy like James. And what about the guy Julius? I met plenty of guys from online dating, but none went to Jack’s school or had Dr. Irwin in class.   

           I shake my head. I know it’s possible for two people at the same time to have been taught by Dr. Irwin. But Julius used the same description of her that I always heard Jack use. I shrug, confused about what is all happening, and then I take in the scents around me. Well, if all that was to get me to a bookstore, then whatever dream I’m going through, I’m not complaining about this result. I laugh to myself and walk through the rows of literary selections around me. The store is independently owned, I can tell from the handwritten signs, and I sigh happily.  

           I turn to the section marked Sci-Fi/Horror/Fantasy. I smile knowing how too often those genres are bundled together. I go immediately to the start of the section. My favorite name to find appears early in the alphabet. I tap my fingers over the titles and stop at the ones I want. As I pull a purple paperback out, my hand brushes over another person’s. 

           “Oh sorry,” a guy says as I pull my printed pages to me. 

           “No worries, which were you going for? I can hand it to you if you want.”

           He smiles, “You mean you’d give me that October Country you managed to snatch before me?”

           I look at my book. 

           “Bradbury fan too eh?” 

           “Since I got to watch his TV show on HBO reruns as a kid.”

           Wow, impressive. I had to buy that DVD set on Amazon. I introduce myself and he follows suit. Jensen and I walk to an area of the store that has two armchairs by a window. Among other titles and authors, we discuss the Bradbury book I’m still clutching tightly. After about a half-hour, he offers to buy me a coffee. I accept, but let him know he doesn’t have to buy too extravagant of one. 

           “So, a mocha Frappuccino with half-whip and a drizzle of caramel is okay?”

           “Exactly,” I say with a laugh. 

           He returns five minutes later with our drinks, just regular coffees, but he makes sure to have brought some cream and sugar in case I want to make it more like what his mother calls ‘sugar milk.’ I smile at his comment, but it fades quickly when I see him take off his hat. The generic baseball cap was covering his red hair. I feel my face try to crumble when it hits me that with less facial hair and a brown wig on him, I could be with Jack right now. I turn away for a quick moment to recover my face, but Jensen follows my movements. 

           “You okay? I didn’t somehow accidentally trigger a memory of a bad mother with my sugar milk comment, did I?” 

           “No, it’s more you suddenly reminded me of someone I’ve not seen in a while, that’s all,” I explain. My voice has a tinge of wateriness. 

           “Yeah it’s funny, you’ve reminded me of someone today too, but I can’t think of who exactly.” 

           A light from the café behind him shines over his body then. Just like with my other quick exits, I’m in a new place within a few blinks. This time, the place is one I know. I’m back in my apartment. I fall to my living room floor, suddenly exhausted physically and emotionally.  I see the paper with the clock’s quote on the carpet. It’s ripped in half again. My mind swirls. Was any of what just happened real? Did my mind want to take me through daydreams to show I may be able to find parts of Jack everywhere? I shiver and don’t want to try and decide. 

           The thought of multiple ways to meet Jack brings fresh buckets of tears to my eyes. I let them fall but only briefly. Then, I decide to eat again and try going to sleep, not having the strength for another mope session.

           When I wake up the next day, I see the clock again and debate keeping it. The face of it reads the correct time that matches the one on my stove. Hmm. I get a bottle of water out of my fridge and the doorbell rings. I put the bottle down and go to open the door to see Jack. 

           “Hi,” he says sheepishly, “Can we talk?” 

I nod with hesitation.

“I’m so sorry for what happened before. I got too into my own head and I should have talked to you more before it got to that point. I realize that now,” he explains. 

           I almost interject but he continues, “Gary told me his perspective and gave me a real kick in the butt. I feel, no, I know you and I are great for each other. Fate or not, I want you in my life and I want to make us work.”

           I smile, almost sadly at that. “Would you like to come in?” 

           Jack follows me through the door and stops at the clock.

           “That looks familiar,” he says.  

           “We need to talk some more then,” I say and grab the papers from the floor.