11:58 Tick Tock

Layoffs loomed, my stomach churned, and the neighbors’ party shook my walls. I wanted peace and a quick-to-bed right after the ball drop. So, I called 311 at about 10:00 PM to have someone to talk to. They sent a noise inspector.

“Hi, my name is Carl. Do you want this done in the AM or PM?” he asked.

“I’m not sure I understand,” I said.

“One is more urgent than the other.”

“You sent me a personal message? But what does 'AM' stand for?”

His laugh barked like a hyena’s, eyes glinting. “Oh, you’re curious. I like that."

I laugh, sort of. It's a weird time, close to midnight.

"No one told me you would be coming," I said.

"No one ever knows everything!" he replied brightly. "Except me!"

I winced, I think, or made a face. His grin froze, too wide, as he handed me a form to sign—some city jargon about noise complaints. His pen caught my eye: Lippert and Associates etched in gold.

“City employee, right?” I asked.

“New Year’s Eve,” he said, winking. “Rules bend.”

"I thought you worked for the city?" I said.

“It’s New Year’s Eve,” he said again with a hint of annoyance. “Ok, I’ll try this.” His cell takes my picture. “What time is it?”

“You tell me?” I can't tell time without my cell."

"11:52,” he said, flicking a pocket watch from a leather holster at his belt, its chain glinting.

“So, you're testing the noise now? And why the photo?”

“Photo?” He scratched his nose, ear twitching. “Apps snap pics all the time, don’t they? No permission needed.”

“Well, mine does!” I say. “Sometimes I say no!” I was tiring of this. “Delete the picture and address the noise, please.”

“It has no address yet. I’m working on it.”

From a satchel slung over his shoulder, he drew a sleek black box, its microphone a shiny brass color. He aimed it at me, studying a flickering display. A faint buzz cut through the neighbors’ muffled bass and laughter, sharp against the New Year’s din. How can I hear that little noise when the apartment next door is deafening?

“This location isn't the nosiest, I gather,” Carl says, like he knows what I'm thinking.

“I could have told you that! Try down the hall. And all I used were my ears!”

Ohh! Now I'm furious. He’s off to my neighbour’s apartment, looking at the beat-up carpet and the tired peeling wallpaper, and then stops and knocks on the door, staring at rubber boots on a dollar store boot rack. That perpetually hallway-blocking one.

“Here?” he asks, staring at me. I shake my head up and violently down.

There’s a long wait. I think he’s going to knock again. But he hesitates, whistling tunelessly, like in the movies.

"Reminds me of the army," he says to no one. "Hurry up and wait. And lookee here!" He swipes at his cell. “11:54. We need a decision, pronto!”

Maggie opens the door, holding a beer.

“It’s a party, what of it?” she sneers, looking at Carl’s official-looking gizmo with the microphone.

He takes her picture.

“What’s the idea?” she explodes. “What's with the spy gear? You can’t just take my picture!" she yells. "Bruce!” Her head turns towards her living room. “Some rando’s at the door!” But I heard no answer from the apartment.

Something viral pops into my mind. I’m thinking, video, video, video. If only I had my phone. Do I duck back into my apartment and get it or be a witness? I decided to be a witness. Then, I shrug my shoulders and yawn. I’m nervous. I constantly yawn when I’m nervous. Maggie's eyes are launching knives at me.

"Nobody calls a noise cop unless they’re snitching, right?” she yelled, her glare screaming gotcha.

“Forget it, okay?” I mumbled, shrinking back.

Whereupon, Carl flashed me a smile and raised his voice so I would be sure to hear. “Uh uh! Once a call goes out, I file a report. Time waits for no one! Now what’s it gonna be? It’s 11:56!”

Even though Carl is down the hall, he still seems so near. I wrinkle my nose. What is that? Aftershave smell? Or deodorant? I'm thinking about the last time I complimented a man on his scent, and he told me it was his deodorant. So embarrassing. That buzzing noise is still here, too. Where is that coming from?

I lock my apartment door and dash down to Maggie’s apartment. Damn! I’m in my stocking feet on this filthy hallway carpet! I had the Times Square broadcast on my TV, and I was going to miss it!

Carl holds his arm out, palm up, like a crossing guard, wordlessly telling me to stop.

“Four minutes left!” he barks.

“Before what?

“Your decision.”

He’s busy with a phone like nothing I have seen before. There’s some program he’s running, and I see my picture and Maggie’s picture flash momentarily.

“You’re getting rid of the pictures?” I ask.

“In a manner of speaking,” he replied. “Time’s a thief, Em, and I’m here to pick its pocket!”

I’m wondering if he knows my nickname. I ruffle my hair. My nose felt itchy, but I didn't scratch it.

“Well?” Carl says, looking up from his cell. "I can see that you are interested. What will it be?"

“I need to withdraw my complaint about the noise?” I said. I look at Maggie, who I judged probably had plenty to drink. She's shifting from foot to foot, repeatedly putting her weight on one side and over to the other, staring at Carl's cell.

“11:58 Tick Tock!” Carl exclaims. “I have something for you both.” His screen showed a new image: Maggie and I, arms linked, grinning like old friends.

“AI trick?” I stammered.

Carl winked. “Look again.”

I blinked hard. We were on my couch, wearing the same sweaters—mine red, hers pink—like sisters sharing a secret. I wanted a copy of it even though that seemed to be ridiculous.

Maggie and I looked at each other. "Oh wow!" her face said. But then she got real impatient. “The ball is dropping! Quick, let's go see!”

We ran into Maggie and Bruce’s living room. A bunch of people saluted us with their drinks. After the ball dropped and everyone had wished each other a Happy New Year, Maggie drew me aside.

“Hey, I get it. It’s OK. What’s your name?”

“Emma. You can call me Em.”

“Sure thing!”

Carl sidled up, drink in hand, nose twitching. “Lippert’s buzzing with work, Emma. Layoffs? Pfft. The world’s wide open. What’s it gonna be?”

My eyes drifted to his satchel. A warm scent curled out, mingling with a faint hum, and a glow pulsed inside, brighter now.

I scratched my nose. It felt so good.

"Here’s to new starts,” Carl said, raising his glass.