Senior Teenager

Oh great, another meddling interdimensional tourist.

I sat across from him at a shabby little café called Sunbucks. Not Starbucks. Sunbucks. Everything about the place felt like an off-brand version of something better. The coffee tasted like burnt soil, and the walls were painted a color I could only describe as “regret beige.”

This guy had begged me for an interview. He said he was cataloging “cross-dimensional cultures.” It sounded made up, but he promised a handsome compensation. I figured if I humored him long enough, he’d leave—or at least pay for my drink.

“Are you from another Earth? ” I asked, stirring my lukewarm coffee.

“Yes, I am, good sire.” he said, adjusting his glasses with clumsiness.

Good sire? I snorted. This guy was practically an alien, bowtie and all. “Your sun’s dim, eh? Smaller and bluer than ours,” he said, trying to break the ice.

I wasn’t here for pleasantries. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got better things to do.” Like staring at my ceiling, contemplating life’s many failures.

“Very well… erhm.” He cleared his throat like he was about to deliver a royal decree, flipping open his notebook. “Please, good sire, your name and age? First name’s fine.”

“Karmello, fifteen years old,” I said, keeping it brief.

He stopped writing. “Fifteen? Or… fifty?”

I looked at him in the eyeballs. Did he just call me a mummified geezer?

“One. Five. Why, do I look like a walking corpse to you? ”

He opened his mouth, paused, then forced a polite smile. “No, no. Of course not, sire.”

Liar.

“Are you single? ”

“Emotionally? Yes. Legally? Not your business.”

“Occupation?”

“Former physics professor. Currently retired.”

He blinked. “At fifteen? ”

“Yes. Why is that so weird to you? ”

He scribbled furiously. “And your peers—are they also employed? Living independently? ”

“Some of them. Depends on the district.”

His brow furrowed. “And you… live alone? ”

“Yeah. You want the apartment tour next? ” I said sarcastically.

He didn’t answer. He just kept glancing between me and his notes, clearly mumbling something about what he thought he knew.

“How would you describe your Earth? What is it like to live here? ”

“What do you mean? Isn’t Earth across dimensions culturally the same? We eat, we sleep, we work, we get some wife, we divorce the wife, and we watch some birds across the park, waiting until we die.”

“Go on..” He was scribbling down like there’s something special about what I said. I was a bit annoyed. What was the point of portaling here and questioning some random Joe?

“War in Europe, war in China, then peace, then capitalism. Typical earth stuff.” I was throwing bullcrap at him at this point. I cannot take him seriously.

He stared at me hard now. Like he was trying to peer through my skull. “Karmello sire… you gave me some very interesting responses. I like it; it's raw and full of apathy. Your age, behavior, life perspective…”

“Yeah, most people here do.”

“I’m just trying to understand how a fifteen-year-old could have lived such a full life.”

I leaned in. “What does a fifteen-year-old look like back at your home? ”

“Well, most do pranks, play video games, attend school, and stuff like that. Immature stuff”

What a childlike behavior. What kind of earth is that?

“Do you have any substance addictions?”

“Alcohol and cigs, they keep me accompanied”

“Divorce is pretty tough here too, huh?”

“Some things never change—marital conflict, a tale as old as time,” I say, sipping my coffee to mask the bitterness—not from the drink, but from life.

“What’s your daily routine, sire? How do you keep yourself sane when alone?” The interview changed his tone to a more emphatic one.

“Ha—I usually walk in the park or visit some libraries to read. Sometimes I visit some old friends.” I lied through my teeth—I usually stay home, staring blankly at the TV or sleeping all day long. Loneliness is eating me every day.

The interviewer squinted his eye, eyebrows slightly raised; did he catch me lying? It doesn't matter. He scribbled down again in his notebook.

“Where do you celebrate holidays? Like Christmas, for example? Do you have Christmas here?”

“Of course we have. What kind of earth doesn't celebrate that? ”

“Oh, believe me sire, I’ve been on a weirder Earth; there are so many things I don’t want to assume. Just making sure.”

“Last year I celebrated it with my precious little niece and nephew at my brother’s house. They are so adorable and cute. They asked a lot of questions about science.”

Wait, am I beginning to soften up to this guy?

Then I realized it had been a while since I talked to another human being.

The interviewer smiled warmly. “How about this year? Where would you celebrate? He put down his notebook; this has transitioned to a casual talk.

“Well, it’s only just November 67th now, so it will be a while. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll go with my brother or stay home by myself.”

The interviewer's eyes widen, shocked. Did he see a ghost? Or something about what I said?

“Excuse me, sire, did you just say November 67th? ”

“Yes? 67th”

“What date is your Christmas holiday?”

“Uhmm, December 80th?”

The interviewer was back to scribbling again. Maybe this was something he didn’t expect about our Earth here.

I leaned in. “You ever think maybe your version of a ‘year’ isn’t the only one? ”

“Of course! That explains it! Your age! ”

“Alright. Let’s play a game. How many days are in your year?”

“Three hundred and sixty-five. Sometimes three-sixty-six.”

“Cute,” I said. “Try twelve hundred.” (1200)

He dropped his pen.

“Wait. Your planet—”

“Orbits farther from the sun. Ours is a blue sun—hotter, but smaller in the sky. So yeah, our years are longer. Still twenty-hour days, but way more of them to make the full trip around.”

He sat there in stunned silence, eyes wide.

“So let’s do the math,” I continued. “I’m fifteen, right? Fifteen times twelve hundred—”

“Eighteen thousand days,” he whispered.

I nodded. “And on your Earth, that’s about what… fifty years?”

“Forty-nine point three,” he said, still dazed.

“There you go. I’m fifteen here. But by your measure, I’ve lived through more days than your average middle-aged man.”

He looked like I had just smacked him with his own notebook. “You’ve lived a lifetime… that’s why I was confused with your age! ”

“Yep.”

“And your age… it’s not deception, it’s just… relative.”

“Hmm, I’m fifteen. But I never said I’m young.”

He leaned back, stunned. “That explains everything. Your speech, your attitude… your eyes.”

“Yeah. Try going through eighteen thousand days and tell me you don’t get a little tired.”

He shut his notebook slowly. “This... completely alters my understanding of your Earth—HAHAHA.” He suddenly burst into laughter.

“Welcome to this Earth,” I said, standing up to signal this interview is over. “Next time, maybe ask about the calendar before you start popping out of other Earths.”

He rose to his feet, still shaken. “Thank you, Karmello, sire. This has been… an entertaining and engaging catalog.”

“Don’t mention it. But if you ever publish that thing, maybe call me fifty. I think I earned it.”

He gave me a polite bow, which was weird but kind of nice, and left.

I stood for a moment, watching our blue sun hover low in the sky through the window. Fifteen years. Eighteen thousand days.

No wonder I was exhausted.

Hold on, that rascal didn’t pay me!