Creatures of Habit

      Color, led by a deep blue shade, seeps into the black sky as stars that are already scarce fade completely from sight, and he might have savored it on another morning. While the sun peeks out over the horizon and the city slowly rouses from another frigid night, a young man sits alone in front of a computer. His fingers drum gently atop its keys, eliciting clicks without actually typing to follow the chaotic tempo of a restless leg: every hysterical movement sending tremors through a rickety wrought iron table. The wobbling pulls his attention to a lukewarm cup of coffee, his body wracked with caffeine-induced jitters at the thought of it spilling. Drinking it now is nothing more than a ritual, and he partakes strictly because an empty cup knocked over is far less catastrophic than a full one. Cold air runs through his unkempt hair, keeping him awake but inattentive – drawn towards thoughts of cozier, comfier places. On the streets, there is no one left to account for, which is what he had been counting on. A bustling crowd of pedestrians headed off to work had always been too distracting. Cheap headphones could never tune them out, either. An amorphous and tumultuous mob consistently managed to permeate his mind in spite of the harsh timbres of heavy metal, wrenching his attention away from the fundamentally less interesting.

           With that many places for his mind to wander, it was remarkably easy to stave off that feeling of dread: that he had finally run out of time, and that there was nothing he could do to get this done on time. In the light of a new day, however, he can see the realization in his reflection on the dirty laptop screen more clearly. Maintaining that profound sense of denial becomes increasingly difficult as the sun climbs higher in the sky. It warms his skin just enough to send shivers up and down his spine from the somewhat sudden temperature change. The glaring star serves as a reminder that time is still moving right along, and is even harder to ignore than a crowded sidewalk.

           A natural aversion to the dawning truth of his current predicament leads him to memories of his life leading up to this point. Pride in his ability to always find a way out the messes of his own design, despite his tendency to procrastinate, had served him well his whole life. Mason kept tales of his greatest exploits from his mother to keep her from worrying, but she knew better than most. She often joked that on the day he was born, it was almost like he had decided after nine months that he had put off the idea of being born and negotiated with her body for just one more week to pull himself together. Not only was he overdue, he also required a C-section and several follow up appointments. There was nothing medically out of the ordinary, he was just a little late and a lot more painful than the average child.

           His stomach clenches hard at the thought of letting her down. In his sleep deprived state he can’t help but feel that it’s more than fair for all the worry he had no doubt caused her over his antics, despite his best efforts.

           The cursor onscreen blinks patiently back at him, waiting to leave words in its wake in an ocean of white. None come to mind, and it stays floating in its place, refusing to drift off the page in an act of mechanical devotion that Mason perceives as staunch antagonism.

           Several sips of cold coffee have passed – there is a fair amount left, but he’s lost his taste for it. Now the only thing left to keep him awake is his awareness of what precious borrowed time remained. His professor had given him an extension to work on this paper and now, on the morning it’s due, he feels the reality of the situation closing in, his heart sinking too slowly for him to notice. His hands hold his face and he truly sees himself for the first time in a long time. Knit brows and glazed eyes appear in the reflection of his screen with that infuriating little black line still blinking in the background, fuzzy and out of focus. The intervals between blips appears to increase, but Mason figures that’s just his perception of time deviating yet again from reality.

           In a split second, his visage is ripped away - his table is gone, and had fallen over so fast he didn’t even see it happen.

           Frantic, he looks around, finding his laptop smashed to pieces on the pavement, his table still wheeling back and forth on its side, and his drink a small puddle on the cement. His knuckles, white from the panic, grip the back of seat as he whirls around, only to see what has to be the universe, or god – or whatever you want to call it - laughing in his face.

           An older man in a coat, struggling to run after a dog, the leash dragging behind it as it chases a cat down the road. The man shouts something, but Mason can’t make any meaningful sense of the words.

           Not a second later, he’s on his feet, passing the man and keeping pace with the animals running down the street. They cut into an alley way, but the dog stops short, barking and rearing up against a chain-link fence as the cat hisses and growls from the other side. Mason stoops to grab the end of the leash, then bends over, catching his breath while propped on bent knees. Eventually, the cat runs off somewhere, and the dog sits attentively in front of the fence, ears perked and hackles raised.

           “Thank you!”

           Mason nods and hands the leash over, before turning to go without a word. The adrenaline is slow to leave, but the weight of the disaster is quick to return from its place in the back of his mind. His thoughts swirl chaotically, trying to remember a sequence of events he never really saw. He figures what made the most sense was to go pick up where he had left off and try to make sense of the scene he left behind, if possible.

           Jagged lines cut through the glass of his screen like a spider’s web, now black as pitch. Missing keys popped out of place from the fall scattered out across the sidewalk, and parts of the immaculate chic metal chassis are bent in places they shouldn’t be. A light on the outside of the machine indicating the battery level indicates nothing at all, and no matter how many times Mason hits the power button, he can’t seem to coax it back to life. The outside of the device is speckled with cold dried coffee, and the power cable is still connected, somehow.

           “Is your computer alright?”

           Mason looks up from his knees on the ground and sees the man and his dog again. The dog sniffs the ground and backs away at the stench of his drink, before approaching Mason cautiously and lapping at his face. The man squints at the machine on the pavement, assessing the damage as well as he could while still keeping a polite distance.

           “It’ll be fine. I needed to get a new one anyway.”

           “I’m really sorry about that – I got distracted, and the leash got caught right on the table leg. Craziest thing I’ve ever seen…”

           Mason barely notices the man reaching into his coat pocket to remove his wallet and start flipping through the bills. Watching the man as he does so, Mason stands up with the computer tucked protectively under his arm, missing keys left on the sidewalk.

           “It’s okay. What’s your name?”

           “It’s Jeff. Listen, I can give you some money, but I-”

           Mason pushes the wallet away gently but firmly.

           “It’s fine. I’m Mason. Got a name for the dog?”

           Jeff, curious about this stranger he’s only just become acquainted with, reluctantly tucks it back into his coat pocket.

           “Ammo. He’s a bit of a dumb ass.”

           Mason places a hand experimentally palm up in front of the dog’s nose, and finds that despite the it’s unintentionally destructive tendencies, he’s a friendly dumb ass. Fingers scratch between and behind his ears, earning him a laugh from Jeff. It occurs to Mason that a younger version of himself would have been scrambling to make sure his laptop was okay, sparing no thoughts or sympathy for Jeff, Ammo, or the cat. He would have left behind the table and the mess for someone else to clean up because there were more important things to worry about. In a moment of clarity, he also finds the fear and the stress from the deadline to be gone completely.

           “You guys just out making the rounds?”

           “Yeah, something like that. I like to get some fresh air before I start my day, and Ammo just so happens to have a lot of energy, so it all works out.”

           After getting briefly acquainted, the conversation winds down and the three of them part ways. Having calmed down from the chase, Mason wonders how exactly he should break the news to his professors, who will almost certainly be disappointed in him. “A dog destroyed my thesis paper” has a nice ring to it, but he wonders if any of the faculty will take him seriously. Not fifteen minutes later, he’s sitting in front of another screen in the computer lab at a local library. He’s also exactly where he was this morning – exhausted, bored, and disinterested. Tired eyes glance from the clock, now reading 7:42 AM, to the trash can icon in the corner of the draft e-mail, which sits blank, that cursor blinking at him despite everything. That voice returns in full force: you still have an hour or so.

           He takes a deep breath and, albeit reluctantly, starts typing.