Lost Between the Plates

Clap your hands.

I felt it at the time. Increase as the plates move against each other as two partners. It was a big jump, judging by the decoration. Horrid paisley wallpaper with a thousand shades of mustard. I think that makes this happen in the 1970s? Or what about the 1960s? I'm losing track. This should not be my timeline. I was not even born.

I have been chasing him for years and forever. Rotating time and place without sails. I found him in 2031, years before the law was reformed; he was happy, or at least he was smiling. There was a woman with him. He touched his arm, smiling broadly; a deep orange with red stripes around her lips.

I didn't hate him, even though he was with her. I bit into tears; they taste one drop of blood. It should taste like metal but it doesn't. There is a great deal of toothpaste, absinthe.

I go up through the window, my head spinning. This is not a hundred and twenty. I don't know where I am. Tall buildings are the equivalent of their name. They traverse the clouds above and rise above the horizon. They are not made of brick or metal or glass. Something frozen ... is that ice? It is cold enough to freeze. And the tendril sprout rises from the ground, a deep green I have never known. Thankfully, I am only on the second floor. I fall, rolling when I arrive. For a confusing moment, I check for two days. But no. That’s another month, big and bright. I'm angry, I'm violent, I'm violent. Something is wrong when--

Clap your hands.

Ah, 2022, Piccadilly Circus. I've been here before. Both as an eight-year-old girl and as a twenty-four-year-old traveler. I glance briefly left and right, in case there is someone else with me. We don’t want to disrupt the plates - no more than we should. The arch-chancellor draws black and red sparks from one of the larger screens. Unless you're young here, you're too young. Not an arch-chancellor, yet. I had forgotten what it was like, at first. I stared at her for a moment, fascinated, amazed. This is history.

I could have found him here as a little boy if I had the time, but I already feel the ups and downs. Shift plates, something cracks. I close my eyes, waiting. Slippage. I've been gone for a long time without putting it down. Am I a slave to the race? For him?

Clap your hands.

Down, breathing hard. Fuck. It hurts as my atoms forget they are part of a human being and they try to throw themselves around like kids crossing a football hole. It is nighttime. Somewhere it's cool. The lack of light pollution suggests that I am too far back, or ... well, I think it could be there, yes. There would be no less pollution at that time.

I promise I'll be back before it's too late. I need to settle down soon or the whole ship will crash.

Linda. There they are. I am on the street outside his house. The lights are off. Everyone. Not a flashlight, not a flashlight device screen. I set my face gray and move closer to the bottom of his front window viewing. Time is up. This is the beginning of a new chapter. He will be at home. It may also be that I am not waiting. If you only knew how I was following him. If only he had known how to fix me. Whatever happens next, you will always be a part of me. There is no changing that now.

I push the window up. Since there is no power, the lock pulls itself back. The window is kind, slide silently. Thanks for the window, co-conspiracy. I go in, I go in. I realize, even though my shoes can't be taped, my clothes have never been taught to soften. My heart is pounding as if I were ironing my first kiss. Now that is an old memory, downgraded and rebuilt. Like my body, I think. I still cherish those old memories, despite their honesty. I know part of them is true. And they are warm, shining like a picture book.

He is here. He is here. He is here.

Will I ever hold this joy? How will I remember this? In monochrome, with fine color strokes. The gold line of my beating heart, blue - my teeth are thick, what will be the release when I finally have him? Blind white. Snowblind. I see it now in part, crawling to the edge of my vision; heavenly vignette.

My eyes and heart and lips tremble when I see him, sitting in a chair straight back.

I even mentioned his name. Yes! Finally talking, saying whatever is fun. But to say his name? The rapture.

His head stands up, away from the book on his lap. A blue-eyed mask of surprise, but it falls off, a twinkling twinkle yellow, and then a fractal. Color of opportunity and awareness.

'What?' you are wrong. Then, 'How did you get here?'

My mouth opens with a big smile. Yes. Now I am snow-blind and glorious. He didn't see me coming. It worked.

He jumps, fists clenched as if those jelly bags and mineral tissues could do anything to me. I blow a soft, cool air, then fall off the chair. The first man ever to awaken his cognitive mind. The most dangerous man of all time. How do you set up someone who can see the future? How do you stop the cunning beast of all things? He comes to her like a pack of lions. You get to him on time. He frees himself and becomes a cascading waterfall. He jumps without thinking or reason. He becomes his shadow. It takes years, but it should not take more than a minute. He enters through his window in the dark, sliding invisibly in more ways than anyone who has never been seen before or since.

He lights up the red rainbow before it is over.

I shoot him in the heart and head as the rise formed in me.

I am snow blind.

Clap your hands.