Yesterday

Tuesday, 7:36 a.m.

I ran along the icy sidewalk at a reckless speed. Frigid wind tugging at my oversized sweater that half covered the pajamas I had hastily tucked into my winter boots. Looks weren’t important, not today.

“There’s nothing anyone could have done”.

I pushed the words from my mind, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my chest focusing instead on the cars whipping past and the branches swaying in the breeze. I couldn’t unravel. Not now, there would be time for that later.

As I rounded the bend onto a quieter lane, I saw a familiar black sedan parked beside a small apartment complex and heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t left yet. The bungalows and townhouses were a blur as I raced forward. He was home but I wasn’t sure how much time I had and I wasn’t going to waste a second of it. It took me three tries to get the buzzer code right, my hands were shaking so much. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited with baited breath.

“Hello?” I froze at the sound of his groggy voice. His voice.

“Anyone there?” He asked sounding frustrated and tired. Completely and blissfully unaware of what the afternoon would hold.

“It-it’s me.” I finally managed to get out. My heart pumping even faster now, I was so close.

“Casey?” He asked, the surprise evident in his voice. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Something came up.” An understatement.

“Umm, okay.”

“Can you let me up? Please.” I asked, fighting back the hysteria rising in my throat.

“Right, yeah. Of course, let me just-.” His voice cut off as the door clicked open.

I rushed forward towards the staircase. His elevator was notoriously slow and any delay now would feel like torture. As I pounded up the stairs unbidden words filled my head.

“No one could have predicted it.”

Second floor.

“He was so young.”

The voices seemed to echo off the walls surrounding me.

“-nothing anyone could have done."

Third floor.

“Casey, you need to think about next steps-”.

They were closing in. Suffocating.

“SHUT UP.” I screamed out grabbing desperately at the sides of my head. And mercifully, they quieted. Not gone but suppressed for now.

Fourth floor.

The hallway seemed to lengthen in front of me, his door far in the distance. I tried to move forward but it was like running in a dream. After what felt like an eternity I reached his door, raised my hand to knock, then hesitated. Now that I was here, I was terrified, what if this just made it harder, what if I was making the wrong choice.

Wednesday, 3:47 p.m.

“There’s nothing anyone could have done.”

The words dully registered as I stood in shock, the pain had not yet registered. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. There must be a mistake. An aneurysm they said, some type of cerebral aneurysm. I overheard one of the doctors call it a widow maker but we weren’t even married so I wasn’t a widow. I wasn’t anything.

“He was so young.”

They kept saying it as if that would make things better. As if the universe would suddenly correct its callous mistake.

“Casey, honey. The doctors have some questions for you.”

Their voices all blended together but they held the same pitying tone. The kind of tone would have infuriated me if I’d had anything left to feel. They didn’t know him. They didn’t know us. How dare they pretend to understand. The white sterile walls felt claustrophobic, filled with the faint mocking beeping of heart monitors. I can’t be here anymore. I have to leave.

“You can’t leave yet Casey, we need you to answer a few questions first.”

I blinked up at them in confusion and it took me a moment to register that I must have spoken out loud.

“Let her go.” One of the older nurses said. She seemed to understand that I was already gone.

Our eyes met briefly and I despised the compassion held in them. I didn’t need compassion, I needed him. She pushed a card into my hand and led me to the exit telling me to return or call when I was ready. I wandered the streets numbly. I couldn’t go home; it would feel too empty but I couldn’t return to the hospital and those pitying glances that made everything seem real. I could feel an empty hole inside me growing, but for now I welcomed the numbness and gladly disconnected from my body.

After what could have been minutes or hours, I found myself looking up at a small familiar apartment complex. My body had taken me to the safest place it knew. His place. So many hours spent reading on his oversized couch, listening to his off-tune hum as he bustled about the kitchen, something sizzling in a pan, a Billy Joel record playing. It often felt more like home than my own but he wouldn’t be there now, or ever again, and that realization was enough to make me crumble. I felt a primal panic building in my chest clawing its way up my throat. I couldn't be here either. I hurried away turning down random street after street trying to lose myself in the pattern on the sidewalk and the whoosh of passing cars. I walked until the light began to fade, until my feet ached, until I was completely lost.

At some point the pavement on the road had shifted to cobblestone and the cracked old sidewalks more became weed than cement. A mismatch of buildings lined the streets, over half the windows boarded up, and an over zealous display of graffiti decorated nearly every surface. Reluctantly, I pulled out my phone to call a taxi or at least figure out where I was, but of course it was dead. The cold must have drained the battery. I glanced up as movement caught by eye, a tall figure in a dark coat was crossing the road towards me. For a moment I felt a spark of fear before I remembered that I didn't care anymore. He passed by me into a dark alley beside a tiny shop I hadn’t noticed. Decades of grime obscured the shops windows but I could see a faint light and an old wooden duck bobbing happily around four wooden letters spelling out OPEN. Maybe they have a phone. I thought to myself as I entered the shop.

The door was heavy and the smell of dust and moth balls overwhelming. Row upon row of shelves were overflowing with eccentricities. Strange wooden puzzles, books falling apart at the seams, old leather suitcases, mismatched shoes, and unsettling taxidermy. I picked a random aisle looking around for an employee. I thought about calling out but I didn’t have the energy and it felt somehow wrong to break the strange silence in the shop. I passed by playing cards, false teeth, a collection of hour glasses, and dice that seemed to be made from bone. I rounded a corner and started with shock when what I thought was a taxidermy cat blinked then leapt to the floor. It seemed amused by my surprise, rubbed against my leg and wandered deeper into the shop. For want of a better idea I followed, perhaps it would lead me to the shopkeeper.

“Or are you the owner?” I mused out loud.

The cat looked back at me with piercing eyes then continued. I dutifully followed it to a crooked shelf filled with pocket watches seated next to a massive oak grandfather clock. The cat licked it's paws and lay contently in front of the clock. I waited a moment before realizing how silly this was but before I could turn away the grandfather clock began to chime. It was a haunting yet beautiful sound that seemed to reverberate through me. Intricate symbols were carved into the wood and ancient brass adorned its sides. As the chiming continued, I could feel my heart matching its rhythm, a growing crescendo until suddenly it was silent. The cat meowed loudly then disapeared beneath a nearby shelf.

“I see she’s taken a liking to you.” I heard from behind.

I jumped in shock and turned to see a short old man with a twisted back, gnarled cane, wisps of white hair on his head and thick glasses that gave his eyes a bug like appearance.

“I’m not so sure.” I responded “she disappeared under the shelf.”

“Not the cat.” He said amused gesturing to the clock. “She doesn’t just chime for anyone.”

“Oh… thanks.” I said trying to be polite.

The man looked at me intently, his eyes seeming to pierce right through me.

“You’ve experienced great loss.” He said, it wasn’t a question. “And you’re looking to escape.”

“How did you know?” I asked, fighting back the lump building in my throat.

“Everyone who finds my shop is looking for an escape my dear.” He considered me thoughtfully then finally nodded to himself. “She has chosen you and now you must choose.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” I asked.

“Time is a fickle thing but not so linear nor callous as she seems.” He tapped his cane on the front panel and it popped open revealing a complex array of brass gears. “Pick a time, any time. The place doesn’t matter, she’ll take you where you need to be. But think, carefully, you only get once chance and you won’t have long, so make good use of it.”

“I don’t understand-” but then suddenly I did. I knew which gears to move and I knew that they would take me back, back to wherever I wanted in my life or before. One last chance. One last moment. Without hesitation I wound the gears to 7:00 a.m. yesterday morning.

“Are you sure, sure that you want to trade all of human history for one last hug?” He asked as I reached towards the final dial.

I looked up at him and for the first time today, smiled.

Tuesday, 8:03 a.m.

As I hesitated in front of his door I thought back to when I woke up this morning. For the second time. I had briefly wondered if it was a dream or a hallucination before deciding I didn’t care. As long as I didn’t wake up or regain my sanity before I saw him once more. I wish I could have wondered if tomorrow was a dream but the dull ache in my core felt far too real for that delusion.

I could hear him moving around on the other side of the door. I closed my eyes and imagined his disheveled hair as he poured his 2nd cup of coffee. He was late for work so he’d be wringing his hands and checking his phone every minute. I smiled at the memory. But this wasn’t a memory, he was there, really there, just on the other side of the door. The final words of the shopkeeper seemed to whisper in my mind.

“Are you sure, sure you want to trade all of human history for one last hug?” But his voice had not held judgement, instead it was filled with a depth of understanding and maybe even respect.

And so, I knocked.