Death's Hourglass

I’d never seen a zero before, but as I looked into the eyes of the barista who handed me my black coffee, I couldn’t see anything else. Like a flashing neon sign blocking his physical features, demanding my attention. Before this moment, the lowest number I’d ever seen was a 3, from a passing stranger who’d hopped on the bus at the last second. I’ll never know if he made a choice to grow his number or if that’s all he was left with.

But a zero? A zero could mean minutes, or even seconds from now. Was I supposed to tell him? Warn him somehow? How would I do that without sounding like a complete lunatic?

“Was there anything else you needed?” The barista asked as I stood staring at him, my mouth hanging open like an idiot.

I eventually mustered a “No, thank you” and headed to the only empty table to ruminate. It was a busy Saturday afternoon, so no one paid any attention to one person awkwardly staring at a guy behind the counter. I sipped my coffee, wincing as it scorched my tongue, but my anxiety numbed the pain.

I forced myself to see past the ostentatious zero that begged to be seen so I could watch for any sign of illness or clumsiness. Was he reckless? Did he have enemies? Unlikely. He seemed nice enough from the very little I knew about him, but I guess you never know. I saw no obvious reason his number shouldn’t be much higher.

I briefly glanced around the full coffee shop, looking for any other concerningly low numbers, but thankfully only saw dim, high ones, happy to be ignored. The zero stood out like a sore thumb, making it difficult to look away.

What am I gonna do now, stalk the guy? I thought. It had to be accidental, meaning that theoretically, I could stop it, but that would require my presence when it was supposed to happen. It could be a full 24 hours from now, and I would have to follow him around until either it happened, or he made some alternate decision that made his number go up.

Normally, I despised this stupid little “gift” I had, wishing that I could exist in blissful ignorance like everyone else, but in that moment, I would’ve given anything to see hours or minutes, anything more conclusive than a big fat zero. A zero that will end up making me look like a creep for who knows how long.

I found myself wishing for the hundredth time that my mom was still alive so I could call her and ask if she’d ever seen a zero, or if she knew of any women in my family that could help me. But there was no one. Dad didn’t even know about this damned curse.

That’s exactly what it was, too. A curse. Apparently, generations ago before magic use had died out (most people didn’t believe it ever actually existed), a great, great, great, great, great grandmother had pissed off a sorcerer who’d cursed her and all future females in her family. The curse gave us the ability to know when everyone was going to die, including ourselves. This might sound like a gift at first, you know, having the ability to save lives and such, but who wants to know something so morbid every day of your life? Especially in a situation like this?

I was about six years old when I first began seeing the numbers. My mom had to sit me down and make me promise I’d never tell a soul about the numbers I saw, though she didn’t say why, and I was twelve by the time she told me what they meant and why I was able to see them. She’d died a year later, leaving me to figure this shit out on my own.

The loud zero, or sudden lack thereof, snapped my attention back to the coffee shop. I sat frozen for a moment, thinking I’d already screwed this up, when the zero emerged from a back room with a coat in place of his apron. I was equally relieved that I hadn’t lost him, and stressed that I was going to have to get up from my inconspicuous table. He waved goodbye to his coworkers and left out a back door to the coffee shop.

My body acted before I could make up my mind and I sprang to my feet, leaving my scalding coffee on the table.

“Excuse me miss, you are not allowed to use that exit,” another barista called from behind the counter. “Please use the front door.”

“Rightsrry,” I blurted incoherently before spinning and making a mad dash to the front door, nearly taking out a teenage girl in my haste. Once outside, my old combat boots threatened to fly off as I sprinted for the back of the building, only to find an empty bike rack, a small, half-full employee parking lot and no zero’s. Racing to see if he’d walked up the other side of the building, I caught a flash of the zero just as he rounded the corner to the front and out of sight.

Out of breath, I rounded the corner and saw the zero, earbuds in, waiting to cross a busy intersection. The light turned and he started walking. What he didn’t see was the red Mazda charging down the street with no obvious sign of stopping. He walked rhythmically, probably to the beat of whatever he was listening to.

Once again, my feet acted on their own, carrying me with speed I didn’t know I possessed to the crosswalk. My hand followed their lead and shot out, grabbing the back of his jacket and pulling hard. The speeding Mazda zoomed right through the space where he was just standing.

The back of my head hit the asphalt with an audible crack, and I saw stars. I laid on my back and waited for my vision to return to normal. Or at least normal for me. Once the stars began to recede, I saw faces and numbers appear in my field of vision - 3,528, 703, 9,461, 290. Not great numbers, but nothing to be concerned about. Yet.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” The barista appeared among the faces, seemingly unharmed. A wave of relief lay over me like a soft, fuzzy blanket when I saw his dull number: 17,885. “I can’t believe you just did that, you saved my life! Thank you so much!”

“Don’t mention it,” I said weakly, dazed not only from hitting my head but from this guy’s eyes, which were like deep, blue oceans I wanted to dive into. The zero had obstructed any clear view I could’ve gotten from him earlier, but now his 17,885 was allowing me to see his soft, lean face and golden, wavy hair that looked as though it had been styled by angels.

As I began to sit up, he put his hand behind my upper back to help me and the crowd around us dispersed. My combat boots were still in place, thankfully.

“Seriously, are you okay? You hit the ground pretty hard, I heard it.” The soft, concerned look in his eyes alluded to sincerity.

I put a hand to the back of my head and winced at the sharp pain. I could already feel a bump forming. Great. “Didn’t you have earbuds in?”

“They fell out when I hit the ground, and you smacked it right after I did.”

“Oh.” The pain in my head was growing, diminishing all other responses I might’ve come up with.

“Let me take you to the Urgent Care, you might have a concussion.”

“I don’t have insurance.”

“I’ll pay. It’s the least I can do.” His eyes pleaded along with his melodious voice.

“Okay, yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” My head was beginning to throb.

“I’m Jared by the way,” he smiled as he held his right hand out.

“Sydney,” I took his hand to shake, and he held on as he helped me stand.

The Uber dropped us off at the Urgent Care, where they confirmed that I did not have a concussion but just a bad bump on the head. They gave me some pain pills, charged Jared $200, and sent us on our way.

A few minutes later, we were sitting on a bench in front of the Urgent Care waiting for an Uber to take us to a restaurant. Jared was now insisting that I eat something and that he pay for it.

“$200 is rough already, you really don’t have to keep paying for Ubers, and you certainly don’t have to pay for dinner.” My head was beginning to feel much better after the pills.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s worth it to make sure you’re okay. Like I said, it’s the least I can do.”

“But you’re a barista, don’t you make, like, seven dollars an hour?”

“Plus tips!” He grinned, all white and straight. Did this boy have any flaws? “Yeah, baristas don’t make much, but I have a pretty good savings account. I used to be an executive assistant to the VP of an electrical company and made good money there but then I got laid off, and the coffee shop was the only work I was able to find.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

The Uber pulled up just then and Jared took my hand to help me stand up, holding it a couple seconds longer than necessary before opening the car door for me. What a gentleman, I thought. The Uber ride was quiet, which I appreciated as the meds continued to work their magic, with Jared casting concerned glances at me every so often. I noticed the hand he’d held felt warmer than the other one.

At the restaurant, we were seated right away since it was only 3:30 in the afternoon. The teenage hostess’s number was so dim I actually had to put effort into seeing the 32,452. Hope she doesn’t screw that up.

She seated us at a booth and Jared immediately planted a menu in front of me. “Don’t worry about cost, get whatever you want.”

“I’m not that hungry,” I looked at him instead of the menu.

“Then we can get a to-go box later.” His unblinking eyes held mine with a stubborn but concerned intensity.

“Are you always this pushy?”

“Pretty much.” He flashed me his white smile again. It was hard to protest against that smile.

Jared let his stubbornness fall after I’d started eating, and the conversation began to flow seamlessly. I found myself drawn in completely, almost hypnotized, by everything he said. His voice floated over me like silk, and I completely forgot about his earlier near-death experience and the dull ache in my head.

He also asked me questions, which I surprisingly didn’t mind answering. Normally, I hated talking about myself, but I easily launched into a story about growing up in upstate New York and moving to Cincinnati for college. I rambled on about my work as an interior designer and how much I loved it. I smiled a lot and internally marveled at how much I liked this complete stranger.

The more he talked, the more I liked him. We had very similar interests, coffee being one of them (turned out he didn’t mind his current employment much). He was from New Jersey and had one younger sister. We exchanged East Coast stories about New York City, beaches we’d both been to, and how we’d both grown up with dogs. Our voices and laughs seemed to complement each other.

By the time I’d eaten half of my fettuccine alfredo, I was sure I was falling for him which is completely crazy. Maybe I did have a concussion?

“Thank you again, I can’t tell you how much I owe you,” he said as we exited the restaurant.

“You’ve already done enough, I promise!”

“And you’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m more than okay,” I bit my lip as I allowed him to deduce what that meant. Apparently he got the hint.

A smile tugged at his face. “Would it be totally inappropriate, given the circumstances, if I asked for your number?” His confidence took a turn and his smile became shy. It was one of the cutest things I’d ever seen.

“No, it wouldn’t be inappropriate,” I smiled through the blush I felt in my cheeks and held my hand out for his phone. I dialed my own number and hit call, waiting for my phone to ring so I had his number before hanging up.

“I’d say it was a pleasure if I didn’t feel so bad about you getting hurt after saving my life,” Jared chuckled sheepishly.

I laughed. “It’s okay, and you have more than repaid your debt!”

“The next time I see you will hopefully be under much better circumstances.” He took my hand in his, enveloping it in warmth.

“I think it will be.” I squeezed his hand, focused again on his 17,885, and smiled. Such a large number, such a long future. Hopefully I’m in some of it.

He continued to hold my hand until the Uber showed up (I chastised him again for paying for so many, but he didn’t want me to walk anywhere, even to a bus stop) to take me home. We lived in opposite directions, so he was going to take a bus home from there.

I walked into my apartment and greeted my cat, Velma, who was sprawled on the hardwood floor, sunbathing in the light from the window. I happily scratched behind her ears for a minute and continued to my bedroom to change into lounging clothes.

I replayed the whole day in my head, beginning with the coffee shop. Had I really not noticed his good looks until I was laying on the asphalt? I tried to remember anything other than my panic at seeing his zero. I couldn’t.

What a turn the day had taken, though! I never expected to save anyone’s life, and I really never expected to get a date out of saving that life. Or was that even a date? It felt like a date. Though it also felt sort of like he’d been babysitting me.

I chose to focus on the date-like aspects of my super early dinner with Jared. I remembered a moment at the restaurant when I’d told him about an abusive uncle and concern took over his face. That wasn’t babysitting, that was genuine concern.

I couldn’t believe how quickly I’d grown to like him, and it seemed like he really liked me. At first I was sure it was just repayment for saving his life, but as the day progressed, he seemed to genuinely care about my wellbeing, care about me. And I was ecstatic. I didn’t know how I’d be able to wait to see him again, and I was giddy with the thought of going on a real date with him.

He was an excellent listener. Sweet, gentlemanly, funny, and he had the best laugh, the kind that was contagious. The kind you’d want to record and play on repeat. His smile lit up his face and brought a vivacity to his blue eyes that never really went away. I never thought I liked guys with dirty blonde hair, either, but his was a shade that really--

I gasped, loudly, my hands coming to my gaping mouth in horror. I’d just walked into the bathroom to see what the day’s events had done to my appearance, but all I could see was a glaring 43.

43?! How could that have happened?! My number that morning was 27,636, how could it have diminished to 43? All I could do was stand there and stare, eyes impossibly wide, hands anchored to my open mouth. Tears welled up in my eyes as panic crept into me, and I couldn’t stop my breath coming faster and faster.

I couldn’t focus on anything as I grasped what this meant. I was going to die in 43 days.

I staggered to the toilet and sat hard, putting my head between my knees and lacing my hands together behind my neck. The bump protested this position, but after a few moments my breathing came a little easier and I could think more clearly.

No future was set in stone; numbers changed all the time. Just because mine got smaller today didn’t mean it wouldn’t grow tomorrow, all I had to do was make a decision to make the number grow. I just had to figure out what decision that was, and I had time to do that. It wasn’t like I had a 5 or a 1. I had time to fix this.

I raised my head back up and wiped the tears from my eyes. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror, fighting back more tears as I looked at that stupid number.

I just had to make the right decision, and the number would grow.

I’m calling in sick to work on Monday. The number remained at 43.

I’m taking a week off and staying in my apartment to binge Bridgerton. 43.

I’m quitting my job altogether. 43.

I thought back on the day I’d just had and knew what decision I probably had to make, but I didn’t want to. I thought maybe if I started small and made little changes, I wouldn’t have to make the one decision I dreaded with every fiber of my being. Maybe it was something in the middle.

I won’t text Jared today. 43.

I won’t text Jared back if he texts me. 43.

I sighed angrily. I will avoid Jared for a week if he tries to contact me. 60. So, avoiding Jared in the near future raises my number, but not by much.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

I will never see Jared again. I didn’t really mean that, so the number stayed at 60. In order for the number to change, I needed to make a decision and mean it. I had to follow through with the decision or else the number would go right back down. More tears escaped my eyes.

I will never see Jared again. 27,363.

Disappointment forced back the panic and I felt an ache in my chest that had nothing to do with my earlier fall. I would never see Jared again? The number began falling as my decision faltered, and I forced myself to hold onto it.

I will never see Jared again. It grew back.

I stared at my devastated reflection in the mirror, watching my tears fall and tried hard not to think about him at all. I concentrated so hard, my phone’s ringtone made me yelp. The caller ID displayed Jared’s name and a spark of happiness ignited in the pit of my stomach. I glanced back at the mirror to see the ominously visible 43 was back.

I am so screwed.

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