Eight Minutes
She sees me approaching and smiles. I want to tell her that we should go somewhere else – perhaps a nice little restaurant where we can drink and chat until the early hours of the morning. We could even go home and work on making that baby that she’d been wanting. I want to tell her these things, but I can’t. Her hair is the same as it was the last time I saw her. It’s always the same.
We embrace. We kiss. It’s torture that even though I know my lips are touching hers, I cannot feel it. I feel nothing, I control nothing. I’m just along for the ride. I fix her scarf for her and lead her to the hotdog stand where we chat about our day as the vender prepares our dinner. It would probably seem odd to most people that every year, my wife and I meet at a hot-dog stand on our anniversary – but not to us. It’s where we met. It’s our little thing.
We stay close to the stand after we get our hotdogs. It was a cold night and that grill kicked out a lot of heat. We eat in a hurry. The movie will be starting soon and we don’t want to be late. She talks about her day. I’m not listening. I’ve heard it all before. Instead, I stare at her beautiful face. Take in her beauty, every line. God, I wish I could smell her. She checks her watch and says that we have to hurry. She throws away the remaining half of her hotdog. Then she motions for me to follow her and steps off the curb onto the street. My mind screams out to her. It yells for her to come back – begs her. She rushes out from between two parked cars. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t. The headlights of the bus spotlight her. The blast of its horn fills the night. She freezes – steals a quick glance at me. The expression on her face isn’t terror – it’s a mixture of love and sadness. Then she’s gone. My eyes spring open. I’m hyperventilating. The cycle is complete.
There’s a high-pitched whine as the chamber door opens. I step out. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the brightness, but I’m not concerned. I know exactly where I am. I also know Frank is close by. He always is. Frank’s face slowly comes into focus. He appears very concerned.
“Need to sit down, Joe?”
“No, thank you, Frank.” He should know better. I’m a veteran.
“Okay,” he says. “You got the entire eight minutes. You get the frequent trip discount at eighty percent. so that’s twelve-hundred and fifty dollars.”
I slide out my wallet and hand him my Identification card. He scans it. Hands it back to me.
“Woah, Looks like you’re almost out of credits.”
“I get paid tomorrow. Can you spot me?”
He considers for a few seconds. His eyes narrow – studying me.
“Okay.” He says. “Just this once. But you really need to slow down. You know – take a break. Maybe trip someone else’s past for a change.”
I’m still shaking my head as I enter the chamber.
“Welp, it’s your mind – and your wallet. Can’t say I didn’t try. See you in eight minutes, Buddy.” I jump when the door slams home. No matter how many times I trip, I never get used to that. The machine begins to hum. It gets louder as seconds pass. I close my eyes tight until the sound reaches its maximum level. When I open them, I see her. She’s standing on the corner by the hot-dog stand. I’m walking to her. She sees me approaching and smiles.
THE END
