Tempus (16 page)

She replied immediately and simply, “You’d better!”

I didn’t even have the energy to wash my face.  I pulled off my clothes, pulled on shorts and a tee shirt, flopped face first on my bed, thought of that almost-fireworks kiss, and that was the last thing I remembered until morning.

I hate chores, even more than shopping.  Laundry had been piling up for days, and dishes were overflowing the sink.  At least my
room
was mostly clean, so it didn’t take long to get it back in shape. 

I headed downstairs with one thought.  As much as I hated chores, I would gladly spend a month cleaning the entire house, if only Dad would let me.  There was a show on television about people with my dad’s ‘problem,’ and they would send groups out to help, filming it all for their show.  I would call them in a heartbeat if it wouldn’t destroy my dad, but it would.  To have all his things spread out in the back yard on display for the neighbors, for thousands of people on television—he would be mortified.  I could daydream about it, though, and I did,
often
.

I had already called Julie and Steve.  Steve first, just because.  I had called at six a.m. and he had answered in half a ring, same as last time.  We made plans to meet for lunch at Vivienne's later, and he told me to invite Julie, if I wanted.  I did, and she accepted, so that was the plan for the afternoon. 

I spent my entire morning doing all the things I hated doing, but I got them done, and that was satisfying.  The being
done
part, at least.  I still had over an hour before Julie would be here, and I wasn’t sure how to spend my time.  I was shocked when I realized it was already Thursday.  My last week of freedom had flown by.

I wanted to look in my mirror again, to see what might have changed, if anything, but for some reason I had
avoided
it.  I couldn’t say why.  Dad called me obsessive-compulsive, and I guess that was partly true.  Since that first kiss from Steve, I had been obsessed with deciphering my emotions, to the exclusion of almost everything else. 
Almost
.

That blue-eyed devil of a boy popped into my head more than I wanted to admit, and that would indicate obsession, too.  There was a difference between obsessive-compulsive disorder, though, and obsessive-compulsive
personality
disorder.  Mine would be the latter, I’d googled it.  I learned Dad probably had OCD, and it was quite possible that I had OC
P
D.  That’s what a shrink would say, I bet, as you wrote him a check with a lot of zeros.

I never put much stock in psychology and psychiatry.  There was a disorder to explain everything these days, all requiring medication or therapy.  Translate that to money, and you have a good reason why one in fifty adults in the United States is ‘believed’ to have OCD.  That’s what I read.

If I had any real disorder, though, it would more likely be ADD.  My mind routinely jumped from subject to subject without permission from me.  Like now.  I tried to recall what had even started me on this line of thinking. 
Obsessions
.  That
boy
and that
mirror
.

I had to go bathe and change anyway, so I headed upstairs, ignoring all the clutter as usual.  Once in my room I eyed my bed.  I had not so much as
touched
my notebook since I put it under the pillow yesterday.  If I didn’t look, I couldn’t see the erased words.  That way, it was easier to pretend I had imagined it all.

I must seriously like Steve; otherwise, nothing would have kept me from digging, from trying to find out the truth, or at least some logical explanation.  Maybe that’s why I was avoiding it, because there was no
logical
explanation.  Unless I wrote it myself, which I knew I hadn’t.  Unless I had split-personality disorder, which I knew I didn’t.  Someone would have noticed that by now.

I looked from the bed, to the mirror, and back again.  It would have to wait, I needed a bath, and I
felt
smelly.  “You’ll
both
just have to wait,” I said in their general directions.

When I returned all fresh and clean, sporting a new face, I picked some of my older clothes.  They looked different on me with my hair and makeup fixed, kind of that shabby-chic look.  I thought I looked cute.  I wasn’t sure what my dad would think; these shorts were a little
too
short.  I traded them for a different pair, acid washed cut-offs.  Dad wouldn’t kill me for wearing these in public, but the others might have been motivation.

I searched until I found my white tennis shoes back under my bed, and then sat to put them on.  I was inches away from the notebook, I could feel my hand just itching to reach under and pull it out.  I opted instead to feel beneath the pillow and find the portrait.  I slipped it loose and pulled it out, holding it high in the light.  He was as beautiful as I remembered.

“Wish I knew your name.”  I said to the picture.

I placed it carefully on the pillow, propping it up so it faced me.  I imagined him laying there, his head on my pillow, looking up at me with those beautiful blue eyes.  Obsessive again. 

I spun on my butt until I could see the mirror.  They were linked together, I knew that, but how?  Was it his?  Why was the background different now from when I saw the boy?  Had they sold it?  I was getting antsy, undecided.  I looked at my watch.  I had fifteen minutes.

I didn’t take my time; I just walked up and grabbed the edges, peering at the glass.  The room was there, the light shining through the window could have been coming from my own window, except the angle was different.  I was elated to realize the scene had changed yet again.  There were stacks and stacks of books, some on the desk, some on the floor, and some on the chair.  The coat was gone, but the globe was back.

The books whose binders I could see simply had numbers on them.  There were no titles.  Roman numerals.  MDXCIX. That was the top one closest to me, closest to the mirror.  I kept repeating the number to myself as my eyes scanned the room, trying to memorize details and not forget the number. 

“MDXCIX.”  I repeated the number  until I got to my bed.  I pulled out the notebook, guessed where to turn to, and got lucky.  Under the last drawing I had made of the room, I wrote a note:

Book - MDXCIX

I put the notebook away and went to my library.  I pulled a sheet of paper out of the printer, hastily sketched the major things in the room, threw the drawing on the scanner, and printed twenty copies.  Now all I had to do when something changed was show the major changes.  I was brilliant!

A glance at my watch told me I had better head downstairs.  Julie knew about the house, but I rarely invited her in, and she never asked, out of courtesy.  We always spent our time together at
her
house, or elsewhere.  It wasn’t ideal, but we had both gotten used to it.  It’s just how things were.

I waited downstairs on the porch swing.  The piano was going, but it wasn’t the usual downhearted song, it was upbeat, and it took me a moment to recognize it.  When it hit the chorus, I sang along.

“
Come Josephine, in my flying machine going up, she goes!  Up she goes!  Balance yourself like a bird on a beam, in the air, she goes; there she goes!  Up, up, a little bit higher!  Oh, my, the moon is on fire
!”

Julie was pulling into the driveway, so I got up from the swing, put my arms out like an airplane, and ‘flew’ down the stairs, swooping around.  She looked at me as if I had lost my mind, and got out of the car.  As she approached to see what I was doing, she heard the music and laughed.

“Sing with me!”  I commanded, just before the chorus began again.

We sang in unison.  “
Come Josephine, in my flying machine going up, she goes!  Up she goes!  Balance yourself like a bird on a beam, in the air, she goes; there she goes!  Up, up, a little bit higher!  Ooh, my, the moon is on fire!  Come Josephine, in my flying machine, going up —all on—goodbye
!”

We were laughing as we got in the car and headed for the square.  We both loved old music, and we often scoured garage sales and estate sales for records and cylinders.  I had an Edison standard B phonograph upstairs in my library that belonged to my mom.  Next to it was a Victrola Orthophonic 4-40.  It wasn’t nearly as old, but it was left to me by my Grandmother, along with all her records.  My favorite was ‘Hallelujah, I’m a bum.’

Julie parked behind the store and we walked through the back door arm-in-arm, still singing at the top of our lungs.  My dad poked his head into the back room and shushed us.  We giggled.

I could see Steve had done more work yesterday, or this morning.  His work area and machines were nice and neat, and he had moved a counter near the doorway partially blocking access to the machine area.  I laughed, because I knew the motivation.  The new guy was supposed to stop by today, and Steve was marking his territory.  I wondered if the guy had already been here.

Steve came through the door at that very moment, headed straight to me, and gave me a very big kiss.  “Loving the shorts!”  He said afterwards.

“Don’t mind me,” Said Julie.  “Just pretend I’m not here.”

“No problem.”  Said Steve, leaning in for another kiss and throwing his arms around me.

“You can pretend
she’s
not here, but my dad still is!”  I whispered when he released my lips.

“Oh, sorry.”  He loosened his arms and let me step back, but kept them resting on my shoulders.  “Ready to eat, girls?”

Julie and I nodded.  We slipped through the door into the front, with Steve right behind.  A customer was at the counter with Dad, so he simply waved bye to us, and we headed out the front.

As the door closed behind us, Steve took my hand.  He told us about the day as we all walked comfortably along the sidewalk.  He never mentioned the new guy, so I assumed he hadn’t been there yet.  I didn’t ask since he didn’t mention it, but I was curious.

At Vivienne's, we sat at the same table as yesterday.  It was pretty deserted today, only two couples, and an older man sitting alone.  I didn’t recognize the man. 

He sat very properly, no elbows on the table, napkin in his lap.  There was an empty plate in front of him, and another across the table.  His companion was nowhere in sight.  I was studying his posture—It seemed odd—when I heard my name called by a high female voice.  The man’s head snapped up, looking straight at me.  I quickly lowered my eyes.

“Jessie!”  The voice called again.  It was Jennifer.  She glanced at the man I had been looking at, who, as far as I could tell from my peripheral vision, was still looking at
me
.

“Hey, Jennifer.”  I smiled.

She came to my side of the table, and as soon as the man at the other table looked away, she leaned down and quickly whispered in my ear.  “That man over there—don’t look—he’s that guys dad.  The guy
your
dad hired.”  I nodded.  “His son left just a minute ago.  You should have passed him.  Did you see a gorgeous guy walk by?”  I shook my head.  “Wow, you shouldn’t have been able to miss him!”

The man looked back over, and she quickly straightened up.  Both Julie and Steve were looking, first at me, then at Jennifer.  “I’ll have a coke, no ice.”  I said.

They ordered their drinks, and Jennifer left menus.  I was trying to act normal, fully aware the man’s eyes were still on me.  Steve turned in his chair and faced the man, who looked only a few seconds longer, finished his drink, and rose from his chair.  His every action seemed unusual, but I couldn’t figure out what was wrong.  I turned my attention to Steve.

“What was that all about?”  He whispered.

I glanced at Julie, who was still watching the man.  I knew the second he had left, because Julie leaned in.  “Yeah, what was that all about?”

“I don’t really know.”  I said in a more normal voice, now that the man was gone.  “It was kind of creepy.”

“Who was he?”  Asked Steve.

“Jennifer said he’s the new guys dad.”  I answered.

“I don’t think I like that idea very much.”  Steve said.  Julie agreed.

When Jennifer returned with our drinks, Julie asked her, “What was the deal with the old guy?  He was kind of creeping us all out.”

Jennifer laughed loudly.  “Mr. Knight?”  She acted as if she knew him.  “He’s just the nicest man, and so is his son.  They were super polite!  I can’t believe none of you saw him leave. 
Gabriel
, I mean.  He left about two minutes before you came in!  Maybe less than that.  You’d have to be blind to miss him, he’s
gorgeous
!”  She said that last word with a distant expression on her face, smiling.

We all glanced at each other quickly, trying not to laugh.  “We’ll order now.”  Steve said respectfully, trying to bring her down from the cloud she was obviously on.  I guess poor Wooly Wally had some competition.

“Oh, sorry.”  She got her pad and pencil at the ready.  “Go ahead.”

We ordered our food, and since it was slow in the cafe, it didn’t take long to arrive.  We all ate in a hurry, and conspiratorially whispered every time Jennifer was busy.  I was glad Steve could handle a little gossip, he was as curious as we were. 

As soon as we were outside, we all focused intently on the shop.  “How could we have missed him?”  Julie asked.

“I would have noticed if we passed somebody.”  Steve said.  “There was nobody on our side of the street.”