Always.

At the engagement party.   The night you celebrated your new job.  The day you had two bottles of sake with your coworkers at lunch then went back to work and no one noticed.  The day everyone was snowed in and they were the only restaurant open.

It’s just that tonight, tonight as you are washing your hands you notice that there is a new sign taped to the stall.  The paper is white, taped up with cello tape.  The letters are large and red, and simply read, “OUT OF ORDER.”

But this time you really look at the door.  The metal lock has been mangled shut and the space between the door and the wall has been taped over with black duct tape.  There are plywood panels that extend from the bottom of the stall to the floor.  There is a similar treatment from the top of the stall to the ceiling.  You think nothing of it until you notice something.

The bolts holding the plywood in place were screwed in from the inside.

Even now, I’m replaying it in my head, the stark white face, the mirror image overexposed in such a way that it was almost translucent.

All I know is that one minute, I’m turning on the machine, and then a horrible screeching.

The only clue, a piece of paper he clutched in his hand.  In it was a simple piece of verse.

I ran into the other me,
His face was white as snow.
And everywhere and when I ran,
The Me was sure to go.

I’m afraid of what’s going to happen next.

My watch beeped once, marking the twenty minute interval, as was its custom.

I looked up at the sky as the watch reset itself for another twenty minutes.  It was a clear day, so there weren’t any clouds to watch.  The bench was warm, under the sunlight, and I felt my arms warm up from the light of the sun.  It was a bright day, and a metal sculpture reflected light up against the white buildings.  I made a mental note, incremented down by one, and wondered about what time of day it would have to be to shine light directly at me.

I always did have a preoccupation with clocks.  My friends called it an obsession, in jest.  I didn’t have any pictures of my friends on my walls.  Just clocks.

There was an Elvis pendulum that an old girlfriend had acquired for me, from Graceland.  Elvis didn’t keep time since the clockwork gave out years ago, but his legs swayed back and forth in a manner that I found most humorous.

So Elvis stayed.  Every other clock, worked.  Digital and analog clocks were welcome.  Then there were the watches.  Don’t get me started on the watches.

I looked over, towards the doctor’s report beside me on the bench.

I guess I always knew, on some level I wasn’t fully aware of.

Twenty-four thousand three hundred seventy two alarms left to go.

I guess that’s the allure and the danger of ten year reunions.  You never know who’s going to show up.  I guess ex lovers who were in the same graduating class as you are a given, but they really should put that down as one of the events.

I can see the pamphlet now.

Attendance would sky rocket, I’m sure.We parted in a complicated manner then, but I say hello anyway.  It’s not as how I imagined it to be.  I see the ring on your finger, the swell of your belly and I look around for him.

And me, well, I can’t tell you about what’s happened to me, because I don’t know.  You’re with child, and me, I’m still in the same place that I’ve been for the last ten years.

Oh, I may have lost weight and cut my hair, but I’m still me.

And is that a measure of how much I’ve stagnated?  During the idle times, between girlfriends, between lovers, I wondered “What if?”  What if things were different, but they weren’t and perhaps it’s best that way.

We were both too stubborn for our own good then.

I don’t believe in fate, but I do believe that we were good for each other once, and we can always have those good times in our memories.

Then your husband shows up and you introduce me as a friend from college.  Things certainly are different, and he couldn’t be more different from me.

Tall, ruggedly handsome, facial hair.

White.

There are just some ways I can’t compete.  We introduce each other but I forget his name quickly, more out of my nature than malice.  I have to keep looking for the name tag every time I want to ask him a question.  He’s a legal professional of some sort, and I assume you’re both doing well.

After appetizers and too expensive drinks the night ends quickly, with me flitting about from person to person.  Acquaintances quickly remade then just as quickly forgotten.  Old dorm neighbors and resident assistants and classmates of a life lived a decade ago.

And there you are, with him, like a rock throughout.  You leave early, but not before saying goodbye and kissing me on the cheek.  You turn quickly, before I can respond.  You remove your name tag and throw it away, not noticing as I watch you step back into your new life.

Then you’re gone.

The drinks and the rented space don’t last forever, and I start making my way outside.  On the way, I make promises with everyone to keep in touch, although I know I won’t.  Business cards fill my pockets, and images of people I once knew fill my camera.  Both to be filed away into folders both material and digital, never to be seen again.  I say my goodbyes and slip unnoticed down the stairwell towards the main doors.

I struggle through heavy wooden doors, out of air heavy with alcohol and old dreams, and step into the city night.  I feel the rain on my face as I walk towards the metro, waking me, step by step, drop by drop from the false weariness of too much beer and too little food.

Step by step, I walk back into my life.

Step by step, away from you and the might have been.

I had started this year with good intentions. Get new media options up. Video. Audio. And for the first day of this year, I did great.

Then I had food poisoning and it all sort of went out of whack from there.

But now, five months later, I’m going to tell you a story.

It may be a real story, it may not be.

The important thing is that I tell it. It starts like this:

Dinner after work is always a conundrum. Do I go home and save money?  Or do I go out and bring home leftovers that languish in the fridge?  Or rather, food that languishes until my food poisoning paranoia sets in and I throw them out.

Today, I decide to have Japanese since we had a barbecue at work.

A bowl of miso and a tamago roll and some green tea and then a pleasant walk home.  Not a bad plan.

Today Trung welcomes me and I sit at the sushi bar at the back, at my usual spot. Peter says hello and sells me a typhoon roll, their special tonight. I order a green tea and head to the restroom to wash my hands.

When I return, there’s a family of four seated next to me at the sushi bar.

One boy, younger. One teenage girl. One blond housewife. And one dour looking man, his face blood red hot, his palms pressed against his temples as if they were the only things keeping his head from exploding.

His words feel chosen, deliberate. “I just want you to answer the question.”

The teenager exhales and rolls her eyes as she shakes her head and checks off her sushi order on the menu.

My tea arrives and the green cup is warm in my hand.

“You never listen to me dad,” she says, not lifting her pencil from the paper.

The man’s voice is low, but not low enough. “You are lucky we are not in the country of my birth. You would be thrown into the street and killed for your disrespect.”  He grabs the paper and starts erasing some of her sushi orders.  She protests briefly, but the mother intervenes.

I drink my tea until my typhoon roll arrives. Eight large pieces of avocado, crab, toro, and tempura breadcrumbs, wrapped in seaweed and rice, and each topped with different fish eggs. One of the piles is bright green, and I eat it first.

I find out that the green pile of fish eggs is wasabi infused tobico roe, and it is delicious.

Over the next three pieces, the family’s conversation unfolds through a series of disconnected poisonous sentences.

“Only freshmen losers need their mothers to help them.”

“You didn’t even finish all the sushi you ordered last time.”

“I’m sorry, I’m tired, and now I just want to have dinner, but then I get treated this way.”

“You’re an alcoholic. You always drink too much.”

“I love edamame.”

“You know what? You may not want to blow up in public, but I will.”

The mother moves from her seat, taking her Kirin Light with her. As she sits down at the bar she brushes against my hat, knocking it to the floor. She apologizes as I pick it up and place it back on the bar. She looks at the typhoon roll on my plate. “Is that good?”

“It’s a little large, but I like it.” I reply.  I consider the rest of the roll, but then ask for the check.

The mother stops one of the waitresses and orders a large warm sake.  It arrives with one cup, and she serves herself. She looks at her daughter. “It was food poisoning last night. That’s the reason I was throwing up.”  She downs the sake like a shot and follows it closely with a swig of her beer.

My food returns to me in a plastic container and I pay in cash, over tipping. I check my watch.  It’s been twenty minutes since I arrived.

“It’s raining,” Trung says. “It’s starting to rain hard.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “It’s not too far.” I put on my jacket and get ready to leave.  I wave goodnight as I walk into the rain.

Trung stops me before I hit the sidewalk.  “Let me give you a ride home.”  Trung’s car is directly in front of the restaurant and unlocked before I can refuse.  The ride is short and we talk about the restaurant until we get to my building.  As I get my bags out of the car he says, slowly, almost respectfully.

“I’m sorry.”

And I laugh.

Even then I only found the place after eight pages of results.

It takes me a few more minutes to get the right client and get some settings the way I want them. I’m acting on physical memory now. My fingers just seem to know the way, I’m just along for the ride.

I connect and my password and userid grant me access.

The sea of black text flooded the screen, the usual disclaimers and warnings too dense to comprehend and suddenly I was back in my alchemical laboratory. I looked around to read the description. How I agonized over the wordings and spellings. I trimmed the descriptions in order to fit them on one page for visitors.

There were a few loose items scattered in the room, a guest key that I had coded a while back that allowed people to teleport here if they used it, but the second it left their inventory, they would get booted back to the main lobby.

I could summon it into my inventory at anytime. Handy when an anonymous guest got unwieldy.

A rose appeared in front of me, hanging in mid air. Attached to it was a small note.

“Lim! I haven’t seen you in ages! Come talk to me, I’m in the Aerie if you feel chatty.”

The rose was from Angel. She owned the place, gave me enough permissions to start building once she got to know me better. Next thing you know, I had my own little world, a whole slew of powers, and Aenone had moved in.

I did want to see Angel, but I wasn’t quite ready, not quite yet. I was going to ask her for a big favor, the kind that only she could grant. I wanted to make sure that I asked for it correctly.

I moved to the bedroom and looked over the code that Aenone and I wrote together. It was a tricky bit, locked to the both of us and required the two of us to execute simultaneously. I didn’t recognize about half of it, she was really the coder out of the two of us. I always handled the content, the descriptors, the ideas. As I looked over it I realized that it was a pointless exercise. She’d never be here again and the code was just lines of text without her to activate it.

I walked through the rest of the laboratory with the gears and the steam engines, through the library with the living books, through the grounds to the gazebo surrounded by azaleas locked in eternal spring.

I picked up things here and there, the odd trinket that made people speak backwards, the widget that would change people’s appearances, the various games and incomprehensible Escher vehicles that made so much sense so many years ago.

When I got to the gazebo, my familiar was waiting for me there.

A pool of shimmering ink reacted to my presence, transformed itself into a snake, and slithered up my leg to my shoulder before taking on the form of a raven.

I wondered how long it had waited in the gazebo, waiting for my presence to trigger this action.

I sat down, and the raven changed into a purring kitten and coalesced in my lap. I whispered to it and it bounded across the grass twice. On the third bound, it dissipated into a fine mist. It wouldn’t be long before Angel received my message and made her way to the gazebo.

I looked at my inventory and started doing what I came here to do. Everything I picked up, I recycled. I imagined them slowly turning opaque before flowing away like so much dust. Ones and zeroes sent back for the rest of the community to use.

I was going to miss this place.