In Which You Begin to Regret Your Decision

A phone.

(What, were you expecting a gun?

Got your adrenaline up, didn’t I?

What are good authors for . . .)

Dropping the thin, pure black rectangle to the ground, he stomps on it – hard. The screen shatters and splinters. Again and again he grinds the phone into the ground. At last he stops.

“Give me your phone,” he commands, holding out a single, black hand.

“Wait, what? There is no way-” you stammer

And hand him your phone.

“That’s. Cheating,” you grind between clenched teeth.

He shrugs and you can almost swear that he’s smirking, “You made your choice.”

“That did not include wrecking my phone!”

“Oh, stop panicking,” he chides. You watch as he swipes a finger up the screen.

“Password,” he monotones.

You give him that too.

“Stop it,” you snap, panting.

Maddeningly, he only chuckles, and continues to meddle with your phone. Three swipes, a few taps, a prolonged beep that hurts your ears, and he hands the phone back to you.

“See?” he says, “Safe and sound.”

Snatching your phone from him, you quickly unlock it and search frantically for any damage.

“After all,” he continues, “I could make you do worse things.”

“Like what?” you counter, not looking up from your phone.

“Hmm, how about streak across the park?” he murmurs.

Up your eyes snap.

“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.” you say.

He tilts his head to one side, as if considering.

“Maybe not this time,” he says softly, slipping his hands nonchalantly into his pockets.

This guy really seems to want you to hate him.

After all, when you hate someone, you avoid them right?

At least – that’s what the smart people do.

But we already know your limitations.

Taking a deep breath, you turn your phone off and tuck it into your pocket.

“OK, here’s the deal,” you begin, “No matter what you do, I’m going to keep reading so – yeah, I could tell,” you interject as his head tilts back, “Pretty easy to now – anyhow,” you continue, getting back on track, “The new chapter title? Sorry, but that’s not going to happen. I may end up wishing I’d been more prepared for whatever you’re going to throw at me, or perhaps a little smarter – but I am not going to regret choosing to try,” another deep breath, “Because I’d rather try to do the right thing than just sit around avoiding the wrong.”

Another long silence.

“You know, I’d clap,” he says slowly, “But . . . my hands are stuck.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you mutter, eyes straying down from his face to the oh-so-obvious bulge of your sub still tucked under his hoodie.

Was it worth it?

Probably not.

And, really, what are you thinking?

Trying to help the guy who is so intentionally making your life miserable?

Yep, it’s nuts.

“But I’m fine with nuts,” you think.

After all, they taste pretty good too, right?

Nowhere near as good as a full-fledged, top-notch sub, but hey-

They’re filling

Dry,

Bland,

Boring . . .

“Oh, I was wondering something,” you begin, returning your eyes to his . . . face.

“Yeah, I was wondering something too,” he nods.

With a sigh, you wave your hand, “You go first.”

“Much obliged,” he tips dryly, “What time is it?”

“What?”

“No, that’s what I asked,” he says. After a dumbfounded pause, he sighs, and gestures to the ground, “No phone – no electronic – no clock?”

“Right,” you say, jerking up your sleeve.

“1:05.” You whisper, eyes slowly widening.

“Hmmmm,” he says, “Little late, isn’t it?”

A little more than a little.

Late enough that your mom and dad are going to be back from their date

Any

Minute.

And if you’re not home?

Well, let’s just say you’ll be in a little deeper than deep doo-doo.

“Great,” you growl, “I gotta go.”

You look up, searching the shadows of his face.

And then you realize.

“You did that,” you murmur.

“I did what?”

“There is no way we could have been talking for an hour-”

“Need I remind you that you also did plenty of staring?”

“Whatever, that’s still not enough.”

“So what are you accusing me of?” he asks.

Of course he knows.

“You messed with time, didn’t you?” you reply.

“And if I did?” he counters nonchalantly.

Well that opens a whole new realm of possibilities.

Which makes you wonder . . .

“Then why don’t you?” you ask. If he can get rid of you so easily, then why hasn’t this temperamental, bitter, pessimistic author done so already? In fact – you are shocked that he hasn’t.

“That is a subject for another time,” he dodges.

You humph, but have to agree.

It’s time to get home – and fast.

“By the way,” he says, stepping closer. Something long and white with green and yellow splotches appears in his hands, which he presses into your own.

The sub.

But, wait a minute, that’s not-

“I don’t like sandwiches,” he finishes, backing away and turning to leave.

For a moment, you just stare at the bounty that has been returned to you.

YES! your mind screams.

Yes!

Yes!

YES!

“Hey, William!” you call.

He stops and turns halfway.

With a sheepish smile, you nod, “Thanks.”

Without so much as a word, he turns away, and before your eyes, fades out of sight into the shadows of the trees and grass.