A Thursday Triptych

•o•n•e•
I walked in to the gym through billowing white curtains. The radiance of the sun through the open windows was blinding. I wove my way through more equipment than I'd ever seen there before, but the room was larger and could now accommodate it. I politely avoided eye contact with the other patrons as always, occasionally subtly stealing a glance at a pretty girl's reflection in one of the mirrors. I found a treadmill in the corner of my elementary school gymnasium the white room had morphed in to, and began walking. There was a row of about eight machines, mostly unused, but I sensed someone take the one right next to mine. I was careful to look straight ahead, but felt as though she was looking at me peripherally. I continued walking as the machine inclined and threatened to toss me off it's back. Her hand was close to mine, awkwardly so, and then it was touching, resting against it. I didn't know if she realized, and feared to slide my hand up the bar and call her attention to it. At the same time, I didn't want to break contact.

“Suddenly” is not the right word to describe what happened next. The transition was smooth and imperceptible. I was walking next to her, and then I simply wasn't. I was in the center of the gymnasium at a long table, as at a wedding, with a white tablecloth. Gym equipment was still interspersed between this and other tables, and I couldn't make out any of the ghostly figures around me. Some faded, only to reappear at an open area ahead of me before a stage with the curtains closed. Classical music played as these wispy figures began to dance with one another. At the opposite corner of the table was a beautiful woman with blonde hair and a slightly high forehead, something of a cross between Christina Ricci and Mena Suvari, with elements of how my fifth grade “girlfriend” might look today. I didn't know her; I'd never seen her before. I knew it was the girl from the next treadmill. She smiled and looked away shyly. I did the same, catching myself and realizing I was the man and this was my time to ask her to dance. It was terrifying as always, the slow dancing making it especially so. I'm just BAD in this sort of situation. Still, she was all alone, and I was all alone, so I felt good about my chances. I realized it would be criminal to allow a beautiful girl to just sit there and miss the dance, and if a stumbling doofus was all that was at hand then that stumbling doofus would do his best not to let her down. I looked up to see a waiter who looked suspiciously like John Turturro(as the butler in Mr. Deeds—”Sneaky, sneaky!”), taking her order for a beverage. At this time I realized there was enormous pressure on my bladder, and while the waiter bought me time I'd find the restroom.

I walked out in to an unfamiliar hall that resembled my elementary school but didn't. Everything was still stark white. I walked over to a pair of double swinging doors and stepped through. A steep incline was before me, and it seemed I was heading down to some locker rooms. Halfway down I slipped, and slid the rest of the way. The floor was polished and smooth, and I didn't stop until I was on level ground again. I began to panic that she wouldn't be there when I returned, that I had chickened out with a lame excuse to stall and had waited too long. I saw a row of urinals and was determined to do what I had to do, then make my way back up that steep hallway. A voice that sounded a lot like my dad's broke the silence. I ignored it. It came again louder, this time asking if I knew what time it was. I was confused, but the inquiry came again followed by the always-cheerful “YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR WORK!” I opened my eyes reluctantly, and slowly coaxed uncooperative muscles to move. I was back in hellacious reality, and my dad had once more inadvertently robbed me of a dance with my dream girl.

•t•w•o•
Grey sky. Grey day. Grey traffic. Grey cubicles. Some days are harder to face than others, but those days where I have a glimpse of a better reality, when it's so unbearably tempting to roll over, go back to sleep, and return to the happier place are the worst. I wasn't at my desk long when my dad called with some bad news. My dad is an ace mechanic but when he needs to have our cars inspected, or when he's stumped, there's only one guy he trusts. This morning that man dropped dead of a heart attack without warning, at the age of 60. My dad, fifteen years older and with a heart condition himself, definitely sounded shaken about his friend, though he tried his best to sound matter-of-fact as usual. I expressed my condolences before hanging up, then began my morning ritual of sorting through e-mails and prioritizing replies.

I absently reached for my orange Powerade as I've done maybe 600 times before without incident. Today, the rounded plastic bottle slipped through my fingers, fell a short distance to my desk and despite all laws of physics and the angle at which it hit, tipped forward rather than settle on its weightier base. Time froze as I watched the contents slosh back then forward, spreading across my mouse pad and dripping on my pants leg. I wheeled back as the drip continued to my rug, finally reacting and righting the container, muttering out swears that went unheard by my coworkers. I ran and got some paper towels, and set about wiping my desk, my phone, my mousepad, and anything else. It looked like some hit the corner of my keyboard where the calculator keys were, and I dried that as well. I soon returned to my work and allowed some e-mails to stress me out about a work situation until my friends managed to assuage and depress me at the same time.

I began reconsidering the e-mail I had been composing, and hit my arrow key. No response. Neither my right nor left keys were working. I began to suspect the spill, which at this point had occurred an hour prior. I systematically checked the keys on the right, and determined that all worked except the “1” and “enter”, keys whose functions were duplicated elsewhere. I turned my keyboard over and to my horror saw orange droplets through the clear plastic casing. I removed my mouse and tipped the keyboard to one side as Powerade poured from my USB socket. I shook it some more and hooked it back up. It seemed fine, but then the “delete” key refused to work. One by one, various keys failed me until the keyboard was useless. I walked over to Rey's desk and told him the situation, and he advised me to call it in. The tech guy I reached seemed very casual and nonplussed about the whole thing when I confessed what I had done to an expensive piece of equipment, and within ten minutes came by and replaced it with a brand new one.

My morning pretty much set the tone for my whole day and though I saw many pretty girls in the office and in the gym after work, there was no event, no connection. Sometimes when I have really specific dreams, I half expect them to come true in some form, to be symbolic of something else that will really happen, and a moment of realization will dawn upon me. Today wasn't a dream. It wasn't a nightmare either. It was just real.

•t•h•r•e•e•
As I watched tonight's Tru Calling, it was upsetting how good it's getting. I can't believe that there are only three more episodes left in the six-episode second season, and since it was canceled many of the building subplots will remain unresolved. For those unfamiliar with the show, Eliza Dushku plays a morgue worker who discovers she has an unusual ability. If she's in the proximity of a person who has died before their time, the body will suddenly turn and ask for her help. Time rewinds and she wakes up at the beginning of the same day, with her memory intact of that day's events. She then sets out to save the life of the person who'd asked for her help. The show was building a real mythos and had some interesting variations. One episode in the first season had her reliving the same day over and over because every time she saved one person, the event she changed led to someone else's death that would restart the day all over again. Jason Priestly plays her adversary. He has the same power she does, and retains his memory as well when a day rewinds. But while she's trying to change fate, he's doing everything he can to stop her, insisting that she's the villain for messing with the natural order of things, that the people who had died were supposed to die. He's taunted her and been one step ahead of her often, but she usually saves people despite his interference. Usually. Not always. Tonight's ending had an especially good twist, and I hope I see some of it pay off in the remaining episodes that were filmed. If only time could turn back and the show could be saved form cancellation. In real life, there are no second chances.

* * *
In real life, there are no spontaneous dance floors.