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"So... what are you going to do?"
Brian and I had been sitting up in the hotel room for hours. It was somewhere around three o'clock (I was telling time by the numbers changing over Brian's head so I wasn't sure how accurately I was keeping up with the earth's rotation). We'd ordered pizza and beer from the room service and had sat down on the couch, the box opened between us on the center cushion, and debated about the sketchiness of the whole situation.
"I dunno," I admitted. "I mean, like you said, it's weird that I'm not registered, and even weirder that Aimee won't talk about what the ministry is. Or does."
"Maybe they're elusive," Brian suggested. "Like some of the positions in our government."
"Well they're like passing laws and shit," I said, taking a pull off the beer.
"Yeah," Brian agreed, "But they aren't passing new laws everyday, are they? So what the hell do they do in their offices everyday?"
I shrugged, "I always hated politics."
He picked up one of the cold pieces of pizza and started pulling the pepperonis and cheese off of it. "I just think you ought to tread carefully with this whole registration thing. Find out what this ministry thing stands for and believes in, you know? Then, if you agree with the points, you can register without worrying about it."
I nodded. "But how do I find out? I mean, I can't just run down to the library and ask for literature on the Time Watchers Ministry, can I?"
Brian laughed, "Well you could but they might give you a straight jacket."
"That would totally clash with my hair," I answered, taking another swig of beer.
Brian tossed the naked slice of pizza back into the box, having taken all the good stuff off and sighed. "I guess you need to have Aimee tell you how to research this stuff," he suggested. "She said she'd researched the Looping thing, right? So obviously there's a way."
"The Looping thing is weird, too," I said. "I wonder what causes it?"
"She said it was random," he shrugged.
I pursed my lips, "Yeah, but -- I dunno. It feels too... routine, or reliable, I guess, to be random. I mean seventeen years? What is that about? If it was a random occurrence, shouldn't it make sense in some respect?"
Brian shrugged again. "Random does mean just that -- random."
"I guess I just feel like thirteen and thirty are really significant ages to be stuck between. She said that 'normal' Time Watchers are stuck on the age they were when they changed, right? So there's usually a rhyme or reason attached to the age thing in Time Watchers, then."
"I wonder what makes people who are born Time Watchers stop aging," Brian mused.
"Good question," I said. "I gotta ask Aimee that, for sure."
Brian kicked the pizza box toward me. "I'm stuffed. The rest is yours."
"I'm good, too," I answered. I closed the box's lid and put it on the coffee table in front of us.
Brian hugged his knees to his chest. "Do you think she'd answer you better if I wasn't there?" he asked.
"Why would she?"
"She definitely did not like me," he answered slowly, "And I got the idea that she kind of didn't really trust me to listen to your conversation."
"Yeah I noticed that, too. Every time she noticed you were listening she either insulted you or talked lower."
"I got the idea, too, that she doesn’t like… being a Time Watcher,” Brian added. “I mean I think that’s what got me off on the wrong foot to begin with – saying it was ‘cool’. Remember? Then she warned me against the choice like five times.”
“Yeah, I got that feeling, too,” I answered.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
Do I? I thought about everything I’d seen and been through, all the opportunities I’d had and the people I’d met. I thought, too, though, about the people I lost. But if I hadn’t been a Time Watcher, I reminded myself, I would’ve died in the1800s. I never would’ve met Brian, AJ, Howie or Kevin. Or Claire. I imagined having only one shot – like normal people – having one chance to get it right, to meet everyone you’re supposed to meet. Making choices that actually altered the rest of your life, and not getting do-overs every seventeen years. But getting to rest afterwards, I thought enviously, Wasn’t only having one shot worth getting to rest? If only I could have had Claire and the fellas in one lifetime… I would gladly trade eternity for one life then.
“Yeah, it’s all right.” I replied.
Brian smiled and reached down to the six pack we had sitting on the floor and grabbed another bottle of beer. He held it out to me, but I shook my head. Two was enough, my mind was already getting hazier than I liked it to be these days. Brian popped the lid off with the bottle opener. “You know,” he said, “If there’s one other person like you, that being Aimee, there must be more, right?”
“Yeah but Aimee’s the first I’ve ever met.”
“Well,” said Brian, “Have you ever looked for them?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, Aimee researched Looping, right? Here, in New York City.”
“And?”
“So the place where you can research must be here somewhere,” Brian concluded. “What if we just walked around the city and looked for people without numbers?”
I blinked at him. The idea was so simple, so easy, so genius. “That could work,” I said. “But what if I find them?”
“Blend in,” Brian replied, “Just… go pretend you need to use the library. Find out about the ministry or whatever.” He shrugged. “Or, introduce yourself, explain your situation, see if someone else will give you better answers than Aimee will.”
“That wouldn’t be hard,” I answered.
Brian leaned back into the couch, holding the bottle at his side. “Did we finally come up with an idea of what to do?” he asked, closing his eyes.
“Yeah,” I answered. I rubbed my chin. “So, what, tomorrow we’re just gonna walk around at random and see what we see?” No answer. “Brian?” I looked down.
Brian’s mouth was gaping open and his eyes were closed. He was breathing deeply, asleep. I knew he’d been exhausted, he’d said so several times over the hours. I smiled and reached for the beer in his hand before it spilled, and put it on the coffee table before standing up and lifting Brian up carefully. He wasn’t heavy, it was just awkward trying not to touch anything that shouldn’t be touched, and carried him over to the bed. He was always cranky when he woke up with cricks in his neck, and since we were here alone I didn’t want to chance having cranky-Brian make an appearance the next day.
I crawled onto my own bed and curled up, staring out across the hotel room, at the half empty pizza box, and the empty beer bottles. I sat up and reached for my duffle bag at the end fo my bed and pulled out my old-school instant-print Polaroid camera. I took a picture of the box and the bottles and waited for it to develop. When it did, I stared at the picture for a long moment, a smile on my face. I reached into my bag again, pulled out a sharpie.
I labeled it, Evidence that I have a best friend.
I tossed the camera and the sharpie back into the bag, and stuck the Polaroid into a notebook that was poking out of the duffle bag, where it wouldn’t get damaged before I could put it into the dilapidated shoebox under my bed at home that contained all kinds of memories and trinkets from every one of my cycles.