the
Maker
The IAS WINNER
short story by
Julie
Combrink
– the future –
The change of season awoke me. That and the smell of a woman.
How long has it been? I’ve
slipped in and out of consciousness too many times to recollect.
She smells of flowers. Clara. Or
maybe her name is Sarah. I forget. It’s not the best of manners but it’s not as
if I can help it. At my age one needs a caretaker, and were it possible, a
functional memory. I want to do things on my own, of course. My body simply
does not allow it. It irritates me, humiliates me, tires me. I’ve become a
child and some days I swear it's taking over.
“I see you’ve slept well,” she
says. I don’t answer. Conversation is not on the menu. I simply let out a hmmm. Scrambled eggs, toast and jam in a
tiny jar, this is on the menu. I am ordered to eat up, thinking that it can’t
be any other time of the day than morning.
Back in the day we’d say; Get it
before it gets cold. Words have evolved. Sentences shortened. Phrases sound
ghetto in my opinion. Language has a new king and he calls himself Slang.
I find that the food is
acceptable here. That is, of course, when I eat. Which isn’t very often. Hunger
is no longer the most primitive urge. Thirst however…my throat is an
undiscovered desert. She’s brought tea. It’s not as strong as I would prefer
but it is soothing.
“The food,” says the caretaker
with strict expression.
I sigh. It was easier to rebel when I was
younger. I struggle with knives and forks. But never to raise a cup or glass to
my mouth. How ironic is it not? I never thought simple things would become
foreign. They really aren’t, not to my mind. It’s the body. My hands have
become dumb.
The truth is that I’ve become
lost. Some days are better than others. It’s all muddled up; time and day and
routine. I’ve given up, in ways. When you can’t beat it, close your eyes and
drift. I find myself distracted most of the time. Winter started calling. I
feel it under my skin, in my bones. It brings back memories. I’m not quite sure
anymore when some of them happened. What year is it?
Observation. This is the most
important thing.
Years ago I was a dreamer. I was
restless, perhaps. There were times that I too rebelled against the world. It’s
norms were confusing. I saw the world as ill, infected by us. We’ve turned it
into chaos, barely keeping our head above water whilst looking for the
solution. To fix it. To look past all the poison and see purpose.
I became a devout reader. I’ve
seen sunsets and sunrises through the windows of libraries.
I frequented book stores; always searching for the next must-read. I’ve
filled my head with so much information, it started deleting, rebelling,
without me noticing.
This was a time before
insanity. An enemy I once thought of as friend.
I’m not a smart man. Not
anymore. I’ve realised that there is a simple soul behind every man who once
thought of himself as genius. Because I was, a genius, or that’s what I can
remember. This reminds me.
I should not forget to feed the
birds.
– the year of 1996 –
It’s
summer.
We aren’t spending the afternoon
outside like the others who are also known as reputable students. We should
rather be doing something else because we the majority is up to trouble. Well,
not yet, but things are moving into that direction. Soon, I’d be included.
I’ll briefly explain the
scenario:
We are inside a dorm room. It’s
overcrowded. Besides myself, there are four lazy-eyed guys smoking pot and
talking extremely slowly in between spontaneous burst of embarrassing laughter.
It’s quite idiotic to see. I don’t smoke. Never have, wanted to once but
couldn’t stomach it. I’ve come to realise that although my views were
non-traditional, I would never make the best rebel.
I’m not sure who’s room it is. They all look
the same, dorm rooms. One hardly spends time in your room if you study a course
as ridiculous as quantum physics or anything of the like. I’ve fallen asleep in
the library so many times the librarian keeps a blanket behind the desk just
for me. They think I am smart. ‘A Shiner’, I’ve been called. I don’t agree but
nobody listens to a fourth year with a hardly written thesis. Nobody except a
room filled with first years who are stoned as shit and who think of you as a
god.
The room might be that of the
skinny calculous genius cosying up to the only girl present. She’s studying
art, or something equally as absurd. It’s not a secret. Nobody cares about
Picasso or Degas whilst at University. This is the time to deny all of the
greats and assume that one day you’ll be one yourself. I see right through her.
Trouble, that’s what she’s all about. It’s why she is here instead of being in
class. One can simply tell that she finds academics a bore. The boys on the
other hand; this she finds interesting.
Whatever the reason, I’m here
because of Perry. I befriended him after meeting him through a guy with an
addictive personality whom I thought was my friend until he got busted and
landed himself in jail. Drugs. That shit is real and it’s among us. We don’t
talk much nowadays, myself and Perry’s friend who now sleeps in a cell. I won’t
say his name because although we can’t exactly be friends anymore, I respect
his privacy. So it makes logical sense that our friendship is over. Perry, on
the other hand, isn’t in jail and turns out to be a skilled barista. I mean, who
doesn’t love coffee? And not all of us got awarded with a scholarship cover
most of the expenses.
“So, who’s in?”
Now, when someone asks this, you
have to think carefully about your answer. But more importantly, what you are
saying yes to if indeed you are willing. It isn’t really a question though. It’s
a statement.
I say no. But I change my mind
since the other guys – their eyes red and popping – glare at me angrily for not
wanting to participate. How dare I? Cause it’s a statement and chickens aren’t
allowed here. They might not look dangerous, these first year gimps, but they
love to surprise.
Steward, the calculous genius,
takes out a bankie filled with something we should not be using, and hands it
to Jennifer. She digs in with long nails, starts sniffing like a pro.
“I’m out of here,” I say. Cause
shit just got weird.
“Hey!” Jimmy shouts. Or maybe it’s
Timmy. Or just Tim. “You can’t go now! We haven’t even started…”
Who’s stopping me? I sneak out
of the room with everybody noticing.
Anyway. I suddenly realise that
I should start with my thesis or something and staying here might be a massive
waste of my time. What am I saying? I’m procrastinating. And it’s not
convenient anymore. It’s becoming routine.
I bump into her the minute I’m
outside.
We don’t have that love at first
sight thing going on. I hardly notice her beauty, those eyes I’d get lost in
later on…her legs.
“Watch where you are going, man!”
she scowls.
“You walked into me!” I defend.
“Hey, wait, don’t I know you
from somewhere?”
I shake my head and move on.
Stupid girl. I don’t have the time for small talk. I simply have to get into a
cubicle and stick my head into a book. Or three.
I’ve chosen the worst topic to
do my thesis on.
Time travel. As if that’s ever
going to happen.
I wonder: Am I ever going to be
taken seriously?
– present –
Four hours ago I went into the future.
It sounds crazy, I know. I’m of
sane mind while I write this down. I’d never say it out loud. I might have
had a few beers but that was this morning and trust me, it takes more than a
few beers to make me drunk. To make me do stupid things such as announce to the
world that I’ve done the impossible, to travel back and forth in time and be
back for dinner without anyone noticing you were gone to begin with.
Ok, sometimes I’m not back in
time. Anything can happen and life usually gets in the way; that and
coincidence before its time. It’s not natural, I get it. You’d drink too, were
you me. I’ve seen things few will. The past is scary and the future is…well, I’m
not quite ready to tell anyone about the future. It’s a lot to take in.
I’m shivering and sweating at the same time. Barely
inside the kitchen, I look through the window and realise that the weather is
clear. It’s a fantastic day out. It must be thirty something degrees. I’ve been
back for only a few minutes, having experienced the coldest winter ever. Perhaps
I should take vitamins. Just in case my body doesn’t recover from the extremes.
And who knew? It’s going get colder. A lot.
I’m bothered. Suddenly I am
uncertain, too. Something strange happened to me. I saw myself. It hasn’t
happened before and I wasn’t expecting it. I won’t lie; it freaked me out. I’ve never paid much attention to age. I hardy even thought of it. Why would I? Now it’s
different. One glimpse of an old man who is me, being taken care of by a strange
woman I am still to meet in a time far from now, instantly changed everything.
I own birds in the future. Birds!
I have a care taker, too. I am very old, skinny; a confused man. I hardly eat.
I stay in the exact same apartment as the one I am in now. Haven’t I gone
anywhere? Done amazing things? I built a time machine for crying out loud…or,
maybe…no.
I should get rid of it. Today.
Perhaps, no…yes, I should go
back, one last time. Ask my older self the things I am wondering about now.
It’s dangerous, what I’ve done.
I can go back to the past right now and change the outcome. Find myself as an
old man, stuck in a different scenario. Maybe as a millionaire. Maybe as a
person sleeping on the corner of a curb in a street I am still to visit. Or
will never see.
Growling belly. I’m hungry.
My stomach does this every time
I return. How can my body be thinking of food when my mind is stuck in a rut? It’s
like I am in college all over again. Jared will be back from his trip to the
family in about two hours. I’ve had better room mates but he makes good tea. By
then I must have put the machine away and cleaned this place up. I should also
think of an excuse of what I’ve been doing with my time. I could say that I
read, which I do from time to time, but saying it aloud might make me a nerd.
Truth is that I have to start
pretending that my odd hobby is just that; something to pass the time. Get it?
My watch is gone. It’s not on my
arm and it was on my arm earlier when I left for the future. Did I take it off
while I was there? No, why would I? Could it have fallen off? Did someone pick
pocket it off my wrist? Am I going mad?
I can’t tell the time.
I turn my head slowly and notice
a flying car, hovering past outside the kitchen window. This is not good. Come
to think of it, the flat looks different. Which means…oh, shit. I’m not back in
the present.
My older self, somewhat grey but
not yet completely mad, walks into the kitchen. Dressed in a suit? With a
yellow tie? Reading the paper.
“Oh. Hi there,” I say to myself,
seemingly unsurprised. “There’s fresh coffee if you want some. I’m famished.
Care for a sandwich?”
Julie Combrink©
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