Miles From Nowhere
by Whakum
Note: New organization by Scene, not Chapter. Chapters will come when we have
enough written to compile them into a book. Typically a "Scene"
is updated all at once, while a Chapter will take longer. That said,
enjoy.
Prologue
5:00. My alarm alarums through the house. I slam
my hand onto the wretched thing and force it to shut off. I haul myself
out of bed and prepare for school. As I board the bus, the gray day
reminds me of the happier times of ages past.
Scene 1
Looking back on that day, I now know why I felt so strange. I
didn't learn until the bus ride home. I donned my headphones and waited
while the bus pulled away from the curb. I passed one particular street a
block or two from my home, and everything shifted. I can't think of
any other way to describe it. I just felt, deep in the pit of my stomach,
a sudden feeling that seemed to say "I don't belong here." Of
course, I didn't quite know what it meant. I got off the bus and walked
home.
I got home and opened the door with my key. Or tried
to, at least. The rusty old lock held fast. I pushed against the
door, then turned the key and shoved. The lock hadn't been replaced for
eighteen years. The door opened, and I stepped inside, greeting the empty house with a lusty "I'm home!" I
set my things down in the hall and went into the den. The furniture was
all new; it had previously been old and decrepit like the lock. My mom had
been wanting new furniture for quite some time, as anyone she knew could
attest. I passed it off with a shrug. Maybe our tax returns had
come. I flipped on the TV, also new, to find myself staring at a cable
channel.
I pinched the bridge of my nose to make sure I was
awake. We hadn't had cable before. This must've been bigger than tax
returns. "Did we win the lottery or something?"
I queried the empty air. I turned off the TV and heard the garage door
opening. I smiled and stepped out to the garage, intent on interrogating
my mother about her recent purchases. The door was opening on a bright
blue sedan; not my mother's car by any means. When the driver saw me
standing there, the car stopped abruptly. The driver's side door opened
and a young woman stepped out, also definitely not my mother.
"Freeze!" She yelled, turning on the headlights in
my face, "And put back my jewelry, before I call the cops!"
"Ma'am," I said, "You are contradicting
yourself. How am I supposed to freeze and put back the
jewelry? Anyway, I don't know who you think
you are to order me around inside my own home like that."
"Your home? Liar! This is my house!"
After a half-second of shock, I promptly and inexplicably fainted, slumping against the wall.
Scene 3
"Simply put, I rattled off everything I know about my
friend in New York. Judging by your reaction, it seems to match you
exactly. What this means is that I apparently bridged a gap between two
realities."
"You flew through a rip in the Trousers of Time?"
"See? I knew you'd be able to explain it," I said smugly.
"Whenever we make a decision, a new reality forms for
each possible decision we could make. Those realities branch off into
separate universes, and since each one is one possible decision made by one
person, there are theoretically millions of universes out there. They're
all the same distance away, and so they're everywhere and nowhere at the same
time."
"You know, I actually understood that. So I
bridged between two of these realities, and that explains why by some freakish
coincidence you now live in my house, do all the same things you did in my
reality, and have the exact same art style. Your screen name is different
because you never got involved with the website that gave you that alias.
In fact, I'll bet you twenty bucks that the website doesn't even exist."
"As nice as all this sounds, the Trousers of Time are purely
hypothetical. They don't exist, and neither should you."
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"This is preposterous! How do I know you're not
some deranged lunatic? You're pulling an--an elaborate hoax for some
bizarre reason beyond my comprehension."
"Why would I waste my valuable time with something that
incredibly futile if you're smart enough to figure it out? I wouldn't pull
a hoax on the woman who used to be my best friend."
"I don't know! I just got back from school!
I don't need this!"
"Okay, fine. We'll take this up after dinner.
Deal?"
"I don't normally eat dinner."
"Forget that!" I said sharply. "Tonight,
you eat a well-prepared meal, courtesy of my ample culinary expertise."
"Nice offer, but I don't have much in terms of
ingredients."
"Twenty bucks in my capable hands will have you eating
like a queen."
Scene 4
She gave me the cash, and I walked up to Kroger. Kroger
isn't the best of supermarkets, but it has a very convenient location about five
blocks from my house, and it didn't seem to be affected. Neither had the
prices; exorbitant but better than nothing. Twenty minutes later I left
the store carrying two shopping bags, thirty-one cents in change, and a very
serious hope that Jessica owned a frying pan. Fortunately, she did: it was
cast-iron, lumpy, and had a teddy bear shaped potholder on the handle. I
took one look at the thing, set it on the burner, and started its laborious
preheating. Meanwhile, I quickly whipped up a batch of raspberry muffins,
stashing them in the oven when the thing was warm enough. I tested the
pan, found it barely hot, and sliced up a fruit salad. I then scrambled
through the various cupboards, only to find that Jessica was lacking several of
nature's basic necessities, like a spatula and a cutting board. I set the fruit in
the fridge and prepped the chicken, improvising a cutting board with the Styrofoam
the chicken came in. I sliced the bird up, dredged it in
the flour, and set the coated pieces on a small plate. I sprinkled water
on the frying pan; and it had yet to finish heating. I flipped the oven to 400*
to preheat. Leaving the chicken, I got out a mixing bowl and mixed up some
raspberry muffins. I tested the frying pan again, to find it almost
ready. I hastily dumped the muffin batter into a pan and shoved them into
the heated oven. I looked around for the toppings for the chicken. I had
the lemons, but being a minor, I had no access to wine. I haphazardly
peered into the fridge to discover a half-empty bottle of White Zinfandel.
It didn't appear contaminated or too ancient for use, so I popped the cork and
doused the chicken. I flipped the bird pieces with a pair of salad tongs,
sat back, and waited.
I cautiously poked my head around the corner into
Jessica's room. She lay on her bed reading. "Jessica," I
said softly, "Dinner is served."
"Oh, okay," she said, looking up. She closed
her book, sliding a sheet of paper in as a bookmark. "What've you
got?"
She followed me downstairs slowly. "Oh, my
lord. You've outdone most restaurants."
"Ah, stop, you're embarrassing me." I
chuckled. "Now let's eat before it gets cold." Suddenly
the power died.
"At least it wasn't while I was cooking," I said
after a few seconds of shocked silence, "That would be a real downer.
Not to mention a waste of food. Got any candles?" Muffled
noises similar to opening a cupboard came from down the hallway. There was
a small thunk, and more muffled noises, this time sounding like
curses. A small glow appeared from around the corner, accompanied by the
hissing of burning sulfur. Jessica walked into the room, carrying a candle
in her hand. In the other she carried a tarnished silver candle holder.
"I rarely use this stuff any more. I don't usually
have much chance to entertain social company in a formal setting these
days. I inherited them from my grandmother."
"At least we can see to eat. Hey, I just realized
something..."
"What?"
"It's a candlelight dinner. How romantic."
Jessica sighed glumly. There was no more conversation
that evening.
Scene 5
I slept on the couch that night, in my clothes, wrapped in spare
sheets. I dreamt of my parents calling out to me, begging me to
return. I woke up in a cold sweat at what my watch told me was 3:27 AM,
and was unable to sleep again. I made pancakes using the skillet that
morning. The power had come back on after I had woken up, so I silently
wandered fixing clocks. I pulled out a hardcover novel from my backpack
and started reading. About a hundred pages later, Jessica wandered in,
rubbing one eye groggily. She yawned, and stretched her arms back behind
her head.
"What time is it?" I looked up, slightly startled.
I checked my watch. "9:37."
"Good thing it's Saturday, then. Why is my
alarm clock blinking when the rest aren't?"
"I couldn't sleep, so I reset all of these. I
didn't want to invade your privacy, so I left you alone."
"Thanks," she said, grinning, "I needed the
sleep."
"Don't mention it. I was just being
cautious."
"You know, you might just be a good person to have
around. Not only do you have phenomenal cooking skills, you're incredibly
courteous and well-behaved."
"Any other superlatives you wish to add to the
list?" I asked, grinning.
"Well, you're not too hard on the eyes..."
For that comment I threw a sofa pillow at her, laughing.
I cooked some pancakes using the frying pan. We sat
around for an hour or so watching old Bugs Bunny cartoons before I made a
decision. "I need to get out!"
"Okay," Jessica said, "Where do you want to
go?"
"I don't know! I just need to do
something! Normally I'd cook, but..." I drifted off.
"Okay. Let's go get you some good pans."
"What? Why?"
"If I'm going to stay here for any length of time I'll
need either a bike or some pans. Bikes are expensive. Pans are not
quite so expensive. Your choice."
"Fine, fine." Ten minutes later we were both
dressed and backing out of her garage.
Scene 6
We got back with a new set of Calphalon pans in the trunk
of Jessica's convertible. Calphalon is the highest quality brand of pan
available without access to heavy industrial equipment. Not only are they the best, they
come with lifetime warranties. As I lugged the things in and tried to
store them, something came into my mind. "Hey Jessica, how can you
afford all this stuff if you're a college student? Nice house,
convertible, broadband internet access..."
"Oh, I got a large inheritance when one of my relatives
died. I've got enough stashed away to live comfortably for a while as long as I
keep up my part-time job. You know," she said, looking at me,
"you're pretty strange."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Something just clashes. It's probably the fact
that every guy I've ever met has been a jerk, and you're so nice."
"Or that I like to cook. Most guys just like to
eat. I like to eat too, but I grew up in a house where the hamburgers were
actually more like charcoal than food, so I learned to fend for myself fast."
Jessica laughed, a light, musical sound.
"No," She said, "It's not that. I don't know what it is,
really. I can't put my finger on it."
"Well, that's okay. I've been called a lot worse
than 'Different.' In fact, I think I'll take it as a compliment."
As is obvious, I was resigned to my fate. Life
could have been worse for me than it was. And the way I saw it, I didn't
really have a choice. Sure, I hadn't had more than six hours of sleep in
the past 36 hours, but that wasn't getting me down. I had cooking
utensils, and I was content. Until we finished dragging the pans inside
the house and Jessica checked the answering machine.
"Hey, someone actually called! Let's see who it
is..." The traditional electronically produced monotone sounded from
the speakers.
"You have one new message. Message one."
Beep. A man's voice, moderately deep, came on.
"Hey Jess, it's me. Wanna do something
tonight? My roomie's kicking me out to throw a party. Gimme a call
back. Love you."
Scene 7
'Sounds like a sleazy, uncultured collegiate slob,' I
thought. In my mind's eye I pictured a 5'9", broad-shouldered
football player with greasy and unkempt black hair and a face that hadn't shaved
for three days. I shook the image from my mind. "Your
boyfriend?" I asked, stating the obvious for the benefit of the record.
"Uh...yeah..." she said, rubbing her forehead.
I stepped over to her. "Let me guess. You're
wondering how you're going to explain me to him."
Jessica sighed. "Any ideas?"
Being a man of proliferous talents, it didn't take me long to come
up with a plan. "I'm an exchange student from Canada. You
thought it would be interesting to have me stay with you, so I'm staying here
for the time being."
"What would I do without you?"
"Eat take-out," I said. Jessica laughed her
musical laugh again, hugging me around my chest. Being four inches shorter
than me, she was laughing into my shoulder. After she got it out of her,
she let go, turning away and blushing slightly at her actions.
"Hehehe...Are you really going to cook for us?"
"Of course! I need to test out those pans.
The question is, what do you want?"
"Oh, I don't know. Jerry likes seafood."
"Okay, let me think..." I grinned.
"Let's go get some scallops."
"Potatoes?"
"No, sea scallops. Very tender, very easy to
prepare, which is good since I'm not a big fan of seafood myself. You two can have the scallops and
I will have the leftover chicken and stay out of
sight."
The scallops wound up costing about thirty dollars to
prepare. I sautéed them because I love frying pans, and then drizzled
lemon juice over top of them as they cooked. I served them with some
short-grain rice and some fresh rolls. Jessica had called her boyfriend
and invited him over at 6:00. I yanked the rolls out of the oven at 5:55,
microwaved my own dinner, and scampered away. I ate upstairs and listened
for Jerry, who arrived promptly at 6:15. The rolls were quite cold.
I sat by the window and read. I saw headlights
approach through the dusk and watched them turn into the driveway. A man stepped
out of the driver's side of the car. I stuck my head out, risking a look to watch
him as he came in. He was, as far as I could tell, 5'9", broad-shouldered, with
unkempt black hair and a face that hadn't seen a razor for three days. Furthermore,
he was wearing a varsity jacket with a large football on the sleeve.
Why, oh why did I always have to be right?
Jessica leaped up and wrapped herself around him. So this was Jerry.
Fortunately, Jerry had a big, booming voice, so I could hear everything he said. They
laughed, and Jessica pulled him off down the hallway toward the dining room. This irked
me. I was no longer able to see them, but I could certainly hear them. The house was
dead quiet, save their voices.
"Hey Jess, what's with the meal? It looks expensive."
"Oh, uh...a friend made it for me."
"Really? You've got good friends. Dis looks delicious!" Jerry's
voice was starting to get on my nerves. His speech was slightly slurred. "Got
anything to drink?"
"Sure." I heard Jessica pour some liquid into a glass. "Here."
There was a pause. "Aah. Much better." A longer pause, presumably
as they ate. More sloshing. More of a pause. More sloshing. Lots more sloshing. 'Jerry
must be pretty sloshed by now,' I thought, peeved with myself for using the same word thrice
in such a short span. I was right.
"Jerry," I heard Jessica say, "We need to talk."
"Yea? Wasshoo wan?" Jerry sounded halfway to dreamland.
"I...I want to break up with you." Said Jessica, her voice cracking
slightly. "You're not the person I knew any more."
"Wha? Wha's 'at? You tink you can talk to me like dat?" Jerry's
voice rose in a hideous crescendo. I heard a sharp crack of flesh on flesh. "I ain't
gonna let you talk to me like dat!"
My soul was filled with rage at Jerry's acts. I made up my mind and
made possibly the wisest decision of my life. I rushed downstairs to the sound of
shattering glass. Jessica was crying, tears streaming down her face. Jerry's back
was turned to me. I picked up the cast-iron skillet I had used for dinner, and lifted
it on high. But somewhere in Jerry's skull two neurons floated through the alcohol and
connected. He turned, and caught the skillet before I could swing it down. I released
it quickly and rushed to Jessica's side. The skillet clattered to the floor as I wrapped
my arm around Jessica, who was clutching her cheek and weeping. She turned toward me and
sobbed into my shoulder. I glared at Jerry.
"You have two options. Leave, or stay. Leave, sleep off the
liquor, and never come back. Stay, and," I reached behind me and grabbed the cordless
phone, "I call 9-1-1."
"Oo are you to talk to me like dat? Do you know 'oo I am?"
"I know all I need to know about you. You've done enough damage.
Get out. Now." Jerry's neurons connected again, and after a few seconds his eyes widened,
and as Jessica sobbed and clutched at me, he turned and walked slowly out the door. I watched
his headlights turn on, and he drove slowly off into the night. I walked Jessica up into her
bedroom, and shut the door behind us.