Rinse & Repeat

Tomorrow begins in tragedy. I know this, but I can’t do anything about it.

That sounds weak, a cop-out, but it’s the truth. Don’t you think I’ve tried?

I’ve tried so many times. I tried to stop it myself once. That didn’t end so well. Another time, I told those with the power to do something, but they didn’t believe me. When it happened like I said, they thought I planned it.

I tried to help. It ruined my life and didn’t save anyone.

I can’t do anything, so stop worrying. Stop thinking about it. Keep my head down and act shocked with everyone else tomorrow. Sink into despair with the rest of the world. Mourn. Flow with the way everything changes. Believe them when they say it’s to keep everyone safe.

Do we all do this, or is it just me? Live, die, and start over right where we began, forgetting we’ve already played this game? Why do I remember how it went? Hundreds, maybe thousands of times. I’ve lost count.

I’ve changed things, sometimes even big things. One slight variance can have a ripple effect, but nothing I’ve ever done has prevented tomorrow’s massacre.

Headlines flash in my brain. News anchors cloaked in calm concern tell the story. No one else in this gas station convenient store has any idea. Don’t let it show on my face. They’ll think I’m crazy.

Coffee. That liquid black hole will drown this useless worry. Stay steady, feet. Not too fast. Hold the cup like an adult. Don’t fidget while waiting in line to pay. Think nice thoughts.

That job interview went well today, just like last time.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

If only I could have told them the truth. I’ll work there for the next fifteen years, and my face will cover the employee-of-the-month wall.

Instead, I watched their fake smiles turn genuine as I said exactly what I needed to reel them in. Took me several lifetimes to figure out what that was, but the lines are old at this point.

This coffee is so expensive, but that’s fine. I’ll have a job soon. It pays well and is fun. No matter what happens in the morning, life goes on. It always does, and it’s not my fault. I couldn’t and can’t do anything to change it, so stop thinking about it.

Maybe I’ll change my name. Haven’t done that in a while. I always end up being born Joe again, but there are too many Joes in this world. We even call this black magic drink a cup of joe.

I’ve had lovely successes as a Xavier, exotic but still recognizable. I’ve always wanted to try being a Pierre. Yeah, I’ll do that. Just got to get back to my car and—

“Oh, I am so sorry. I’ll buy you another coffee.” Her soft, quick voice mimics the beat of a hummingbird’s wings and rings as sweet as the nectar they drink.

Don’t stare, or she’ll think I’m a creep, but why does she need to buy me another coffee?

Oh, she spilled the one I had. Its heat seeps through my shirt and drips down my chest. I should probably get a napkin or something. It burns.

I really should stop staring, and I definitely shouldn’t follow her, but I’ve never seen this woman before, not in a thousand lifetimes. Not in this store, not any—

Wait, what time is it? I know what happens next. A bell will jangle as the door opens, and beneath that innocent, hollow metal tube will stand a man dressed in a long, black vest that looks like it got caught in the wheels of his motorcycle a few too many times. A navy-blue rag covers his head, and opaque shades shield his eyes, though today is by no means sunny.

Frozen, I watch the scene in my memory and in real-time. His every step is a power chord at a rock concert, grout loosening under the soles of massive boots. Chains hiss like snakes. He’ll go over to the peanuts and—

This time, he doesn’t make it to the nut display. Only halfway there, he crashes into my mysterious lady as she hurries to pay for my second cup of coffee. She spills this one, too.

I’m there the moment the light hits the blade of his switch knife. Each time I witness this scene, he stabs the first person he interacts with, then pulls out the gun tucked in the back of his belt, takes everyone hostage, and empties the cash drawers. It always ends in a shootout with the cops.

But I know how he moves. I know what weapons he has and where. I know what’s coming. I grab his wrist and swing around his side, reaching for the gun.

Just knowing is not enough. My stomach hits the tile. The dirty floor feels cold against the fire in my side. It reeks of ammonia and cow chips, then iron as red replaces the mud streaked off-white. I taste the metal, too.

The screams sound so far away. When did someone lift my head into a lap? These thighs are so soft. The fragrances of baby powder and coffee waft from her pastel blue pencil skirt. Too bad it’s got blood all over it. My fault. That’s my fault. I have to get up. Apologize.

Can’t. None of my limbs report in.

“Hang on,” my mystery woman whispers in my ear. “Help is on the way.”

It’s too late, though. They don’t have the medical expertise to save me yet. I’ve died a thousand deaths. Heart attack. Drowned. Crashed. Shot. Crushed. They’re always different, but there’s always some part that feels the same. The insatiable pit of cold has already opened in my core. I’m not going to make it, but I let her hold my hand anyway. It’s nice. Warm. How great would it be to get to know someone again?

I focus on her, soaking in every detail, but she’s mostly a silhouette. Tight coils of hair form a dark cloud around her petite face. She’s crying.

“Hey.” The word is an exhale. My chest weighs a hundred pounds, my throat two hundred. I can’t feel my tongue. Can barely feel my lips. “What are the instructions on the back of a shampoo bottle?”

She blinks, and tears alight on my cheeks, but I don’t mind. With each flutter of her lashes, the slate green of her eyes strobes. It’s my new favorite color.

“Um, lather, rinse, and repeat?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do, and then, I’ll make sure I find you, alright?”

Her mouth moves, but my ears have already checked out. Death is here for me again. I see him, darkness sweeping from the edges of my vision. Why does he always throw me away, throw me back like a runt of a fish?

This time, when he does, when I’m living this life again, I’ll make sure I meet this coffee-spilling beauty sooner, and I won’t waste a second with her.

For me, tomorrow begins with hope that this time, it’ll go better.

~fin~