The Egg Said Nothing Page 4

  She walked in. Her eyes jumped around the blank walls, pausing where things should be but weren’t. “So, you live here?”

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “Live as in just sleep?” She paused. “How much time do you actually spend here?”

  “More than I should,” I said. “Too much.”

  “And what do you do?” she asked.

  “I have delusional fantasies.”

  Ashley walked over to the living room window. “And what do you look at? Headlines?”

  “I don’t spend a lot of time looking out that one,” I said. “Or any of the others, to be honest. You know, I don’t know what I do. But, in the recent past, I’ve spent most of my time here. I’ve been in a rut. Things haven’t been going that well.”

  She turned to face me. “How come?”

  “I can’t even answer that. It hasn’t been any worse than any other time, I guess. It’s just me. I’ve sort of lost the will to do anything constructive with my time. But I think I’m getting it back.”

  “Oh, because of me, I suppose,” she said. I scanned her face, finding some trace of sarcasm.

  “I think so,” I said.

  She scoffed.

  “After knowing you existed, I realized I needed to change. I wanted to be the kind of person who could talk to you. Yesterday, I wasn’t.”

  “You talked to me yesterday,” she shot back.

  “Not really,” I countered. “I barely said anything.”

  “You could have.” She walked away, turning her head towards me as she moved. It was true, I could have. Much like I might have stolen a Mondrian painting.

  She sat down on my couch and threw her left leg up on the coffee table, the blue of her denim jeans looking almost gray in the light. “So, you’ve got me here. What are we going to do?”

  “The remote’s around there somewhere,” I said. I watched Ashley look for it.

  She looked up at me. “I can’t find it,” she said.

  “Probably lost in the couch cushions. We can do this the old fashioned way.” I walked around the side of the couch and kneeled down in front of the television.

  “What are we watching?” she asked, staring at the screen.

  “No idea. Doesn’t really matter,” I said.

  “Doesn’t really matter? After all of that shit about the quality of night time programming?” Her eyes accused me, but her mouth begged me to quit being so awkward and just do what came natural.

  “No. Not really.”

  “What kinds of movies do you like?” Ashley asked, chewing on a fingernail.

  “Horror movies,” I said. “Bad ones.”

  She turned to face me, crossing her legs. “Do you have an all-time favorite?”

  “Weasels Rip My Flesh, hands down,” I said. “It’s really awesome.”

  “Sounds like it,” she said.

  We both turned to the television. It was at a commercial. My eyes wandered, drifting back to my companion.

  “What?” she asked, catching my stare.

  “I just want to see what you look like up close,” I said, shrugging.

  Self-consciously, she brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. She appeared slightly uncomfortable.

  “Hey,” I said softly. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “What about you?”

  “I was just thinking there’s something about you that I really like. I’m so happy to be getting to know you.”

  She spread her fingers, and my fingers went over their periphery, creating an outline in the empty space. Suddenly, she pulled away. “Do you think this is going too fast?”

  “Too fast?”

  “I mean, it’s just been a couple of hours.”

  I grew more worried with each breath I took. “And what have we done?”

  “It’s more about how I feel,” she said.

  “How do you feel?” I asked, terrified.

  “I feel like I’ve known you forever,” she said. “But then I realize I don’t even know you. I mean, how much can you learn about someone over the course of a few hours?”

  Her words hung in front of her like storm clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance. “Maybe that sort of thing doesn’t matter,” I said.

  “I just wonder about tomorrow. Will we look back and realize how retarded we were being?”

  “We’ll just have to see, I guess.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She laid her head down on my chest. My fingers ran through her hair. It was silky, soft and perfect. I inhaled deeply, capturing as much of her smell as I could in the hope that, as my body used the oxygen, some part of her would become a part of me, so that when she’d walk away tomorrow, my heart destroyed and this day forgotten, I would have something.

  But, for now, she was sleeping lightly on my chest. I felt her warmth pressed up against me. Her feet were curled up behind her, tucked protectively in the couch. My dungeon looked much more welcoming because of her presence. I never wanted her to leave.

  I felt myself drifting away, happier than I could ever remember.

  * * *

  “Hey,” I heard a voice say. I opened my eyes a crack. The room was bright with light. It looked foreign, and it took a moment for me to remember where I was. And then to remember that last night’s situation hadn’t been a dream.

  “Hey,” I replied, looking at the face just inches from mine. She seemed excited. Her breath smelled of chips.

  “It’s morning. And I still like you,” she said, smiling sleepily.

  “You do?” I asked, almost in disbelief. Her face moved toward me in slow motion and, before I knew what was happening, her lips were on mine. They were soft and delicious. I responded in kind, and ran my hand over the small of her back. I tried to visualize what I felt, then realized what I was doing and brought my attention back to those lips. She pulled away and stood up. With her help, I joined her. She leaned against me and removed her socks. Her fingers dug into my chest.

  The pressure lessened, and she moved away, pulling me along backwards with both hands. She paused to kiss me again in front of the window. Holding her hips, I urged her on. She turned around and grasped my left hand with hers. She pulled me toward the bedroom.

  There she tore at my shirt buttons, unfastening them frantically. I grasped the bottom edge of her long sleeved t-shirt and helped it over her head, exposing pale skin to the sun’s scrutiny. I felt as though my heart had stopped, so I brought her close to me to catch my breath. Looking at so much of her was hell on the senses.

  She reached down and unbuttoned my pants; I reached down and unbuttoned hers. We shimmied out of our restraints and stood there, inches away from one another, her in her black bra and matching underwear, me in my striped boxer briefs.

  She pushed me backwards gently, but forcefully. I fell down on the bed. She crawled over me. I watched as she approached, her skin folding and stretching in delicate creases. I put my hand on her rib cage and slid it down to her stomach, my wrist at an awkward angle. She kissed me hard, and I felt her teeth behind her lips. I put my hand on her hip and traced the line between her underwear and her skin.

  “What’s that?” She kissed me again; I squeezed her thigh, digging my fingers into her fleshy posterior.

  “What?” I breathed in her breath. She licked my lips like they were Popsicles.

  “That.” She pointed.

  “Oh, that’s my egg.” I grasped the back of her head with my free hand, letting my fingers tangle in her hair.

  “Your what?” She flattened herself across my body. So much of her was pressed against so much of me.

  “My egg.” I threw my weight to one side and flipped us over.

  “Oh.” She hooked her thumbs around the waistband of my underwear.

  ~Chapter 7~

  In which the narrator experiences true happiness for a brief time, then finds his egg smashed on the floor.

  My eyelids were heavy when I awoke. They didn’t want to move. Of course, there was no r
eason for them to; I was content to be exactly where I was. But I wanted to see where I was again. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t asleep on the couch by myself, my arm only numb because of the awkward way I was lying.

  Opening my eyes, I saw what I wanted to see. It was beginning to darken as the late afternoon sun started to leave the room, perched nonchalantly on the edge of the window like an overfed cat. I felt Ashley’s chest swell and fall with each easy breath, the soft skin sliding underneath my arm. I couldn’t help but squeeze her tighter to my chest.

  The added pressure to her body roused her. I was far from disappointed, as the sound of her voice would be quite welcome. I felt an active need to have her eyes on me, just to be the focal point of her moment. Every second I spent with her was a second she could never take back.

  “Hey,” she said, snuggling into my chest. I ran my hand over her smooth stomach, allowing it to rest there.

  “Hey,” I said. “You’re still here.” Her face was turned away from me, but I could tell she was smiling.

  “I am,” she said. “How do you feel about that?”

  “I’m pretty fucking thrilled, to tell the truth,” I replied. Her laugh warmed the room even more than the lazy sunlight. “How do you feel about it? Any reservations?”

  “Nope. I feel wonderful, but I think I’ll have to go soon,” she said.

  “I’m not throwing you out,” I offered.

  “No, but I’ll have to get up eventually. I have to feed my fish.”

  “Your fish?”

  “Yeah. A slimy orange swimming thing. It lives in water.”

  I suddenly wished her fish had died a long time ago. “Oh, that kind of fish.”

  “Yeah, that kind.” Holding the sheet to her chest, she rolled over to face me. She bit her bottom lip. “What do you think of me?”

  “I think you’re perfect,” I replied truthfully.

  “Even though we just met and I’m here in your bed? You don’t think…” she trailed off. Her hands gripped the sheet more tightly now, as if everything that was going to happen was contingent on the next string of words to be expelled from my mouth.

  “I think you’re an incredibly strong person,” I said. “And I see this is something you would have rather had gone differently. But you’re willing to take a risk on something as fleeting as a feeling, and I think that’s awesome.”

  “But what if going so fast ruins us? What if I’ve just severed any chance at a real connection?”

  “What is a connection?” I asked. “Is it some defined number of months? Is it knowing someone’s shoe size? No, it’s something bigger than that.”

  “I guess you’re right,” she said, hopefully resigning herself to the idea.

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” I reasoned. “Let’s throw convention to the wind and scatter its ashes like some old dead aunt. And when anyone asks, we’ll say we’ve been together for a year. If that lady in the Laundromat thought it plausible, why shouldn’t it be?”

  “That sounds pretty good,” she said, looking quite relieved. Gently, I nudged her face upwards with my forehead and found her lips. Whatever her brain wouldn’t accept, I tried to explain to her through her mouth. She kissed me softly, but pulled away suddenly. “My god, my breath must be awful.”

  “It’s good,” I said, moving in again. She clasped her hand over her mouth.

  “Sweet, but no.”

  She slid away from me. When she got to the edge of the bed, she looked down and reached her hand out, gathering her underwear from the floor and putting it on under the covers. She stood and started her walk around the bed. Her underwear was riding up slightly from where she had pulled it on so quickly. With every step it rode a little higher. Absentmindedly, she adjusted it as she scanned the floor. She found her bra near the door, turned away from me and put it back on.

  Still, the view I had was near perfect. Ashley’s body was outlined in sunlight, giving me the opportunity to commit the shape of it to memory. She lifted her jeans from the floor and climbed into them, smoothing the fabric with her hands.

  She looked at me as she picked up her shirt, aware, obviously, that she was being watched. It seemed as though she was telling me that what I was doing was okay. Good. I was no longer willing to pretend I wasn’t staring, that this infatuation hadn’t completely taken over. She raised her arms above her head to put her shirt on, stretching her torso in a way that was probably almost as satisfying to her as it was to me.

  “I’m going to go,” she said, smashing my heart with a giant cartoon anvil.

  “When am I going to see you again?” I asked.

  “Later on tonight. You’ll be up?” she teased.

  “I’ll set my alarm.”

  She walked over to me. “Turn your head,” she commanded. I obeyed, grateful for the opportunity. She kissed me so softly on the cheek I wasn’t sure it had actually happened. “I will see you later.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” I listened as she walked away from my bed and towards the front door. I rushed out after her, locked all the locks and went back to the bedroom.

  My egg was smashed all over the floor, its shell broken. Amid the destruction, there was a disc, nestled safely in a protective plastic case.

  “Motherfucker.”

  ~Chapter 8~

  In which the narrator learns the true meaning of the egg.

  I knelt down and picked up the disc. Turning it over in my hand, I looked for some identifying mark. What the hell was it? I stood up and walked over to the bed to sit down.

  What did all this mean? How in the world did the egg break? It was so safe in its nest. Looking at the eggshell fragments hurt physically; this was something I cared for. I nurtured it and looked after it. I kept the fucking thing warm.

  Standing, I gripped the disc tightly in my hand and walked over to the computer. I put the disc in the drive and gave it time to load. After a few seconds, a window appeared, asking me if I wanted to play the content on the disc. I confirmed that I did and waited. My media player popped up and began loading an image. It was sort of grainy, but I could make out my front door, the back of my couch, the television. This video was filmed right where I was sitting. On my webcam.

  I looked at the small camera accusingly. It came with the machine, but wasn’t the sort of technology for which I’d found any use. Apparently someone had. I waited a few seconds and watched as a figure sat down in my chair.

  It was me.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. I didn’t do this. I hadn’t made this.

  Had I?

  “I know what’s going through your head right now, but do your best to stop thinking,” my likeness said.

  Let’s see what I’ve been doing in my sleep, I thought.

  “What I’m about to tell you is really, really fucking hard to believe.”

  Oh, you’re kidding. This seems pretty straightforward. I’m fucking nuts.

  “The timeline for all this shit is going to get confusing, but I’m going to go really slow. I made this video at 7 p.m. tonight. If you’re wondering, it is about 6 p.m. where you’re sitting at the moment. Look at the time on the computer.”

  I looked. 5:43 p.m.

  “Yes, seven o’clock tonight is about an hour and change in the future. Take a moment to accept this as a fact.”

  An hour from now? How could that be? I looked out the window; sunlight still seeped through. I turned around to see how it draped across the couch like a glowing stain. I faced the computer screen again. The couch was dark. It was nighttime whenever the video was made. Either that, or the window was covered. But why would I lie to myself? Forget everything I know, that’s what I’d said. Fucking listen.

  “Okay, good reasoning,” my mirror said as soon as I had made a decision. “I am making this video slightly in the future. I, myself, am from a good deal farther into the future. About twenty years, in fact. I look exactly like you do now because, when I came back, I had to make my appearance in a pre-existing
form. What this means is that, in about an hour, you will make this video.”

  That’s easily verifiable. I just needed to wait an hour.

  “Now, I need you to go into the kitchen. I’ve written you a letter explaining everything. It’s in the refrigerator.” My double reached over, grabbed the mouse and clicked something. The video ended.

  Too weird, I thought.