1
Hand-wash & Time
Despite recently acquiring a level of superhuman intellectual enlightenment, including, but not limited to, a profound understanding of the non-linearity of time, I had to concede that she'd always be at least two light-years ahead of me.
Her beauty had often prompted me to inwardly acknowledge an imbalance in our relationship. Her obvious intelligence even more so. But it now seemed, trumping both of those, could be her almost unbearable optimism. The ease with which she adapted to these new circumstances we both found ourselves in.
Exactly six weeks ago we'd woken up together, as usual, slightly miffed with ourselves for the – now seemingly unnecessary – excesses of the night before. It certainly wasn't the first time we'd ingested hallucinogens together. It was, however, the first time either of us had genuinely felt like we'd retained any of the magical enlightenment one might experience via such an endeavour.
There was no consultation. We didn't wake up, look at each other, and ask, “Do you feel different?” There was no gradual realisation. The disjointed and scattered, ethereal and utopian mish -mash of ideas had, in those few hours of sleep, become clear and concise to such an extent that they were in us. It was unquestionable, hard knowledge. Something we were as sure of as our own names and dates of birth - perhaps more sure.
Don't ask me to explain it. We weren't privy to this on a theoretical level. We still didn't see it as something that could be explained to the normally functioning human brain. We had changed. Our ability to understand. The way we interpreted information – it was fundamentally different.
What it meant was, we could both effectively time-travel. Or, more accurately, we could imagine ourselves in a time and place vividly enough to make it as real as it would have needed to be in order to change things.
I could go anywhere, backward to anything that I had already experienced, and forward to anything that could potentially happen, regardless of the multitude of permutations. Impressive, no?
But my beloved had a rather more expansive skill. She was now able to effectively transport herself to any place at any time, forward or back, that had happened, could happen in the future, or could have potentially happened in the past.
I couldn't say exactly why this began to drive a space between us. Was it because she had gotten everything I did and more? Or was it the specifics of it?
When we first started to toy with it, it quickly became clear that the thing she could do that I could not was easily the most interesting. And I couldn't join her. I suppose it helped that I knew she couldn't share it with somebody else, but still. Such a kick in the bollocks. When the most important person in your life looks at you with apologetic eyes and says,
“Babe, I quite fancied visiting 1969 San Francisco if Kennedy hadn't been shot. Either of them. You won't miss me for a few hours, will you?”
You'd have to be some kind of solid prick to make her feel bad for going. And I endured a good few days at least, of my own lamentations. Why me? Why was I bestowed with such illustrious power in such a backhanded fashion? But eventually, I tried to remember what made me me, why a wit so enchanting as Audrey had ever bothered with me in the first place. And, right or wrong, I saw myself as being the acerbic but painfully funny, intellectual clown. The guy who goes, “Ah fuck it”, but secretly wouldn't have it any other way.
So, that said, I set about putting my (still exciting) gifts to use. Though it seemed pre-written that I'd be doing penance. I'd have to help others. This was not for selfishness. Why? Maybe I wanted to appear to be a martyr for the recognition. Maybe I wanted to counter-weight Audrey's joyous introversion. Maybe I was just a good person and it seemed like the right thing to do. Although, even that – the feeling of knowing you're doing good – could be construed as selfish for the thanks it gets.
