The days are long and the years are short

 Phoebe rushed into the store, stopping to clock in before she put down her purse. She had her phone out and it hadn’t rung–yet–even though she was a full forty minutes late. She didn’t know how it had happened since she programmed all her alarms a week ahead, but she had woken up in a sweat and checked the time, then brushed her teeth and ran out the door. The relief she felt a moment ago flew away as she looked to see that her shoes, while both black, were not actually a pair. She pulled her pants down on her hips, trying to hide the laces on her right dress shoe. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Larry, the shift manager, approached. His tone was quizzical, not angry, so hopefully no-one would notice her late time until they approved timecards. She might just pull this off.

“Hi Larry,” she said, forcing herself to be calm. “I know I’m supposed to be at the register, just had to check some stuff back here.”

“I’m pretty you aren’t on the schedule today,” he said. “Isn’t this your Sunday?” 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s Wednesday. I work Wednesdays. Wednesdays are my Mondays.” 

He stared at her for a moment, quiet, then pulled out his phone. 

“Girl, you are wild!” He said, laughing, as he held up his old Galaxy. “It’s Tuesday. Had me doubting myself.” Larry’s background was a photo of the sexy Old Spice centaur, but over it she could clearly see the date. She caught herself laughing along with him, genuinely laughing. Phoebe had always been embarrassed by her real laugh (too loud, too deep, a witch’s cackle) until a guy she dated said it was his favorite thing about her. They broke up anyway, but she always remembered that. She had been working with her therapist on social anxiety and not pitching her laugh more feminine was part of it. 

“Oh my god,” she said, “I was so freaked out. I’m clocking out and going back to bed.” 

“Get out of here!” Larry said, still laughing. “And take your mismatched shoes with you.”

Phoebe didn’t answer, but she did yank at her pants as she walked away.

He was less forgiving the next time.

“Pheebs, you know you do good work, but you have to show up when you’re scheduled. This is your second no-call, no-show and I have to let you go at three.” He knotted his braids, avoiding eye contact, then looked at her. “Unless you’ve got something going on? Maybe a medical condition, something to accommodate?  If you need FMLA or anything, just tell me.”

She could hear what he didn’t say: Please don’t make me fire you.

She stayed up that night. She knew she’d been missing time, skipping days, and she thought that if she didn’t sleep, she would… she didn’t know, exactly, but something. She sipped an energy drink and put on a flashy action movie, resolving to stay awake until her opening shift the next day. At around midnight, she started doing jumping jacks. At around 3 am, she put on The Lord of the Rings director’s cut. As the last movie ended, the sun rose. Phoebe splashed water on her face, made sure her shoes matched, and left for work. She was too tired to drive safely, so she walked to the bus stop. As she left the apartment, her phone lit up. 

Larry: Where are you. Are you all right. Are you coming in? Just reply so I know you’re ok please. 

Larry: Call me.

Mom: Your sister wants to know if you can help with her rent. I told her maybe. Call her.

        Dr Jenn: You missed your last appointment, please let me know if you want to reschedule. Hope all is well.

Phoebe turned her phone off. It had been three days. She didn’t call Larry. She knew she didn’t work there anymore. She didn’t call her Mom. Her sister could figure out her own rent. Phoebe turned around and went inside, limbs leaden and brain sludgy, fetid like the build-up at a street corner when the drain is blocked. 

Outside, the world moved slowly around her. She had never been a fast walker, but she passed teenagers easily and couldn’t understand their high-pitched speech. Small branches that she normally easily brushed by instead tore her clothing and scratched her scalp as she ducked through. Her door hit a resistant air pocket as she opened it; the hinges creaked. It wasn’t meant to move that fast.

Phoebe stayed in the apartment after that. She had a few months of savings and her bills were on autopay, so she didn’t worry too much. They would kick her out or they wouldn’t. She opened the door once more so her cat could escape. Phoebe barely saw her, a streak of grey running hungry outside. She stared at the photo of her and Miss Kitty when she first got her and Phoebe wished, staring for a moment that lasted a day, that she felt anything. She didn’t feel relief, let alone sadness. She felt only a small resignation that she was truly alone now. Larry wouldn’t reach out again. Her family only cared about her paycheck. Miss Kitty Fantastico was making her own way, out of an apartment where time was strange and her kibble had run out.  

She initially worried about water. 

Three days, maybe a week depending, then you die. With great effort, she turned on the water in her tub. It filled in an instant. She meant to cup it in her hands, not thirsty but not wanting to die, and stopped to stare at it. She was fearful from a distance, wondering what would happen if she touched it. Unbreakable surface tension? A small explosion? She hadn’t eaten in–probably weeks from the outside, a day or two subjectively. She tentatively poked the water, surface like a brick, and gave up on it just like she gave up on food. Her kitchen clock had stopped running, but the sun rose and set too quickly outside. Her savings wouldn’t last much longer. She moved to the closet, staring at the clouds through the thin window. Someone took her belongings out of the apartment and someone else’s clothes appeared around her. Sometimes they piled on her as she sat, unnoticed, watching clouds speed by uncaring. The world was moving faster now.

She left one last time, sneaking out in a blur when they left the closet and back doors open. Walking through the apartment, she carefully moved around chairs in unfamiliar places. Her muscles ached with disuse, but she made it through the back door before it closed. She might have seen the residents, a ghostly flash in the corner of her eyes, but she wasn't sure. Phoebe sat between patios on cool tile, marveling at the breeze on her skin. She thought about stepping on the grass but shivered in panic before she moved off the concrete. 

Relativity. 

It was hard enough to move across smooth wood floors, but what would grass do to someone going thousands of times faster than she should? She couldn’t break surface tension before and her speed now was faster. There was no chance she could turn on a faucet any more…. Phoebe was never good at physics, but she knew mass increased with speed. She knew just enough to know she had no idea what actually happened with inertia. And she knew the green moving like a fluid thing in front of her was a thousand tiny blades waiting to slice her feet apart. She breathed deeply, sheltered by the overhang of the roof, dreading and welcoming rain. Time breathed around her like tides, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, and she flowed through it like kelp.

Empty, she faced out: the world a peaceable grey-orange of sunrise and sunset unending.