Chances Aren't

by Young, Luke

  Did he really expect that I would sit in the room? I mean, what if I needed to go to the bathroom? Was I supposed to go in a jar? I'm a little hungry as well. Plus, if I don't get at least a look at Laura soon, I'm going to explode.

  I wrap the towel around my nude body and turn the room upside down looking for shower shoes or flip flops and come up empty. I open the door a few inches, look down at the dirty carpet and cringe. I go back and slip on a pair of tennis shoes and return to the door. After waiting a few moments, I head down the hall, then turn a corner and find myself at a dead end. Shit, I don't really know where I'm going. But the building isn't all that big so I should be able to find my way soon. After retracing my steps, I turn to the right this time and walk halfway down the hall until I see the open doorway to the bathroom. I hear music coming from behind a closed door across the hall and tip toe my way onto the filthy tile floor.

  I can't believe I used to walk barefoot around here back then. At some point, in my thirties, I develop a moderate case of O.C.D. that makes standing on this floor seem unimaginable. I suppose it would be a bit nerdy for a college guy, even in this bathroom, to wear shower shoes. I hang my towel on the hook then open up the shower stall door, dry heaving a little when I see the condition of the tile inside. For a moment I contemplate wearing the tennis shoes, but think better of it.

  Screw it; I step inside standing up on my toes as I power through the shower, grimacing whenever I look down at the brown base of the stall. Looking to the ceiling, I spot a serious mold growth problem and shake my head. I can't imagine anyone actually cleans this bathroom. Pushing those thoughts from my mind, I finish my shower, attempt to dry myself with the mostly damp towel then wrap it around my waist, slip into the shoes and head back to the room.

  A few steps down the hall a door opens behind me, but I don't look back. I hear, "Hey Ben, I thought you were working tonight."

  Without turning around, I quicken my pace and say, "Uh, yeah."

  Once inside the room, I find a pair of socks and sitting on the bed, use the wet towel to wipe off my feet concerned not only with the shower stall I was standing in, but that young Ben's shoes aren't exactly all that clean. I'm a bit disgusted in myself and I suppose, I really should have been a girl with these crazy habits. I find myself even studying the carpet in this room, which I'm sure hasn't been vacuumed in months, if ever. Breathing out deeply, I shake those thoughts from my head as I have more pressing and infinitely more interesting things to do.

  Searching through young Ben's pitiful wardrobe, I find a pair of khaki shorts that don't look half bad and a decent shirt. When I locate his underwear drawer, I'm disappointed. Nothing but tighty-whities, which I swore off more than five years earlier after catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror just after watching an episode of Californication. It's a show where David Duchovny spends most his time wearing nothing but boxer briefs and if I must say, he's in pretty good shape for a guy in his forties. I figured if it worked for him, why not for me.

  Continuing my search, I uncover his stash of boxer shorts. Since high school, those have been my sleepwear of choice, although I'm not a big fan of wearing them under clothes. They get bunched up and don't exactly provide much support, but I figure my balls can handle it for a little while, especially since going commando is really my only other viable option.

  After getting dressed, I perform a desperate search for cash, finding only about two dollars in change on top of the dresser and a single dollar bill in a drawer. I shove it in my wallet next to my unusable twenty-first century bills and put on a baseball cap and sunglasses that I found. Checking my look in the mirror, I find it's not the best disguise in the world, but I'm satisfied so I head out the door.

  I rush down the steps and out the front door, thankfully passing no one along the way. Outside I stand on the porch for a moment drinking in my surroundings. Taking a deep breath, a smile forms on my lips with the realization that I'm actually back— I really made it. And although seeing my former self here along with me has thrown a wrench in my plans, I figure I can still salvage something out of this opportunity I've been given. I head down the steps with a spring in my step.

  I need more money in order to eat. Less than three dollars, even in the late eighties, isn't going to buy much. With no ATM card my choices are either to rob a bank or head to the restaurant where I work to hit young Ben up for a meal and maybe some walking around money. Even though robbing a bank isn't a bad idea, since if I picked one far enough away from the ice cream place where the other me works, I'd have a perfect alibi, I decide to go with the restaurant. That way I'll also get to lay my eyes on Laura. I'll keep the bank idea on standby.

  I cross the street and the shopping center is right there. Reaching the front door of Swensen's, I check my reflection in the glass door before pulling it open. Standing inside the door, I scan the restaurant for Laura and don't see her. Next I look for young Ben and spot him walking away and into the kitchen. I ask a waiter I don't recognize where Ben's section is located, he points and I'm on my way. I sit facing the door and picking up a menu, I hold it close to my face.

  After pretending to study the selections, I look over my shoulder toward the counter for Laura, but there is still no sign of her. I wait about fifteen seconds, then do it again. On my third try, she's there. My mouth falls open, my pulse quickens— holy shit, I can't look away. She's at least five seven, tall, thin, gorgeous with her short haircut and lightly applied makeup— a true natural beauty with small, yet perky and perfect breasts, and a tiny nose ideal for her adorable face. Watching her as she waits on a customer, I see her glorious smile. I sigh, staring at her from behind the safety of my glasses. God, I missed her. I want her, I can't believe I'm here. I can't believe that later I'll be with her. I picture her naked and in my crappy bed in that crappy frat house doing—

  "What the fuck are you doing here?" Young Ben, my arch nemesis, whispers in a stern tone, yanking me cruelly from my fantasy.

  "What?"

  "What are you doing here?" He repeats.

  "I was hungry."

  "I told you to stay in the room."

  "Yeah, well, that's not going to happen." I whisper, "I didn't travel twenty five years into the past to sit in a frat house."

  He looks quickly behind him to see if anyone is watching us and turns back. "Look, you can't stay here."

  "Why not?"

  "What the hell do you mean why not?" He pulls up a chair from another table, plops himself down and stares at me with his eyes bugging out, his mouth open and his hands held open in desperation.

  "Okay." I exhale. "But I need money."

  "What?"

  "I need some money to eat."

  "All right." Pulling a ten dollar bill from his wallet, he hands it over.

  I look around him to Laura. "God, she looks exactly like I remember."

  He moves in front of me to shield my view. "Don't look at her. Don't screw this up."

  I scoff. "Oh, she can't tell it's you or me or—"

  "I don't want to take that chance."

  "All right." I pat him on the shoulder. "Hey, did you guys already make plans?"

  "What?"

  "For tonight. Did you guys?"

  "Yes we—"

  "She asked you didn't she?" I smile. "You're too much of a pussy to do the asking."

  "I am not a pussy," he whispers forcefully.

  "Yeah we are, or were… I should say."

  Shaking his head, he sighs. "Yes, she asked me."

  "Good, okay, remember don't do anything you wouldn't normally do... be your normal lame self, but not too lame."

  Grimacing, he looks at me confused. "I don't even know what that means."

  "You know what I mean."

  He looks back to the counter and I tilt my head to look around him. We discover Laura looking over and smiling, until her expression morphs into one of slight confusion. I duck my head back behind his.

  Young Ben waves to her before turning back t
o me and narrowing his eyes. "Get the hell out of here now."

  "Okay, okay."

  "You're going to 94th Aero Squadron aren't you?"

  His face drops.

  "Aren’t you?"

  "Fuck, I really hate having you here... and I don't mean in this room."

  "Jesus, you’re really mean," I say with an evil smile.

  Standing up, he pulls me to my feet. "Let's go."

  "All right."

  He motions with his head to the door and trails behind me as I walk that way. Once I hit the door, he pushes me hard and follows me outside.

  "Stay away from here."

  "Okay, I just needed to see her," I say pathetically as I gaze through the window to get another look.

  Groaning, he moves away from the store and pulls me along with him. "Well, now you saw her... and don't be in the room tonight when I get back."

  "Where am I supposed to go?"

  "I don't care, just not there."

  "I'll hide in Alan's side of the room," I plead.

  His eyes widen. "No way."

  "You won't even know I'm there. I promise."

  "Just like you promised not to leave the room."

  "No, this time I really promise."

  Closing his eyes, he sighs and runs a hand over his face. "I should kill you."

  "You know…" I shrug. "I thought about killing you, but it's probably not a good idea. I mean, who knows what happens when you travel back in time and kill yourself." He looks past me seemingly pondering it as I continue, "Does just one of us die… or do both of us die… or does it matter if the future one of us kills the past one of us or if the past—"

  "What? What are you talking about?" He glares at me like he wants to kill me regardless of the implications. "Have you been drinking?"

  "No, but I could use a beer or two or six. That reminds me, give me your ID."

  "Fuck you. Use your own."

  I roll my eyes. "My ID has a picture of a bald old... I mean, older man on it."

  He shrugs. "I need my ID for tonight."

  "Yeah, yeah... that's right."

  "There are a few beers in the room."

  "Okay."

  Sliding a few steps back, he peers into the restaurant. "Look, I've got to get back. Don't do anything stupid, asshole."

  "Me, you should… Don't fuck this up douche," I fire back.

  He narrows his eyes at me, pointing his finger at my face while curling his lip and I mimic it all back exactly the same just to piss him off.

  Grunting, he turns and heads back inside while I head the other way wearing a wide smile. I love screwing with him. It's just fun.

  Chapter 17

  I head across the street to Tartaruga's to enjoy one of my College Park favorites. It's a pizza place that makes the best chicken calzone that I've ever tasted. After placing my order, I sit at a table by the window sipping a coke and staring out the window to the front of Swensen's hoping for a glimpse of my Laura. She's not a smoker, so she probably won't be heading outside to take a break and there is little chance I'll get to see her until tonight and that is only if I can figure out how to pull that off when my evil twin will be attached to her, literally.

  I can smell the pizza dough baking in the brick oven. I miss that smell almost as much as I miss her and pretty much everything about these days of very little responsibility. It's incredibly freeing not being saddled with tons of bills, for cars, houses, cell phones, cable TV, Internet access, trash pickup and electricity. Setting your own schedule and doing what you want to do and when you want to do it, is truly amazing. You're happy simply with a few dollars in your pocket and a beer in your hand. Choosing a major that was fairly simple and being somewhat bright made college a bit of a breeze for me. Not to mention the much more important reality that a large school, with its twenty thousand plus students, meant large classes and a huge population of kids who just weren't cutting it. Those kids give you the best gift a somewhat lazy college kid could want; the gift of a big, fat, giant curve.

  Nothing takes the pressure off a college final more than the knowledge that you only need to score something like a twenty eight percent in order to keep your "A". This gives you the opportunity to "study" at a bar the night before said big final instead of somewhere more conducive to learning, like, let's say, the library. I did a good majority of my business school subject finals studying at "The Vous".

  I look to my left and see it, The Rendezvous Inn is, or was, its full name. It closed at some point after I left campus, either for repeated underage drinking violations or because a bouncer kicked a little too much of the shit out of some asshole who probably deserved it.

  I met a few girls there over the years, but I was by no means a ladies man. I did, however, get lucky a handful of times over my college career and mostly in my junior year.

  "Ben," the guy behind the counter calls out, pulling me from my walk down beer—spattered memory lane. My eyes brighten as I head to pick up my golden brown treat and side of dipping sauce.

  After returning to the table, I open the steaming pocket up and cut a few bites, allowing them to cool slightly before devouring them. I burn my mouth a little, but it's worth it; it's amazing. Just like I remembered it was. Looking out the window, I wonder if everything I came back for is as amazing as I remember.

  When the calzone has sufficiently cooled, I abandon eating it with a fork and take to dipping what's left of both halves into the dipping sauce, this time enjoying huge bites. I'm sure I look pretty pathetic going to town on it, but I don't care. Traveling back in time makes you a bit hungrier than you might imagine.

  Once I'm sufficiently stuffed, my thoughts return to more important matters, like how William could have left out the all too important detail that there would be another me running around as I try to relive this, the best freaking day of my life. Nothing throws a wrench in the works like a third wheel and I suppose I'm the third wheel. As I think about strategies that allow me to experience in one way or another what's destined to happen tonight, I come up with several possibilities that I plan to explore over the next few hours.

  After returning to my room at the frat house, I crack open a beer and down half of it standing in front of the mini fridge. I kneel down and peer under the bed frame discovering there is clearly not enough room under it for me to hide while things are going on up above. Plus if memory serves, some time is logged on the beanbag and floor by the horny couple and I'm sure to be caught. Grinning, I imagine that conversation with Laura, that is, after she finishes screaming, of course. Oh, don't mind him under the bed, he's just my future self who's come back in time to have sex with you. If you're interested in a threesome, we're here to help.

  No, that's not the way to do this. I wander over to Alan's side of the room. As I mentioned the room is unusually shaped. The wall separating the two sides must have been added at some point when this house was turned into a frat. I'd imagine it was simply a way to turn this large room into a double, and at the same time give each tenant a bit of privacy. The wall separating the two sides is constructed of regular solid drywall, which extends from floor to ceiling. Originally I described the room as "U" shaped, but a better explanation is that inside this large square space there is a "T" shaped wall separating both sides. At the top of the "T" is where the entry door is located. So in effect to travel from Alan's side to young Ben's side you need to walk to the far right corner, then turn left, walk past the door, then turn left again.

  I knock on the wall in a location that's in line with where I figure the bed is located on the other side, and hear the hollow sounds of a drywall cavity. Returning to Ben's side, I examine it from this perspective then look around the room. My eyes widen and I head back to Alan's side. I spot a poster on the wall next to the window tacked up with push pins and the gears in my head start spinning. The poster has a large black section that I think I might just be able to take advantage of after a little light remodeling.

  After gulping down the re
st of the beer, I search the room for tools and can find none. It's too late to try to find a hardware store so I explore my other options. This house must have a basement, and inside that basement there must be something I can use.

  Checking the time, I see it's just after nine and he and Laura are still working. I've got plenty of time. I grab another beer and sneak down two flights of stairs. I return with a small rusty drywall saw and screwdriver. Sitting on young Ben's bed I decide where the best place would be to cut my viewing hole. Okay, so I'm a bit of a pervert, but I came all this way, all these years back just to get cock blocked by my younger more inexperienced self. So if I'm not even going to get to participate, at the very least I should get a front row seat. I mean, this is not voyeurism; this is more like simply looking at yourself in the mirror. At least that's my mantra as I pop open my third beer and get to work.

  Twenty minutes later, with the one inch holes cut on each side of the drywall and the poster positioned correctly with a carefully cut same-sized hole in the black section, I nod my head satisfied. I can see the light shining in from the other side, but this is easily fixed. I run over to Alan's side and flip the switch returning to study my work.

  I'm convinced that without looking closely and knowing what you are looking for, you can't really tell that anything is out of the ordinary. I'm sure a couple of horny twenty year-olds who've had a few beers each and are so hot for each other that they're about to explode aren't going to be paying that close of attention to the, let's call them, flaws in the walls of the room.

  After returning the tools, I clean up the drywall dust from my project and return to Alan's side of the room laying in his bed. I figure he won't mind. We are, or at least we were, sorta close. We roomed together for a whole year on campus and then decided to share this dump for the entire summer. We lost touch after college. I did reach out to him at one point when I knew I was going to be in Boston on business and that's where he was living at the time. He turned me down, so this can just be his little way to make that up to me. The beer is really starting to kick in as I feel dizzy and good and happy all at the same time. I smile thinking about Laura as I drift off to sleep.