Tuesday Afternoon

It’s Tuesday. 

Tuesday means that you had work in the afternoon, and the morning was spent cleaning the house. It was your chore day, after all, and your responsibility to make sure everything was clean and tidy. 

Wake up, clean the house, get dressed. Eat breakfast, if there’s ever anything. Today is toast, because your parents forgot to go shopping, again. 

The toast burns. Whatever. 

Devin calls. Scraping the burnt part off your toast, you answer because you’re sure that if he’s calling, it must be important. 

“I think I’m in a groundhog day situation,” He says. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You know, like the movie. I’m reliving the same day over and over again.” 

“Time travel isn’t real,” You say, right before hanging up the phone. You have too much stuff going on to worry about his philosophical bullshit. He was your best friend, and you loved him, but sometimes he was too much to handle. 

When he calls again, you ignore it. You know you’re going to be late if you answer the phone, because Devin has a habit of rambling. He talks too much, and he’s way too into philosophy and the way the world works for your liking. 

You don’t answer right away, but you listen to his voicemails. 

“Please, I’m being serious. You have to believe me, I’ve lived this day before. Don’t go to work, please.”

All of his voicemails sound like this. You listen to them on the way to work, all twenty-two of them. It’s ridiculous. Devin knows you can’t afford to miss a day off work. 

Work is uneventful. A customer argues about the real meaning behind Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. Another tells you that they’ve been waiting their whole lives for their child to read Moby Dick. One asks if you sell comic books. 

“They’re in the back,” You say, because your boss thinks comic books are for children and doesn’t want to ruin the appearance of his bookstore. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” the customer replies, and you can’t really argue with that. 

When Devin comes in, you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. He looks like a mess— if you didn’t know better, you would’ve assumed that he spent the morning rolling around in the dirt. 

“Why haven’t you answered your phone?” 

“I’m not allowed to have it on me during my shift,” you tell him. He seems bothered by this answer. 

“You have to leave. Tell your boss an emergency came up.” 

“No. I need the money.” 

“We have to go. We have to get somewhere safe.” He says this with such confidence and conviction, you almost follow him. 

“Safe from what?” 

His face falls, in the kind of way like he knows exactly what’s coming. 

“I tried to tell you earlier, you wouldn’t believe me. I’m in a time loop, okay? The world is going to end and we have to make it to safety.” 

Any chance of you believing him now, falls flat. You’re disappointed that he is still talking about this because you hoped it was something serious this time. Something real, unlike the time that he told you that his entire day was ruined and he couldn’t do anything productive because his milk went sour. He called you four times about his sour milk.

“After my shift. I need the money, you know I can’t miss a paycheck right now. Besides, you’re talking nonsense, I can’t believe I have to explain that time loops aren’t real.” 

“We can't wait until after your shift. We have to go now.” 

You tell him after your shift and not a moment before. He pouts and sits behind the counter, anxiously tapping his foot the entire time. You almost kick him and tell him to leave, but you can see how worried he is. Whatever he thinks is going to happen, maybe it’s not worth arguing about. 

The moment your shift ends and you punch out, Devin grabs your hand and pulls you out of the bookstore. You trip over your feet trying to keep up with him, yelling the whole time. He doesn’t slow down. 

“We’re not going to make it. We’re not going to make it.” He mutters, instead of answering your pleas to slow down. He doesn’t even answer where you’re going, just continues pulling you down the street. 

Wouldn’t it be faster to take a car? You wonder. 

Suddenly, he stops at the street corner, out of breath and with a desperate look on his face. You still aren’t sure what he’s afraid of. 

“We aren’t going to make it,” Devin says sadly. 

“Make it where?” You ask. 

“Doesn’t matter. We didn’t make it in time.” He counters, turning around to fully face you. He grabs your shoulders with a sort of tenseness that almost scares you. 

“You have to believe me next time. I don’t want to do this again. Please, promise me you’ll believe me next time.” 

As you go to answer, Devin hugs you tightly, and then your vision goes white.

*^*^*^*^* 

It’s Tuesday.

Tuesday means that you had work in the afternoon, and the morning was spent cleaning the house. It was your chore day, after all. 

Devin calls as soon as you get out of the shower, and you hit ignore. Not because you don’t want to talk to him, but because it’s too early to listen to one of his conspiracy theories. About how JFK was really brought to a secret bunker on the Moon and a body double was killed in his place, about how Walt Disney definitely and totally is still alive, that Princess Diana faked her death and was still alive so she could steal the throne, and about how the movie Alien was based on true events told to the movie’s director by a time traveler. 

You don’t have time for that. Nobody has time for that. 

There’s not much for breakfast, so you settle on toast. It doesn’t burn, and you enjoy some buttered toast. 

Devin calls, and you ignore him again. 

You don’t even make it to work. 

*^*^*^*^* 

It’s Tuesday. 

Tuesday means that you had work in the afternoon, and the morning was spent cleaning the house. It’s always your chore day, after all, and always your responsibility to make sure everything is clean and tidy. 

Wake up, clean the house, get dressed. Eat breakfast, if there’s ever anything. Today is toast, because the rest of the cereal and eggs have been divided up for your siblings, who need the food more than you do. 

The toast burns. It is what it is. 

Devin calls. Scraping the burnt part off your toast, you answer because you’re sure that if he’s calling, it must be important. 

“I’m really freaking out, please don’t go to work today. Wait in your house, don’t do anything until I get there,” He says. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you think I’m crazy, but trust me okay? You can't go to work today.” 

“You need to stop listening to true crime before bed,” You say, right before hanging up the phone. You have too much stuff going on to worry about his paranoid bullshit. He was your best friend, and you loved him, but sometimes he was too much to handle. 

When he calls again, you ignore it. You know you’re going to be late if you answer the phone, because Devin has a habit of rambling. He talks too much, and he’s way too into true crime and the way the world should have ended in 2012 for your liking. 

You don’t answer right away, but you listen to his voicemails. 

“Please, I don’t know why you won’t believe me, why won’t you just believe me? If we were really friends, you wouldn’t go to work today. I’m begging you. I can’t keep going through this day.” 

All of his voicemails sound like this. You listen to them on the way to work, all twenty-two of them. It’s ridiculous. Devin knows you can’t afford to miss a day off work. 

Work is uneventful. A customer argues about the real meaning behind Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. Another tells you that they’ve been waiting their whole lives for their child to read Moby Dick. One asks if you sell comic books. 

“They’re in the back,” You say, because your boss doesn’t bother putting them on the shelves because he’s lazy. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” the customer replies, and you can’t really argue with that. 

When Devin comes in, you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. He looks like a mess— if you didn’t know better, you would’ve assumed that he spent the morning rolling around in the dirt. 

“Why didn’t you stay home?” 

“Because I have to work. You know I need the money,” you tell him. He seems bothered by this answer. 

“Yeah, I know you need the money, whatever. But we need to leave, right now, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“I’m not entertaining your bullshit, Devin. You know I need this job.” 

“Get a new one. I promise, everything will work out tomorrow. We just have to make it to tomorrow. Just… Come with me, okay? Please. I know it sounds crazy but we have to break this loop.” He pleads. He is almost on his hands and knees, and people are starting to stare. 

You sigh. If he is having a mental health crisis, then he shouldn’t be left alone. Besides, you wanted to quit this job anyway. 

“Fine. Let me grab my bag.” 

Devin barely waits for that, grabbing your hand so tightly that you are certain he’s going to yank it off. You run behind him as he runs to his car, pushing you towards the passenger side. 

In the car, he speeds down the road, paying little attention to other cars and basic road safety. You are certain you’re going to die in this car. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” 

“To the safe point, I mean the safety zone. The only place where we are going to be safe when the world ends.” 

You decide he has officially gone insane. “Pull the fuck over!” You demand. “I”m not going to join your stupid fucking cult, Devin!” 

“It’s not a cult, okay! The day has been resetting over and over again, and I’ve lived so many Tuesdays that I don’t remember what Wednesday feels like! You just have to trust me, okay?” 

Do you trust him? Your best friend since middle school, the one who you helped when he got food poisoning after eating cold pizza off the gym floor? The one who was currently speeding down a pedestrian road, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles look like a brand new shade of white? When you said you trusted your friends with your life, you aren’t sure if you were being literal. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Devin says sadly, taking his foot off the gas. You are still speeding down the road. “We didn’t make it. We never do.”

You don't get the chance to ask what he’s talking about. The vehicle isn’t slowing down enough for your liking, and as you look back onto the road, you’re sure that it’s the impact of the vehicle hitting something that causes your vision to go white, and not anything else. 

*^*^*^*^* 

It’s Tuesday. 

You wake up and Devin is already in your house. 

“You have to come with me.” 

“Get out of my house.” 

“Please. We have to get to safety. It’s the only way we’re going to survive this day.” You smell burning toast on the way out as your vision goes white. 

*^*^*^*^* 

It’s Tuesday. 

Tuesday means that you had work in the afternoon, and the morning was spent cleaning the house. It was your chore day, after all, and your responsibility to make sure everything was clean and tidy. 

Wake up, clean the house, get dressed. Eat breakfast, if there’s ever anything. Today is toast, because your parents are long gone and you haven’t had time to go shopping between your sister’s band practices, work and your own long forgotten schooling. 

The toast burns. It is what it is. 

Devin calls. Offers to drive you to work, and you accept because it’s very kind of him and it will help save you money on gas. It also means you don’t have to take the bus, if you really want to save money on gas.

But when you get into the car, Devin takes to the highway, and goes nowhere near your place of work. You have half a mind to grab the steering wheel from him, but you don’t want to get into an accident. 

“Devin, what the fuck is wrong with you? I need to go to work.” 

“Okay, here’s the summary. Groundhog day, I’m stuck in a time loop and you never believe me. I’ve tried everything under the sun, but I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. But I don’t want you to die, so yes I’ve kidnapped you but it’s for your own good.” 

He’s insane. He’s lost his mind. And he sounds like he genuinely believes what he’s saying.

“Time travel isn’t—” 

“Shut up, okay! I know! I know you don’t believe it, I know you’re super busy, and I know you don’t have time for this! But I don’t want you to die! I can’t watch you die, and I can’t just try and save myself! I always tell you the truth, and you don’t believe me! Why won’t you just believe me!” 

A desperate plea, so desperate that his tears cloud his vision and he takes the briefest of seconds to turn away from the road. He wants to look into your eyes, to see if he can figure out the clue that is alluding him. The clue to why you won’t believe his craziness. The clue that will tell him what’s wrong. 

“Okay, if this is a loop, tell me what happens next.” 

He hesitates. “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know? A loop means a loop, Devin. What happens?” 

“I don’t know, okay? Fuck! You always say that time travel isn’t real. And… and someone at work talks about Pride and Prejudice? And comic books, I think.” 

You aren’t impressed. “Devin, I work in a fucking bookstore. Of course someone talks about Pride and Prejudice. Some local high school is making their students read it and some dumbass asked me yesterday if it was written by Jane Eyre. Which is another book written by Jane fucking Austen. Try again.”

“Fine, you eat toast for breakfast!” He yells, panicked. “You eat toast for breakfast and it burns.” 

“I once ate toast for breakfast for an entire month because I had to buy groceries for everyone and all I bought myself was bread. That’s just a lucky guess at best.” 

You couldn’t really tell if he was crying or not, but his voice was starting to get choked up, and he was starting to sound panicked. 

“Why don’t you believe me? Why don’t you ever believe me?” 

It only takes a moment. A single moment, a moment where two friends lock eyes and in that moment, the car in front of you swerves in and out of your lane. No human's reaction time is fast enough to avoid the unexpected. 

This time, it’s a car crash that resets the loop. Not that you remember. All you remember is opening your mouth to answer him, your words turning into a horrified scream as your vision turns red, then goes dark. You don’t hear him calling your name when the vehicle stops spinning. 

*^*^*^*^* 

It’s Tuesday. Your chores day, the day you wake up and clean the house and eat burnt toast. Someone asks where the comic books are held, even though they’re in the front of the store. Sometimes Devin doesn’t come. Sometimes Devin does come. Sometimes you go with him. Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you don't even make it out of bed, sometimes you barely make it out the door. 

But you and Devin don’t survive Tuesday. You never do. You never do. You never do. You never do. You never do. You never do.