“The tortilla is malleable. And you can fold it up to where one piece barely touches the other end. Creating a kind of loop.” She watches me, eyes narrowing.
My heart stutters. I didn’t tell her I was stuck in a loop. How does she know? Or does she? Is this one of those phishing attempts where they are like, “You had an uncle with brown hair” or “You knew someone who died with a J name—John? Joe? Jerry?” and the dummy gasps and shouts “Javier!” and believes they’re legit?
But at this point, can I really discount anything? I’m the one stuck in this damn time taco. “How do I get out of the loop?”
“You’ve been stuck for a long time. And now? You’re only stuck because you think you are. You’ve been living behind a veil and the veil has been lifted. This isn’t a trap you need to escape, it’s an opportunity you need to embrace.”
Frustration makes my jaw clench, my hands twist in my lap. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” she spreads her hands out in front of her, “you’re not stuck, you’re finally free. Isn’t it a beautiful day?” She leans her head back, as if feeling the sun on her face, but when I squint up at the sky, it’s still foggy. Then she smiles again. “Sometimes life is as ridiculous as comparing time to a taco. Time is a construct. Past, present, future . . . these are things we’ve decided exist in some kind of order to try and force logic onto a more complex world. Minutes, seconds, days, years—humans created those concepts because we like to put things in their place. But reality, the here and now, is timeless.”
I nod. I mean, I get it. And it sounds poetic and Buddhist and everything, but at the same time, philosophy can’t help me get out of this damn Monday.
“Live in the now? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying, focus on the things you can control and let go of the rest. You have today to have your tacos and eat them too. Does anything else really matter?”
Yes! Like living the rest of my life! She wants me to let go? Let go of what? I can’t hold on to anything. I take a deep breath. “But what can I do then? To make things change?”
Her eyes meet mine, full of knowledge and something else. Peace. “Change is inevitable. But it doesn’t matter. We all have to come to terms with the fact that we have no control over the world around us, regardless of the passage of time. Change isn’t anything to fear. Change that happens around you doesn’t matter. It’s out of your control. There is only one thing we truly have power over.”
“What is it?”
Her brows lift. “Ourselves, of course. If you truly want change, it starts with you. When you’re on the right path, you’ll know.”
“How will I know?”
“Look for the signs. Trust yourself. You’ll know.”
Easy for her to say. I bet most of my signs will say “dead end.”
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “That’s great. I can change myself. Look for the signs. But that doesn’t really answer my question. How do I get out?”
“The only way out is through, and the only way through is to love, Jane.”
Well, that was basically useless. The only way out is through, and the only way through is to love. Love who? What does that even mean? Does it mean I have to fall in love with someone? Or get someone to love me? In one day? I’m twenty-five and I haven’t been able to get someone to fall in love with me in the two and a half decades of my life. Doing it in one day seems an exercise in futility.
I pace back and forth in front of my couch, wearing a path in the carpet, throwing my hands up periodically, and muttering to myself.
“I can control me.” Great. What about everything else? Everything that happens to me, everything other people do to me? How do I stop all that?
I cease pacing and close my eyes.
There have to be some positives to this situation and I have to find them or I’m going to drive myself into . . . something worse than what I’m already experiencing.
List. I need a list. Lists put things in order. Being able to see it all written out in black and white, something I can control.
Grabbing a pen and small notebook, I sit on the couch and start writing.
What can I be grateful for?
I’m still alive.
I’m not in any kind of physical pain, only emotional.
I never have to pay rent again. Or any other bill. My bank account balance will revert back to normal each day—at least I think it will since I can’t check it anyway. Should I write it down if it can’t be confirmed?
Might as well.
I can do whatever I want and no one will remember the next day. I could go into work naked and it wouldn’t matter. It would be like it never even happened.
I snort out a laugh. As if I could ever do something like that, even if it would be forgotten by everyone forever. I can barely handle talking in front of people fully clothed, let alone naked.
I want tacos. Food might help me think more clearly.
A couple hours later, I’m heading home with a bag of food and a crap ton of beautiful fabric I’ve been eyeing for months but was never brave enough to buy without risking homelessness.
And I found an old pay phone I had never noticed, back in the corner of the shopping center near the freeway. It was dirty and there was gum on the mouthpiece, but it worked. Tomorrow, if it’s still Monday, I’m taking a cab.
I’m halfway down my block, almost to the front gate of my apartment, when a tall figure with sleek black hair emerges from the front entrance and turns at the sidewalk, heading in the
