The Run-In

It was the advent of that early winter flurry that signaled the days with too much time with too little to do for Alexander Lomack. With those hours so voraciously unattended, he brought himself again and again to the same mahogany stool of the lounge where the well vodka would take the last of the straggling singles from his wallet.

“What will it be, sir?” asked the sprightly young bartender, looking barely old enough to imbibe himself.

“Vodka tonic,” Alexander replied curtly.

“Of course, and which vodka would you prefer?”

Amused that he looked respectable enough to be even asked such a question, Alexander savored the moment, sustaining a thoughtful pause as if he weren’t down to his last dollars. “Cheapest you have is fine.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Within seconds, the fingers that had just begun to defrost from the whipping cold that plagued the outside streets were clutching a glass of vodka pooled over perfectly cubic blocks of ice. A splash of tonic water and a depleted lime wedge bobbing up and down feigned some modesty for the whole affair.

“Another?” asked that shrill chipper tone.

Alexander looked down at his glass and found it empty. “Sure.”

If it was as bright as it had been, it surely would be daytime still, thought Alexander. But it was not bright outside. Instead, it was an impeccable maroon and blue. Had so much time really passed?

He raised a finger to signal the young bartender but was greeted by a middle-aged woman with long gray streaks of frazzled hair that extended down to her crimson vest.

“What time is it?” he asked her, and he swore that he was not slurring.

“Just a bit past eight,” she replied.

“Damn. It’s late.”

“It’s getting there. Want me to call you a cab?”

“No, you can just get me another one of what I just had.” His empty glass was tinged a telltale amber. He wondered how long ago he had switched from vodka.

“I don’t think so, sweetie.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be gone after the next one.”

“Sorry, hun.” She turned to deal with other patrons who were of more sober composure.

“Wait!” Alexander called after her. But she was gone.

With a groan, Alexander buried his face into his palms. The drunkenness which he had managed to ignore thus far took a firm grasp of his attention by means of a wave of nausea.

“If it isn’t Alexander!” a voice behind him exclaimed with an unfortunately timed pat on the back. Suppressing the irresistible urge to vomit, Alexander turned around. He saw a man who appeared absolutely, undeniably elated to see him.

The man sat down on the stool next to Alexander and carried on as if such an occurrence were the highlight of his recent years. “I have to say, I wasn’t sure at first. But when I was walking by, I thought to myself, ‘Now, if that there isn’t my friend, Alexander, then I must be as stupid as a drowning fish.’ Sure enough, here you are! What a fantastic surprise this is.”

“Mhmm,” Alexander returned. He had no idea who this man was.

“What are you drinking? Let me get you another round.”

Alexander gulped down what he could of his nausea. “Can’t, they’re cutting me off.”

The man looked truly offended on Alexander’s behalf. “What a shame!”

Alexander shrugged. “I probably have had enough for tonight.”

The man laughed. “Alexander, the day that you turn down a drink is the day they bury your drunk ass in the ground, and even then, you might claw your way out if there’s booze at the reception.”

Alexander gave a drunken chuckle. “You have a point there.”

“Ha! I know your vices, friend. And I intend on celebrating this particular vice of yours tonight. What do you say we get out of here and go someplace where they don’t have your mugshot on file yet?”

Alexander attempted a nod, but he only managed an off-center head tilt. “Yeah, I guess we can.”

The man shot up from his seat and eagerly pulled Alexander along with him. “That’s the Alexander I know! Come on, I know just the place to go.”

It became apparent from his first steps that walking would be no easy task for Alexander.

“Just a little farther,” the man promised, offering his shoulder for support.

The alleyways and street signs they passed were innumerable and Alexander was in no state to keep track of how many minutes had past. The man kept telling him that they were almost there, but his faith in such reassurances had diminished.

As soberness returned to him like a fever breaking, Alexander became all too aware of how senseless it was to be following a would-be stranger around the unfamiliar depths of the city in the dark of night. “You know what, I think it would probably be for the best if we caught up some other time. I should be getting back home.”

The man was not deterred in the least, and he shot down Alexander’s misgivings with a resolute grin. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t let you go before you’ve had at least one drink with me, my friend. And would you look at that! We’ve arrived.”

The man stood in front of a door that was entirely inconspicuous. One passing by it might have thought it to be nothing more than a storage closet. No flashing signs or thriving clientele gave any indication that this was the entrance for a bar worth traipsing halfway across the city for. Alexander raised an eyebrow. This is it?”

“It sure is.”

The man banged on the door eagerly. The door swung wide open, pulled back by some unseen force, and the sounds of jollity ushered them both inside.

Alexander was never one to deny when he was wrong, and if there was ever a moment for him to recant first impressions, it was upon entering the so-called “bar”. Standing in the atrium under a towering ceiling housing enough chandeliers to humble regality, he could do little more than stare with awestruck eyes. Along three levels, there were a myriad of lamp-lit tables where a bustle of gown-clad and tuxedo-donning patrons sat sipping away on fashionable cocktails.

“Would you look at this place?” Alexander whispered.

“Isn’t it something?” the man returned. “Only the best for you, Alexander.”

The host, looking very prim and proper in a smart white coat and black bow tie, approached them. “Ah, welcome back. Your regular table I presume?”

“Thank you, the regular will be just fine,” the man replied.

“Excellent.” The host led them up the velvet-carpeted stairs to the third floor. There, he sat Alexander and the man at a secluded table.

“Can I bring you anything at the moment?”

“Just two glasses of that Merlot I like,” the man said.

“Of course.”

Alexander couldn’t help but savor the aroma tingling up his nose. And he didn’t even like wine.

“It’s from my favorite vineyard,” the man explained, swirling the contents of his glass.

“You have good taste,” Alexander said, bringing his glass to his lips.

“Wait, we have to toast.”

“Alright, to what?”

“To unexpected run-ins!”

They clinked their glasses and took sizeable sips. Alexander wiped his mouth. “That’s pretty good…for wine, you know.”

“You never were a fan of the stuff.”

“I must admit, and I hope you aren’t offended,” Alexander began, “but I have absolutely no idea who you are.”

“Ha! Of course, you don’t! Why would you?”

Alexander rested his glass warily. “What do you mean?”

“You only met me tonight.” He winked and took a sip. “You can call it our first date.”

“I thought you said we were friends?”

“Well, aren’t we friends now?”

This was the last straw. Alexander got up and began putting on his coat. “I don’t know who you think you are or what your deal is, but I’m done for tonight. Thanks for the drink, but please stay away from me.”

The man looked amused. “I wouldn’t get up just yet. You haven’t noticed it, but I’m holding a gun beneath the table and I might have to use it if you don’t sit back down.”

Alexander quickly returned to his seat. Whether the threat was empty or not, he figured it was best not to provoke the man. “What do you want?”

“I just want you to perform a small task.”

“What is it?”

“Prove to me that you are you.”

Alexander blinked in confusion. Had he heard the man correctly? “You want me to prove…that I’m me?”

“Exactly.”

Alexander slapped his cheeks, tapped his forehead and drummed his chest. “Well, there you go. Here I am. In the flesh. Right in front of you. I’m about as me as I can be.”

The man laughed. “Sure, I can see you there. But I’m going to need more proof than that. I need proof that you are really you, that you are Alexander.”

“That should be easy enough. What do you want to see? ID? Credit card?” Alexander reached for his wallet, but it wasn’t there. “Did you take my wallet?”

The man halfheartedly shook his head, his perpetual smirk mocking Alexander’s frustrations. “You probably dropped it somewhere.”

Alexander checked his front pocket and then his back, but they were all empty. “And my phone too?”

“You should be careful with these accusations. I’m the one with the gun, remember?”

“Well, what else can I do? What proof do you want to see?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “How would I know how you can prove that you are you?”

“You’re insane.”

“Again, with the accusations.”

“What’s so special about me? I don’t have any money. There’s nothing I can give you.”

“There’s nothing special about you, Alexander. Everyone meets me sooner or later. And I don’t have any use for your money. I already told you what I want.”

Alexander groaned. “I don’t know what to tell you. I know that I’m me and I can’t really transfer my thoughts and memories into your head, can I?”

“What memories do you have?”

Alexander thought for a moment. His face fell. “None. I…can’t remember anything.” Fear coursed through him in disorienting torrents. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to summon some long-ago image, any flicker that could reveal a lifetime lived. But his efforts were futile. He opened his eyes to see that chronic grin still glaring back at him. How could he have ever thought that it was a man sitting across from him?

“Do you give up?” asked the shade.

He shot up from his seat and grabbed the shade by its shoulders. “What’s going on? Why can’t I remember?”

“Don’t worry, everything’s just as it should be,” it replied coolly.

“Don’t worry? You’re the one holding me at gunpoint!”

The shade presented both of its empty hands. “I admit, that was a bit of dramatic liberty on my part. See? No gun. There’s no danger.”

This did not comfort Alexander in the least. Free from the threat, he dashed to the closest adjacent table where a group of women were engrossed in a raucous debate.

“Please, can one of you help me? I need to get back home,” Alexander pleaded, halting their conversations. He received only blank stares in response.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” one of them finally asked.

“I’m sure he’s a little gone in the head,” replied the woman sitting next to her.

Alexander banged his fists down on the tabletop. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m in trouble!”

“Ugh, let me call someone over, I don’t want him ruining our night,” the first woman continued. She raised her hand to flag down some help. “Excuse me!”

The host came over and gave Alexander a cordial smile as if nothing was out of the ordinary and then turned his attention to the party at the table. “Yes? How can I be of assistance?”

“This man is causing a fuss, could you get rid of him?”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

Alexander became livid. “What’s the matter with you all? Don’t you understand?”

The host rested his hand comfortingly on Alexander’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to return to your seat, sir.”

Alexander knocked the host’s hand away with an enraged swipe. He bolted away and began searching for anyone who would listen.

“Please, can you help me?” he asked the bespectacled man sitting nearby. But the old man only grunted and returned to draining his glass of beer.

“Can you tell me what is going on?” he entreated a young woman who only glanced at him long enough to scoff.

Drowning in desperation, he leapt from table to table, crying out and screaming, but no one cared.

Alexander couldn’t stand it any longer. Suffocating in the cloud of nonchalance and apathy that hovered in the confines of those ornate walls, he yearned for lucidity of any sort. For a moment, he wondered if he would even be able to find the exit out of the place. But, maneuvering through the maze of indifferent spectators, he finally found the door that the shade had brought him through.

Outside, he found the night as cold as ever. Collapsing onto his knees, he heaved in the frosty air hoping that he could inhale some clarity as well.

“It’s chilly out here, isn’t it?” the shade asked from behind him.

“Yes,” he replied.

It sat on the ground beside him. “What is your name?”

“I…don’t know,” the boy answered.

“That’s alright.”

Like a spool of yarn unraveling after an unexpected tumble, the world around them began to dissipate. The grays of the concrete and all the blues of the night became strands of light that were unwoven one by one until all that remained of them was their absence. The entirety of the universe became emptiness and the boy was left existing in a void where there had never been color and had never been memory.

“Where are we?” the boy asked.

The shade laughed. “We are nowhere! And I do mean that in an absolutely literal sense.”

“Why? What’s there to see here?”

“Nothing at all,” it replied slyly. “But there are times when nothing is all you need.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s better experienced than heard. Would you like to see?”

The boy nodded. Then he was alone. In the blankness of nothing, a singular sense began to grow. It engulfed him in something of an epiphany. Every secret ever shrouded by the vagaries of the cosmos surged in through his eyes and ears like an ocean flooding the desert. It was the primeval particle morphing before him, the very seed that necessitated existence. And time and space began and ended with his own cognizance.

He endured it all. He crawled as creeping dwellers of cavern walls and thrived as transcendent beings of an aged world. He jumped from the highest zeniths and dove into the deepest fathoms of the sea. Every joy ever known was a smile he had worn, and every pain ever bore was a tear he had shed. Eons flashed by in the span of a single thought. When there were no seconds left to traverse, the start became the end and the wheel spun around again. It was unexplainable, yet entirely plain. It was empty, yet never-ending.

“How’d you like it?” the shade asked. The universe settled, and the boy returned to the form he had abandoned in the void.

“It…it was nothing,” he stammered.

“Exactly, but that’s the only way you can understand it now.”

But simply to be was no longer enough. The boy faced the shade yearningly.

It returned a knowing look. “Are you ready?”

And, for what could be called a moment, he was Alexander. “Yes.”

Where else could the snow have fallen? If there were shadows to be made, the sun would be out. But, no, it was early winter, surely.