Gambling Man (story)

He allows himself to sit down in the wooden chair on Alicia's porch. Only for a moment, he knows he's not welcome here. At least, not anymore, she's made that abundantly clear and he really wouldn't care for that conversation again.
He breathes in the stale, lucky-debt air that surrounds her property. Funny, he never seemed to mind it before, but now it's clogging up his nostrils and he feels the hate build up inside. Don't kid yourself, old man, that ain't the smoke. It's her.

And in a sense, it has always been her, the one he's wanted, for all of his life. He remembers the exact moment when he saw her little blonde ponytails pass him by, right in front of the school. He knew, although she never believed him. Always said it was cheap pillow talk, but it was not. Jonathan had felt it in the air – that this was the girl, this would always be the girl. He glances behind him at the closed door, where she is. No longer a girl, but a woman growing old. One who has come to resent him.

He doesn't understand why, she seemed to like him so much when they first started going.
And then again, when he came back from Europe. They'd been broken up (up, but never apart, he always told her) for some ten years and she was married by then. To a suit, a lackluster face that Jonathan forgot almost as soon as he registered it. He only had eyes for her.
He was not proud of what they'd done, her being married and all, but he knew he could do a lot worse. And Alicia eventually left the suit, so no harm done.

And now, it was over. For real, this time, he felt it. A cutting pain in the soul of his bones. She'd told him to leave, because she could no longer love him. She said he drained her of something vital, that she fed him so much, that she could no longer feed herself. She said she was dying beside him and Jonathan felt his heart break. He'd never dream of hurting Alicia, yet here he was.

He picks up an old newspaper, left forgotten under the wooden chair. He imagines her sitting here, semi-naked, sipping her morning coffee and leafing through it.
It's two weeks old, but it's still something to do. If she comes out, he can say he got caught up reading. He forgot that he had to leave. He's trying to hold on to that childish belief that if he's quiet enough and stays long enough, maybe she'll let him stay for good.
Jonathan reads every word carefully, some of them twice, and understands nothing. He's thinking that he'll never sit here again, never smell her house again, never smell her skin.

Until one ad catches his eye...
'If you have the credits, we have the time travel,' the ad reads. Jonathan's a man of the world, and he'd never believe such a stupid scheme. It's so obviously a lie. And yet, he wants it to be true.

'Never again' loses meaning when you can go back in time, doesn't it? He can go back, he can have her back, he can do something – anything – so that she can breathe beside him. He can change things.
He doesn't want to believe it, it's such nonsense, yet the more he thinks, the more he wants it. The more he wants her...
With the newspaper in hand, he feels confident enough to leave now, he doesn't even look behind. He doesn't see her silhouette watching from the bedroom window. He doesn't need to, because he'll soon see her again. He'll make love to her again. He'll hold her so that she can't send him away.
He drives his truck into town and stops at his uncle's place. When he's alone, Jonathan goes to the phone and dials the number in the ad. He hopes the offer's still good. It has to be.

A man's voice bristles up on the other line. 'Hello.'
'Are you the people with the time travel thing?'
'Oh sir, you make us sound a bit like loonies. Yes, traveling through time is our main endeavor. May I be of assistance?'

Jonathan breathes in. Scam, scam scam. But he doesn't listen.
'And you can...take me back? I can go twenty years back or something?'
'If you have the credits, certainly, sir.'
Jonathan nods, but of course, the man cannot see him. 'Alright, how much?'
'Well sir, first we need to discuss the purpose of your trip.'
'The purpose?'
'Yes, sir, what brings you to the time you're traveling to?'
So, Jonathan sets out to explain to the man his complicated history with Alicia. He's aware of the waver in his voice and he hopes the man on the other end doesn't notice it. 'I need to go back,' he concludes.

'Yes sir, it certainly seems like you do. Although, I must warn you that we do not have the right to...alter our clients. For short, you'll be just as you are now. We cannot give you back the time.'
'Shit, man, if I worried about that...You know, she's the one. She'd love me bald and fat at 100.'
There was silence on the other end, and something that felt like quiet judgment to Jonathan, but he didn't care. 'The credits?'
'Oh yes, sir, forgive me. We have no use for money. We just need you to sign a short agreement that you understand this is a one-way ticket.'
'A what, now?'
'A one way ticket, sir. Once you go, you...release any demands you might have on the present you. You give up on the future that might await you now.'
'Why?'
'Because traveling between times back and forth would be a risky business. You can't keep multiple doors open, sir. If you choose to open this one, you must knows the other closes.'
Jonathan understood. He understood that it was all a gambling game, anyway, and that he might as well give up on this world. What's he got left to lose here?
'Alright, let's go.'

Jonathan puts down the phone. He looks around at the big, well-lit room and notices, with surprise, all these woman things, there's a wedding band on the counter, right by the sink and there's a woman's blouse draped over the chair.
And he realizes who they belong to. His Aunt Sara, who's still alive, because of course, why wouldn't she be? She won't be dead for another...what? Twelve years? He looks at the calendar on the wall and notices, with a mix of pleasure and disbelief that it's either a very well thought out joke, or he has traveled back in time to when he was twenty-eight. Almost twenty years ago.
Today.
Clever man. The guy on the phone took him to this particular place – or rather, time – with a very clear reason. His beloved must be twenty-seven, which means she hasn't married yet. And it means he is away. He's probably lost, somewhere in the deep of France, trying to forget her. The perfect loop.

He runs out into the street and looks at the world and at the cars and remembers them each, yet recognizes none. He walks down through the town, staring through windows and smiling at the children he now knows as grown-ups. Actually, he'll have to lose that. He doesn't know them as grown-ups now, 'cause they're children. That's all in the past.
He must remember that. He can't believe how familiar this all feels, how easily he can roll back into this...world, this place.
It all feels so right, and perhaps it is. Maybe this was what was meant to happen, after all. He would come back, or perhaps never leave and he'd meet her now, when she could be his and they wouldn't have all that hanging over their heads.

And suddenly, he knows why it felt so right. He looks in the garden of the school house, and sees. He sees her, with her young, flawless skin and her wide, perfect smile. He'd know her in a million, by the waist, by the blonde hair that now hangs down to her butt.
He doesn't remember that. But, of course, he wouldn't. He was away when she looked like this. How could he miss this, he wonders.
He catches Alicia's eye and sees something in her shift. She knows him. How could she not? She knows him better than anyone, she always will. He waves, she waves back.
'Hi,' he mouths.
'Hi.'
They meet at the school gate, like they used to when they were kids, and she sees the white hairs in his beard and feels a weight drop in her stomach. He's so beautiful, so much like in her dreams. He looks exactly like in her head and she feels a deep, certain fire.
She loves this man. She loves the white hair and the lines around his eyes that won't quite go away when he stops smiling.
Oh, my darling, all those smiles, I had them all with you. I could never want anyone but you.

He takes her hand and she smiles. That smile that only she could have.
'I came back for you,' he whispers in her hair and she doesn't ask. She's been waiting too long to hear that. She just wants him back. He still feels like a mirage, like a dream come true.
And you don't question living dreams. They're too fragile.
And so is this. Jonathan knows they can't be here long, that it cannot last. He doesn't ask her, because he fears he'd upset her, but he doubts that he's dead. The actual him, the young him, the one in France. He's probably there, now,which means that he will one day be back.
And that won't do. Now that he has Alicia in his arms once more, he will never let her go. He can't risk it.
She walks him back to her house, which is blissfully empty. He never did get along with her parents and she hasn't bought the ranch yet. She never will.
And they make love on the small bed in her room and it all feels so familiar and yet so new. He knows her body, inch by inch, and yet he doesn't. He's never loved this particular Alicia. Or has he? He doesn't even know.
But he loves her and he takes her away. They run, like the Devil was after them and they settle down right at the edge of the Ocean, where no one will ever find them and where they don't need anyone. Only each other.
And they're happy. She, because she thought he'd never return, and he, 'cause he's got her back. He can pretend he never lost her.

She takes to swimming in the ocean and he takes to watching her beautiful, tanned body, riding the waves. But one day, he forgets. He's been sleeping in late, lately. But he asked her to wake him up so that he could go watch her swim.
I let you sleep. Love you.
He folds the paper and runs down to the beach.
'Why didn't you wake me, Li?' he pants, but he's laughing. They'll both laugh.
But the beach is empty. He sees her sandals on the edge of the water, beside her clothes and towel. He usually sits with them.
He looks into the water, but there is nobody there. She's probably diving. The old man sits on the beach and waits.
But she never comes back from the water. By the time he understands, it's far too late. And he runs to the phone, but doesn't call the police. They couldn't do anything now, he knows.

Instead, he calls that old number that he's never quite forgotten. This can't be happening.
'Sorry, sir, no returns.'

Story written for the #twentyfourhourshortstory contest, hosted by @mctiller. The theme was 'A man reads a newspaper ad: If you have the credits. We have the time travel.'; if it appeals to you, hurry and check out the contest here.

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Thank you for reading,