Chances Aren't (15 page)

Although being young and having less mileage on the equipment isn't without its advantages. I'm still hard as a rock, so I decide to go another round, this time lasting almost three minutes. I'll need to work on my control and hope that my other self performs better when it counts later tonight.

There is no private bathroom attached to my room, instead all the guys on this floor share one. I struggle to remember where exactly it's located since I desperately need a shower. I grab Ben's still wet towel. I guess I'll call him young Ben to keep things clear from here on out. I smile thinking how odd that sounds. I don't want to come off as some pretentious asshole talking about myself in third person, but perhaps I've earned some slack since I've actually gone back in time and all, not to mention there literally is a third person named Ben, and boy has he really screwed up my plans.

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 to 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.

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".