In Tomorrow's Time

> Chapter 02 - Alfie Walkers <

I was a failure. My violin skills were almost embarrassing. I tried to practice more often, but it was as if I simply couldn't master that little monster on my shoulders. I loved the music and every note and touch I had heard over the last few years. The intense glow that emanated within me when I heard her songs made me love her more and more, it was pure love.

That day, I wanted to rehearse the song one more time. I used to rehearse every day, and I typically missed the same notes. For every five attempts, I missed four. I just needed to reach her again, even if I didn't know if I would disappear soon after.

The room was clear when I entered. It was safe, and I could play quietly. No one would care about that melody—no one who wasn't her. So I played, starting lightly and softly, almost as if I were picking up the instrument for the first time. I had confidence when I started, but it died slowly. A small shiver ran through my body, and then I realized that I had finally located her. After a week, I had found her. I knew she was leaning against the wall, listening, and I could have sworn I heard her singing the song, but the sensation was short-lived, in an instant, she was gone, and I felt nothing more.

Walking through the corridors, avoiding the violin already put away being pushed by the horde of students who were finding it so difficult to be careful, I looked for her. I hadn't seen her for a long time. I found her sitting in the psychology classroom. That couldn't be right. Heather shouldn't be studying psychology. I stood in the doorway, watching the class unfold and the focus she had as she watched. For a moment, I felt a chill and realized there was something wrong with her, but I couldn't do anything about it. I was late for my own appointments.

Staggering through the students again, I crossed the corridors again until I finally reached the previous room. There was a rehearsal, and I was late. I was always late for everything I did. When I opened the door, no one noticed anything, they continued playing the symphony they were already playing. I then quickly positioned my violin on my shoulder, after pulling my chair to the back. And then I played, more out of tune than ever. Nobody noticed. I kept playing and missed every note, but no one reprimanded me. I felt a sense of unease in the room again, and when I glanced at the small window in the door, I saw blonde strands fluttering quickly out of my sight. They disappeared as quickly as I had blinked. I disappeared again.

Every time it happens, I forget something recent. I never the past forget the past, but now, on this new line, I forget often. I knew I'd felt someone, I knew it was two corridors over from the rehearsal room door, but I couldn't remember where it was or who I'd seen. It was a woman, I knew it was, but I couldn't make anything clear in my mind. I was looking for a woman. I remembered her perfectly from the past. I remembered us. All this coincided with my current self, and I could no longer visualize what I was sure I remembered. A few hours later, I remembered Heather, the girl I was looking for, but I couldn't remember what she looked like. Who was she? The memory was blocked. It was as if I were suffering from recent memory loss, but I was sure that wasn't it.

I lived in an apartment not far from the university. I paid the rent, or at least I thought I did, although I couldn't remember any financial charges. I used to keep my violin next to my bed, next to a photo frame that was always blank—in fact, not totally blank, but blurred in all its context. Imagine that your vision is blurred and there are people in front of you, but you can't see them. That was the experience of looking at that frame. I could see and not see what was in the picture. Even if I did, I would forget before I could actually identify the people. The picture also gave me the shivers. Don't be fooled, they weren't bad feelings, in fact, it was like a rush of butterflies in my stomach, filled with unparalleled anxiety, as if I was always anxious about something.

There was medicine in the bathroom. I didn't remember taking any of them, but every time I looked, the pills were missing. At first, I thought I was counting wrong, but after putting together a table of numbers about the medicines, I realized that they were in fact disappearing. Since I couldn't trust my memory, I assumed that it made more sense for me to forget the amount or forget that I had taken it, than to know that my pills were magically disappearing on their own. As usual, I didn't take any of them.

I had a notebook. I wrote down everything I thought was important to remember. I knew Heather was in that notebook because I had thought of her before. The notebook wasn't where I usually left it if I left it anywhere at all. I looked all over the room, but couldn't find it. Afraid of forgetting the girl's name once again, I wrote it down on a piece of paper and put it in my pants pocket. I couldn't lose that piece of paper, I couldn't lose Heather.

I didn't often use my cell phone, in fact, I had no reason to, so it was more convenient to write down what I needed on a piece of paper, which was ironic since I often lost it.

That night, I had a little white flashback, there was nothing in it but bright white and an almost unbearable cold. It felt like I was going to die of hypothermia inside my own brain. I blinked three times before I realized I was lying in my underwear on the bed, ready to go to sleep. The clock read almost 1am. I turned off my little lamp and leaned back on the soft pillow, waiting for the routine to overwhelm me with more daily challenges.

Missing pills. Two pills were missing from each bottle. I remembered that I hadn't taken any, but I couldn't say what the previous day's tally actually was. I ignored it, pills were the least of my problems. I mean, if I were going to overdose, I'd already be dead.

The water in the shower was cold, and I shivered the moment the first drop fell. I heard the sound of rain outside, typical of the weather. I was shivering too much, I couldn't go on at that temperature. The shower refused to heat up; if I wasn't going to die of hypothermia in my mind, I was certainly going to die in reality. I turned off the shower and grabbed the towel, quickly wrapping myself in it, trying to get a little warmth. Something caught my eye on the floor near the door. I recognized the pants from the day before. I didn't remember throwing it on the floor, but it was there, crying out for help. I cradled it in my arms, noticing a small piece of paper fall gently to the floor. I bent down and picked it up. Before throwing it in the garbage can, I decided to open it, but there was nothing written on it, it was blank. I threw it away and put the pants in the laundry basket, which was empty for the third day in a row as if I'd gone to the launderette. Maybe I had gone and didn't remember. It wasn't normal to forget for so many days, but who was I to judge that whole problem?