What Time Can't Change

"So ya in or ya fold?"

Nobody knows who he is or where he came from. I don't really care either way. All I know is the kid is good at poker. Too good.

Storm found him, somewhere in the Bronx. He'd been living on the streets for… Well, who knows how long? I don't, and don't care to. And he don't volunteer information often, so no problem there.

Okay, okay, so I'm a little curious. He reminds me a lot of myself, actually. Somehow. Or someone I should have been. He's short for what his age appears to be, and apparently a lot older than he looks. The kid is practically followed by a cloud of tobacco smoke. Did I mention he seems to be a champion poker player? And he says it's all luck!

Well, anyway, for some reason I couldn't stand the way he was staring me down, so I folded and stepped outside for a cigar. Didn't take the kid long to follow. He pulled out his own cigar and sat right down next to me, puffing away like he knows what he's doing. And then he did something absolutely unexpected.

He nudged me with his elbow and said, "Hun'red'n twenty-seven." I glanced over at him for a moment, shocked. Why? Because the number he just randomly spouted out don't add up with the question in my head. "Least," he went on, staring out into the darkness, "dat's da best I can figure. Kinda lost count 'bout fifty years ago."

"Wait a minute, kid. What are you talking about?"

"Dat's how old I am. Wasn't you wonderin'?"

"How did you—"

"Lucky guess."

I sat in silence, my cigar momentarily forgotten. The kid had hit it right on the nail. "You can't honestly tell me that was just a lucky guess."

"Yeah, I can."

I took another drag as I sat there watching him gaze off into nothing. "So that's it, isn't it?" I asked at last. "You're lucky."

"Among other things," he replied, still not looking at me directly. "Chief among dem bein' dat I don't age. Like, at all. Haven't since I was sixteen."

"And when was that?"

He paused for a moment, as if remembering what it was like to be normal. We all have moments like that, I think. Except for me. "1899," he said. "I t'ink dat's when it happened. Sometime afta dat… I dunno. Ev'ryt'ing was diff'rent. Bets started goin' better for me at da track. Poker was easier. But life… It just felt like it was flyin' by, an' suddenly I couldn't hold on to it no more. Like it was outta my hands, ya know?"

"Can't imagine what your parents must've thought of all this."

I didn't mean it like it came out. And honestly, I should've thought before I said it. As soon as it was out of my mouth, though, I knew I had struck a chord. Because he looked at me. His dark eyes pierced through to my very soul. "Wouldn't know," he said softly. There was almost a menacing tone to his voice. "I never knew 'em."

I backed off slightly then, clearing my throat and looking away. "Must drive you crazy," I shrugged, trying to change the subject, sympathize, anything. "Not knowing where you come from, I mean."

"I come from lots'a places," he replied, his tone smoothing out some as he puffed on his cigar some more. "Best place of all was da family dat took me in before all dis crazy stuff started. Buncha misfits wit' no past. Or a lotta past, in some cases. Point is, it didn't matter. In the end, we was all family, and dat's all anybody really cared about."

For some reason, I felt like he was trying to make a point. So I cleverly changed the subject. "So if you're so lucky, why you still living on the streets after all these years?"

He just shrugged. "Ah, didn't feel right, ya know? Usin' dis… dis whatever-it-is ta make my life better when dere's other people as need it more. I can take care'a myself wit'out usin' it dat way." He cast me a sidelong glance and blew out a cloud of smoke. "If you're so indestructible, how come you don't just take over da world? Ain't nobody as could very well stop you's." I grunted in amusement and shook my head. This kid might look young, but he sure was a sly one. "Ain't right," he went on. "Usin' dis… t'ing, dis whatever-it-is—"

"Mutation."

"Really? Is dat what we're callin' it dese days? Well, anyway, ain't right ta use it for your own good alone."

"And what should we use it for then?"

Again, he paused, uncertain, chewing on his cigar. "Dunno. Haven't figured dat one out yet."

This time I actually laughed out loud. "A hundred and twenty-seven years, and you haven't figured it out yet?"

"Hey, man, dat's part'a life. An' despite da fact dat I don't age no more, I'm still livin'. Still figurin' things out for myself. 'Nother part'a da reason I's still livin' on da streets. Makes ya think, makes ya work ta figure things out."

We sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, enjoying the peaceful night air. At length, I ventured to break it. "So. Where else you from?"

"Wherever," he shrugged again. "Right now, it would appear I'm from here. Looks like it might stay dat way for a while, too."

"Nowhere to go?"

"Plenty'a places ta go. But dis place, dese people… It reminds me of home. My first home, I mean. Reminds me'a family." I looked away, wishing. That lucky streak of his let him guess exactly what was on my mind, because then he said, "Ain't about where ya come from, Logan. It's about where ya are right now, an' where you's goin'. It's about da people dat care about you. Cuz believe me, in dis world, dat's worth more'n anythin'."

So. I still don't really know the kid's story, or where he came from. But that night, he showed me something that I'd been pondering for a long time and just never had the guts to look in the face. You spend all your time looking behind, you're gonna miss what's coming up ahead. And that was good enough for me.

As I put out my cigar and stood up, I turned to him with one more question on my mind. "You got a name, kid?"

He took his time grinding his cigar into the stone step. When he'd finally come to his feet, he held out his hand. I shook it firmly as he said, "Racetrack. Dey used'ta call me Racetrack."