I'm horrible at updating frequently.
But all of you already knew that, yes?
I'd already had an idea for this to be a tragedy. I even wrote the last chapter and the little of what would have been this chapter, but my main computer- let's just establish that it is quite an enormous pile of shit- had to be wiped completely clean of everything. No more stories, no more mp3s, no more pirated copies of photo-editting software. So since I am not using my old idea anymore, I will just tell you that WIaC was going to end with Mia waking up from a dream about Michael (who is dead) and telling her crappy husband Kenny about it-- roll credits. But, thankfully, that is all out the window now and I am going to continue the story with what will be a strange, funny, and romantic sequence of events that is backed by some logic and will only bewilder you a little bit... but in a good way.
anyway, here we go...
Was It a Crime Chapter Three
For a while Michael and I just lay on the unmade bed, staring at my ceiling. My eyes tarried from discolored spot to discolored spot, they lingered among the area of black spots Lilly and I created when, during a boring sleepover some years ago, we had thrown uncapped Sharpies at the ceiling.
"So you say you've come to my window from some alternate dimension?.." I said.
I couldn't believe the complete and utter psychosis that must have seeped into Michael's brain during his days on the street, or wherever he had been. Chances are he had hit his head and was taken under the wing of a old, panhandling, Substation-dwelling heroin junkie. After he'd learned all of the junkie's teachings, he'd probably only just remembered his way to my place and would now go on to tell me was the next of God's sons that were just bound to spring up in the next millenniums after Jesus. God gets around, you know, and every once in a while he fails to use protection.
"Yes," he said, casually taking my hand and rubbing my palm with his thumb.
"...And for the past few months you've been a consultant for a group of renegade scientists who have developed a, um, a time machine of sorts?..."
"More like amatuer renegade scientists, I guess, but yes," the palm-rubbing gradually progressed to constant eye contact.
"...And so you've been gone all this time testing this, uh... the time machine thing? Is that it?"
"Mia, yes," Michael reiterated, staring so deeply into my eyes that the sensuality of the act was becoming an uncomfortable novelty. Finally, I just had to get up, get away from him. Besides, his story didn't really make sense. I mean, logically, couldn't he have just spent his time consulting within the folds of the space-time continuum?
"Michael, you're... Well, you're kind of really crazy," is what I said. It just sounded a little mean when I looked over at his sad eyes.
"So you don't believe me. I could have guessed... That's why I brought this, Mia."
"Wow, a Sidekick! I didn't know you had one! Open it, open it! I love the swish-flicky screen thing!" Now I will admit that I did a little grabbing and cooing, but so what?
"Mia, it's no Sidekick," he said, opening the gadget. "And that text on the screen isn't a message from Snoop asking me how to program a VCR." Oh, ha ha, ho ho, Michael. Pretty smug speak for someone who is so obviously insane.
"Then what is it, Professor?"
"Shit, Mia, it's kind of obvious," he grinned priggishly, tongue planted firmly in cheek. "It's only the latest collective particle transporter and spatial bending companion."
I sighed, signalling him to explain further.
"You see, Mia, Time, as we know it, is a continuum. Everything happens in an irreversible succession from the past, through the present, to the future," he said, gesturing with his hands. "It's a movie that we can never, ever watch a second time. But this thing- well, it's actually called a Flecto- can interrupt that movie. Rewind it, fast forward it, even allow one to, I don't know, explore alternative story lines to the movie. And even if you don't like the alternative storylines, it doesn't matter, because you can just rewind and start again."
His eyebrows arched and danced as he talked, an awfully conspicuous glint growing in his dark, ambitious eyes. I was scared, I was intrigued, I was wildly attracted to this very Han Solo side of him.
"I think I know a little about time travel, Michael. After all, I i have /i seen all of Back to the Futures quite a few times..." I said, mock-manner-of-factly. I think Michael might have thought I was being serious. "But you didn't have to be gone, did you? You could've used the time ma- I mean, the Flecto to be back in bed before anyone was worried, am I right?"
"Well, you see-"
"Oh, I know, you couldn't stay too long in time travel, because that would make you terribly old..."
"Mia-"
"Oh, but that's from Clockstoppers and, yeah, what a hardly credible movie that piece of Universal Stud-"
"Mia, Mia, Mia," he shook me. "It's broken. It's been broken since Monday when I came back from an alternate dimension and ended up in Iowa."
Iowa is such a kooky place. It survives on an economy almost completely dependant upon corn, soybeans, and livestock. It's roads are beautifully wide and well-maintained, and yet they're wasted upon a pathetically small population whose transportation mostly consists of horse-drawn buggies or something. Tom Arnold, Radar O'Reilly from MASH, and Ashton Kucher were born there. And now Iowa is apparently the home of the time travel hub. I tell you, the world is just too strange.
"I had to hitch hike and bribe my way all the way back to New York, you see."
"Wouldn't it have been easier just to call your parents?"
"I have my dignity, Thermopolis."
END CHAPTER THREE
I like absurdity. It's delightful. Expect a few celebrity guest appearances. I'm not saying from who, only one is kind of given away by the story summary.