lather, drinks, and repeat

by Arya Muralidharan

It took Carter the equivalent of four months, he guesstimated, to realize that he was reliving the same day over and over again. In his defense, his life was monotonous even before the time loops: he’d wake up (unfortunately), brush his teeth (most days), shower (at least thrice a week), and walk two blocks to his soul-sucking retail job. Afterwards, he’d head over to the closest bar and attempt to fill the hole that once contained his soul with alcohol; when that failed, he’d hobble back to his apartment and try to suffocate himself with his pillow before falling asleep mid-suicide attempt.

Sometimes, though, he couldn’t drag himself to his bathroom, let alone to work. Some unknown number of days after the first loop, Carter lay in bed all day, hating himself and ignoring his boss’s calls and “you’re FIRED” text. The next morning, he felt the deep regret that never failed to accompany every decision he’d ever made, because Carter had never made a good decision in his life.

Before he could wallow in self-hatred—again—his phone rang. Carter blinked at the screen. Why was his ex-boss calling?

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” she demanded.

“Um, you fired me yesterday?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “I will fire you if you don’t. Get. In. Here. Now.” She hung up.

Carter stared at his phone until it went dark. He pressed the power button.

That was when he noticed the “Thursday, May 10” displayed on his lock screen. Carter frowned. May? That couldn’t be right. His mother’s birthday had been at the end of April, and he’d been sick with guilt for not making himself call her. There was no way that happened only two weeks ago. It had to be at least August, maybe even September by now.

He shook his head and went in to work. If his boss didn’t recall firing him, that was her problem. Carter wasn’t quite sure what he did that evening—he downed shots of some sugary alcoholic monstrosity that never failed to help him forget his lack of a life—but he woke up the following morning to see that the date remained unchanged.

So, yeah, it took him getting fired, then mysteriously un-fired, for Carter to actually pay attention to the date on his phone’s lock screen—specifically, that it no longer said anything but “Thursday, May 10.”

All of a sudden, things started to make more sense. Level 2665 of Candy Crush taunting him days after he swore he’d beaten it. Drunkenly passing out in dumpsters but waking up in his own bed. At the time, he’d chalked the incidents up to dreams. He’d even quit Candy Crush cold turkey: if he was dreaming about a video game, that was a sign of an addiction gone too far.

The clock struck six, signalling the end of his shift. He nodded at Ella, the girl taking over for him, and headed to the bar.

It shouldn’t have made a difference, knowing about the time loop. If anything, Carter should have revelled in the fact that the universe seemed to be validating his lack of trajectory in life.

And yet.

“Hiya, bucko!” chirped the pretty bartender, just like he always had since long before the time loop. Since Carter first walked into the bar over two years ago, actually.

“Hi,” Carter said. He’d never returned the greeting before, always too tired of speaking at work to say anything but his first drink for the night. Usually a—

“Vesper on the rocks?” asked the bartender, already pulling out the vodka and gin. Carter nodded, but his face must have done something because the bartender continued, “Gotta keep the regulars happy, eh?”

“Mhmm. Thanks,” Carter glanced at the bartender’s name tag, “Nowis?”

“Hm? Oh, whoops!” Not-Nowis rotated his name tag so it read “SIMON.”

Carter’s blood froze. The thought of being perceived by strangers was gross enough. Being perceived by someone he’d called the wrong name after interacting with them daily for over two years? Disgusting.

“Sorry, Simon,” he told the beer tap in front of him.

“All good, buddy,” Simon said, even though it was absolutely not all good. “Here you go!” He slid the cocktail towards Carter.

Carter had to leave immediately. He chugged the drink in one go (a terrible decision, par for the course), paid in exact change, and hightailed it out of there. On the bright side, he could commence his nightly routine of self-suffocation by pillow, even more vigorously than usual. Starting earlier (and sober-er) would increase his chances of successfully ending it, right?

Wrong.

Carter groaned into his pillow as he reached to shut off his morning alarm, still alive. At least the bartender—Simon—wouldn’t remember how Carter thoroughly embarrassed himself. He grabbed his phone to make sure it still said “Thursday, May 10,” even though he knew it would.

Wrong again.

“Seriously?” Carter wasn’t usually the type to speak out loud when alone—he was barely the type to speak out loud when not alone—but he felt like the situation called for it. Weren’t time loops about, like, teaching you to become a better person? Care about others, tell people you love them, quit drinking? Not that he had a drinking problem. He was completely fine, except that he was the worst. But all he had to do was talk to a boy? A boy?

Speaking of Simon, ugh. Carter could never, ever go back to that bar. He’d buy some bottles and drink at home like a sad sack. Well, sadder sack.

Unless…was that what the universe wanted him to do? Screw that. The universe was not going to stop him from getting James Bond-inspired cocktails. No one or nothing had the right to stop Carter from doing anything. Except for himself, of course.

Besides, Carter might have been the slightest bit interested in the whole time loop thing, how it started and why it stopped. The only clue he had was the bar—and maybe Simon—so he figured he should go there, poke around.

Carter brushed his teeth, showered, and started walking to work. He couldn’t remember the last time he was interested in anything.

It didn’t feel bad. Weird, but he could get used to it.