Although he doesn’t know it yet, on January 14th, at 73 years of
age, Andrew will rest eternally at his late wife’s side. On March
4th, at 29 years, he and his wife will have their first child. On
October 18th, when he is 26, they will be married in a small,
quaint ceremony amongst family, and in just a few minutes, at
the age of 24, he will meet his wife-to-be at this coffee shop
after accidentally spilling coffee on her. I know these things
because I am here to make sure he trips.
Such is the role of a Time Keeper: one untethered from time to
ensure others’ lives abide by the schedule. Normally my
assignments aren’t as involved, and normally I would welcome
a little extra involvement, but to be perfectly honest, this time
I’m a little jealous. I’m here to connect two lives, while I’m
alienated from connection. I’ll be here for the next few
minutes, oversee this happening before I jump off to another
time, another person, another situation to watch over. I have
been doing this for as long as I can remember, and I will admit, it
weighs on me.
For now, though, I find a half-moment’s peace in this crowded
coffee shop, wrapped around my steaming mug. I resent the
occasional scream of the milk steamer which interrupts the
otherwise relaxed atmosphere. Nobody else seems to notice it,
though; every ounce of their attention is absorbed by their
laptops or iPads – my eyes alone dart around the room. It
would take the accident I am here to arrange to break the ice.
Even in this room full of people, I couldn’t feel more isolated,
being here to make sure two future lovers meet. I already know
the conclusion of their story - it ends well; they are happy
until their dying days. If only they knew what was about to
transpire – they are going to meet that person they have been
looking for their whole lives. I count down the seconds until
things happen as everyone else’s lives go on.
Cue the bride-to-be – right on time. She’s not nearly as good
looking as I had imagined; a little pudgy around the middle, and
wearing slightly too much makeup. She’s slouching a bit as if
she isn’t too confident; my file says she hasn’t dated anybody in
a while, so that probably has something to do with it.
Apparently he will find her nice enough, though, since their
timelines don’t part after this.
My thoughts and emotions are so loud in my head, I swear
everyone within ten feet must be able to hear. She has to be
able to feel my eyes on her back… I hope she doesn’t notice my
attention following her. The only empty table is right next to
me.
She looks different sitting across from me; up closer, she has
sad eyes, weary eyes. I know that look well: of one who has
been alone too long, and has resigned herself to such a fate. I
might as well trade places with her – I sure wish I could. Making
me set people up is like making a starving child serve dinner.
It just isn’t fair. Why should I arrange love while I have yet to
find it? I wonder, what if I didn’t trip him? She already knows
loneliness, and I can testify that it doesn’t kill a person. We all
learn to live with our circumstances, right? It is my choice, after
all, to go through with my orders or not. Let the consequences
fall as they may. I don’t care.
It appears that Andrew may have heard me because there he is
walking through the door as if to protest. If only you knew the
power I have over you: this next minute of your life will
determine the rest. You were strangers yesterday, are
strangers today, and could be strangers still tomorrow; you
could go along with your day as you otherwise would and never
know the difference. Maybe if she doesn’t notice you, or you,
her. Oh, but she has already. I recognize that look, that initial
spark in her eye. Don’t look her way and this will all be just
another unreturned smile.
He met her glance: connection. He is walking this way. Oh,
brutal responsibility. I am here to keep the schedule. I am here
burned by bitterness and loneliness. He approaches. Closer. I
am conflicted. My foot extends almost on its own. He trips. The
mug goes flying. Yelps and arms flail. Apologies and napkins
scramble. There’s coffee everywhere.
What a mess. But such is love.