Foston Slacks - Time's Flies

11

Foston sat on the wall, pressing the handkerchief to his nose, ignoring the giant man in dirty vest screaming at him to stop sitting on the wall. Clara, her arms crossed, tapping the foot wearing the flip-flop, glared at the giant screaming man. She wasn't having this, she had first dibs at shouting at Foston, not some johnny-cum-lately. Foston, for his part, didn't seem to care about the man.

"Listen, Tweedle-Stupid, either piss off or I'm shoving this flip-flop where the sun doesn't shine. Alright?" For some reason, and Clara dearly wished she understood why, the man listened, backed away and slunk back inside the door to his building.

"Ooh, you're fiery!" Foston, dabbed his nose and checked the handkerchief to see if he'd stopped bleeding. He didn't seem to quite understand why she was upset.

If Clara was honest with herself, she didn't really know either. Just hearing the lemur praise the other Clara flipped some kind of switch in her head. After all, it would be the height of insanity, or narcissism, to be envious of herself. Or, at least, a version of herself. The other Clara couldn't have been that much better than her, anyway, still racing for that interview.

Unless she wasn't racing for the interview. Unless that Clara already had a job, and was, instead, racing somewhere else. Somewhere better. Cooler. Maybe to meet a gorgeous boyfriend that she, the original Clara, could have met if she hadn't made the wrong decision? Maybe ... maybe ... maybe ...

"I know what you're thinking." Foston sniffed and coughed at the same time, looking at the handkerchief one more time and, satisfied, slipping it into his jacket pocket. "You're thinking about that other you. Wondering where her life is better than yours. How much better? Does she, in fact, make you look like a loser in comparison?"

"That's not what I'm thinking at all. And have you tried not insulting people? It works wonders in not getting your face punched." She watched as Foston dipped his head and looked at her in that way her gran used to do. The one that showed she knew Clara was lying and that she was very, very disappointed in her. "Alright! Maybe a little. Okay? Satisfied? Yes, I'm a little envious. But, did you see her ... me? She looked amazing!"

"What if the only difference between you two was that she bought a different hairspray. One that didn't make your hair look like it could survive a fireball from space?" He saw Clara balling her fist and held up his hands in surrender. "All I'm saying is, there's no way to tell what the rest of her life turned out like. We only saw a snapshot. A tiny slice. The rest of her life could be an absolute mess, like yours."

"You know that thing you do? With your mouth?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Where you make noises that come out in words and sentences that should stay in your head."

"Talking. Yes?"

"Don't do that." She looked around at the street. Her street, but not her street. She stamped her foot and the flip-flop flipped off. "Ooh! I wish I'd never met you!"

"Why?"

"Because I wouldn't be here! I wouldn't be lost on a world that's not my world!" She put the flip-flop back on wishing that she had a pair of decent shoes.

"But, if you hadn't met me, you'd still be lost on that first other world without me to help. Or, at least, trying to help if I can figure out why the Breaches are being wonky." He stood up, putting a hand on her shoulder in a way he must think was comforting, but she found aggravating.

"I'd have been fine without you." She slapped the hand away and he put it back without even blinking.

"Would you? Really? What would you have eaten, for a start?" He looked at her in a condescending fashion she did not appreciate.

"I'd have worked out something. I'd have, I don't know, hunted? Or something." She shrugged her shoulder to dislodge his hand. He got the message this time and put the hand in his pocket, a satisfying distance from her shoulder.

"When was the last time you hunted? I bet if we went into your flat, right now, we'd find a stack of microwave meals." He bobbled his head around trying to keep eye contact as she tried to look anywhere but at him.

"No you wouldn't." They would. She knew they would.

She thought about her flat. She missed her flat. She missed the clothes strewn upon every surface. She missed the cat hairs entwined into the carpet from the cat she owned three years ago. The cat that ran away. Little ungrateful bastard. She missed the sink where several days worth of dishes had, somehow, piled up without any intervening time between washing them.

Her flat.

Her flat!

Clara's eyes widened. If she never had a more brilliant idea in her life, this one would be the pinnacle of brilliant ideas. The kind of brilliant idea that would win awards. The kind of brilliant idea that came once in a lifetime. The most brilliant of brilliant ideas. This was it.

She turned away from Foston and, without saying another word, began to walk across the street. She began to walk across the street again after jumping back to avoid the bus rushing towards her and checking both directions to see if it was safe.

"Where are you going?" Foston shouted. It seemed like he was panicking. Good, let the furry git panic. "Clara?"

"I'm going into my flat. I'm going to have a shower, get changed, sort my hair out and put on some more suitable footwear. Boots. I have boots." She strode with newfound determination towards her flat. The other Clara's flat. Fishing into her handbag for her keys.

"You can't do that!" Foston appeared in front of her. The confidence he exuded, gone.

"Of course I can. I've gone out, probably to dinner with a handsome bloke, flicking my amazing hair in his face. Well, the other me might be." She stepped to the side to pass him. "I can be in and out before she gets back. It'll be fine."

"It won't be fine!" He stepped in front of her again, holding up his hands to form a barrier.

"It will! She won't notice a few clothes gone. And boots. I'll be a ghost." She pretended to step to the side again and, as he moved to stop her, shot back the other way, bypassing him.

"No. You'll be dead." That got her attention. Clara was certain he was exaggerating, but it did catch her attention.

"How can getting a shower and a change of clothes kill me?" She put her hands on her hips, challenging him.

"Look, I don't know how it works, or why, but if you touch anything of hers, anything at all, the consequences would be catastrophic. For you." He looked serious, but he was a lemur. How serious can an anthropomorphic lemur look? "I'm not lying. I'm not joking. I've seen it happen. One chap picked up a sock of one of his other selves and exploded in a puff of red mist."

"That's ridiculous!" She didn't believe it for a second but, just to be safe, she put her keys away. Deep in the bottom of her handbag. Underneath everything. Just in case.

"It is! It is ridiculous! But is it any more ridiculous than Breaches that can send you to alternative realities, timelines, worlds? Any more ridiculous than an alien world where the people live on the walls?" He seemed to relax a little. "Of course it's ridiculous. Nothing I have to deal with even borders on normal. Just trust me. You cannot go into that flat."

Clara decided that, for now, she'd listen to him. Not that anything he just said was remotely true but, if there was even the most minute, infinitesimal chance that she could explode in a puff of red mist for picking up a clean pair of knickers, she would, reluctantly, believe him. For now.