Week Nineteen: A time-traveler recognizes you...

DESTINY

In your experience, the big moments have always had a surreal, somewhat out-of-body quality to them. When you were furiously pedaling your Huffy ten-speed bike down the hill and you hit a rock, sending you soaring not only through the air but into a busy street, you did not feel like you. Or at least, you weren’t there. You were above the scene as it unfolded, regarding it, trying to decide whether it was real, and then, finally, your hands bloody and gravel deep in your flesh, accepting that it was.

This is more or less how it felt when the time traveler found you. You were on your lunch break, enjoying a chickpea fritter from the trendy vegetarian food truck parked near your office job, when the time traveler, incredulous, spoke your name as if he already knew he was about to win the lottery.

“We’re really not supposed to do this,” he gushed, “but I cannot believe it’s really you. I have so many questions; I don’t even know where to start!”

“Hi,” you responded, your mouth full of carrot, hummus, and pickled cabbage. “Sorry, what?”

He couldn’t say exactly who or what you would become, but he said enough. You knew you would be influential to a lot of people, and that those people would go on to influence others. You would likely be rich, but more importantly, you would be powerful. When or how this would happen, the traveler could not say. But it was enough to see in his earnest manner that he was honored to meet you. That you would, someday, be great.

But how to begin? Where does one even start? Was there this opportunity or that to find and exploit, or was patience what was needed? Would all of this simply come to you in due course, or, by your knowing, and acting differently than you likely would have, was there a chance that your great future would never happen?

But waiting was impossible, now that you knew—who could be possibly content with what is when it so paled in comparison to what will come?

Let history show that you did not wait. Let it show that you seized every opportunity that came your way, and even some that did not. Let some say that you were terrible. That you were a monster. What of it?

You were great. When your last big moment comes and just before you are, truly and forever, no longer you, there will be nothing more to accept; you already know what was real. 

Week Eighteen: Suicidal guy who comes to the brink and back, renewed purpose

"It's just, hoo," Cheez-It said, eyeing the impossible distance between the dresser where he sat and the hard floor below. "I don't think this is one of your better ideas."

"What are you talking about?!" Ollie hissed. The elder grey cat regarded the orange tabby with cold yellow eyes. "You said you're sick of everyone treating you like a kitten. Well, here it is: your chance to be a cat."

"Yeah," said Cheez-It, "but it's very far down."

"We got up here just fine, didn't we?"

"You jumped and I crawled up the cashmere sweater," Cheez-It recalled. "Which was also scary, I might add."

Ollie let the silence linger as he cleaned himself. Then, noncommittally: "Fear is what separates a kitten from a cat, Cheese Doodle. Do what you want. God, I am just filthy..."

"My name is Cheez-It—," Cheez-It began.

"Sorry, but what does that even mean?" Ollie interjected.

"It... well I don't know," Cheez-It admitted. "But it's different than a Cheese Doodle. I think."

"Whatever," Ollie yawned. "Jump or don't. I'm going to go chew on that orchid some more."

"No, wait! Don't leave me!" Cheez-It mewed plaintively. 

Ollie smiled. "Are you going to do it?"

Cheez-It looked down again. The floor seemed even farther away this time. He felt sick. He threw up on a thin fuzzy scarf.

"Feel better?" Ollie asked, wryly.

"No."

"You should really save that trick for when you're angry at them, you know." 

"I know," Cheez-It said, feeling even more foolish now. 

"Anyway," Ollie continued, between tentative bites of Cheez-It's former breakfast, "you're thinking way too much about this. Cats are all instinct."

Every instinct in Cheez-It's small body told him not to jump, but he swallowed and nodded anyway.

"Just crouch, wriggle your behind, and pounce. You barely chewed this at all; do you know that?"

"Crouch, wriggle, pounce," Cheez-It repeated to himself. "Crouch, wriggle, and... pounce...!"

Cheez-It remained where he was. Ollie finished his second breakfast and then regarded him again.

"You're not going to do it, are you?"

"Maybe I'm still a little bit a kitten," Cheez-It admitted.

"It's cool," Ollie said. "I used to come up here and howl until they came to get me down. If you don't train them early you're going to have to deal with behavior issues later."

"There's so much to learn," Cheez-It sighed.

"You'll get there," Ollie purred, then noticed the folded white dress shirt that Cheez-It was sitting on. "See that?"

Cheez-It looked down. "This?"

"You've barely gotten any fur on that at all. Here—this can be your next lesson." Ollie stepped onto the white padded bed, kneaded it with his claws, circled, and then laid down.

"Nap time?" Cheez-It grinned. 

"Nap time," Ollie yawned. "But first, could you get that spot back there? I can't really see it, but I just know it's disgusting..."

"Sure thing, boss," Cheez-It said, and began grooming the older cat. He hoped someday he could be just as big.