Cathy and Mike

"A twentieth century physicist named Albert Einstein once said, ‘Life is not a discreet sequence of events. It is a line of perception drawn through a sea of infinite possibilities.’ The man didn’t know how right he was. He had a great sense of humor, though. For a local.

Inertia is the really tricky part. It can work for you or against you. It can be your best friend when you’re coasting downstream, monitoring for harmonic distortions. In certain zones it can be a hurricane of tachyonic fury when you try to change the stream, even the tiniest bit.

Consequences. Consequences led to the existence of the stream. We know that’s true, but the antecedent escapes even the Prometheus Committee. Everything in it from the beginning to the leading edge is laden with them, before and after perspective. If there is an end of time, we haven’t gotten there yet. I feel sorry for those poor saps trying to ride the wave. My job is easier, I have perspective going both ways.

Not that that always helps. In the end, everything boils down to which string you pull.

I’m a tuner. My name is Jared."

10…

The Mustang blasted along the empty highway, kicking up a trail of thin dust in its wake. The vaporifics rising from the pavement in the blast furnace heat were disturbed only briefly by it’s passing.

9…

Less than five miles away, the eighteen wheeler pulled off of I-15, and onto the empty desert highway.

8…

"It has to be here. This is where I remember it being. How could I miss it?" Mike groused to himself, aloud, banging his fist on the hood of his car.

7…

He got back in and drove slowly along the highway, almost off the pavement, looking for anything that would help him find his way back to Cathy.

6…

"The sand couldn’t have blown over it since this morning. The day is clear and there is no wind. Where is it?"

5…

The eighteen wheeler was a Kenworth, an older model, but in good repair. The driver, however, was redlining, and headed for a breakdown. He was on the final leg of a long haul from Cedar Rapid, to Salt Lake, To LA, then back to Cedar Rapids and home.

4…

After driving this way for a while, he again turned his car around, pulling onto the pavement and cutting across to the other side. He never looked to see if there were cars coming. Who ever drove this road in the heat of the day? Mike turned up his radio, the Eagles blaring out, helping him force his mind off the bright desert heat.

3…

The rate of closure between Ford and Semi was one hundred and twenty-six miles an hour. That’s a mile every twenty-eight seconds. It was dark, quiet and cool within the massive truck. The long haul driver’s eyes drooped momentarily. He shook off sleep and lit a cigarette. His wife thought he had quit for the baby. But, all things considered, he didn’t think that would matter now. His eyes frowned. The smoke swirled through the cabin.

2…

He stopped again along the side of the highway.

1…contact.

As Mike turned to look out the driver side window, he came face to face with a man with pure white hair, stooped, looking in at him. Not six inches away.

"Jesus and Mary!"

The man smiled, "Sorry ‘bout that."

Mike’s arms dropped from their protective pose, and fell into his lap. He panted a moment, anger rising to replace his fear. "Where the Hell did you come from?" he demanded.

The man seemed unimpressed, either by the question or by his anger, "You headed for Mac’s?"

Mike paused, anger forgotten. He stared into the man’s eyes, almost hypnotized. The man was not as old as he had first seemed. It was the hair. He had young, merry eyes of the palest blue that Mike had ever seen. The eyes held him helplessly for a long moment.