Hamster Wheel

            by Emily Judd

 

The phone rang and Katie knelt on the sidewalk to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” replied a crackly voice on the other end.

There was a long wait.

“Why are you calling?” Katie prompted.

“Why did you answer?” countered the voice, but before Katie could reply, it continued, “your shoe lace is untied.”

Katie looked down and saw that it was.

“Oh,” she said. “Thank you,” but the line was already dead.  Katie tied her shoe lace, then continued walking.  After about a block she stopped.  The complicated shadow of a grain distillery fell about her feet and she stared in its general direction as she worked the recent past through her mind.  Phones didn’t belong in the street.  She wondered briefly if she had intercepted some sort of top-secret spy message.  She’d heard that one should never pick up briefcases lying on the side of the road because they were full of official CIA documents.  And her shoe lace had just happened to be untied.

Tilting her head, she went back to the phone which was sitting innocently on the sidewalk. She cautiously crouched down and brought the receiver it to her ear.  Silence.  She hung up and and examined the curly cord attaching the receiver to the base.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except that the phone was sitting unplugged on the sidewalk.  Twitching her nose in a brief almost-snort, she stood up and turned away.  She turned back.  After some deliberation,  she picked up the receiver again and dialed her cellphone number.  She held the phone to her ear and her cellphone open in her hand.  As the phone gave toneless rings, her cellphone remained sullenly silent, then someone with an oddly familiar voice answered the phone.

“Hello?”

Katie replied automatically, “Hello.”

There was a silence as Katie stared at the two phones, and then the voice prompted, “Why are you calling?”

Katie felt a strange dread.

“Why did you answer?” she asked, and then something occurred to her, “Your shoe lace is untied,” she continued.

There was a silence and then, “No it isn’t,” the voice replied with a slightly accusatory tinge.

More silence.

“Why did you tie your shoelace?” Katie asked.

“What? Who is this?”

Katie thought for a moment and then hung up without replying.  Her stomach felt tight.

She was probably late to work.  She glanced at her watch to see what time it was and realized she’d forgotten it at home this morning.  It didn’t feel like morning.  A wave of confusion washed over her and a nagging thought struck her: what if she had already gone to work?  Which direction had she been walking?  Had she been going towards the grain distillery, towards home originally? Or had she been heading to work, and simply turned around?  Calm down.  She checked her cell phone, but all it showed was an abstract image of orange and teal and she remembered that the screen had cracked when she’d dropped it on the stairs that morning.  She bit her lower lip and decided she might as well go to work to check if she’d already been there.  If she had, she could just say she thought she had forgotten something.  No one would think it weird.  She just had to stay logical and go about this methodically.

There was a cargo train going past, so she waited, watching the tall boxes sway heavily on the tracks.  When there didn’t seem to be an end to the train, she sat on one of the guard rails and swung her feet.

At some point the train was gone.  She must have missed seeing the end; perhaps she had dozed off.  For how long, though?  Worriedly, she glanced up at the sky.  There was heavy cloud-cover, but it wasn’t dark enough to be night.  Katie hoped it wouldn’t rain; the furnace had broken in the apartment.

She got to work and peered through the glass door at the rows of scratching posts, food bowls, wire cages, and cardboard stands of multi-colored collars.  There didn’t seem to be anyone there.  She angled her head, trying to see the clock behind the check out counter, but a few streetlights were flickering and the reflections were in the way.  She tried the door handle; it turned under her hand, but the door wouldn’t open.  Fourth Street was just back past the tracks, there would surely be some shops still open-- and shops had clocks.  It started to rain.

She walked along Fourth Street and saw a bookstore glowing a warm orange color from the saucer-shaped lamps hanging from the ceiling.  Katie could make out the shape of a person sitting at the counter, but the door was locked.  She waved, trying to attract the figure’s attention.  Rain dripped of the end off her nose.  Katie peered through the trails of rain running down the glass doors and saw a small clock hanging on the wall behind the counter, nearly obscured by the mazes of shelves.  She squinted, wishing she’d at least tried the eye exercises she had promised the optometrist she would do.  The clock remained obstinately unreadable.  She jumped as her cellphone vibrated in her pocket, then started into what was theoretically a rendition of “Singing in the Rain”.  Katie hesitated, then flipped it open.

“Hello?” She answered cautiously.

“Hello,” replied the crackly voice on the other end.

Katie waited for a moment, and then prompted, “Why are you calling?”

“Why did you answer?” countered the voice, but before Katie could respond it continued, “Your shoe lace is untied.”

“No it isn’t.” She replied accusingly.

More silence.

“Why did you tie your shoelace?” The voice asked.

“What? Who i--” something occurred to Katie. “Wait!” she cried and then caught herself. “Wait,” she continued more calmly.  “What time is it?”

There was a very long pause.

“I don’t know.” said the voice.

Katie thought quickly, “Is your shoelace tied?”

“Yes.”

“How about untying it?” she suggested.  The line went dead.  A few raindrops splattered on the orange and teal screen of her cellphone.

She wished there were at least a few passers-by. They might have had watches.  Fourth Street wasn’t usually so empty.  

It was cold.  She began to walk in the direction of home.  Her jeans clung to her legs, making it difficult to bend at the knee.  She snuck her frozen fingers under her coat and tried to warm them on her belly.  Unfortunately, this maneuver only succeeded in making her belly cold and damp.  Anxiety climbed up her throat, making it hard to breathe.  Strains of music drifted to her ears and she forced herself to calm down.

There was a man in a stained down-jacket and a knit cap swaying as he played a small electric keyboard in the doorway of a closed shop.  He’d press a button, play a short repetitive phrase, then press another button and the phrase would continue playing as he added yet another phrase on top.  It was a neat effect, and Katie was tempted to give him some change.  Her fingers searched her pockets and found a dime, but she felt that somehow it would be insulting.  She turned her eyes downward in preparation for hurrying past him, but he suddenly stopped playing.  The keyboard continued its tapestry of phrases as he sat up and stared at her.

“Hey, wait up,” he called.

She slowed and turned her head towards him questioningly, hoping that he might be some magical spirit guide, or even a guy with a watch.

“You got a smoke?” he asked.

Katie shook her head, “You got the time?” she asked.

“Hell no, man. No-body’s got the time!  It’s a chain of,” he trailed off and added another note to the framework already drifting from the little keyboard.

“Oppression.” he said, apparently continuing his thought from before.  “You can’t be oppressed if you’ve got a good name.” He said, beginning to warm up to what seemed to be a favorite rant.  Katie thought that maybe she recognized him from downtown.  She’d never really paid attention though, so she couldn’t be sure.  She noticed a bundle of clothes huddled behind the man.

“See, my mother, she had a good Scandinavian name and so did her mother before her.  You Scandinavian?”  When Katie shook her head, he continued, “I’ve got a good Scandinavian name.  I used to color films.  I colored films for Humphrey Bogart and Charlie Chaplin.  They were men with style.”

Katie began to look around for an escape route and noticed that the bundle behind the keyboard-player was a very tiny, frail old man huddled over on himself..

“Is your friend all right?” She asked.

“Him?  He’s fine.  Crazy as a lark though. Just repeats words over and over.  I take care of him.”

“Oh.”

The old man peered out of his huddle.

“Hamster.” he said.

“Oh,” said Katie again.  “Look, I really ought to be getting home.”

The keyboard player nodded and Katie smiled half-heartedly.

 The apartment was cold, as she had predicted.  Her footsteps echoed in the metal stairway.  It was dank and smelled faintly of pigeons.  She fumbled with her keys and had to ram her shoulder against the door because it always stuck when it rained.

Once inside, she sat on her bed and chewed her lower lip, stopping at the taste of blood.  She felt weary, but didn’t feel as though she’d ever be able to sleep.  Her stomach was twisting tightly.  She glanced around for her clock, then saw it on the floor, leaning with its face to the wall and the battery case open.  The batteries had died a week ago, but she still hadn’t remembered to buy new ones.  There had to be something else to do.  She should call someone; they’d maybe laugh at her, but it’d be a breath of normalcy.  Maybe she could have them call her, and then.  She tried to think.  And then what?  She gave up and began searching for the phone book, but there were too many stacks of books and miscellaneous papers to search them all.  Eventually, she gave up and sat back down on the bed.  Her eyes prickled with frustration.  She slipped off her shoes and lay down.  Then she quickly sat up, untied her shoelaces and looked around expectantly.  She tried tying just one pair.  Untying that pair and tying the other.  Tying them both.  Tying them together.  Nothing happened.  She got up and left, slamming the door after her.

The metal landing froze her bare feet so she turned to go back in, but realized she had left her keys inside as well as her shoes.  She wandered down to the superintendent's room and knocked, but no one answered.  Shivering, she waited until it became clear that no one was home, and then left, heading for nowhere in particular.

“Hey, it’s you again,” said the keyboard player, looking sincerely pleased.  “You don’t have shoes,” he noticed.

Katie nodded, “Listen,” she said, “what do you know about phones and shoe-laces?” She quickly added, “It’s important.”

He played a fast arpeggio, “Important?  What’s important?  It’s all just bits and pieces.  In Scandinavia, shoes don’t up and walk away.  People get too fancy here.  Try to replace names with shoes.”

“Time loop,” said the bundle of clothes behind him

“What was that?” Katie asked.

“You should be glad you call so much.  I have no teeth, hamster,” the old man replied.

“I told you he was crazy,” the keyboard player laughed, oddly in time with his recently added arpeggio.  “He has plenty of teeth.  Do you want to wear my shoes?”

Katie looked at his crusty old boots and shook her head.

“Exchanging shoes is an act of love, but that’s alright because I’ve got enough love for people, not just shoes,” he explained.

Katie nodded, but still did not take up his offer.  Instead she turned to the old man behind him.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“I’m not crazy either,” he mumbled.

Katie didn’t feel very reassured.

“How’d you come up with that way of playing?” she asked the keyboard player, trying to keep her mind off of her situation as he deleted a few tracks and set down a new bass line.

“It started playing this loop and I just joined in, let the music flow.” He swayed a bit as he spoke, playing a long, flowing melody.

“Oh,” said Katie.

She sat down on the sidewalk, rubbing her numb toes.  They tingled as sensation returned.  Wiggling her toes, Katie pulled out her cell phone and pressed send without dialing a number.  She heard the tone indicating that it was ringing.  It stopped.

“Hello?” said Katie, but before she could listen for a response, the old man unfolded and snatched the cell phone in one fluid movement.

“Hamster wheel!” He screamed into the cell phone and then threw it into the street where it clattered and some small piece disappeared down the drain.  He grinned at her expectantly.

“Sideways hamster,” he explained.

Katie rushed towards her cell phone and then a wave of disorientation passed over her.  She almost ran into a ‘no parking’ sign.  The grain distillery’s long shadows twisted about her feet as she looked around.  The sky above was a deep, cloudless blue fading to teal, then orange, where the sun was sinking.  A man in paint stained pants walked past and she ran to catch up.

“Wait.” He turned and looked at her politely.  “Do you know what time it is?”

He glanced down at his watch and smiled pleasantly, “5:30.”

“A.M. or P.M.?”

He laughed, so Katie laughed as well.  “P.M.”

“Thank you.”

As the man walked on, Katie smiled, breathing in the crisp, twilight air.

The phone rang.