I noticed things repeating around the fourth day of summer break. As per usual, I checked my phone upon waking up. The dimly lit screen glared back at me. 11:01 AM. I couldn’t seem to wake up any earlier, not for lack of trying. I had managed to wake up later a few times. There were mornings when my phone read 11:05 or 11:03. Those extra few minutes felt like a godsend. Of course I knew that I wasn’t actually asleep during that time. The rules of these things don’t work like that. I was awake at 11:00 AM, whether my eyes were open or not.
I swung my feet over the side of the bed, sighing as I felt them hit the shag carpeting below me. “Let’s get this over with…” There were a few events in the cycle that I dreaded more than the rest. I learned fairly early on that some could be avoided, but this first one seemed like it was inevitable. I’d even spent an entire day in my room trying to wait it out. It seemed to work until I got hungry. I wasn’t sure if my hunger “reset” with the day, but starving to death didn’t sound pleasant. I’d never been one to take risks like that. My eyes adjusted to the light of the hallways as I walked towards the stairs. It wasn’t much of a hallway, just a space between my mom’s room and mine, separated by a bathroom. It’s ridiculous that a few words could irritate me so badly. I’m not sure if it’s the repetition, or the condescension in her voice as she says them. I walked down the stairs into our small kitchen, my lips muttering along with my mom’s words.
“Look who decided to leave his room today.” What pisses me off even more than that tired line is the dumb smile on her face after she says them. It’s not that funny. It wasn’t funny the first cycle, and it certainly isn’t the type of humor that grows on you.
“Mornin’,” I muttered, mentally wincing as I realized I’d triggered another cycled event.
“No, it was morning when I woke up.” I resisted the urge to mock her words. My hands pushed deeper in my pajama pocket struggling not to use them to mimic the movements of her mouth. “Really, sometimes I wonder how you can be my son. It’s a miracle you made it to your classes last semester.”
“That’s why I took afternoon classes,” I’d discovered that reply in one of the earlier cycles. It seemed to put a stop to that conversation which was enough for me. Even when the conversations changed they felt draining. My hand pulled on the door of the fridge. I reached in, guided by countless mornings of the same action. My hand settled on a yogurt. It wasn’t to eat, in fact I’d throw it out as soon as I got the chance. Grabbing a snack here meant I could avoid the “you need to eat more” conversation later. That one got old after the second time it appeared in a cycle. I looked at the time on the oven’s display. If I timed it right… My phone buzzed in my pocket, a perfectly timed event. I pulled it out to unnecessarily check the notification. Jackson had just got out of tennis. 11:32. Every day. Every cycle. He was texting to just “check in”. Even my community college attending ass could figure out that just checking in meant he was bored and needed someone to play Overwatch with. There were a few cycles where I told him no. I used the time to think, wondering why I was the main character in this crappy rendition of Depressed Groundhog’s Day. Wondering got me nowhere, so lately I’ve been agreeing. I’d gotten pretty good at the game.
I didn’t bother answering him, I knew as soon as I got to my desk he’d be ready to call. Sure the cycles were mundane at times, but I enjoyed the predictability of some events. As I took a seat at my desk I made a point of tossing the yogurt into the bin beside me. I never felt guilty about that. After all, tomorrow it won’t be there. I opened Discord and immediately pressed the call button. Jackson’s voice rang through my headphones. “Noah, Noah, Noahhh…” I’d heard him draw my name out like that countless times, still I couldn’t help but smile.
“Hey Jack. How are you?” I knew he was good. In fact, I had his entire day practically memorized by now. The day I sacrifice my politeness to this time loop however is the day it wins.
“Good, I killed it in tennis today.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. I chuckled as I opened up the game.
“You always kill it in tennis, Jacks.” I sent him an invitation to join my party. “It’s like… your thing.”
“I mean like really killed it! You should’ve seen me, Noah.” He had me blushing at this point. “Y’know, you should come to a game sometime,” I frowned. I’d messed up somewhere, let myself get too excited. I made a point of avoiding that dialogue option. Whether I wanted to or not, watching him play wasn’t a part of the cycle.
“Yeah… maybe,” I felt my teeth grit together as the game started to pick up. The worst part of the cycle? The matches never played out the same, I actually had to try and win each round. When things calmed down I spoke again. “Hey Jacks… Does it ever feel like you’re living the same day over and over?” There was no point in trying to be subtle, things will just reset anyways. Still, it surprised me when he went quiet for a second. I assumed he’d reply with a quick no and move on.
“Sometimes. Honestly? Yeah.” His words got quiet. “There are days where whether I win in tennis, whether I go for a run after breakfast, whether I even get out of bed, none of it feels like it matters. Like it’s all the same, and it’ll always be like that.” He paused, seemingly stuck in deep thought. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be that depressing.”
“No, it’s okay,” I tried to be reassuring. My day would reset but something told me Jackson’s feelings wouldn’t. “I know that feeling…” The match win screen flashed in front of me. “I think I’m gonna go,” I smiled softly, hoping it would come through as I spoke. “Thanks, for playing with me.”
“Of course, have a good night Noah.” Before I could end the call he spoke again. “Hey, text me if you need anything, okay?”
“Yeah, I will.” I’d have to make a note of that one. I wanted more of it, whether I was stuck in this loop or not.
I tried to stay up that night to beat the system. Ten o’clock passed, then eleven. I’d never made it past midnight. It seemed my eyes decided I wouldn’t this time either.
I blinked, taking in the sunlight that peaked through my curtains. My fingers fumbled to flip my phone. 11:03 AM. Woohoo, yesterday’s time beaten by two whole minutes. As I stretched I found myself thinking about my conversation with Jackson the “day” before. The cycle needed something new. I unlocked my phone and typed out a text. “Hey, hope your game goes well.” It was a small change. I knew it wouldn’t have much of an effect. It was enough for me. If Jacks saw it and smiled, if he enjoyed his game even a tiny bit more, that was enough for me. I looked over at my desk. My trash can was empty. I sighed. It was practically a part of the cycle at this point, that sigh of dread. My steps were heavy down the stairs.
“Look who decided to leave his room tod-”
“Yes mom, I left my room. It’s a miracle. It’s a goddamn miracle.” I grunted and swung the fridge open. I didn’t dare look at her. I knew after a night of sleep this would all be erased. My outburst was pointless, so why did I still feel bad… “I’m sorry,” I muttered, grabbing a yogurt and turning to walk upstairs. Another loop stuck in my room seemed like an appropriate punishment.
“Leave it.” Her words carried a directness I wasn’t used to.
“What do you mean?”
“If you aren’t going to eat it, leave it here.” I stumbled mid-step. Whether I was shocked or angry that she’d called me out I couldn’t tell.
“Fine.” I placed the yogurt on the kitchen island next to me and marched upstairs. I took a seat at my desk and preemptively launched Overwatch. I still had about twenty minutes till the “out of tennis” text. My cursor clicked around the menu for a bit before it lost my attention. As I got up to move back to my bed I felt that buzz. I looked down at my phone expecting the text I’d been so used to seeing. In its place was a knife to the chest. Won the game! Going out for food to celebrate. So this was the punishment for my outburst, the cycle refusing me its only redeeming aspect. Fuck. In a fit of petty anger I grabbed my jacket and wallet, fully intending to storm out of the house. I walked downstairs, prepared to defend my impulsive actions. My mom was exactly where I’d left her before, only now her head laid on the table below her. The air was tense, filled with just the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sniffle. My eyes darted towards the door. I could easily make it there without being noticed. It would actually be easier to not be noticed. This already wasn’t an easy cycle, and I’d been enough of a dick. I made a point of stepping near her, my foot stomping on the hardwood below me.
She looked over at me, clearly trying her best to smile. Her best was nowhere close to good enough. “Noah. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be coming back down.” Her eyes widened as she realized how I’d (most definitely) take that. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, you seemed upset.”
“I was actually going to go out…” I lifted my jacket for emphasis. “Are you okay?”
She laughed and shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.” She emphasized the “you’re” as if to say “it’s you who’s a complete mess.” I wanted to be angry but honestly, yeah. I’m a mess.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I forced a chuckle, hoping to lighten the tension that hung heavy through the kitchen.
She looked down before speaking next. “Noah, you hardly eat. You barely leave your room. You never see your friends.” She paused. “I just worry about you.” This was new. Nobody had ever questioned the cycle before. I barely questioned the cycle at this point. “I’m not going to nag you. You’re an adult. You have been for longer than I want to believe. Just…”
“Take care of myself. I got it, mom.” That part wasn’t new. Almost every lecture ended with it. I still felt bad. “I’m sorry about earlier. It just gets a little old sometimes, y’know?”
Her eyes met mine, still sobbing silently as she nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
I decided against going out. I couldn’t stand the thought of my mom worrying about me, even if it was just till midnight. I walked back to my room, my body throwing itself down on my bed. There was no use trying to stay up.
I got up at eleven. My feet stumbled sleepily to my desk. The kitchen was to be avoided today, at least this morning. It was easier to hear my mom’s crappy line when she winked it at me as we both grabbed a late-night snack. The Google homepage glared back at me, calling for me to transform my thoughts into a typed search. “Crisis hotline”. It would be impossible to find a same day therapy session, and I don’t trust the cycle to respect appointment times. A few websites came up along with the traditional “if you are in danger call 911” speech. I picked one at random and grabbed my phone.
The phone rang for an embarrassingly long time. There was almost enough time for me to talk myself out of it and hang up. Before I could pull the phone away however I heard a woman speak.
“Seattle Mental Support, this is Ashley. How can I help you?” I could easily tell she was reading from a script. Or at least she’d been trained to memorize one.
“I didn’t know where else to call… I think I just need to talk. Is that okay?” I hadn’t planned out what I was going to say. The thing with these hotlines is one wrong word and you’re answering the door to police.
“That’s more than okay. Can I just get a good callback number in case we get disconnected?” I recited my number for her. I could hear her writing it down, her notepad probably next to a worn-down “hang in there” poster. “Okay, what would you like to talk about?”
“Don’t you need my name?”
“Only if you’re comfortable sharing it, hon.” I made note of her southern drawl, only making an appearance when she said hon.
“I’m Noah.”
“Nice to meet you Noah, I’m Jennifer.”
“Jennifer,” I repeated. “Does it ever feel like you’re living the same day over and over? Like everything’s just repeating… and no matter what you do it just feels pointless?”
“I think everyone has those kinda days, hon.” She overused hon. This was going to be a short call. “I guess it just depends on if those are all of your days.”
I nodded, not that she could see. “They are…”
“Well… depression can make you feel like that, Noah. It can make you feel like there’s nothin’ you can do and no way to change anything.”
“So that’s just it? I’m depressed and that’s that?” I sounded angrier than I’d have liked.
“Not necessarily, let me ask you this Noah darling. Yesterday, were you on the phone, making this call?
I shook my head, then realized she couldn’t see me. “No.”
“Well there you go, hon. It’s somethin’. It’s a start.” Her enthusiasm was contagious, though I resented that fact.
I began to speak, but was interrupted by the buzz of my phone. I pulled the phone away to check the notification. Jackson: Sorry, practice ran long today! I have a game tomorrow, I’d really like it if you came.
“Hello, you still there?” I snapped to reality and pulled the phone back to my ear.
“I’m here… I should go soon though.” I doubt this conversation is going anywhere useful.
“Alright, Noah. But listen, I think you should see a therapist alright? They can help you a bunch more than we can here.”
“Okay.” I agreed in an effort to hurry the conversation along.
“And Noah… Remember now, it’s okay to believe in a tomorrow.”
“Alright, thank you. Bye.” I hung up the phone before she could get out her goodbye. Part of me felt bad about it. I just didn’t want to get roped back into the therapist conversation, even if there was something there. I held my phone in one hand, my eyes panning across the screen. As my thumb hovered over the reply button a single thought came to mind.
It’s okay to believe in a tomorrow.