He offered the knife, handle forward, to me. “No, that’s yours,” I said but took it all the same. I examined it up and down.

  “Nah, I’ve got two others. This one’s all yours. Everyone needs something, kid.” He called me a kid again.

  “Are you sure?” I asked as I figured out how to close it.

  “100%,” he said and patted me on the back.

  “Thanks!” I exclaimed, and he smiled. This time, it wasn’t the corpse of Georgio’s smile, it was Georgio’s smile!

  “No problem, kid,” he said and left.

  That night, I held the knife in my hands and kept the books under my pillow. It was dangerous, but I made it out alive.

  The blade was still in my hands when I woke up the following day. I eagerly flipped my pillow over, but the books weren’t there. My heart sunk. I’d had those books for six years. They were the only things that went through what I was going through, and now they were gone. I looked at the blade and opened it. It shot out much faster than I was ready for, and it cut my hand across the palm! “AAH!”

  I looked down. My hand was now shaking. The cut, for a moment, looked fake. It was just a bright red line going across my hand before blood filled it in. A knock on the door sounded, and I heard Georgio’s voice. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I yelled out, though I didn’t know. That was the first time I had ever gotten hurt, and I wasn’t a fan.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I responded, trying not to sound shaken.

  See, here’s the thing about the resets. Obviously, I don’t reset with it. Because of this, some things just don’t happen. My hair, nails, and I grow; my guess is because that was going to happen for sure. But I can’t heal. As I found out the next same-day, the cut was still fresh, as if it had been cut that day. Whatever can’t recover in a day, or how long I can stay up, just won’t heal. It’s like the damage was part of the outside world. The cut was now part of day 1, not part of me.

  That was an important lesson, but not my first takeaway that morning. The knife followed me to the next same-day, as did the books before. At first, I thought that the books were unique like I was, but now I knew better. Whatever I was holding when I reset, I got to bring with me. As I would find out later, this included anything in my pockets, but sadly, not under my pillow.

  I went outside and talked to Johnny. We went through the titular introductions, but this time, it went smoother. As I repeated my days, I learned exactly what people wanted to hear. Everyone wanted to hear something different. There was always a shortcut to someone’s emotions. Johnny’s wasn’t too hard. You just had to seem like you had been hurt as bad as he had been.

  At first, I was happy that I was able to find these cheat codes. It made it easier to progress with someone when they forgot everything you did before. But by the time I looked like I was sixteen, it did something else. Johnny was boring. When I was his exact age, it was easier to get into the deeper conversations, but they stopped being deep when I knew what they were going to say.

  After him, I started talking to a girl. She was 17 the day I was born, so she was 17. When I walked up to her, she bit her lip, and her eyes looked me up and down. She tried not to pause on my legs, but she did. “You are?” she asked, sliding off her seat and over to me.

  I paused. A name she can moan. “John,” I said, and it was apparently the correct answer. It didn’t take much to get her into bed. I don’t want to say it like that, but it was true. Her name, she told me after, was Cinnamon, though I don’t really believe that. Apparently, I had grown into a rather attractive man through the years, everything except my legs.

  We didn’t go “all the way,” as Johnny put it, but we got pretty far. She wanted to go further but I didn’t. It just felt wrong.

  “Well, I’m gone tomorrow, so you’re missing your chance,” she said and smiled. She had a different smile about her, not one of kindness or deviousness like Georgio or Johnny, but a fake one.

  “No, you’re not,” I said, and she gave me a weird look. We were both right.

  The next day, I talked to another girl. She was also about 17, and we sat under the tree I had touched a few years ago. Her name was Sammy, and she is still one of the best people I’ve ever met. When I introduced myself to her, I said my real name, and she said it was adorable. That made me blush, and she smiled at me; she had a new smile too. It was like a mix between Georgio’s and Cinnamon’s, though I would definitely say it was closer to Georgio’s.

  I learned a lot about her the first day and soon found out how to get further. The next day, I talked to her again. This time, I started talking to her from the beginning of the day. I got more time with her during the day and, after a heart-to-heart in the dead of night, when we snuck out of our rooms. We went out to the hill in the backyard of St. Junes, the same hill where I’d met her. We held hands as the moon posted our shadows on the building. (I have always been thankful I was born on a full moon.) “Where do you think you’ll be in a year?” she asked.

  This caught me off guard. She’d just broken her script, and I was thankful for it. “I’m not really sure.”

  “I know what you mean. I don’t have a family anymore,” she said and looked down. I moved my hand from her hand to her opposite shoulder, hugging her. “I just have no idea what’s next or who cares what’s next for me. You know?”

  “I guess…” I paused. “Why do you care about who cares?”

  “It’s nice to be cared about,” she said, still staring at the ground but not pulling away from my embrace. “To know that people actually want you to be alive. To know that someone cares if you just vanished.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said, and she looked up at me.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, changing her gaze from the dirt tone. The light from the moon lit up her red hair and put a sparkle in her beautiful green eyes. They reminded me of Mrs. Bradshaw.

  “I’ve never had a family, friends; I’ve kind of been on my own.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, touching my chest. We both slowly sat back, until we were lying under the stars.

  “Don’t be. I don’t know what I’m missing, so I can’t miss it. Right?” I asked, and I felt tears well up in my eyes. Sometimes, you don’t know what you are really going through until you say it. Really, that’s half the battle.

  “It looks like you miss it,” she said and wrapped her hand entirely around my chest into a hug. “I care about you.” She sounded like she was afraid to say it but happy to have it be said.

  “You won’t tomorrow,” I said, and she looked at me with worried eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “People don’t remember my name, my face. Every day, it’s like they are meeting me for the first time. It…” I felt pain in the back of my throat as I tried not to cry.

  “It’s okay. You can cry,” she said and hugged me tighter. “I won’t judge.” I cried, and it felt amazing, far better than whatever I had done with Cinnamon. “I’ll remember you. I promise,” she said, and she meant it, unaware she was lying.

  That is what made it so hard. She wanted to care and remember and love, but she just couldn’t. The moment I fall asleep, she’ll be gone, the cut’ll be fresh and, well… my day would rinse and repeat. “I believe you. I’m going to remember you, too,” I said, and that was the truth. That will always be the truth.

  I got into my bed that night, and there was a soft knock at the door. I got up and hobbled over. I opened it, and Sammy was standing there, teary-eyed, “I like you, Buddy,” she said and came closer to me. “In that way, you know.”

  I looked down at her, and I knew she was telling the truth, “I like you, too. In that way.” She leaned forward, and I leaned forward. Our lips touched. That was my first kiss. Not whatever it was I had done with Cinnamon.

  That night, I cried as I slowly fell asleep. I debated staying up later. I wanted to so badly, but I knew that the longer I let this go on, the more painful it was going to be. The more I got to know her, the more I got to love her, the more I was going to miss her. Even if I learned her cheat codes, and got further with her every day, I was getting older. She wasn’t. Solitude was imminent.

  I shut my eyes and fell asleep. I woke up, and there was a sharp pain in my hand. It was the same pain that I had been dealing with for years. I felt the knife in my pocket and got out of bed. I was outside the covers, as I always was. I fall asleep under them and wake up on a freshly made bed.

  I knew what was about to happen. I just didn’t want to believe it. I pushed my way through the crowd until I found the ginger, orange hair girl that I had fallen in love with tonight, last night for me. I reached out and gently grasped her hand.

  I knew what was about to happen. I knew she was going to turn around and see a stranger. A stranger that knew her whole life story and then some. A stranger that had fallen maddeningly in love with her without her knowing.

  But maybe, just maybe, it would be different. Perhaps she would turn around and smile that mix of Cinnamon and Georgio, but mostly Georgio. She would say my name, not my fuckable name, but the name I gave myself; well, the one Georgio gave me. She would take my hand, squeeze it, and say, “See, I remember you.” We would then eat breakfast together, go out and sit under the same tree we did the night before. We would talk, moving forward in our knowledge of one another rather than rehashing everything. She would gently touch my leg. I would gently touch her face. She would lean into my hand. She would close her eyes at first, then look at me with those bright green gems, dilated despite the sun, and she would smile.

  That was all I wanted to see. That was what I needed to see. I wanted to see her smile. I wanted her to remember my name as she promised. I needed her to hold my hand again.

  When my fingers touched hers, she pulled away with a jolt. She turned to me with a face I knew, but didn’t want to know, she was going to make. The face of someone seeing a stranger, and that was it. The same face that I have looked into my entire life. Every morning I see nothing but that face, and there it was. This time, it was on Sammy, and I couldn’t handle it. “Hello?” she asked.

  I burst into tears and sprinted down the hall. To her, I must have looked crazy.

  I made my way over to Georgio’s office and sat down. He turned around and raised his eyebrows when he saw me, “Hi there. Can I help you?” He stopped being as caring as I grew older. I was changing from a kid who needed his help to an adult who had found his way into his office. But that change was only on the outside.

  “Yeah, I’ve been here a while. I’m Buddy,” I said and extended my hand.

  He took it with his typical firm handshake and looked at the blood I rubbed on him with disgust, fear, and worry. “Odd, I haven’t seen you around here. When did you come in?” He wiped his hand off quickly and sanitized it.

  Thirteen years ago. “A week ago,” I said, and even that was a bit longer than Georgio was expecting.

  “I’m sorry, kid. What can I help you with?”

  “I need some advice.”

  “Shoot,” he said and leaned back in the swivel chair he was going to die in two days from the rest of my life.

  “You see, Georgio…” it was that moment where I said, as Johnny would say, fuck it, “days don’t move for me.”

  At this point, I looked like I was insane. My scruff was out of control but a far cry from a beard. I had gotten my hair cut, but that was, I think, a year ago.

  “What do you mean by that?” he asked and leaned forward.

  “I mean, I was born today. I was five years old today. I fell asleep today, and I woke up today,” I said and leaned closer to him. My eyes were bloodshot, I could feel it, and they were already swelling with tears.

  Georgio double-checked that he had his piece in his desk drawer, guess he wasn’t a fan of the bleeding, raving man-child, “So, you don’t move forward in time?” he said, and I was surprised he got it so fast.

  “Yes. When you found me, I was something around four. You got a call from a daycare staff member named Greg down at the hospital. I couldn’t crawl, I couldn’t talk, because I spent the first four years of my life in the newborn nursery. That’s why my legs look like this. After that, you took me here, and I learned everything I know from Aaron and that kid Johnny.”

  “Johnny? The Johnny that smokes on the side of the building every day; that Johnny?”

  “Yes, only I was eleven when I met him. If you ask him, he’ll say he doesn’t know me. But I know that his dad used to beat him, his mom, and his brother. I know that there are a couple of round burns on his left arm, some from his old man and some from himself.”

  This made Georgio nervous, “How do you know this?”

  “I told you, I have been talking to him for years, Georgio. FUCKING YEARS!” I yelled out, and he brought his hand to his gun.

  “Calm down.”

  “Cinnamon, that blonde out there with the crop top,” I started. “Parents died in a cruise wreck. Custody was given to her uncle, who did whatever he wanted to do to her for three years before you broke into his house and saved her.”

  “HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS?!” he yelled out.

  “Georgio, I told you already. I have been here for thirteen years. I have been on this day for thirteen years. For you, we are just meeting, but I have known you almost my whole life. Do you have any idea how lonely it is to be a stranger to everyone you know?”

  I paused and took a breath of acceptance “Georgio, I’m fucking done,” I said. The tears were flowing again, “No one remembers me, Georgio! I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE!”

  That was my breaking point. That is when I discovered the third rule to the resets.

  I sprinted to the roof. On my way up, I passed a broken and tired janitor who half-heartedly said, “Careful up there. You could break your neck.”

  It was a taller building. The fall was going to kill me. “Buddy!” I heard Georgio yell. It was amazing how he could be so concerned after only knowing me for a few moments. He would probably care even if he hadn’t met me before.

  I edged my feet over. Now my toes were hanging off. The wind was harsher up here; it reminded me of when I first came outside. I took a breath and looked down. Cinnamon was averting her eyes. Johnny was staring up at me, looking as terrified as I felt. Sammy…

  Sammy looked like she cared, but I knew it wasn’t the care I wanted—needed. It was the same care that Georgio was showing now.

  I leaned, and the wind pushed against me. This was it. I was about to die, and that would be the end of it. The longest day in the history of the world was about to come to an end.

  I felt my feet give way.

  The ground charged at me; faster and faster.

  I made sure that my head hit first, for a split moment, there was pain. That was a pain I’ll never forget as I turned into a paste before everyone’s eyes. I can only assume that it happened to the rest of my body too as I flattened onto the front sidewalk of St. June’s.

  Then, I woke up on the front sidewalk of St. June’s with the same sharp pain stinging on my right hand.

  The summer dew was tickling the grass as I slowly sat up. I looked at the grass, tall like the painting in the daycare, and bright green. I looked up at the sign reading St. June’s. I looked at the entrance, the two automatic sliding doors, the right one always stuck. The repairman always coming tomorrow.

  That is when I realized that death was the same as sleep to the resets. If I died, I simply woke up where I died in another reset. If I died on day 1, I woke up on day 1. If I died on day 3, I woke up on day 1.

  That was my moment of the debate. I could go back in. I could walk around like I had every same-day before. I could talk to Johnny and have one of the many conversations I’d already had. I could go talk to Cinnamon for a minute before it devolved into a violent make-out session. I could go speak to Georgio and get another piece of life advice that I would take to my grave. All I really wanted to do was talk to Sammy. I wanted to see the twinkle in her bright green eyes. I wanted to have the same conversations with her over and over. I wanted to see her smile, the combination of Georgio and Cinnamon (mostly Georgio). I tried to touch her soft hand and softer cheek. I wanted my lips on hers.

  I wanted all of that so bad. I think that is why I turned and started walking down the street. I consider that my 18th birthday. I was now an adult.

  Chapter 1

  I had a knife and the clothes on my back. I didn’t have a license, birth certificate, or Social Security number. I had no car, no money.... That is where I hatched an idea.

  If everything I had on me came with me into the next day (like the knife), money wouldn’t be any different. All I had do was commit a crime.

  I had seen a movie on TV about robbers. They were dressed in all black with ski masks. They also got the life beat out of them by a couple of grown men in costumes, but I think that was beside the point. I didn’t have to hide my face. No one who saw it would be able to remember. Hell, the money wouldn’t even be stolen the next same-day. It was genuinely victimless.

  My first target was tiny. It was a convenience store that was just south of St. June’s. I didn’t want to bite off more than I could chew.

  I walked into the shop, and my heart jumped to my throat. I was almost light-headed. Anyone who was paying any attention would know what was about to happen, but it went down as you might think. I grabbed something from the shelves. I wasn’t paying attention, I think it might have been a bag of chips, and I let the teenage cashier check me out.

  “$3.14,” they said lazily. That is when I drew my blade. Suddenly, they weren’t so lazy, “Over a bag of chips?!” they said and held their hands up.

 

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