A Taste Of My Own Medicine (V)

Part V – My Own Worst Enemy

              I was furious with myself. How long had I been sleeping with my wife behind my own back? How many different versions of me were running around town causing God knows what kind of mischief? I had to put a stop to this. I was going to destroy the iron lung once and for all.

              I rushed outside before the other me could put his pants back on. I had no desire to speak to my wife or to myself. The disorientation was fogging my ability to effectively judge the situation, so I was mad at both of them even though I shouldn’t have been. My wife wasn’t cheating on me. I should have been relieved, but I wasn’t. I was furious with myself and my other self for ignoring the doctor’s request to take the medicine. It was the most bizarre form of resentment I’d ever felt, because it was simultaneously a feeling of regret.

              Outside, I found that my car was gone, no doubt taken by yet another me with an identical set of keys. I ran to the curb where my wife’s car was parked, took the hide-a-key from under the frame, and got in. The other me burst out of the front door of my house in his underwear, chasing after me. I wasn’t sure if he was from tomorrow or yesterday, but if I destroyed the time machine I would be certain he wasn’t from tomorrow. If I hadn’t been taking the chronominaphine, what other rules I could have broken? He could have been from next year. I could just stop using the lung, but I didn’t want to take the chance. In recent days, I could have travelled so far ahead that trouble would be following me for years to come. Who knows what other kind of trouble I’ve already set myself up for? Why didn’t I just take the medicine?

              On the way to the doctor’s office, misfortune (or perhaps luck) favored me when I found my car. Or rather, it found me. Stuck in traffic on the bypass, my own car rear ended me when another me looked down for a fraction of a second to check his phone. My memory jogged in the crash. “Today” wasn’t even “today”. From my perspective, “today” won’t happen for another five days. I’ve travelled again, and this time I don’t even know why I came back. The me I found having sex with my wife was probably in his own time; not a traveler at all. I was the outsider.

Now I know why my car was missing after I caught myself “cheating” with my wife. I faintly remembered one version of me picking up the car while a second version of me walked in on a third version of me having sex with my wife. This second me dropped the car off back at my work so I would have something to drive home. Jesus, this was getting out of hand. I’m at home, I’m at work, I’m catching myself having sex with my wife, and I’m stealing my own car from myself. I’m sure I’m in several other places as well. Why didn’t I just keep it simple and cheat a bookie?

              Dizzy from just having been rear ended, I remembered that the me that just hit me with my own car got out and we exchanged words. When it happened to him, he told me to be more careful in the future, but this time through I didn’t have time to stop and mingle with him. I drove off angrily with two different memories of what had happened and continued to the doctor’s office. Part of me blamed myself, but a bigger part of me blamed the doctor for allowing such a destructive force to even exist.

              When I arrived, the office was empty. I used my key to get in. I headed downstairs to the room containing the lung, and just as I put my key in the door, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

              “Can we speak for a moment?” said the doctor’s voice.

              I had disobeyed every order he had given me so far, and I figured I should at least hear the man out. Fighting the urge to tell him to go fuck himself, I said “Fine.” We returned to his office upstairs and I sat down on his couch.

              “I was your age once, too, you know.” he began. “I know how recklessness seems to go hand in hand with youth. A time machine is a lot of responsibility, and I understand that things can become overwhelming rather quickly. Maybe I was foolish for thinking you were mature enough to handle something like this. Maybe we can try again in a few years.”

              It was his fault all of this happened. He’s the one who built the damn thing. Ignoring the man’s nonsense, I said “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t destroy that abomination downstairs.”

              The doctor furrowed his brow, and suddenly I saw an extraordinary familiarity in his eyes that I had never noticed before. I felt like I had known him my entire life.

              “Because in about 30 years, you build it. It’s your life’s work.” He with a chuckle.

              There was a long pause.

              “Who are you?” I asked.

              He smiled.

              “I think you know.” He said.