Little Matt's a Prick
Sooooo.
Picked up Bo, to whom I shall bequeath the beer I owe her after either payday or a particularly lucrative Doordash run in like, Soddy Daisy or Signal Mountain. The routes where people can afford to make terrible financial decisions in exchange for a tepid chai and a soggy sandwich.
Bo and I went back to the ditch on 46th and sure enough, Young Me materialized outta nowhere playing with his silly little robot.
Bo craned her head towards me and asked, "does this mean you owe me even more beer?"
"I lost track," I said. "But, y'know, probably. Ask him what his deal is."
"What?"
"Like, what's he doing, is he me, what's the deal."
"I'm not gonna just ask him 'what's your deal,' I remember you as a teenager. You'd have answered 'I like boobs.'"
"Boobs are very likeable."
"Guys," Young Me said, "I can hear you. Let me explain."
I don't remember exactly everything he said, which is inexcusable because he is me, but like, only sort of. Here's a breakdown of the stuff he said:
- I'm you, don't freak out. I'm not you-from-here-from-before, I'm me-from-there-from-now. I was just born later than you. Waaaaay later, by the looks of it.
(At this point, I--old-as-shit Matt--suddenly noticed a hell of an itch at the corner of my eye which I elected to scratch with my middle finger in an exaggerated manner while saying "fuck you, kid," in case he didn't get the hint. Sorry for the interruption; here's more of what that snotnose little fucker said.)
- I know you used to play in this ditch as a kid because I did. To quote a famous Doctor, it's all wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey, but there's no paradox here. I remembered a shitty robot I made as a kid and thought you would remember as well so I brought it here because I knew you'd recognize it. There's a baby terrapin in the Pringles tube. He's pretty cool.
- I need your help finding something that made its way into your dimension from mine. There was an awful pandemic for a few years and we lost a lot of people to a coronavirus, and while working on a vaccine for the East Lake science fair, Adam and I accidentally made a grey kind of non-newtonian putty but it soaks through the pores of your skin and does fucked up shit to your nervous system. It's incredibly volatile and dangerous and I'm afraid if we don't contain it, it'll wipe out a lot of people. I don't wanna be responsible for that.
I started to ask him why he didn't ask the cops for help, to which he just stared at me like a judgmental prick and said "Say that again, but slow, so even you can hear it."
It's been at least a handful of minutes since I'd wanted to punch a teenager.
He's right, though. This seems dangerous, and the cops wouldn't give half a wet shit if people started dropping dead all over Blackbottom, East Lake, and Rossville.
We're back at my place on [Ain'tTellingYou] Avenue and working on a plan. Naturally, he's judging me for having a gummy. I swear I'm going to kick his (my?) ass before the night's over. Bo's researching some of the stuff Lil' Me said is in the substance, which he said Adam named 'fucky putty' and for which I hope we find a better name, but I admit, we're unlikely to find one as descriptive. Does what it says on the tin.
I'm gonna go outside and have a smoke so I don't kick the shit outta this little bastard.
Y'all have a good night.
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