Rift by Richard Cox

because seeing him this way makes me realize again just how much of a risk this was. “You won’t be saying that when I kick your ass on the golf course.”
    â€œIn your dreams,” he chuckles.
    We step forward, moving past a desk and toward the exit. I’m trying to think of something to say, a sentence or two that can summarize my appreciation for this opportunity and the reality of my importance in their—
    Suddenly I’m falling. My feet have caught on the carpet and I’m falling. Involuntarily, I throw my arms out for balance. Stumble forward. Slam my head against the desk on the way down. Hit the ground with a thud.
    Tom kneels to help me. “Jesus, Cam. Are you all right?”
    â€œYeah, I’m fine.”
    He extends his hand and pulls me to my feet. Thirty-five-year-old bones aren’t rubbery and resilient like a child’s are. I haven’t taken a spill like that in years.
    â€œMr. Fisher,” King says. “I am so very sorry.”
    But I’m already up, brushing myself off and feeling like an idiot. Everything looked fine during the exam, and now I go and trip over myself in front of everyone. What a fool. They’re going to think my sense of balance has been altered in some way. They’ll probably take me back to the nurse for more tests.
    â€œNo problem,” I tell him. “Just tripped over myself. I’m fine.”
    â€œAre you sure, Cameron?” Tom says. He’s looking at me like I was just hit by a car. “That must’ve hurt like hell.”
    â€œI’m telling you, you’re going to wish something was wrong with me when we’re on the course tomorrow.”
    â€œYou keep saying that,” he says, but without a smile.
    â€œBefore you go,” King says, “I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for volunteering, Mr. Fisher. You were right when you said our machine has the potential to revolutionize human culture. And you’re playing a big part in that.”
    â€œThank you for asking me to volunteer.”
    â€œAnd for the money,” Tom says over my shoulder. “Don’t forget to thank ’em for that, Cam.”
    I want to turn around and punch him, but it’s too late now, anyway. King only laughs.
    â€œHave a good stay in Phoenix,” he says as we grab my luggage.
    â€œThank you. I will.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    â€œThat was bizarre,” Tom says as he weaves his Acura into traffic. Tom is not a well-to-do man, not by any means, but that doesn’t stop him from finding the money to purchase showy toys like this car. He bought it used, I’m sure, a twenty-four-month-old model with forty thousand miles on her. His clothes are pricey, but he owns few. The expensive watch is probably ten years old. He’s a man trying desperately to halt the inevitable process of aging, but he’s also my best friend. I guess I wouldn’t know what to do if he decided to grow up.
    â€œWhen you came out of that damn door,” he continues, “I wasn’t sure what you were going to look like. I had these pictures in my head of seeing you all mangled and shit. Like you’d have a new eye on your pecker or something.”
    I give Tom a sour look. He’s smarter than he sounds. This Stephen King bullshit is just a ploy to piss me off.
    â€œOr you’d come out all crazy, speaking in tongues or walking in circles.”
    â€œWhatever.”
    â€œSo is it what you thought?”
    â€œI guess so.”
    â€œWhat was it like?”
    â€œHard to describe. On one hand, it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. I mean, one second I was in Houston, and the next . . . the next second she’s telling me to get dressed. If I wasn’t looking at you right now— I don’t know. It’s easy to imagine that maybe it didn’t happen.”
    â€œSo it’s like when you go to sleep. Out like a light