The Unusual Second Life of Thomas Weaver Episode Two (The Unusual Life Of Thomas Weaver Book 2) by Shawn Inmon Page B

what?
    Everything here could disappear when I close my damn eyes. That’s how I got here in the first place, just closed my eyes and went to sleep, but I don’t want that to happen again. Life felt completely disposable until today. Now it’s precious again.
    Even so, I can't stay awake forever. I saw how that turned out in the Nightmare on Elm Street movies . “Eventually, you gotta sleep, even if Freddy is coming to get you ,” he mumbled.
    A few minutes later, he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling and wondering whether it had asbestos in it, when Zack padded into the room, undressed, and crawled into his bed.
    Zack. He’s going to die in less than four months, and I’m going to be the one to kill him. Or am I? Now that I’m here again, can I change things? If I do, will it change everything going forward? How could it not? What will happen if I just don’t go to that kegger with him?
    Zack said, “Hey, Squirt?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Aren’t you going to play one of your awful records?”
    “You don’t care?”
    “Nah. I’ve kinda gotten used to them. Don’t know if I can go to sleep without it.”
    “Okay.”
    Thomas rolled over, pushed the lever on the stereo, and heard the same Mingus song that had played during his nervous breakdown that morning. He turned the volume knob until the music was barely audible.
    “That okay?”
    “Turn it up a little, like it usually is.”
    Like it usually is.
    For Zack, for this Zack, there had been a Tommy in this same bed the night before, listening to the same Mingus record. In relative terms, that was about when Thomas had taken enough sleeping pills to kill himself three times over.
    So where did that Tommy go? Is he still here? Am I him? Shit. I am never gonna figure this out. Maybe I’ll check some Isaac Asimov or Ray Bradbury out of the library, since I can’t just Google 'theories of time travel' any more. In fact, unless I wake up somewhere else, I guess I won’t be Googling anything for twenty-five years or so. No more PCs, smart phones, search engines or social media. But you can still smoke almost wherever you want, you don’t have to take your shoes off to get on a plane and gas is cheap . The whole world feels slower .
    Then it slipped out. “That’s a pretty good tradeoff for not being able to Google something.”
    “What? What did you say? Goo-what? What the hell is that?”
    “Sorry. Think I was already asleep and dreaming about something.”
    A few moments passed in silence.
    “Zack?”
    “Yeah?”
    “’Night. See you in the morning.”
    “’Night, Squirt.”
    *

    Thomas swam through layers of consciousness, sorting out a swirl of dreams from reality. He opened one eye. Red, white, and blue walls.
    Yes! Still here!
    He put his feet on the threadbare carpet and looked at the clock. 6:45. Zack’s bed was empty, sheets and blankets thrown back in a careless heap. Thomas made a quick pit stop in the bathroom, then wandered out to the kitchen.
    Mom’s Chrysler is gone. Must be at work already.
    Thomas laid his hand against the coffee pot. Still warm. He poured himself a cup and took a sip.
    The caffeinated bitterness made him wince. Whoa! That’ll put hair on my chest. Does everything taste stronger in the seventies, or are my taste buds just young again?
    “Since when do you drink coffee?”
    Thomas jumped. “Damn, Zack! Are you part cat? You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
    “Well?”
    “Well, what?”
    “Well, when did you start to drink coffee?”
    Almost forty years ago, but that's not a good answer . “I dunno. It just smelled good, so I thought I would try it. Tastes pretty awful.”
    “Yeah, and it’ll stunt your growth.” Zack bent at the waist so his eyes and Thomas’s were at the same level. “You can’t afford any more stunting.”
    “Smartass.”
    “Get moving, I’m leaving in fifteen.”
    “Leaving?”
    “You know, school? It's a place where they teach things. Didn't school even teach you what