The Three Mes
“Wake up!” I hollered at myself, “You’re going to make us late for school, you twotwaffle!” And then, with every ounce of strength I had, I slowly sat upright on the edge of my bed, stretched upward and outward, and then rubbed the dreams of sleeping in out of my eyes. I forced my eyelids open (Never more than a slit due to the unrelenting light which assaulted my retinas) to see my future self, dressed and showered, standing in the doorway shooting dirty looks at me from across my minefield of a room.
The floor was littered with shrapnel of every color and size. “You really ought to take care of this room,” I told my future self nonchalantly. While my future self watched me disdainfully with folded arms from the doorway, I stood up and lolled past him and across the hallway and into my bathroom in a drunken-like stupor.
Shortly thereafter, I found myself standing in the shower enjoying my personal water masseuse. The grogginess I had accumulated all night began melting away slowly. I engaged autopilot and then began turning thoughts over in my head, but only seconds pass before I was overcome with a creeping sense of dread… Had I forgotten to write the four page paper due that day!?!
I frantically hurried through the rest of my morning rituals and rather than extending helping hand, as my future self never did; he merely loomed over me as like some crotchety old man with nothing better to do.
“You should have been thinking more about me,” my Future Self said smugly, “If you had, you wouldn’t be in this position…”
“Cut the pedantic crap! We don’t need it right now!” I spat back at Myself.
At this point, my Past Self, who had been sleeping in our bed ever since I had gotten up, rolled over and groaned “are you guys arguing again?”
My future self ignored him and said “Look, all I’m saying is that if you had planned ahead, like I do, then you wouldn’t standing there with two mismatched socks and your shirt on backwards.” He smiled slyly.
“And I’m telling you,” I said as I corrected my shirt, “that your preaching doesn’t help us with anything, much less write a four page paper–”
My Past Self groaned. “You guys are arguing… about the paper… that we wrote three days ago and turned in already?”
And then the train of thought hit me. The blaring train horn seemed like an angelic chorus come to take the weight from my shoulders as the memory came back to me. I came out of my trance of relief moments later to realize that the train horn was actually the car horn of my ride to school, so, after thanking my past self for reminding me of who I was, and after wiping the smirk off my future self’s face with one of my own, I back-flipped down the stairs and out the door to see what the rest of the world had in store for all three of me.
BY JOSH DEBLON