26

He didn’t get very far, maybe half a block, before a black unmarked newer model car pulled up beside him. A man in a black jacket and tie and white shirt who looked just like every other healthy white male in his early thirties leaned out the passenger side window. He handed Adam an unsealed envelope.

He waited there, rooted to the spot, watching the car pull away and blend in with every other car on the road, before he lifted the cover to peek inside.

Money. Quite a bit of it. A healthy stack of twenties.

How was he supposed to clear his head? He was the center of a universe gone apeshit.

A little more digging revealed a yellow post-it note, rendered nearly invisible against the yellow envelope. The note was simple enough and easy to read.

It read, ‘Grocery money.’

Was this some kind of code, clue, or slang word he wasn‘t familiar with? He supposed it didn’t matter, since he wasn’t going to be sticking around much longer, anyhow.

***

“When’s the next train leave,” Adam asked.

He anticipated her next question.

“Going anywhere, I don‘t care,” he said.

The woman behind the counter stared bitchy daggers at him and just sat there chewing her gum.

“Listen,” he said, “I’m not fucking with you.” He shoulder checked to make sure no one was watching, then flashed the wad of cash in the envelope.

It still wasn’t enough to impress her and she went right on chewing her gum. He could tell by the rhythm of her chewing that she was passive aggressively telling him off.

One chew, da-Douche.

Next chew, da-Bag.

In rapid fire procession, da-douche, da-bag, da-douche, da-bag. And it didn’t take extra-sensory perception to figure it out, either.

“Five minutes,” she said, “to--”

“No, no, no,” he interrupted her, “Don’t tell me, I want it to be a surprise.”

“I’m going to need to see some ID,” she said, rolling her eyes. He showed it to her. Finally she perked up, and said, “you’re going to have to give me a minute,” before storming away.

“But I only got five,” he called after her, she pretended not to hear as she talked to her manager.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the manager said, “your travel benefits have been restricted.”

“My travel … what the fuck are you talking about? Just give me a ticket. Look at this stack of money!”

“I’m sorry, sir. Your name is on our terrorist list.”

“WHAT?!”

She glanced out of the corner of her eye. Adam could guess what she was glancing at. Without seeing for himself, Adam turned and ran. He could hear the clean black shoes chasing him, leaving black scuff marks on the clean, shiny tile floor.

He wasn’t a kid anymore, spraying graffiti outside the train station. Why, after thirty years of age, was he still running from train station security?

He didn’t bother checking the airport for the next available flight out of town.

***

But, Adam knew he never really was a teenager. Not for very long, physiologically, anyway. The memories were there, but they were borrowed, like his DNA. Sooooo last year.

Eternity had spoken to him in dreams and pictures and colors and waves of sound, and it had told him so. Eternity had told him that he was grown in a test tube. A Test Tube Man. A New Man. An Extra Man with an extra soul.

But, somehow, it just didn‘t seem all that important. He just didn’t really care anymore.