Modern Guilt

By Stefan Jurewicz

I felt a jump coming on. The unmistakable graininess in my periphery tickled my skull, and it took all I had not to shiver. To shiver would be to succumb, and I wasn’t ready to jump—not yet. I was only two million away from beating my pinball record.

Regrettably, the universe had other plans and snatched me up anyway. The graininess overtook me, and I jumped to a rainy street corner in the middle of the night. The rain tap-a-tap-a’d on the brim of my hat, keeping my face dry, but my trousers and shirt were drenched immediately. There was a building nearby with a small awning, under which I quickly dove for shelter. I rubbed my palms over my eyes—I was still seeing flashing lights and hearing the cacophony of dings and whirrs. I’ve been doing this for a long time—I’ve gotten used to being interrupted—but sometimes the timing felt personal.

I looked to be in a busy quarter in a big city. The rain must have just started, and been unexpected, because everywhere I looked people were darting for cover, holding whatever they had in their arms above their heads in a futile effort to keep dry. Streetlights cast alternating hues over an intersection where cars danced this way and that, hissing like snakes over the wet asphalt. It was all rather beautiful.

A young couple quickly appeared by my side, clutching each other, laughing.

“I told you we—huff­—should have—huff—brought the—huff—umbrellas!” said one.

“Oh—huff—shut up,” laughed the other.

They both took notice of me at the same time, stiffening up comically.

“Ooh! I—huff­—didn’t see you there!”

“Hello.”

I didn’t know what else to say. I can be a rather strange fellow to come across. I stand six feet three inches tall without my hat, and dress all in black. I appear out of nowhere and rarely have the wherewithal you’d expect from someone of my size, making me an unsettling sight in broad daylight—which this was not.

Despite my innocuous greeting, the couple visibly shrank.

“Pardon me,” I said, in as soft a voice as I could muster, “where are we?”

For someone with my lifestyle, it can be very frustrating to land somewhere where the people speak your native tongue, only to find the proverbial cat got to it before you did. The couple quickly muttered to one another under their breaths before awkwardly smiling and nodding in my direction, then taking off in the other. I suppose the gesture was meant to be friendly.

I was getting hungry, so I thought I’d look for something to eat. I found a restaurant and got a table. The waiter appeared with a menu and a towel.

“Thank you,” I said, patting myself down with the towel.

“I’ll give you a moment with that and I’ll be right back,” he said.

I was pleasantly surprised to find classic American diner food on the menu. It had been a while since I’d had a burger, and they had a chocolate chip cookie shake. I was going all-in.

Or at least I would have if I hadn’t jumped.

The graininess settled in slowly, and I whined pitifully. I couldn’t help it. The pinball game was one thing, but I wanted that shake so bad. I shivered.

Suddenly something felt off, as if someone nudged the scanner in my brain, leaving a blip on the file.

I jumped to a desert town. On all sides were terracotta brick walls of homes and local infrastructure, with nothing but sand underfoot. Masterfully crafted archways depicted characters I didn’t recognize fighting battles I’d never heard of all the way down an empty street lined with red scarves on sticks, stuck in the sand at regular intervals, heaving this way and that in the hot breeze.

I did a quick self-check. Everything seemed fine, but I’d never felt that way during a jump before. Something had gone wrong; I was sure of it. I just didn’t know how wrong.