Grilled Cheese Encounter

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I emerged from the tunnel behind a diner, a landmark I immediately recognized when I saw its metallic and neon reflection in parked car windows. I had spent a lot of time here in high school, the hangout of choice when practice was over but curfew was still an hour away.

I shook off the nostalgia, knowing that whatever awaited me here tonight was not going to involve friends, grilled cheese, or crass jokes. I stepped through main entrance and swept the room, hoping to see a familiar face, preferably the agent who sent me here in the first place. He said it was a mission - my first - but gave me no instructions. All I knew was that something was about to happen here that could destroy the world, and I had to stop it.

The interior was shiny and reflective, that classic Jersey diner style which caused jump-scares in corners when you caught a glimpse of your reflection in multiples. This could be helpful, I thought, having a view of all angles.

I waved off the hostess, who didn’t seem to appreciate my arrival anyway, and found a seat at the bar facing towards the dining area. I glanced nonchalantly at the nearby booths and had my first jump-scare of the night.

I did a double-take, but it wasn’t a reflection. Seated in a booth of six was a girl who could have been me, the resemblance was striking. She was even wearing a swim team jacket, just like the one I had in high school.

I heard her voice, delivering a punch line. “…That’s not my finger!” Her friends groaned, then laughed. My favorite joke. Nostalgia suddenly became deja vu.

It hit me all at once. This girl was the reason I was here. I had to save my own life. She wasn’t my reflection, she wasn’t just a doppelgänger, she was me, as a teenager. And something was about to happen to her.

The first thing the agent told me, and has repeated a million times, is that our top priority is to preserve the time/space continuum. I can’t let her see me. Before the bartender could take my order, I pulled my hood over my head and went back to the hostess for a more secluded seat. Without pleasantries she seated me at a booth on the opposite side of the diner.

The agent never mentioned that I could encounter myself. I was shaking. It’s one thing to see photos or video from high school, but seeing yourself, alive, ten years younger, with the friends you haven’t talked to since graduation, is disorienting. Nauseating. Dizzying.

A waitress brought ice water. I ordered a grilled cheese, hoping some food would make me feel better, but my order hadn’t arrived yet when I had the second jump-scare.

Another me walked through the front door. This version was older, current. She was haggard though, hair a mess, tired eyes, ratty jeans. My god, what had happened to her… to me?

She moved straight into the diner, decisively, ignoring the hostess. She turned towards the booth where teenaged me sat, unsuspecting.

Suddenly I was up, running, and grabbing my haggard clone by the elbow. She turned to face me and flinched, another jump-scare.

“What are you doing?” she said to me in a loud whisper as I dragged her back outside, past the hostess, who was enthralled with her smartphone and hadn’t noticed us.

“I honestly have no idea, but I know we need to stay away from her,” I said, implying teenaged me. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was talking to myself, an actual walking, breathing self.

My haggard self was panicking. “She has to know! They’re coming to kill me. Or kill us… same thing.” Her face reflected the diner’s neon glow.

“Wait. Who wants to kill us?” I felt like vomiting.

“The agency. You can’t stop it. It’s too late. We have to warn her.” She pointed rapidly into the diner. “I have to keep her out of the tunnel. It’s the only way, if she never goes in to begin with.” She freed herself from my grip and ran inside. 

I waited in the parking lot, watching the soundless confrontation through the window. What happens now?

Defeated, I stumbled behind the diner and slid into the tunnel, resigning to the dark abyss which would take me back to face the agency.




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