Chapter 9 NoelleAugust Cam
9 Noelle
June 20, Version 29 (I think? I wish I could carve lines in the wall like a prisoner, but alas, my lines would disappear overnight)
I’ve been watching House for four days—or is it five? It’s hard to keep track when the date doesn’t change. After finishing an episode, I make myself the same bag of popcorn that I’ve consumed several times before and settle back on the futon.
As I watch Gregory House solve yet another medical mystery, I realize what I need to do: I need to go to my family doctor and explain the problem. Surely my case is interesting and serious and someone will want to solve it.
The next morning, I call the doctor’s office first thing and say that I would like an appointment today. They’re able to squeeze me in at 2 p.m.
When I arrive, there are a few other people in the waiting room: a mom and her little boy on a Nintendo Switch, an elderly man who sounds like he’s hacking up a lung, and a middle-aged woman who sits quietly with her hands folded in her lap. I’ve only been here twice before. My previous doctor retired, and it took me forever to find a new one. Like last time, she’s running about half an hour behind, but finally, I’m called in.
“What brings you here today, Noelle?” Dr. Connelly is about fifty and has a kind smile.
“Well,” I say, “I’m living the same day over and over.”
She nods as if she understands.
I’m positive she doesn’t.
“I don’t mean every day seems the same,” I say. “I’m literally reliving June twentieth. Wordle is ‘happy’ today, right?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t done it yet.”
“Sorry for ruining it for you. I’ve done it something like thirty times, and it’s always ‘happy.’ Happy, happy, happy. But I’m not. I’ve stopped going to work because whatever I do disappears overnight, so I just have to repeat it. What’s the point?”
I can tell that Dr. Connelly doesn’t believe me. She thinks I’m depressed and delusional, even when I mention having found someone else who’s experiencing the same thing. In fact, that seems to make her think I’m more delusional. She gives me a referral to a psychiatrist.
“How long will this take?” I ask.
“A while—”
“You don’t understand. I have to see someone today because tomorrow—my tomorrow, which will be June twentieth again—you’ll have forgotten all about this and the referral won’t have been made.”
“If you think you’re a danger to yourself,” she says, “go to the ER.”
Instead, I head home. I’m not feeling optimistic about what would happen if I went to the hospital, to be honest. I’ve read articles about how the healthcare system is overwhelmed and close to its breaking point; I ought to be grateful my doctor was able to see me today, even if nothing came of it.
Not in the mood to watch more House , I scroll through the contacts on my phone and stop at my sister’s name. Madison and I aren’t close. Whereas I got a degree and started working in the same field—well, it took five months to find a job, but I managed it eventually—she switched majors four times, schools once, and has never worked at the same place for more than eight months.
Her lack of stability stresses me out.
She’s also struggled with her mental health more than I ever have, and I know she’s sought help, but nothing seems to work—at least not well. Right now, she’s living with her boyfriend and working at a tutoring center.
I feel like I understand what she’s gone through more than I ever have before.
ME: How long does a referral to a psychiatrist usually take?
MADISON: hahahaha
MADISON: Months. Maybe a year. It’s a mess.
MADISON: Wait. Are you asking for yourself?
ME: yeah
A minute later, I get a call, which is weird because Madison hates talking on the phone.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“I. Um. I’m living the same day over and over.” As proof, I tell her about the news stories that will break later in the day.
Amazingly, she believes me, without waiting to see if my predictions come true.
“You wouldn’t make something like this up,” she says, “and I can hear the desperation in your voice. How long has this been happening to you?”
“I don’t know. I’m starting to lose track. Thirty days, maybe?”
“Do you go to the office?” she asks.
“No.”
“See, this is how I know you’re not lying. You wouldn’t stop going to work otherwise.”
“You once said I’d work through the apocalypse.”
“I don’t remember that, but it sounds like something I’d say.”
I tell Madison about my attempts to get out of the loop. About my failed efforts to engineer a meet cute at the bubble tea shop. It feels like the tension that has long existed between us isn’t there anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Sorry?” Maybe it’s my imagination, but there’s an edge in her voice now.
“Yeah.” I swallow. She won’t remember this tomorrow, so if I don’t get it right, I can try again. “I judged you for the decisions you made. Your difficulty with keeping a job and… other things. I’m sure you were dealing with stuff that I didn’t understand, as well as a system that often doesn’t provide the help people need.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
When I get off the phone, I start watching Suits .
But a few hours later, I wonder if that conversation with my sister will help get me out of the loop. In one of the books I read, the main character had to make amends, and I didn’t see how that could apply to me, but maybe this was it? The thing that would get me unstuck?
Unfortunately, at six forty-five the next morning, I conclude that it didn’t work.
AVERY: Did you escape June 20? Is that why I haven’t heard from you?
I stare at the text. Even while I was bingeing House , I made sure to text Avery every morning, but I forgot today, and I feel too discouraged for human contact. I’m about to put my phone aside and start another episode, but then I decide I should answer.
Better to respond now than to let weeks go by and feel like it’s too late to reply. I won’t let what happened with Veronica happen with Avery, especially since she’s the only person who’s stuck here with me. I’ll make an effort with our friendship.
My thumbs fly over the phone as I detail how my visit to the doctor went and what happened with my sister.
I spend the next several days watching Suits and occasionally going out to eat expensive food. I also teach myself to crochet—something I’ve always wanted to try but never got around to doing—with the help of YouTube videos. It’s probably for the best that my not-terribly-pretty efforts disappear overnight. I text Avery every morning, and sometimes we meet up for dinner.
To be honest, it’s kind of nice to have to veg out like this. I never take all my vacation days at my job.
But eventually, the workaholic in me gets hard to ignore. I feel like I have to start being productive. There’s no point in going to the office, but I should put more effort into escaping the loop.
My mind turns to Cam and then to dumplings. I should try to learn more about dumplings. How was I sent to this weird reality? And if I eat the right dumpling, will I get out of it?
Of course, “Toronto + dumplings” yields endless search results. Adding “time loop” results in significantly fewer, not surprisingly, but nothing seems promising.
Next, I search for “Toronto + magic + dumplings” and come across a dumpling shop in Chinatown called Magic Dumplings. It’s quite likely that when someone thought of this name forty years ago—it’s been around for a long time—they didn’t mean it in the literal way that I’m hoping for. However, it’s worth a shot. I can also ask questions. Inquire if they’ve ever heard of dumplings sending someone into a time loop.
Having decided to go to Chinatown tomorrow, I find other places to try in the area. A place on Spadina (Tasty 8 Dumplings) will be my second stop, followed by a restaurant with soup dumplings that one reviewer claims “can cure any ailment.” I doubt @tangyass had my particular ailment in mind when they wrote that, but I’m getting desperate. I’ll try anything. Besides, stuffing myself with dumplings is no hardship.
Actually, I’m rather looking forward to it.