Chapter 26 Noelle
26 Noelle
June 20, Version 170? 180? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.
Back in university, I learned about stress-strain curves. In elastic deformation, the material returns to its original dimensions when the stress is released. But once you hit the yield point, you get plastic deformation: the material undergoes permanent change until it fractures.
A little stress in your life might not fundamentally change you, but there’s no way I won’t be irrevocably changed by this time-loop experience, even if I escape it eventually. I wonder how much plastic deformation I can withstand.
I fear it’s not much more.
I’ve stopped trying to count days. What’s the point?
I’ve also stopped crocheting, too annoyed that my work disappears overnight. I do my best to fill my time with reading and watching TV. I see Avery most days. Occasionally, I go to meet Cam, but I don’t enjoy it as much as I used to. One time, he remembers that my name starts with an N ; another time, he guesses “Annabelle.” But usually, he has no guesses.
Why the variation? I have no idea.
I’m lost. Despondent.
“I think we have to try dying,” Avery says, one night after we watch a movie with a lot of, well, death. “What else is there to do?”
I’m uneasy with the idea. Besides…
“We’ve read a bunch of time-loop books,” I say. “Dying never ends the loop; it just restarts the day. I can’t imagine it would help us.”
She sighs. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Promise me you won’t try it,” I say, because even if dying has never been permanent in any time-loop book I can think of, I can’t help worrying.
“I promise.”
The next day, Avery does try something drastic, though: she attempts to mend fences with her mother, with whom she has a distant relationship for good reason.
Like everything else, it has no effect.
The following day, I want to do something nice for her, so I buy cupcakes at the market again, as well as some birthday candles. I even go to a bookstore and buy the first book in her favorite series. Inside, I write, This is the best I can do for now. I’ll buy you the newest book in the series when we escape the loop . It’s supposed to be released in August.
At home, I retreat to the bedroom and wrap the novel in some colorful wrapping paper. Then I stick a single candle in the salted caramel cupcake and light it. I head to the living room, where Avery is wasting time on her phone. When she sees the cupcake, she rolls her eyes, but she does it with a smile, which is enough to encourage me to sing “Happy Birthday,” even if my singing abilities are about on par with my dancing abilities.
“Now make a wish,” I say, “but don’t tell me what it is.”
She blows out the candle. “I’m sure you know what my wish is anyway.”
“I do.” But for some reason, it feels important to go through the motions.
We each eat a cupcake, and then I hand her the gift.
And that night is different.
I wake up at 2:50 a.m. and use the washroom. I’m in the middle of washing my hands when the light flickers three times. Weird.
Also strange: I have a bad headache, which hasn’t happened in ages. Maybe the specific decisions I made today somehow resulted in a headache? I don’t know. Even though I’m sure the day will reset in a few minutes anyway, I pop a painkiller before returning to bed. I watch the red numbers on my alarm clock. 2:59… 3:00…
Holy shit.
Am I out of the loop?
I jump out of bed again, planning to see if Avery is still on my futon.
It’s 3:01 now and—
The day restarts. As always.
Avery pours herself some coffee when she arrives at my apartment. “Do you feel different this morning?” she asks. “I’ve never remembered my dreams in the loop before, but I had a restless sleep and I dreamed that a cupcake came to life and attacked me.”
I tell her what happened in the middle of the night.
She stills. “Do you think we almost got out of the loop?”
“Maybe. It could be related to celebrating your birthday?”
I have to believe we can escape the time loop and cling to any sliver of hope, so that day, I celebrate Avery’s birthday in an even bigger way. Rather than cupcakes, I find a bakery where I can purchase a whole salted caramel cake without placing an order in advance. I buy her lots of books and wrap them all. Balloons. Streamers. We go out for dinner, and then we return to the apartment and I light twenty-nine candles on the cake and sing with more enthusiasm than I’ve ever sung before.
That night, nothing unusual happens.
Nothing.
The next morning, I tell Avery to text everyone she knows and invite them to a party at my apartment. She also breaks up with Joe, just in case.
Due to the last-minute notice, not a whole lot of people show up, but it’s still a party. I even buy cone-shaped hats with polka dots and pom-poms.
It doesn’t work.
After that, we try celebrating Avery’s birthday in a few more ways, but with less enthusiasm each time.
There are no more light flickers. No more weird dreams.
I try not to lose hope, but I can’t help it.
A little research on time loops and birthdays gets me nowhere. I spend far too long mindlessly scrolling through social media, even though the same things are trending as usual. On one particularly low day, I watch the squirrel video sixteen times in a row. Then I go to Leaside Brewing to see Cam, and when he doesn’t remember my name, I rush out the door, afraid I’m going to burst into tears.
Sometimes, I obsess over the night I saw 3:01 a.m. Did that mean anything? It feels like it has to, but maybe it means nothing. Maybe it’s all random. Meaningless.
The days start to blend together even more than they did before. Having some hope, only to have it dashed… it wears on me. Makes me feel like I’m getting closer and closer to my fracture point.
June 21 seems impossibly, impossibly far away.
One morning, I wake up and something feels different. I can’t explain it, but then I see the time on my alarm clock, and I bolt up.
8:03 a.m.
Did I sleep through my alarm? Turn it off and go back to sleep?
Huh. That never happens.
I get out of bed and pad toward the washroom. When I sit down on the toilet, I realize that I’m wearing flannel pajama pants rather than shorts.
My eyes widen, and I finish up in the washroom as fast as possible and rush to the living room, where I look out the window.
There’s snow on the ground.