Call it a Day

     Marisa occupied her favorite hangout, corner booth at the local 24/7 diner, scrolling through her social media apps and drinking coffee with whiskey in it.

“You mean an Irish coffee?” the waitress had asked. She was a tall thin woman that Marisa found familiar but was sure she hadn’t seen before. 

“Well, that depends on what you call an Irish coffee. Some people put Baileys in coffee and call it an Irish coffee. Some people mix Irish whiskey, heavy cream, and brown sugar into their coffee, and they call that an Irish coffee. Personally? I just put whiskey in my coffee and call it a day.”

     The waitress laughed and Marisa winked and handed her a twenty dollar bill saying, “I’ll be needing refills, more whiskey each time please.”

     The waitress blushed and turned quickly to walk away, smiling. Marisa smiled down at her phone screen. She didn’t hear the jingle of the door opening, but when she glanced up hoping to catch a glimpse of her waitress she saw a new face walking toward her. New eyes. On Marisa. Dark skin, flawless fade, doe eyes, a denim jacket that fit just right. She looked like she came right out of one of those fashion magazines that Marisa would cut her favorites out off and stick on her wall as a teenager. In fact… Marisa frowned, was  that the same woman from one of those pin-ups?

     ‘New eyes’ sat down across the booth from Marisa, maintaining eye contact until Marisa looked down to see tattooed knuckles that read “Don’t Stop”

“Ok, what is this?”

     ‘New eyes’ shrugged. “What does it look like to you?”

     “It looks like someone found a checklist of things that I’m a sucker for and put them all together into one person.”

     ‘New eyes’ laughed. “Well that’s good news.”

     Marisa leaned forward, trying her best at being seductive in her old college hoodie with the sleeves shorn off. “Good how, exactly?”

     ‘New eyes’ leaned back, throwing an arm over the top of the booth. “Good because it means everything is working correctly.”

     The waitress came up and put a coffee in front of Marisa. ‘New eyes’ laughed, “Jesus I can smell the alcohol from here. I’ll have double bourbon, Buffalo Trace if you’ve got it.”

     As soon as the waitress left, Marisa’s eyes hardened and she took a wincingly hot sip of coffee, the irish whiskey evaporating into her nose. “Everything is working correctly?”

     ‘New eyes’ bit her lip. “Marisa…”

     “How do you know my name?”

     “Marisa. What time is it?”

     Marisa’s face scrunched in confusion and she thought for a moment. “Uh, I’m not sure.” She looked down at her phone but the screen was blank. She tried to turn it on but nothing happened.

     “Is it morning or night, do you think?”

     “Are you fucking with me?” She couldn’t really tell what time it was by looking outside. Somehow, time seemed distant. “Who put you up to this?”

     “I’m trying to help you. We work together. Used to, anyways. I’m Frank Garner.”

     The name didn’t mean anything to Marisa. She shifted on the red laminate upholstery, which groaned. “You don’t look like a Frank.”

     The waitress returned with a double bourbon for Frank. “Would you two like to order any food?”

     “Denver omelette, with a New York Strip,” said Frank.

     “I’m fine with coffee,” said Marisa.

     The waitress left and as soon as she was out of earshot, Marisa, no longer smiling, asked “So what the fuck is going on?”

     ‘Frank’ pulled a box of cigarettes out of a denim pocket and lit one with a cheap purple BIC lighter. “Look, I don’t know how to tell you this. Nobody has ever had to tell anyone this before. In fact, you’re the person I would call to explain what to do in this situation. But I can’t, because you’re the one in the situation.”

     Marisa gulped coffee and felt the whiskey dance through her chest. “What?”

     Frank’s eyes were closed. “I’m a 57 year old man. I’m white, I have a mustache. I actually pull the mustache off pretty well, if I do say so myself. We’re research partners. We were.” Frank took the double shot of bourbon in one gulp.

     “Geez, slow down.”

     Frank waved a hand, chasing the shot with a long drag. “Doesn’t matter, none of this is real. I don’t drink or smoke anymore, can’t eat steak either.”

     “If you’re a 57 year old man, why do you look hot?”

     “Well apparently the connected consciousness software was designed to make me appealing for you to interact with. It’s actually using your brain to create the illusion of me though, so that’s on you for being a horn dog. Thanks for the tits, way to make it weird Mar.”

     “Did you say illusion?”

     “Marisa, none of this is real. You’re not here. You’re not a slick 28 year old intellectual hanging out at an all night diner trying to pull some ass. You’re 63. Look at your hands.”

     Marisa looked down and gasped at the weathered hands that held her coffee. She looked into her reflection in the window, but there was none.

     “You’re a mycologist. You study mushrooms, you’re the best in the field. They found organic matter in an asteroid, it had a DNA signature most similar to fungi. Marisa, we found proof of life on another planet.”

     Marisa’s face remained frozen. “What are you saying?”

     “We cultivated a living sample. We had it under a fume hood but somehow… it… spored.”

     “Oh my god.”

     “Marisa, this is a diner you used to know. The alien sample made you its host body. It took over your mind. Somehow it’s able to use electrochemical signaling to rewire…”

     Marisa’s gaze slowly turned toward the kitchen and she held her mug up towards the waitress for a refill. “Ok, I’m an old lady and my body is controlled by an alien mushroom?”

     The waitress brought out Frank’s Denver omelet and New York Strip on a tray, with a fresh coffee and whiskey for Marisa.

     “Yeah that’s pretty much it.” Frank dug into the food with such passion that the waitress paused a moment, surprised. Chewing on a hunk of overcooked steak in one cheek, as drippings stained his avatar’s shirt, Frank continued, “To be honest, I’m mostly here for the food.”

     “You’re that desperate for some cheap diner steak?”

     “You don’t understand. I can’t eat steak anymore.”

     “Because your doctor won’t let you?”

     “Because IT won’t let me. The alien mushroom.”

     “It got you too?”

     “Marisa you don’t understand. It got us. We are her. It needs us alive. I have genetic markers for heart disease, therefore I cannot eat steak because that would be bad for me. Bad for it. Bad for Us. But I can eat steak if I do it inside of your brain.”

     “It… is controlling you?”

     “What?” Frank rolled his eyes, sarcastically, “No, yeah that makes sense Marisa, I built a machine that could combine our conscious minds all by myself. Are you listening to yourself? I’m a mycologist! You’re a mycologist! We study terrestrial mushrooms. It did ALL of this!”

     “But, then, what happened to me?”

     Frank began cutting another hunk of steak but froze after catching Marisa’s glare. “Oh all right.” He dropped his fork and knife on his plate with a clatter. “She needed your body at first. Had to break it down, learn what it all was. That way she could properly care for all of us.”

     “Properly control all of you.”

     Frank shrugged. “In any case, you got the best deal. She saved your consciousness, created this world for you to live in. It’s like a ‘thank you,’ kind of sweet, really. The rest of us follow her rules every day, as a collective. In my opinion, you’re the last one that’s actually free.”

     Frank’s last word punctuated the silence that lasted a moment, only to be broken by a shattering glass in the kitchen and a “Whoop!” from the waitress. Marisa watched the beautiful woman across the table from her (that she was trying to imagine a mustache on) wolf down a steak and most of an omelet, plus cocktails. She looked down at her hand. It was old. She wanted it to look young again. It looked young.

     Frank belched. “You finally did it! That’s why she sent me to talk to you. You’ve had the ability to do anything you want, go anywhere. You’ve been in this world for days, but, you’ve kind of just hung out at this diner. What the hell?”

     Marisa looked out the window to a scenic mountaintop. She blinked. A metropolitan skyline. She blinked. A tropical beach. She sighed.

     Marisa looked back at Frank. “What do we do now?”

     Frank sat up, “What do you want to happen?”

     Marisa said, “I want you to go, but I want this body you’re in, this girl, to stay. I want her to be cool and nice.”

     Frank stood up, “Ok, tell you what. I’m going to go to that bathroom. I’m going to take a big shit. Then, before I have to smell the shit, I will go back to my sad little mushroom man body.”

     “And after that?”

     “Marisa, everything after that… is you.”

     “Ok.” Marisa leaned back into the booth and stared at the table in front of her.

Frank disappeared into the little hallway where the restrooms where. The sound of the other patrons in the diner picked up and the whole room buzzed with the sounds of other people.

Marisa sighed, and motioned toward the waitress for a refill.