Gettin Itchy

John's making his way up the familiar path from the lake, proudly carrying the morning's catch, when he spots Sally walking with someone he doesn't recognize – a young man about her age. "Hey there, Sally!" he calls out with a friendly wave. "And who's this young fellow you're strolling with? Can't say I've seen him around these parts before. New to our little community?" He holds up his string of fish with a grin. "Good thing I had some luck this morning – caught four beauties, so there's plenty for everyone to share a meal." Sally's face lights up with a warm smile. "Oh no, John – he's not new at all! This is Patrick, an old friend from way back in high school. We're talking ancient history here!" She laughs. "We were both feeling a bit restless and nostalgic, so we decided to get together and reminisce about the good old days. Catch up on everything that's happened since then." "Hey there, Pat!" John extends his hand with genuine warmth. "I'm really glad Sally's got someone closer to her own age to spend time with. Lord knows she must get tired of listening to us older folks ramble on." He pauses with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Though you might want to be careful with that 'getting together' business – wouldn't want any surprise additions to our little lakeside community, if you catch my meaning."

Sally bursts into giggles, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Oh John, you don't need to worry about that! We're definitely not in the business of bringing any new souls into this quiet lake town of ours. Pat's just here for conversation – and he's got some really fascinating ideas. Kind of exciting ones, actually." John genuinely feels happy seeing Sally with another young person. It's something that's been weighing on his mind – most folks in their lakeside community have quite a few years on them, and he worries about Sally feeling isolated. Still, watching his beautiful young friend chatting animatedly with this young man stirs up that familiar, protective ache that any father-figure experiences when he sees his girl talking to a boy. Being the gentleman he is, though, John knows better than to embarrass her – well, not too much anyway. "We've actually been talking about taking a trip back to visit the old places," Sally says, putting on that irresistible, pleading expression that could melt anyone's heart. "We were wondering if maybe you could help us figure out how to get back there?"

John scratches his head thoughtfully. "Well now, I honestly can't say I know much about that. It's crossed my mind a time or two, I'll admit, but I've never really put serious thought into working out the details. You know how it is with us older folks – we start thinking about ambitious projects like that, realize it'd probably involve a whole lot of effort and planning, and then we just decide to go fishing instead." He notices Pat's expression shift to a slightly frustrated grin, clearly hoping for something more helpful.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Pat says with a knowing look. "I came here with my parents, and they're exactly the same way about everything." He's studying John's face carefully, searching for any hint that there might be some real answers to be found.

John's face brightens as a thought occurs to him. "You know what? Maybe old Ben would have some insights about this. He's our resident expert on just about everything you can imagine – and quite a few things you can't. Why don't you two stick around after breakfast instead of wandering off like usual? I've got a feeling he'll show up, and we can all have a proper conversation about it. Besides, I've got another fishing reel that's gotten itself into a hopeless tangle – he's the only one with the patience to sort those things out."

Sally and Pat are enjoying a leisurely walk through the meadow while John tidies up the breakfast dishes. Right on cue, just as John predicted, Ben comes ambling up the familiar path at his own unhurried pace.

"Well hey there, everyone," Ben says with mild amusement, already eyeing the tangled fishing reel waiting for his attention. "I don't think I've ever seen quite such a gathering up here before. This is unusual."

"Hey there, Tekky!" John calls out warmly. "You know Sally, of course, and this young man is Pat – he's here visiting with her. They've been asking me some questions that I figure are right up your alley. Go ahead, Sally – ask old Ben here what you were wondering about. Far as I know, nobody's ever managed to stump him yet." John's eyes are twinkling with anticipation.

Sally practically bounces with an excitement that hasn't been seen around the lake in ages. "Well, Ben, here's the thing – Pat and I are really wanting to go back and visit the old places, you know? It's been such an incredibly long time, and we're dying to see what's become of everything, how it's all changed."

Now, typically when anyone asks Ben a question – doesn't matter what kind – he immediately launches into one of his famously detailed, technical explanations about how to build this, fix that, or create something entirely new. But this time is different. This time, Ben just stands there staring down at the floorboards, completely silent. The silence stretches on uncomfortably. Sally glances over at John with confusion, John looks questioningly at Pat, Pat turns back to Sally with raised eyebrows, and then all three of them focus on Ben, who's still studying those floorboards like they hold the secrets of the universe. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ben speaks.

"I've been in this place for a very long time," he begins slowly, his voice unusually heavy. "A very, very long time – way before any of you folks arrived here. I'm the one who created this lake and built most of the surrounding community from scratch. I was here to help John design and construct his place exactly the way he wanted it. I got Sally all settled into her little apartment and even had my wife help her decorate it with all the feminine touches to make it feel like home." He pauses, still not looking up. "But ever since then, I've been dreading the day when you'd come to me with exactly these questions. Because you're not going to like the answers I have to give you. Not one bit." For the first time in longer than he can remember, John feels a cold knot of dread forming in his stomach. Ben isn't just another neighbor around here – he's like the landlord, the sheriff, the judge, and the local minister all rolled into one. Ben is the person everyone turns to, no matter what's going wrong or what needs figuring out. So if Ben is genuinely worried about something, it's probably something serious. Very serious.

John can't stand the suspense any longer. "What do you mean we're not going to like it? Come on, Ben – just tell us straight. What exactly are you talking about here?" Ben shifts around uncomfortably, first looking down at his feet, then up at the ceiling, then around the room at nothing in particular, before finally meeting their eyes directly.

"The truth is, folks," he says with obvious reluctance, "it's not there anymore. The place you're wanting to go back to – it simply doesn't exist anymore. At least, not anywhere I can locate it. But before I can properly explain what I mean by that, I need to help you understand some things that are going to challenge everything you think you know about your situation here. This is probably going to be pretty uncomfortable, so you'd better sit down and get ready for a conversation unlike any you've ever had." And so begins a discussion that will turn John's understanding of reality completely upside down. There are moments in everyone's life when the ground suddenly shifts beneath your feet and you find yourself desperately reaching for something – anything – solid to hold onto, only to discover there's nothing there to grab. This is about to become one of those moments. They arrange their chairs on one side of the table, with Ben settling in across from them, and prepare themselves to have their minds completely blown.

"This is quite a story I need to tell you," Ben begins, "so I'm going to break it down into manageable pieces so you can actually absorb what I'm saying. I'm going to ask you some questions that probably won't make much sense at first. Just bear with me, though – there's definitely a method to what probably seems like complete madness right now." He focuses his attention on Pat. "My first question is for you, Pat. How exactly did you get to this lake village?"

"Huh?" Pat responds, looking genuinely puzzled. "That's easy – Sally asked me to come, so I came."

"No, that's not what I'm asking you, Pat," Ben says patiently. "HOW did you get here? I want you to think really carefully for a moment and tell me the actual method you used to travel to this place." Ben stares directly into Pat's eyes with unsettling intensity.

Pat stammers, clearly flustered. "I... I already told you. She asked me to come, and I came. I honestly don't understand what you're getting at with this question."

Ben glances around the room at the others before turning back to Pat. "This is going to be more difficult than I hoped," he mutters. "Pat, when Sally 'asked' you to come, did she call you on the telephone? Send you a letter through the mail? Use a telegraph? Knock on your door? How exactly did you know that Sally wanted you to come here?" Pat just stares blankly, clearly at a loss for words. "Okay, don't even try to answer that, because you'll never be able to figure it out on your own, and I'm going to have to explain it to you. You didn't receive a letter, or a phone call, or a telegram, or any kind of message at all. You just knew. You simply knew, because that's exactly how things work in this place. Sally formed a thought in her mind that she wanted to see you, and at that exact same moment, that identical thought appeared in your mind. And the instant you decided to act on that thought, you were here." All three of them are staring at Ben like he's completely lost his mind.

"Look, Sally and I have always had a close connection, so we've always been pretty good at knowing what the other person is thinking," Pat says defensively. "But I didn't teleport myself here or anything crazy like that. That's complete nonsense. I'm pretty sure I walked here. Yeah, that's right – I definitely walked here."

Ben leans forward, studying Pat intently. "Yes, absolutely – you do remember walking. You remember climbing the steps to the apartment building, going up the stairs to her floor, walking down the hallway to her room. All of that you remember clearly, and all of that actually happened exactly as you remember it." He pauses meaningfully. "But you can't remember the journey from your apartment building to her apartment building, can you?"

Now Pat is completely flustered, his voice rising with anxiety. "No sir, I can't remember that part at all. What the hell is going on here? This isn't making any sense whatsoever!"

Ben's expression softens, recognizing he might be pushing too hard. "I'm sorry, Pat – I don't mean to single you out or make you uncomfortable. What I'm trying to do is carefully poke a few small holes in the illusion you're all living in, just enough so you can peek through and begin to see what's really happening here." He turns to John. "You got any more of that fish? You'd better start cooking, because we're going to be here for quite a while."

"I've just got the one left," John says, clearly looking for any excuse to escape this increasingly bizarre conversation and go back to the familiar comfort of fishing. "You want me to head back down to the lake and catch some more?"

"No need, John," Ben says with that knowing grin of his. "Take another look. I think you'll find you've got at least a dozen there."

"No way – I've only got one left because I caught four this morning and we ate three for breakfast, and... wait a minute." John's voice trails off as he peers into his fishing basket. "This is really unsettling, Ben. I could have sworn I only had one fish left, but you're absolutely right. I've definitely got at least a dozen here, maybe more." Shaking his head in bewilderment, John gets out his largest pot and starts preparing for an impromptu fish fry.

Ben settles back in his chair, folding his arms comfortably across his middle and beginning to rock slowly back and forth. John doesn't remember that chair being a rocking chair, but it's definitely rocking now, so it must be one. "When I first came to this place to create this lake," Ben begins, "it was designed to serve a very specific purpose – to be a place of relaxation, reflection, and preparation. I built my cozy little cottage for my wife and myself, and then constructed twenty additional homes for newcomers who might need them. John arrived about thirty years later, and I helped him set up his place exactly the way he envisioned it. That was all this place was ever intended to accommodate." He pauses in his rocking. "But Sally, you don't live in a lakeside cottage like everyone else. You live in an apartment building. What is an apartment building doing in a small lake community? Don't try to answer that – just think about it for a moment. The day you appeared here, fifty other people showed up at exactly the same time. Those are your neighbors in that building, right? Why would fifty people all arrive simultaneously? It didn't make sense then, and it still doesn't make much sense now, but you were all here and needed places to stay, so we created your building and you've been here ever since." He looks directly at Sally. "Do you remember when that happened? How long ago was it?"

Sally considers this carefully before venturing a guess. "I honestly don't know for sure. Maybe five years ago? Something like that?"

Ben nods slowly. "That sounds about right from your perspective. You appeared to be fifteen when you arrived here, and now you seem to be about twenty. But I want you to think really carefully about something, Sally. What have you done every single morning for as long as you can remember? How many mornings have you shared breakfast and fish with John? Don't try to calculate it or figure it out logically – just open your mind, let a number form naturally, and tell me what it is."

Sally looks increasingly confused and frustrated. "This is a ridiculous game, Ben. I can't just let some random number pop into my brain out of nowhere. That doesn't make any logical sense. I'd have to actually think it through and figure it out properly."

Ben fixes her with an intense stare. "Just tell me what number formed in your mind, Sally. I already know what it is – I just want to hear you say it out loud."

Sally throws up her hands in exasperation. "Fine, Ben, if it'll make you happy – the number that popped into my head is one million, one hundred thirteen thousand, nine hundred eighty-two. Are you satisfied now? That's a completely ridiculous, impossible number, isn't it?"

"Actually, no," Ben says, barely suppressing a laugh. "That number is almost exactly right – incredibly precise, in fact. When you allow the truth to form naturally in your mind instead of trying to logic your way to it, it's usually perfectly accurate. You've been having fish for breakfast with John for just over three thousand years. Somewhere deep down, you already knew that, even though your conscious mind refused to accept it. I imagine that's probably why you're starting to feel restless and eager for a change of scenery."

The oil has reached the perfect temperature, and John begins carefully dropping the fish into the hot fryer, the familiar sizzling sound normally so comforting but now seeming almost surreal. Pat and Sally remain frozen in their chairs, staring at Ben with a mixture of disbelief and growing unease, not knowing what to say or what to believe anymore. Ben just continues his gentle rocking, fully aware that this is shaping up to be a very long and very unusual day indeed.