First Meeting: Friday

                So I know most stories like this start with, “It was just another day in my hometown, when…” But today- the day I met the Doctor- wasn’t really a normal day to begin with.

                Everyone had been joking about it for the past few weeks. I guess it was like my parents felt on Y2K- something to laugh about, something you didn’t really believe, except for the crazies who actually went out and stockpiled food in their basement, thinking the world was going to end on the 31^st of December, 1999.

                2012 was like that. Sure, it got a lot of attention. There was that summer blockbuster based on it- a real stupid movie, actually. Sitcoms have been using it as a joke episode. Some nut-jobs on the street hold out signs, “PREPARE FOR THE APOCALYPSE; 12-21-12 IS THE END,” that sort of thing.

                But no one really believed it.

                So of course, it ended up being true.

December 21^th, 2012, A.D.

Depoe Bay, Oregon

USA, Earth

8:30 a.m.

                Rick- he’s my boss, by the way, or, was my boss. Anyway, Rick had given us all the Friday off, joking about how we should be at home for the end of the world. We all knew he really just wanted to get away with his girlfriend- his other girlfriend, you see. Rick is pretty much a sleazebag, but, hey, no one is going to turn down a three day weekend.

                I had planned on sleeping in, but a call from my mom woke me up early- she works hard to keep that “old people wake up too early” stereotype alive.

                “Happy Friday, Friday!” The first thing she says, every week. I could hear her giggling on the other end of the line, and I couldn’t help but laugh, too, even though that joke grew old when I was six. I came to the conclusion a long time ago that my mother only named me after a day of the week so that she could make that joke.

                “Hey, Mom.” My voice was still drowsy from sleep. I stifled a yawn.

                “Oh, sweetheart, did I wake you up?” Why would I have been awake, anyway?

                “No, no, I was getting up anyway.” Not.

                “Well, I wanted to talk to you about next Saturday.” My birthday. “I was going to get the whole family together- all your cousins and all that. Twenty one is a big one, you know.” I could practically hear her grinning.

                “Actually, Mom, I was going to go out with friends that night. You know, head out to a bar and all that.” Get plastered with Julia and Mark and everybody from work, legally, for once.

                “Oh, of course, dear.” She put on that pathetic voice, the one that used to make me stay in with her, the one that’s supposed to say, Oh, Friday, I’m just a little old lady and I don’t want to stay in this house all alone. It’s never serious. Well, mostly.

                I laughed. “Oh, no you don’t! Don’t go using that on me!” I remember worrying for a second that this was one of those serious times, but then she laughed, saying, “Oh, gosh, go out and have fun, Friday! Have a drink for me, while you’re at it.” She started laughing over the phone.

                “Mom-”

                There was a knock at the door. Three, quick, impatient little knocks. I remember thinking, “Who in the hell shows up at eight in the morning like this?” I was still in my pajama pants.

                I put the phone back to my ear. “Mom, there’s someone at the door- I’ll have to call you back, okay? Love you.”

                “Love you, too.” Three more knocks. And then the bell rang, twice.

                I hung up the phone and shouted, “Hold on, hold on!”

                I got to the front of my apartment and opened the door.

                A man stood there, on my front porch, although I’d probably hesitate to call him a man. He looked almost boyish- real thin, and young in the face in some way. His hair was light brown, sort of poofy around his head, and he was really pale, his features sort of odd looking. Kind of wild eyes, too. Twinkling and wildly interested in something, like you’d expect to see on an out-there professor. He even had an outfit to match- an old looking tweed jacket, with elbow patches, and a little black bowtie, like my grandfather used to wear. But he couldn’t have been older than his mid-twenties, maybe.

                He grinned, stuck out his hand, and said, “Hullo! I need to borrow some of your light bulbs, and fishing wire, if you’ve got it!” His voice was cheery, and he had a British accent. I shook his hand out of habit, and said, confused, “Light bulbs?”

                At that he slipped between me and the door, without even an “excuse me.”

                I turned around after him, a little scared, a little shocked that someone would do such a thing, but mostly angry. “Excuse me!?! Sir, this is my house!” He wasn’t even looking at me. He pulled a chair out from under my kitchen table, and placed it under the ceiling fan, which has four lights around the center of the blades. His movements were very quick, and somehow fluid and jerky at the same time, like a very distracted ballet dancer. At the time I wondered if there was something wrong with him: upon further observation, I figured out this is just the way he walks.

                He hopped up on the chair. I called out again. “Mister, hello? This is…this is breaking and entering!” I heard him scoff, and he gave a little chuckle, which literally sounded like ha ha, written out.

                “What exactly did I break? You invited me in.”

                His voice was still in the same cheery tone, but he spoke sort of jeeringly, like a little kid mocking an adult for making a mistake. I felt immediately annoyed by this man.

                “I did no such thing! I did not invite you in here!”

                He did that ha ha laugh again, and said, “Oh, never mind. You’ll thank me when nothing happens today.” He started unscrewing the light bulbs, which were still lit.

                “Ow, ow, ow, ow,” he called out as he burnt his fingers. He then tried to unscrew the second, saying, “Ow, ow, ow, ow,” again.

                I half-laughed, half-sneered, and said, “The result isn’t going to change after the second try.” I wasn’t quite sure why I hadn’t called the police yet. He looked down from his perch on the chair and pointed at me with a light bulb. “You…are quite right.” He put the light bulb he was holding in his mouth, and reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand.

                What he pulled out looked something like a cross between a child’s toy gun, a really elaborate pen, and a flashlight. The man aimed it at the lights, like a remote, and pressed a button. The thing made a weird, shrill, eerie noise- it reminded me of the sound that cicadas make whenever they come out in the summer, except more…electronic, maybe. It’s hard to describe, that noise. I kind of like it.

                When he clicked the button, the bulbs of the ceiling fan flickered off, and he put the thing back in his pocket. He unscrewed the other three light bulbs in quick succession. He climbed down from my kitchen chair and put one in each of his pockets, and held the other two in his hands. He grinned at me and said, “So how about that fishing wire?”

                I stared at him, jaw dropped. I couldn’t think of what to say.

                “You…you…I…this….Give me back my light bulbs!”

                His eyebrows rose. “So that’s a no on the wire then?”

                I frowned. “I’m serious. That’s theft, too.”

                The man was still smiling at me. He shook one of the bulbs at me, like a teacher wagging their finger at a student, and said, “Nope. Sorry. Need them.” He walked past me, out my door. When he was just about to leave, I shouted, “What for?”

                He turned back around to face me. The man’s eyes were dancing, wild, and he looked me up and down, to the point where I felt like he was appraising my slippers or something. He grinned again, and said, “Wanna find out?”

∞∞∞

                So that’s how I found myself watching a stranger use my light bulbs in what looked to me some sort of abstract art project, created by a mad scientist who had had a bit too much to drink. But that's later in the story.

                Apparently he had taken my blank stare as a yes when he asked me to come with him, because he gave a little laugh, maybe half of that ha ha, and then left my apartment.

                And for some reason, unbeknownst to myself, I grabbed my jacket, threw it on over my pajamas, and followed the man. I remember wondering if I was going crazy- this stranger had just broken into my house, and now I was following him out my front door?

                I didn’t want to admit it yet, not even to myself, but the man interested me: the strange tool he pulled out of his pocket, his strange way of speaking, those wild, wild eyes….

                He walked quickly, like I said, and his long strides put him ahead of me soon enough. I quickened my pace to keep up. I asked a question that I had just thought to ask as we walked down my street.

                “So what’s your name, light bulb thief?”

                He was fiddling with one of the bulbs, and he responded in a murmur, not even looking back at me. “I’m the Doctor.” And that’s the way he said it, too, like it deserved capitalization.

                I nodded to myself. It seemed like my lack of a response intrigued him more than my question, because it was then that he stopped walking, put the bulb to his side, and turned back to me.

                “And?” His tone was incredulous, like someone who is expecting an apology, and feels they deserve it, but doesn’t get one.

                I shrugged, unsure of what he was asking. “And what?”

                His eyebrows rose. “No, ‘oh, that’s not a proper name,’ or ‘a doctor of what?’ or…I don’t know, anything?” I shrugged again and snickered despite myself.

                “Well, either you’re a bona fide loony, so what does it matter what you call yourself- you’re crazy. Or you’ve just got an interesting name, which I get. My name’s Friday.”

                He gave a little, huh, and then turned back around and continued on walking. I jogged for a second until I was beside him, although I kept a few feet away from his side- I was still a little cautious of this strange Doctor in a bowtie.

                The man walked on as if he knew where he was going, but I don’t think he really did. After a few minutes he turned back to me and said, “Well where are all the shops then?”

                “What?”

                “The shops, where are all the shops- you live here, don’t you? I told you, I need fishing wire.”

                “For what, exactly?” At that he just smirked, and opened his mouth to reply- but I got a strong feeling that it was going to be something either incredibly insane or unbelievably scary, so I held up my hand and said, “No. Forget that, Mr. Doctor man, it doesn’t matter. All the stores in town are closed anyway.”

                He raised an eyebrow. “Closed for what?”

                “Christmas is in four days.”

                “So you all normally close down for Christmas Eve Eve Eve?”

                I laughed despite myself. “It’s a small town. Plus, you know, the whole 2012 thing.”

                The Doctor nodded then, looking serious for the first time since I’d met him.

                He looked around, like he was waiting for someone, maybe waiting for a bundle of fishing wire to appear out of thin air. After a moment he sighed, irritated, and then checked his watch. A little gold thing, he tapped its face a few times before nodding to himself and sighing again.

                “Oh, I haven’t got enough time for this. I suppose we’ll just have to make do without, then.” At that, he turned around and walked the way which we had come.

                His pace was even quicker this time, as we retraced our path, and I had to keep up a little jog to stay by his side. I was starting to feel the chill through my pajamas. I shivered, and the Doctor looked over at me. “You always take off after lunatics in your pajamas, Friday…?” He was asking for my last name, too.

                “Friday Merida. And you’re Doctor…?”

                “Doctor.”

                “Doctor Doctor. Of course. And to answer your first question, no, I only do this on Friday’s- I’m more impulsive when the date is my namesake.” He turned back to me, still walking fast, and grinned at me, eyes twinkling again. But then he paused. Stopped walking, and turned to me.

                “You know, you can still go back to your home, Friday. You don’t have to get involved in anything, in what I’m doing.”

                I grinned, and replied a little out of breath, “Trying to get rid of me, huh?”

                He smiled a little before a look of sadness passed through his wild eyes. He looked me over again, like he had before he asked me to follow him.

                “Sometimes the people that hang around me…sometimes they don’t always turn out okay.” He looked me in the eye, serious again. “You might want to turn back and forget this morning, except to tell your friends that a crazy man barged his way into your apartment and stole your light bulbs.” He grinned, but he was serious about me choosing. Stay or go. I’d realized by then that something strange was happening- something important. And I looked at the Doctor. There was something so intriguing about this man: he was definitely a little off his rocker, but aren’t all the best people? I thought of what I would be doing if Rick hadn’t wanted the weekend with his mistress. I’d be filing right now. Taking down lunch orders. Categorizing the office expense reports.

                I realized right then that I wanted to follow this strange man, for as long as I could. Maybe just because he was strange. Because he was the first interesting thing that had happened to me in a long time.

                So I grinned at the Doctor, and said, “Not a chance. You still need to repay me for those bulbs.”

                His wild eyes lit up. He laughed, ha ha. And then he started walking again.

                I followed.

                He took a sudden left and cut through some shrubs that lined the street we were on, which I knew led into the county park. After a moment’s hesitation, I thought, might as well, and followed in after him.

                We came out near the pond, on the eastern most side of the park. The Doctor stopped for a moment, and looked out at the pond. It’s a pretty little place; a white bridge goes across the middle, the surface is littered with lily pads, and ducks float along the water in lines. That area of the park was empty except for us. The Doctor smiled, and I heard him whisper something. “Why is a duck pond a duck pond if there are never any ducks?”

                I looked up at him. “What?”

                He flinched, like he had forgotten I was there, and indeed he did look at me as if he had never seen me before. But then he said, “Nothing. No. Right!” He held up the two bulbs in his hands, sent one flying into the air, and juggled them for just a second, before carrying on to a space by a tall evergreen.

                Somehow I hadn’t noticed the giant blue box in that space.

                That’s what the TARDIS first looked like to me: a giant blue box. Well, that’s what it is, really- at least on the outside.

                It seemed impossible once I noticed it, impossible to think that I might have overlooked it. But I had: the TARDIS has a bit of a talent for that, looking like it belongs.

                It was at least three feet taller than me, a deep, royal blue, with doors on one side, and windows along the other three. A sign at the top said POLICE BOX. I thought it was a shed.

                It wasn’t.

                The Doctor walked up to the door of the shed, and handed me a light bulb. I held on to it, and with his free hand, he pulled a key out from his pocket. An odd little key, too-

                But then I lost track of the key, because the Doctor had opened the door to his TARDIS, and my mind left me for a minute.

                I stepped in.

                And then I stepped out.

                Stepped in.

                Stepped out. And then I circled around the box a few times, crouched down on the ground to feel the grass beneath it with my fingers- to make sure it was real.

                Because when I stepped back in, the inside didn’t match the outside. The inside defied the laws of physics, the laws that schoolchildren know, like, I don’t know, when they open their lunchboxes, they don’t find a cavern inside.

                Because inside the TARDIS…

                It was bigger.

                I stared at the Doctor, and I think I said those very words.

                “It’s bigger on the inside.”

                In the center there was a big…well, I guess you would call it a control center- it had a lot of buttons and levers, anyway. Its glass tubes ran up to the ceiling, which must be something like 20 feet high, and the base ran down below the floor, visible through a glass platform, surrounded by a metal railing. Steps ran up to door and windows and corridors all around the circular room, and behind me was the back of the entrance which I had come in, big, blue, and paneled.

                I was really starting to think there was something strange happening to me.

                The Doctor laughed, his little ha ha, with a gleam in his eye- but then another laugh followed, a regular laugh, a chuckle.

                I turned towards the sound. A man, no, a boy, a little younger than me, maybe, tall, with bright, fuzzy red hair, was leaning against the metal railing on the other side of the control console, grinning away. He hopped down the steps and walked quickly over to me. He was very young, I could see then, but his bright blue-green eyes twinkled almost as maniacally as the Doctor’s did. He smiled and said, “Yeah, I said that too.” He stuck out his hand.

                “Hi. I’m Mark.”

                I grasped his end in return. It was rough, dry, and warm. My mother always taught me to judge people by their handshakes. I think I liked his.

                “Hi, Mark. I’m Friday. Now what in the hell is going on?”