Extra Time (short story)

As soon as Mr Hutchins woke up, he was hurried out of the room by a small, tired looking man rambling about late-comers and the possibility of fish. Mr Hutchins ignored the little man, as was his habit upon waking, and gathered his things – which was to say his coat, cap and the little bag of Kit-Kats, which he was pleased to note had remained unopened – and headed out the door.
'Hey, Jim,' he heard a voice behind him and turned to look at the line of people that had formed next door. Late, as usual, their neighbors were. Jim Hutchins surveyed the crowd, trying to locate who had spoken, but recognized no one.
The stranger beckoned Jim over, quite obviously not willing to give up his spot in line.
'Yes?' Jim asked, as he approached.
'How you been, man?'
Jim, who by now thought it rather rude to still not know who this man was, smiled knowingly. They must've worked on some project together, he figured. See, Jim Hutchins always had that sort of friendly face that endeared him to strangers. He'd always been a keen listener and often enough, a shoulder to cry on, even though he had no idea who was doing the actual crying. And even though, when it had been his turn to cry, he had found himself shoulderless.

One could only assume this man had been one of the cryers. He could just see it, the type of man who just blabbered on and on, during the bus ride home.
'Great,' Jim said eventually, realizing that the man was waiting for his answer. 'Well, not great, you know, I make do, actually–'
But before he could say more, the stranger had started going on about how they'd kept them out here for over half an hour, weren't even putting up coffee and was this the way to work? Really, not like it used to be in the old days, d'you remember? And what's this world coming to?
Jim nodded, as was only polite, wondering when he'd be able to extract himself from the conversation. He found he was desperately wishing that the people inside next door would call them in already.
'Anyway, since I've got you here, I was thinking, it's my dad's funeral next week and you know, I was thinking you might come.'
Jim turned his attention to the man once more. 'Say what?'
'Well, I figured since you...well, you know, since you knew him so well, I thought maybe you'd like to pay your respects and what not. I mean, I know you didn't actually know him, but our relationship got so much better after that. I think he'd want you to come.'

And before he could utter any of the words that clouded his mind, such as why and really, Jim found himself saying that while he wasn't sure what he was doing next week, he would do his best to get there.
'Great, I'll text you the address, no, I'd better give it to you right now. I don't think they ever gave me your number.'
'Right, right,' Jim offered his pencil as the man searched his pockets for a bit of paper.
'Yes, there we go. Well, it was great catching up. I'll see you there, yeah? Next Wednesday, remember.'

And so it was that Mr Hutchins, in full black suit and tie – rented especially for the occasion, as the old one didn't seem to fit – showed up outside The Home of St Jude, which was a most peculiar name for a church really, early on Wednesday morning.
He hadn't been at a funeral in ages, he thought, walking up the church steps. He'd brought flowers, because he wasn't sure if you were supposed to, but didn't want to seem ill prepared.
'Petunias,' the stranger exclaimed when he saw him. 'You remembered. How very thoughtful.'
He'd obviously been crying and he held on to Jim Hutchins for a good five minutes, sniffing and muttering into his rented suit.
'I'm really so glad you could be here.'
Jim, who had a job to get to at six, just hoped it wouldn't take long. He wasn't prepared to spend all day up here and really, the suit was a bit tight.

Afterwards, when the man had asked him whether he'd come along back to the house, Jim Hutchins knew he really ought to say no, but found himself getting into the man's car regardless.
He would've liked to ask a few questions – indeed, who the man was topped his list – but thought maybe he ought to wait a while. Wouldn't want to upset him while he was driving, now, would he?

_{Original by Mayron Oliveira on Unsplash}

For the next hour or so, Mr Hutchins drifted from conversation to conversation, listening to bits and fragments about the deceased, as well as the local sneaker say, how truly wonderful young Jenny was and that awful movie last Saturday. He didn't say much, for it was not his habit. He felt that maybe someone might notice him there if he opened his mouth to say too much and maybe then they'd realize he wasn't really supposed to be there. That he hadn't known the deceased at all and even barely knew the son. And he was enjoying himself, despite the glum atmos.
There's a certain camaraderie between the left behind, a certain 'I'm so glad we're still here, even though he's not' and he didn't really want to leave that. So, he stayed quiet and when the son came to ask him how he was enjoying himself – a somewhat strange question to ask at a funeral – he nodded enthusiastically and told him he was glad he'd come.
'Listen, about that time,I was wondering how exactly I helped you and your father. I mean, I'm glad I did, he seems to have been a delightful man, but...'

There it was. He'd said something wrong. He could tell by the way the son's eyes clouded over. Perhaps his father hadn't been a delightful man, after all. Now, he'd grow angry and they would kick Jim Hutchins out and he would be forced to go back to his solitary existence, where no one talked about the movie last Saturday and nobody wanted to know what he thought of the flower arrangement.
'Oh, I wouldn't say that,' the man shook his head, 'Not quite, but after our...sessions, I think I grew exhausted of hating him, you know? And I'm glad I did, I'm glad I got these last few years with him.'
There was something in the way the man's eye twitched as he spoke about his old dad. It hadn't been there before, not during the service, or the drive up here, it was something...familiar about his face. Something Jim Hutchins had seen before. 'Our sessions, of course.'

This man wasn't just some extra, this man had been a client. Yes, Jim remembered him now, he would come in and dream all these awful scenarios about his father. He always seemed to view his father as a draining force, sucking the life out of every dream his son had.
Yes, Jim Hutchins had worked with this man for quite a bit. Well, Jim hadn't worked with him per se, he was just an extra, filling one of the pre-assigned parts inside this man's dream. After all, someone had to be there to help out, to hold the door and be the unmentioned side-kick. That's where Jim knew him from, he used to come in to work through his dreams – most of them about his father – some five years back.
Yes, yes, he thought the old man looked familiar. Why, Jim had watched him force his way into the house or chase them down the street many times over. Of course, he knew him.
'Andy.'
'Yes,' the man said, a tad surprised.
'Nothing, I was just...wondering, what were you doing in line last week? Are you in the business now?'
'Yes, funny thing that, I found that once my issues were done with, I slept like a baby and I'd enjoyed our work so much, I wanted to see what it was like, to sit in on someone else's dream, to watch them, see what they can come up with. I never work in the psychiatric section though, no offense, I just wouldn't want anyone else's bugs jumping into my head now that I'm finally clear. But it's good work and at least, I'm well rested.'
Jim Hutchins nodded and glanced at the clock. Reluctantly, he said his goodbyes, since he did want to get to his job, but he promised he'd come visiting soon.
Andy called him a taxi and all the way back, he thought about what he'd said. Funny, Mr Hutchins had never viewed his job at something exciting. He came in, he read the script for the day's dream, sometimes they even threw in a couple lines, for a more “authentic” experience and that would be that. The trouble was, he understood the job. People need to have realistic dreams and it wouldn't be realistic at all if they only had two people. So folks like Jim came 'round to fill the picture, it was a good job, being an extra, he'd just never seen it as something special. Sure, the younger extras who sometimes came up thought it was all very glamorous, being in someone else's mind and all. But for Jim, it was a job like any other. Or at least, it had been.
Jim Hutchins would think about Andy's words for a long time to come. Maybe he was witnessing something special, maybe it could be an enjoyable experience.
One thing was certain though, he had enjoyed himself tremendously at that funeral, that feeling of belonging, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. After that, Mr Hutchins was always polite to the clients, whether they were there for a simple thrill or to work out some issue in their head, he always made sure to smile in their dreams and be helpful. Maybe then, they'd invite him at a funeral, too. Or a wedding.
If Jim Hutchins was nice enough, maybe they'd remember him.