FutureSmell

My name is Ryan Kimball, and I can smell the future.

Now, I know what you're thinking, and you're mostly right – it's completely useless. That's why I've decided to give up my so-called gift, and go back to having a normal, present-time olfactory sense.

***

It all started nine weeks ago, when I was diagnosed with a small but vicious brain tumor. Due to a pending out-of-court settlement with an unnamed hospital, I can't go into specifics about exactly what happened, but let's just say that the word “malpractice” may have been involved.

Once I got out of the hospital, things got weird. I'd go to bed at night and smell bacon. Then I'd get up in the morning and, sure enough, my girlfriend surprised me with bacon. They were minor events, mainly food related, and almost always just a few hours in advance.

Most of the time, I was able to dismiss the premonitions as just my mind playing tricks on me. That all changed one day in the shower.

As I scrubbed myself clean in the bathroom of our one-bedroom apartment, I was slapped by the most horrible stench. My knees got weak, my head started spinning, and I had to grab onto the curtain rod for support.

“Oh my God,” I thought,  “I just crapped in the shower!”

I looked down, expecting to see a Baby Ruth circling the drain; instead, there was nothing but soap and water.

I was relieved, but puzzled – why did it smell so bad in here all of a sudden? The question stuck in my craw as I got out and went to join my girlfriend for dinner.

“Hey you!” she cheerily called out from the kitchen. “Ready for taco night?”

Then I knew – it was the remnants of taco night I was smelling when I was in the shower. A foul, putrid stench of half-digested beef, seasoned with a wide variety of peppers and spices. My heart sank to know that I was destined to create such a horrible funk in the next day or so.

As I sat eating my tacos, my mind raced. Nobody wants to think about a significant other doing...that. If my girlfriend walked into that bathroom and it smelled like a slaughterhouse, our relationship would likely never recover. Sure, she'd keep it to herself, but after a while, her mind would fill with thoughts of that bathroom and what I'd done there. Our intimate moments would be ruined before they started, and eventually she'd move on to look for a man whose bathroom smelled like roses.

I had to do something. In order to spare my girlfriend from having to deal with such a horrible odor, I had to change my fate. I would have to use another bathroom.

***

I went to work the next day determined to clear my bowels before going home. I drank a huge glass of prune juice on my first break, along with a handful of laxatives, chased by three cups of coffee. Sure enough, just before noon, I had an earth-shattering bowel event, followed by two more that afternoon.

I went home that night filled with the satisfaction of a man who had changed his destiny. When I walked in the house, I felt mighty. I felt empowered. I felt puzzled as to why the fan was on in the bathroom.

“No. It can't be.”

After a few minutes, my girlfriend emerged, leaving on the fan as she closed the bathroom door.

“I wouldn't go in there if I were you,” she said with a giggle. “How was work?”

***

So now I'm single, and I can smell the future. And the future smells like crap.

622 words