Lael had been in the specialist's office for twenty minutes when she asked him what it was like. He told her it was like reading a sentence after the emphasis had moved on. He had said this before, to other specialists, and it was still approximately true.
He experienced conversations as a series of moments that had already committed to their next state. When someone asked him a question, the question had already resolved into waiting by the time he registered it. When someone laughed, the room had already moved on. He had learned to speak into the middle of things, to offer contributions while the moment was still moving, so they arrived at the right time from everyone else's perspective. He had become very good at inference. He knew what moments left behind. He had spent forty-four years reading residue.
There were twelve people with confirmed temporal displacement in the current registry. He had met three of them. One was a child, eight years old, who appeared to her parents entirely normal because children were forgiven for being slightly behind. One was a retired postal worker who had not been diagnosed until sixty-three and had told Lael, matter-of-factly, that he had thought everyone was like this.
The specialist asked: most patients describe a strong desire for correction. Is that true for you?
Lael said: I've thought about it.
She waited. She had more to say. He waited with her.
She said: we've had good outcomes with the procedure. Most patients report a significant improvement in quality of life.
He said: I know.
She looked at him. He had said it before she had finished her sentence. He was aware of this.
He had been preparing to say it for several seconds.