By Eli DiPaolo
I have had a normal day. I woke up early this morning, like everyone else and had a bowl of cereal, Cheerios, nothing interesting. My apartment was quiet, which was a good sign. It meant nothing was wrong. I got to the bus stop, then arrived at work, just another tall looming office building. I waited outside for a moment. This was my favorite part of the day, when the sun cleared the buildings around my office and shined on it. It lights up the sky like it was a star on its own. After about thirty seconds, I went inside.
“Good morning, sir,” the secretary said.
“Morning.”
I moved away from the desk and pressed the button to call the elevator. It was a slow one, and it was just a matter of time before it broke. It arrived a few moments later. When it opened, I stepped inside.
“Hold the door!” a voice called frantically, so I stuck my hand out to keep the elevator doors from closing. A man in a long coat with a briefcase stuffed to bulging with random papers dashed in. His glasses were crooked above his sharp nose and his hair was disheveled, this was Howard.
“And what happened this time?” I asked him.
“Missed my alarm, missed my bus, and then when I arrived outside here earlier I realized I was missing my hat and had to head back home.” He puffed out.
“That all?” I pried
“Well, a flock of homing pigeons attacked me-” He lied
“No they didn’t.”
“You're right. Too much?”
“A little.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened into an average office. Howard and I walked in and went to our respective departments. Me to accounting and him to customer service. I sat down at my desk and arranged my pencils to all be in neat rows across my desk. This office was a branch of Ben’s Fresh Produce. Produce that I can assure you was not fresh. I got a bit bored during the day and write every little thing that is going on in my notebook. I enjoyed my boring life. All of it made sense, the same routine every day, and I know why every part of the routine is where it is and why it is. I liked having that control. I ate my lunch at my desk in silence. I opened a drawer in my desk and put my notebook in it. I always did that, I don’t know why. At some point during the day I got up to use the bathroom. When I returned I found Howard holding my stack of writing.
“What are you doing?” I ask him
“This is good,” he responded.
“No, it’s just my day.”
“No it is good. You are noticing the little things about people that makes them tick.”
“What?”
“I mean, you are making really amazing observations.”
“I-”
“You have written every single one of my excuses in here. You have a careful analysis of every single terrible dessert that Melinda has ever brought in, you have every time Brian has broken out into song because he didn’t realize people were listening. This isn’t just scribbling, this is people’s lives.”
“So?”
“You write about people you don’t know, too. You write about the people who live in the apartments next to you, and the people who you see at restaurants. The amount of detail is incredible.”
“Okay, I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”
“Can I have these?”
“Fine, just leave me alone”
Howard walked back to his desk. I didn’t know how he could help customers if he couldn't interact with people normally. I wrote about the encounter when I got home later.
My routine continued the same way, uninterrupted, for about three weeks. Until one evening, when Howard ran up to me in front of our building.
“Take the day off, we have a meeting.”
“Is this your way of getting out of work?”
“No, I am serious. We have a meeting for your book.”
“What book?”
“Just come with me.” We arrived in front of a building twenty minutes away by foot. It was an old building, with lots of brick and a large archway over the door. On one side of the building was a beautiful mural of flying birds and bats. I paused for a moment just to stare at a green hummingbird, painted very small near the top. Howard raced to the top of the stairs and opened the door. I followed.
“Welcome to Drinnon-Forest Publishing Company, how can I help you?” said the woman at the front desk with a bright smile. The walls around us were filled with shelves, each one packed with books. It reminded me of Howard’s overstuffed briefcase.
“We have a meeting at ten with Ms. Forest,” replied Howard with an equally bright smile. I began to flip through the guest book.
“Third floor, second door to the right, you can’t miss it.” she said, gesturing to a new elevator behind her.
Howard and I got in and the door closed behind us. Inside the elevator was another painting, this one a large pink flower. Its detail was so intricate, I was shocked to find it was a painting and not a photo.
“So,” I say, “Would you mind telling me what is going on?”
“I sent your papers to several publishers in hopes of getting a response, and I got one, two days ago. They wanted to schedule a meeting, so I took the liberty of scheduling a meeting for you.” he explained.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”
“Because, I knew that if I had told you, you wouldn’t have done it.”
“We barely talk; how could you know something like that about me?”
“I read your papers.” and at precisely that moment, the elevator doors dinged open.
The secretary was right; we couldn’t have missed the door if we tried. It was as beautifully painted as the artwork strewn about the building. Instead of being birds and flowers, this one was a mother holding her child, surrounded by books. Howard put his hand on one of the knobs.
“Ready?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and glanced at the painting, I could feel something there, a new beginning. This could be a new place to watch the sun rise. I put my hand on the other knob.
“Ready.”
We turned the knobs and pushed the doors open, accepting whatever randomness the future wanted to throw at us.