Bad Day

The man picked up a piece of paper and took a long look at it.

"This isn't mine," he said plainly.

"Well, then whose is it?" demanded the angry man in an official uniform.

"I don't know, where did you get it?"

"We found it attached to the front door of the station."

"Well, then you should start asking people if they saw anyone put it there."

"WE DID. "

"Oh. I see. So someone told you they saw me put it there and now here you are asking me if it's mine."

"Exactly."

"Well, it isn't mine."

"So how come I have witnesses saying they saw you put it up on the door of the station?"

"Oh, because I did."

"You did? But you just told me you didn't!"

"No, I told you it wasn't mine and that's true."

"Then why did you put it on the front door of the station?"

"Well, I saw it fall off."

"You what?"

"I saw it fall off... off of the front door."

"Yes, I see that, but why then did you feel you had to put it back up?"

"Just being nice I suppose."

"Nice?"

"Well, somebody obviously wanted it on the front door or else it wouldn't have been there to fall off in the first place now would it?"

"And you just didn't want all their effort to have been in vain is that it?"

"Exactly!"

"Sir, you're going to have to come with me."

"What? Why?"

"Did you see what was written on that bill you posted?"

"I didn't post it, I just re-posted it. And I didn't really see what it said, I think it was for a play about someone called... Ankery or Anna Key or something."

"Anarchy?"

"Yes, that's the one, have you heard of it?"

"Sir, you're under arrest."

"Why? For being a good Samaritan?"

"No, for posting illegal bills."

"What? But that's absurd, I did no such thing!"

"Yes, you did, you just admitted to it."

"No I didn't, I admitted to seeing a poster fall off the front door of the station and then returning it to it's previous location in an act of anonymous good-will."

"Well, it wasn't really anonymous since four witnesses saw you do it, now is it?"

"That's hardly the point. The point is that I didn't post an illegal bill, I just help some unknown stranger on my way into the station. You might as well arrest me for giving some change to that ragged fellow on the corner."

"You gave money to the man who was on the corner?"

"Yes, I most certainly did."

"The man in rags with the big bushy beard?"

"Yes, the homeless man."

"That, sir, is no homeless man. It is non-other than the notorious rebel, Forester Bleek!"

"The man who hates the government?"

"The same!"

"So, let me get this straight, there's a known villain in the area and yet you assume that I was the one who posted an illegal bill?"

"Hmmmm... well, now that you mention it, it would make a lot more sense that he posted it if your story is true."

"It is officer, I swear it!"

"Well, I'll have to confirm it, but I see that what you suggest is probably the case."

"Wonderful! So, I can go then?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"What? Why in heaven not?"

"Well, you've just admitted to aiding a known criminal."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid I am, sir."

the curious look

Howard walked into Sofa... So Good with the box under one arm and his briefcase under the other.

"Howard!" hollered the unmistakably condescending voice of Howard’s boss. “You’re three minutes late! What in blazes is so much more important than keeping your job?”

“Sorry sir, I was just… running a little behind today.”

“Well shape up! Sofa’s don’t sell themselves. They need idiots like you to do that for them. And remember, ‘At Sofa… So Good…’”

Howard finished the slogan with the least monotone voice that he could muster, “…a good rest is only sofa away.”

“Atta boy, now get to work!”

Howard went to his small office and began finishing some paperwork from the day before. It wasn’t long, however, before his curiosity drew him towards the box at his feet. After making sure that his boss wasn’t around Howard lifted the box onto the desk in front of him.

Howard flipped back the flaps of the box and was struck in the nose by a cloud of dust. He coughed and waved away the dust. His curiosity unabated Howard peered into the open box. Inside was a scattering of different objects. Howard rummaged through… a plate and a spoon… some spools of thread and googly-eyed doll… a bottle of glue and some scented candles.

Near the bottom Howard found a blue shoebox. On the lid of the shoebox in elegant jiffy-pen calligraphy was written, “For Marie.”

the box

Howard walked up to the door and knocked. A moment later a wizened older woman swung open the door.

"Wadda ya want?" she croaked

"Uhh... Susan Mayward?"

"Nope."

Howard shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Isn't this Susan Mayward's house?"

"Yeah," said the woman who wasn't Susan Mayward.

"Is Susan home?"

"Nope."

Howard considered whether he ought to admit defeat or continue this painful discussion.

"Do you know where Susan Mayward is?"

"Yeah."

"So... where is she?"

"She's dead."

Howard blinked. This visit wasn't going anything like he had hoped that it would.

"You a friend or relative of hers?" demanded the woman.

"Uh, well I..."

"Great."

The woman diappeared from the doorway. A moment later she returned with a box.

"I was Susan's landlady. Her lawyer came by and took acre of most of her stuff but the rest of this useless crap nobody knows what to do with. So you can take it."

She shoved the box into Howard's arms and slammed shut the door. Howard looked down at the box in his arms and tried to make sense of what the woman had just said. Not knowing what else to do he walked back to his car and drove to work.

the mistake

Howard folded up the poem and the letter together. Why had this letter been sent to him? He was entierly confident that his name was not Susan. He picked up the cream-coloured envelople and examined it again. The recipient's addresss read as follows:

Susan Mayward
121 Overly Crescent
Toronto, Ont
M4B 2V4

It all became quite clear. The postman had made a mistake. Howard lived at 112 Overly Crescent. Must be a rooky postal worker. Howard would have to write an almost but not exactly unpolite letter chastizing the postal service for its mistake.

In the meantime, however, he should get this letter to its rightful recipient. Howard checked his watch. He still had enough time to drive over there before work. Hastily he grabbed his suit-jacket, briefcase, and the letter and rushed out to his car.

the poem

On the second sheet of paper was written a poem.

Each of us is born
With the seeds of dreams planted in our hearts
Receiving hope and love in childhood
Gives dreams a place to start

Adolescence is the place
Where dreams will come to wake
To other people they may seem trivial
But for us there’s much more at stake

Soon we become adults
And dreams can fade away
As quickly we forget
How to laugh and hope and play

Busyness in life
Can bring us to our knees
And carry off our dreams
Like dead leaves on a breeze

So don’t forget your passions
And don’t neglect your dreams
Or soon you will discover
Your life is tearing at the seams

Just like a caged up bird
Who’s been long deprived of sky
So too our dreams that aren’t set free
Are surely doomed to die

Howard felt something move deep inside him. What was this feeling?

the letter

The letter went as follows:

"Dear Susan,

How have you been my darling friend? It has been so long since I last saw you. Sometimes I wonder if I'll recognize you when I see you again.

Where to start? I have finished my classes and will be starting work as soon as I can. There are several options open to me, my favorite of which is in Egypt. I don't want to get my hopes up but my imagination just tends to run wild.

Oh, Susan, I miss having you here. Sometimes I really need to talk to you. The pen-pal thing is fine, but I wish we could talk face to face.

How are you? Are you still having your headaches? And what about that charming fellow that you told me about... did anything happen there?

Poop and pie! I just can't seem to concentrate on anything at the moment. Sorry, Susan, I promise to write you a better letter in a couple days.

Take care dear friend. You are in my thoughts.

Your friend, Marie

P.S. I attached a poem that I wrote the other day. You're always telling me I need to express myself... so reap what you have sown and read the stupid thing.

P.P.S. I also included four cornflakes because I know how much you love them. Hope they survived the trip!"

The second post script would have given some clarity to Howard except that he was now completely absorbed in unfolding and reading the second piece of paper that had been in the envelope.

Something Different

Howard was content with his life. He had people who cared about him and he had a job that paid the bills.

Each morning he went through his routine. He would turn off his alarm, stretch, and go have a shower. Then he would make toast or pancakes and eat this with a large glass of orange juice. After brushing his teeth Howard would head off to work at the local furniture store, "Sofa... So Good".

Each day he would work from nine to five and then return home. There he would make himself supper and sit down to watch the news. Afterwards he always made his lunch for the following day and then spent the evening reading, playing video games, or writing.

Howard wrote poetry. Or at least he tried. He loved reading poetry and always wanted to be able to make something beautiful like that. But no matter how hard he tried his poems always came out the same. It frustrated him but he kept writing poems anyway.

Howard had a good life and he was content... until the day the letter came.