Level 42

A short story that I wrote for class.

The man was on edge. It was a Thursday evening and he was ready to go home and settle down, whatever that meant. He was always in a rush, but today his head wasn’t on right. He clambered down the front steps of the consulting firm onto the crowded sidewalk. He was on the other side of town today for a special consultation, too far to walk home. The man stepped out onto the curb and gestured for a taxi. He paused for a moment remembering what he had not forgotten for a moment all day: the letter. The name, the handwriting, even the smell was all too familiar. He was reluctant to open it, but it was eating away at his emotions all day. He opened the passenger door of the approaching taxi and slid in to the cramped cab. His mind so flooded with thoughts, he didn’t hear the driver the first time.

“Where to?” the young, bearded driver grunted.

“Oh,” he burst back into reality, “Second and Washington, thanks.”

            Preparing for his consultation that morning, the man had rifled through old notes and books about the firm. Opening a drawer from his old desk, he found what looked like a scrap of paper. It was the letter. The man thought nothing of it until he saw the name. He knew he had to open it, despite the delay. He felt like an obnoxious teenager again, afraid of the rejection, fearing the judgment of the other kids. But he wasn’t a kid anymore, and neither was she.

            The man contemplated his decision to wait. What could the letter possibly say? Nothing would change. He looked at himself in the reflection of the cab window. The man decided he had nothing to lose. She is probably off married to some doctor and it won’t mean anything regardless of what it said, although he hoped. The man reached into his modern briefcase and retrieved the letter. He examined the front. To Finn, it said. From his rational perspective, the man conceded nothing from the notation. However, he had a clue. He took a deep breath and jammed his large, rough thumb into the corner of the letter revealing a folded white piece of notebook paper lined in bright blue with a fringe of scraps left from tearing it out of a notebook. His palms grew moist, but he didn’t let his mind make any predictions before he unfolded the paper. It was from Jennifer, but he knew that. The man scanned the letter. It was just what he had hoped. The apology he always wanted after all his rejection. She wrote it with lyrics, a song he knew all too well.

            “Lifeboat lies lost at sea. I’ve been trying to reach your shore; waves of doubt keep drowning me.” The man sang quietly as his finger touched the words.

            “Could be better, should be better, for lessons in love.”

            The man leaned back against the cab seat, taken aback by old memories. He could hear Level 42 singing the lyrics in his head. He knew the tune, Lessons in Love. The man was half angry, half nostalgic. Jennifer was his first love, how dare she keep her feelings for him a secret! He knew the handwriting, he knew her smell, and he could hear her sweet giggle in the distance. She turned him down twice. Of course she lost her chance, but the man still wished he could have her. Now, it was all over. The man ran his finger over his name written in her purple ink, Dear Finn, his eyes were glossy with tears. He refolded the note and shoved it back into the envelope, resealing the lost message. He stuffed it into the front pocket of his briefcase and glanced out the window again, recognizing familiar places signaling the taxi’s proximity to his apartment. All of his built-up excitement about the contents of the letter was crushed somehow. He didn’t know what he expected, but at once he wished he had never found it. The man wished more than anything that he could go back and change everything, but second on his list was wishing he had never even seen the letter.

            The man paid the driver, without thanking him and slammed the door. There was no longer any worth for his manner. No one cared, and the one person who might have, was officially gone. He grabbed his briefcase, and climbed the stairs to his apartment door. He knew nothing had changed.

            “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter,” the man chanted under his breath and he tramped up the stairs.

            He slammed the door behind him as he pulled the letter out of his bag again and stomped into his office where he placed the letter back into the drawer where he found it as if it would make time move in reverse.

It was eight o’clock, and the man had changed his clothes and brushed his teeth. He climbed into his large, empty bed, and closed his eyes tight. As the man lay in bed that night he couldn’t help but imagine how life would have been different. In retrospect, his fantasy was ridiculous. It was just high school. It was just a girl. It was just a letter.

“Nothing will change.” The man spoke to the ceiling above him.

He got out of bed and slowly strode to the bathroom. He had considered his actions before, but he never thought he could or would actually do it. His strong hand grasped the bright orange, UV-ray-protected bottle. The man heard the voice of Dr. Hobson in his head, “Take two once a day with food.” It didn’t matter. Jennifer didn’t matter. The man didn’t think any longer. He popped open the bottle and shook the pills into his hand. They were the handful of pebbles, ready to stone the man outside the city walls. The man glanced up to his reflection in the mirror.

“I’m,” he spoke softly through gritted teeth to the man in the mirror, “worthless.”

The man closed his eyes, wishing, hoping, praying that he could just start over. He took each pill, one-by-one, with a complete loss of hope. With the pills settled in his stomach, he went to sleep, not sad, not angry. The man was calm. His eyes slowly creeped shut, and his heart slowed to a stop. The man lay, frozen asleep. He did not think; he did not stir. Lost in another realm, the man’s soul remained, his lifeless body forever cold.  

Author's Note

from our class short story unit

Reviews

[Persona]

I did like it at first, but there's too much allusion. I got bored of 'the man' and just wanted to know his name and because of this I felt distant from him. Then there's "neither was she" is this a girl he dated? I do like your sentence structures and spacing and it has a very mature voice but sometimes you try too hard. For example, "eating his emotions" sounds great, and "all day" at the end ruins it, so cut that bit. Instead of "burst in reality" which does seem forced, try and word it in a more relaxed way.

[Erin Thomas]

Thanks! I will look at that. I wanted to keep it mysterious which is why is was supposed to seem distant. I slowly gave more personality to the man, but at the end the reader is supposed to be shocked by his actions because they did not know enough about him. That was kind of the overall theme. Thank you for the review!

[Twistedme]

As a request from you I am now reading this, I am not one for short stories....You targeted this guys every feeling through such a short scene, it was kinda slow for me but the last paragraph was strong, deep and of course sad. I can't say much for this though cause I'm no good with how short stories are meant to be structured etc haha Overall enjoyed though because of the theme you picked, a theme that tends to make me stick around haha :P

[Twistedme]

oh btw I had this story pictured in animation in my head...so it gave off quite strong feeling :z

[Erin Thomas]

Thank you for reading! :)

[Ian H Morrison]

written very well with colourful characters good story line really enjoyed this

[Erin Thomas]

Thank you!