Level 42A Story by Erin ThomasA 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. © 2012 Erin Thomas
Author's Note
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3 Reviews Added on June 30, 2012 Last Updated on June 30, 2012 AuthorErin ThomasAboutI'm a student. Contact me if you want to know more. I write for myself (and for my classes when needed). However, I am always looking for ways to improve! more..Writing
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