More fiction? Sure. Why not?
This has nothing to do with the last little thing I wrote. Just so you know.
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Life and death. And life and death. And more life.
And more death.
So the world turns, and will keep turning, forever and ever amen.
It seems like a dream, sometimes. Day in, day out, the same routine, the same people, the same dull job behind the same dull desk, the same sun, the same moon. The world is black and white, a machine, each part doing what it does, and not paying any mind to anything else.
That was my life. An endless pattern, a black and white day after day after day. There is no movement toward anything, just a repeating pattern, a simulation of the idea of motion. A shadow. I was a shadow.
The day things started to change was the day I met Charles.
Imagine the eyes of a child of, oh, say five or six. Curious to no end about the world about them, full of life and laughter, and (perhaps most of all) mischeif. These are the eyes of Charles. However, Charles was, when I met him, 86 years old. 86 years old and still with the eyes of a child. I’ve no idea how he managed it, not letting the grief and greyness of this world beat all the joy out of him. But he managed, and he managed well enough for the whole of humanity I think.
He was a short man, 5’6 or 5’7, although he had been taller in his youth. A halo of white hair surrounded his bald head, although you’d never know he had such an alarming bald spot, because it was a rare occurance to see him without his hat, or “cap,” as he would say. He was an old Englishman, and it suited him well. Had a neatly trimmed gotee, and was generally to be seen in khaki pants and a sweater vest over a button up shirt, with a trenchcoat on if it was chilly outside. He looked altogether English somehow, and it would have been much more of a shock to hear him speak with an American accent rather than an English one, even if you had never met him before.
He walked with a cane now and then – the one outward sign of anything resembling succoming to old age. But he was incredibly spry when he wanted to be. I think he enjoyed surprising people with it from time to time. I suspect that his leg bothered him as the weather changed, and it was because of an injury rather than old age.
I remember the day I met him. It was raining out, making the dull job at the dull desk even duller. I was working as a receptionist in the corporate headquarters of an advertising company. Not the sort of thing I ever wanted to do, but I was in no position financially to pick up and go back to school, so I sauntered in to work every day, living each day as the one before it. That day, the day I met Charles, had been no different. I was doing something or other on the computer when he walked up. I looked up at him, putting on the serene customer-service face that had convinced so many others that I was completely content with my life and my job.
And then I saw his eyes.
A child’s eyes. A child’s exhuberance.
(I say that now, but I didn’t know what it was then. His eyes were just different. I couldn’t place it.)
“Good afternoon, my dear,” he said. His accent fit him perfectly, and he looked at me with a kindness that made me pause for a moment. Hardly anyone even took the time to look at me, they asked their question or dropped off a request and were on their way, cogs in the machine, never pausing or caring.
“I am in need of assistance,” he continued.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” I said with a smile. A real smile.
“I don’t doubt it,” he said, and winked, which nearly made me giggle. “I am in need of a grand tour of this magnificent building, ending in room…” and at this point he took a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Room 347.”
“You’ve come to see Mr. Lankston?” I asked, somewhat surprised. He was the CEO of the company, and the only visitors he got were suffy men in suits who only decended from their cloud of arrogance to speak to me if they spilled coffee on their tie and needed it taken to the cleaners before the meeting in the afternoon.
The old man smiled. “I’ve come to see my grandson.”
I was surprised. I somehow hadn’t imagined Mr. Lankston having any relatives. He was young – very young to be a CEO, only thirty at most – and was married to his work. I sometimes wondered if he left the office at all.
“Now don’t give me a look like that, lass. I may be old, but I’ve got more life in me than most people half my age.” He winked again, which made me smile in spite of my embarrassment. “Charles Lankston, at your service,” he said, and did a funny sort of bow.
My smile turned into a suppressed giggle. ”Jessica Olson. Or Jess really, everyone calls me Jess.” We shook hands, and I felt both the frailty of age and the strenth of spirit in his handshake. He used both hands, encompassing my hand completely in his weathered palms.
“A pleasure, to be sure,” Charles said, with a sincerity which made me wonder if I had ever actually seen genuine sincerity before. “But I do apologize, the grand tour will have to wait. I believe I have found my grandson.” He nodded behind me and I turned, to see the tall, stern figure of his grandson walking towards my desk. It was an incredible sight, actually, because the moment I turned to see him, he looked up and saw his grandfather, and a great smile burst accross his face. I had never before seen him smile like that. Come to think of it, I don’t think that I’d seen him smile at all. He had barely ever graced me with so much as a glance, much less with a smile. I was taken aback at the sight before me: years of worry suddenly vanished from his face. Rather than being the stern, arrogant workaholic, he had suddenly transformed into a real live human being. I even thought for a moment that he might laugh.
“Grandad! What are you doing here? God, it’s so good to see you.” The two embraced, and I suddenly felt like an intruder.
“Oh, I’ve just come for a visit. Or perhaps more than a visit. I’ll explain over dinner, but only after you, dear boy, tell me how you’ve been all these years. Letters are one thing, but I want to hear you speak it all from your lips.”
Mr. Lankston smiled again - he looked so much better when he smiled - ”I was just about to grab some dinner, a great Italian deli down the street.”
Charles nodded, accepting the invitation. ”Perfect!” I sat down qietly and started fiddling with my computer, hoping to go unnoticed as I always did.
But Charles is too good a man for that.
He turned to me. “A pleasure, Jessica – Jess. I look forward to our next meeing.” He gave a nod, and I gave one back, wondering if there would ever be a next meeting, and watched the two stroll out of the lobby together, chatting like old friends long separated. I smiled to myself. I thought back to the days when my grandfather was alive, and we would sit on park benches and eat ice cream. He would lean over with a sly little smile on his face, and say, “Don’t tell Grandma, she’d throw a fit!” I’d giggle and take another bite of ice cream, relishing the secrets we shared. Harmless secrets, of course, most of which I think Grandma was in on and I just didn’t realize it. But Grandfather, oh he knew how to make life exciting for a six-year-old.
I had a feeling that Charles and Grandfather had the same spirit in them.
